Vikram’s mind raced. He felt trapped in a whirlwind of emotions—anger, regret, and a growing realization of the consequences of his actions.

He clenched his fists, replaying the moment in his head, the sting of Meher's slap echoing louder than the sound itself.

Meanwhile, Meher stormed upstairs, her anger simmering like a volcano ready to erupt. Her hands still burned from the fire, her cheek still stung from Vikram's slap, but none of that compared to the fire inside her. How dare he? She paced the room, her mind racing through the events.

"Who the hell does he think he is?" she muttered to herself, pacing back and forth, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. The sting on her cheek was a constant reminder of Vikram's audacity. "How dare he lay a hand on me!"

She stormed over to the dresser, gripping the edge so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "First, he ignores his own daughter and blames her for everything. And now this?" Her voice rose in anger, echoing through the empty room.

Suddenly, a knock on the door snapped her back to reality. Meher shook her head, trying to calm herself before walking over to open the door. Standing there was Maa-sa, her face soft but lined with concern.

"Can I come in?" Maa-sa asked gently.

Meher hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside, allowing her inside. Without a word, Maa-sa walked in and gestured for Meher to sit down on the edge of the bed. She pulled out a small jar of ointment from her shawl.

"Give me your hands," Maa-sa said quietly, her voice filled with the kind of warmth only a mother could offer.

Meher, still seething with anger, wordlessly extended her burned hands. Maa-sa carefully began applying the ointment, her touch tender but her silence heavy. The cool ointment soothed the burns, but Meher's heart still felt raw.

"You don’t have to do this, Maa-sa," Meher said, her voice strained, barely holding back the storm within her.

“This happened because of me,” Maa-sa replied, her tone cold but tinged with an unspoken apology.

Meher sat there in silence, the tension between them thick. As Maa-sa finished applying the ointment, she suddenly spoke again, her words cutting through the quiet.

“I never wanted you here, Meher.”

Meher’s gaze shot up, her expression unreadable, though the sting of those words was undeniable. But before she could say anything, Maa-sa continued.

“When Vikram married you, I thought… you would never fill the space Shanaya left. And truth be told, you can’t. But today…” she paused, taking a deep breath, her eyes softening, “today, you proved this wrong”

Meher blinked, taken aback by the unexpected shift in Maa-sa’s tone. She was still processing the words, but the bitterness she’d been holding on to was starting to loosen its grip.

“You might not be able to replace Shanaya,” Maa-sa said, her voice firm but not unkind, “but maybe… you’re not meant to. You’ve made your own place here.”

Meher swallowed, her throat tight. For the first time, she sensed a flicker of respect in Maa-sa’s words. It wasn’t acceptance, not fully, but it was something. Something she hadn’t expected.

“Thank you… for saving her memory,” Maa-sa finished softly, her eyes locking with Meher’s before standing up to leave the room, leaving Meher alone with her thoughts and the cool balm on her hands.

Meher watched her leave, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions.

After Maa-sa left the room, Meher sat on the couch, engrossed in her work. Time passed quickly, and when she glanced at the clock, she realized it was getting late.

Aarvi was staying with Dadi-sa tonight, so the room felt unusually quiet. Meher stood up, stretching her tired limbs, and moved towards her bed.

She opened the drawer and took out her medication, but as she reached for the water jar on the side table, she found it empty.

With a soft sigh, Meher got up and made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

The house was dimly lit, the soft hum of silence all around her. Entering the kitchen, she started filling the jar, when distant hiccups broke the stillness.

Frowning, she paused and listened closely. The sound seemed to come from the backyard.

Curious, Meher followed the sound, walking towards the backyard door. As she stepped outside, the sight before her made her freeze.

There, sitting alone with his head buried in his hands, was Vikram.

His broad shoulders trembled as he sat slouched on the ground, his breath hitching with every hiccup. In his hands, he clutched a photograph tightly.

Meher hesitated. She was about to turn around and leave, wanting to avoid any confrontation, when she heard his broken voice.

“I’m a bad father,” Vikram whispered to himself, staring at the photo in his hands. “I-I’m a ba-ad—" His words dissolved into hiccuping sobs, his body trembling under the weight of his own grief.

Meher stood still for a moment, her eyes lingering on Vikram’s broken form.

The sight of him, usually so strong and impenetrable, now crumbling into pieces in the silence of the night, stirred something within her.

For the first time, she realized just how deeply his pain ran beneath that cold exterior.

But she couldn't afford to feel sympathy for him, not now. Yet, a part of her—a small, conflicted part—wanted to. It gnawed at her,

this unfamiliar sense of wanting to understand the man who had caused her so much pain.

Maybe it was because she had seen a glimpse of the human beneath the armor tonight, a part of him that was hurting as much as she was.

But no. She clenched her fists, shaking off the thought. Sympathy for him would only complicate things.

It would blur the lines she had drawn so clearly, lines she couldn’t afford to cross.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t get involved, wouldn’t let his brokenness pull her into a pit of confusion.

He had hurt her too much for her to feel anything other than resentment, and yet…

"Why should I care?" she muttered under her breath, frustrated with the conflicting emotions swirling inside her.

She paced the room, trying to refocus. This was about Aarvi, about fulfilling a promise to her best friend. Nothing more.

Vikram’s struggles, his guilt—that was for him to deal with.

But even as she tried to convince herself, the image of him, broken and vulnerable, lingered in her mind.

Vikram's POV:

I sat there, my hands gripping the picture of Shanaya so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The image blurred through the haze of my tears, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Her smile, her warmth—it was all I had left. And I ruined it.

"I’m a bad father," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. The weight of those words settled like a stone in my chest. I had never said it out loud before, but it was the truth.

I failed her. I failed Aarvi. I failed everyone.

The cold night air bit at my skin, but I barely felt it. All I could think of was how I had let everything slip through my fingers. I couldn’t protect Shanaya. I couldn’t even face my own daughter, my own flesh and blood, without feeling this rage—this unbearable grief.

How could I look at Aarvi without remembering what I lost? Without blaming her for the emptiness Shanaya left behind?

I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots as if the physical pain could somehow match the storm raging inside me. The memories were suffocating.

I could hear Shanaya’s voice, see her laughing like she used to, and then... then there was nothing but silence. And that silence killed me every single day.

"Why did you leave, Shanaya?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "Why did you leave me to deal with all this? I don’t know how to be a father... I don’t even know how to be without you."

Just then, I heard a voice—a soft, familiar voice. I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat.

My love. My home. My Shanaya.

There she was, standing right in front of me. Her gentle smile, her bright eyes... she looked exactly the same. I blinked, rubbing my eyes in disbelief.

"Jaan… you—you came back!" I stammered, my heart racing. "I-I knew it! I knew you would never leave me."

Without thinking, I threw myself into her arms, hugging her tightly, feeling her warmth against me. It was real. She was real.

"Shanaya, I missed you so much. I don’t know how to go on without you," I whispered into her hair, tears still streaming down my face. I held her as if I was afraid she might slip away again, that this was some cruel dream.

But then, as I pulled back slightly to look at her, something changed. Her expression shifted—cold, distant, almost... disappointed.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice echoing around me. "Why couldn’t you be strong for Aarvi? Why did you blame her for my death, Vikram?"

Her words sliced through me like a knife. I froze, staring at her in shock, trying to grasp what she was saying.