While the kitchen of the Bisht house felt like a chamber of horrors, a different kind of pain was blooming in Aryan's room.

Aryan sat by the window, staring out at the darkening sky. Suddenly, a sharp, searing sensation flared in his chest—a phantom burn that made his breath hitch. 

A single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. He felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of anxiety. Is she okay? Why does my heart feel like it's on fire?

His thoughts were interrupted when Aahan walked in, carrying a mug of coffee. Aryan was so lost in his trance that he didn't realize how close Aahan had stepped. 

As Aryan moved to take the mug, his hand trembled; the mug slipped, splashing scalding coffee across his palm.

"Bhai! Aap theek ho?" Aahan cried out, rushing to grab a towel.

Aryan didn't flinch. He didn't hiss in pain. He just stared at the red mark on his hand, the physical burn matching the ache in his heart. 

"Hmm... main theek hoon," he whispered, his voice hollow.

Just then, little Advika came running into the room, her laughter lighting up the heavy atmosphere. 

Aryan immediately pushed his pain aside, dropping to his knees to catch her. "Dheere, bacha," he cautioned softly.

Advika giggled, throwing her small arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. 

"Papa, main bahut happy hoon ki aap theek ho gaye! Isliye maine aapke liye kuch banaya hai."

Aryan looked at her face—the spitting image of the woman he had lost and found again. 

"Acha? Main bhi toh dekhun, meri Adu ne kya banaya hai."

She proudly opened her drawing book. It was a simple, colorful sketch of three people holding hands.

 "Yeh aap ho, yeh main hoon, aur yeh Mumma hai," she said, pointing to each figure with a tiny finger.

Aryan felt a lump in his throat. He picked her up, tucking her into his arms. 

"Bahut pyari drawing banayi hai meri Adu ne."

Advika leaned her head against his shoulder, looking out the window. 

"Papa?" she murmured softly.

"Hmm, bacha?"

"Kya Mumma humare saath Delhi wapis nahi chalengi?"

The question felt like a blade to Aryan's heart. He tightened his grip on her, struggling for words.

 "Mumma... Mumma kuch dino ke liye yahi rahegi, Adu."

Advika pouted, her eyes filling with innocent confusion. 

"Kyun? Kya aap Mumma ko pyari-pyari nahi karte?"

Aryan froze. His heart beat frantically against his ribs. How could he explain to a child that his love was the only thing keeping her mother alive, yet the very thing keeping them apart? 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her into his lap.

"Adu... chalo, aaj aapko ek story sunate hain," he said, his voice dropping into a gentle, melodic tone.

"Ek baar Radha ji ne Krishna ji se pucha, 'Humari shaadi kyun nahi hui?'" Aryan started, stroking Advika's hair. 

"Krishna ji ne muskurakar kaha, 'Radhe, shaadi  ke liye do logon ka hona zaroori hai. Hum toh ek hi  hain, toh main bhala apne aap  se shaadi kaise kar sakta hoon?'"

Radha and Krishna's love wasn't about staying in the same house or wearing a ring. It was a love that lived in the soul. Even when they were far apart, Krishna could feel Radha's tears, and Radha could hear Krishna's flute. The world thought they were separated, but in reality, they were so close that no one could ever truly come between them.🌷

He looked into Advika's curious eyes, his voice trembling slightly.

"Kayi baar, bacha, pyaar ka matlab saath rehna nahi hota. Kabhi kabhi pyaar ka matlab hota hai door rehkar bhi ek-dusre ki hifazat karna. 

Mumma aur Papa ki kahani bhi bilkul waisi hi hai. Hum bhale hi door dikhein, par Mumma hamesha papa dil ke sabse paas hain. Woh humein bhul sakti hain, par humara pyaar unhe hamesha mehfooz rakhega."

Advika smiled, though she didn't fully understand. She leaned her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Aryan closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer into the night.

Jaan tum mere pass ho ya na ho ek baat, yaad rakhna...Jaise kanha ke man maine sirf radha thi vaise hi mere man sirf tum ho aur tum aur maine ek hi hai..bhale hi door kyu na ho.

Author's POV:

Dev burst back into the kitchen, his breathing ragged, clutching the medical kit as if it were a holy relic. He dropped to his knees, his face a frantic mask of concern. 

As he reached out to touch her scorched skin, Jhanvi flinched so violently she hit the cabinet behind her.

"Shh... Jaan, please. Main jaanta hoon tumhe dard ho raha hai," Dev whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying sweetness. 

"Pata nahi mujhse kaise... main—sorry, Gulaab. Main bas tumhe theek karna chahta hoon."

Jhanvi looked at him, really looked at him. She saw the tears in his eyes, the genuine regret, and the madness swirling just beneath the surface. 

Using the kitchen counter for support, she forced herself to stand, her legs shaking. When he tried to stand with her, she didn't shrink back this time.

Slap!

The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent kitchen. Dev's head snapped to the side. He didn't move. He didn't roar.

 He just slowly turned his face back to her, a red mark blooming on his cheek.

"Mujhe lagta tha ki tum bas ek ziddi aadmi ho," Jhanvi spat, her voice dripping with pure, concentrated disgust.

 "Jo mujhe paane ke liye kisi bhi had tak ja sakta hai. Lekin main galat thi. Tum koi aashiq nahi ho, Dev Singhania. Tum ek PSYCHO ho."

Dev's eyes widened, his lips trembling. 

"Nahi... nahi, aisa mat kaho, Gulaab. Maine tumse pyaar kiya hai. Yeh sab... yeh galti se hua. Galti ho gayi mujhse!"

"Pyaar?" Jhanvi laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. 

"Pyaar mein haath nahi jalaye jaate, Dev. Pyaar mein rooh nahi kuchli jaati. Tumhara yeh pagalpan mere liye mohabbat nahi, ek zeher hai. Mujhe tumse nafrat nahi hai... mujhe tumse ghin aati hai."

Dev's demeanor shifted instantly. The apology stayed on his lips, but his grip found her arms again, pinning her against the counter. 

He started mumbling "Sorry" over and over, a mantra of a broken mind.

"Sorry... I'm so sorry... Gulaab, dekho main ro raha hoon na? Main maafi maang raha hoon!" He pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

 "Lekin tum samjhti kyun nahi? Tumhara rang nahi aaya toh mujhe laga tum meri nahi ho rahi! Maine tumhe dard nahi dena chahta... main bas tumhe 'mera' banana chahta hoon."

"Chhodo mujhe!" Jhanvi struggled, but he was a wall of muscle and obsession.

"Nahi chhodunga," he whispered, his voice cracking.

 "Maafi maang toh raha hoon. Kitni baar bolun? Sorry. Sorry. SORRY! Par tum meri ho. Agar tumne phir se kisi aur ka naam liya, ya mujhse door jaane ki koshish ki... toh main phir se toot jaunga. Aur jab main toot-ta hoon, toh chotein tumhe hi lagti hain."

He looked at her burnt hand, then back at her face, his expression melting into a sickeningly soft smile. 

"Chalo, ab chup ho jao. Main dawa laga deta hoon. Phir sab theek ho jayega."

Jhanvi looked at him, her heart turning to ice. She realized she wasn't talking to a man she could reason with. 

She was talking to a monster who thought his apologies made his crimes disappear.

"Tum kabhi theek nahi hoge, Dev," she whispered, her voice dead.

 "Aur main kabhi tumhari nahi houngi."

Dev didn't respond to her words. He just opened the first aid box, humming a soft, distorted tune, acting as if they were the perfect couple,

 while Jhanvi stood there, a prisoner in a house that was supposed to be celebrating her future.

Jhanvi's POV

I looked at the man in front of me, and for the first time, I didn't just see a tyrant—I saw a monster. His eyes were wide, glassy, and darting around as if he were seeing things I couldn't.

He was shaking, clutching the first-aid kit like it was a toy, and the way he was whispering "sorry" made my skin crawl.

 It wasn't the apology of a man who felt guilt; it was the apology of a predator who was sad his prey had broken too soon.

"Mere kareeb mat aana," I hissed, my voice trembling with a mixture of pain and pure loathing.

"Gulaab, please... maine kaha na main theek kar dunga," he moved closer, his hand reaching for my burnt palm.

I pulled back, the disgust finally boiling over.

"Theek? Tum kuch theek nahi kar sakte, Dev. Kyunki tum bimaar ho. Tumhe lagta hai yeh pyaar hai? Tumhe lagta hai kisi ka haath jalana, kisi se zabardasti shadi karna..ye pyaar hai?"

I let out a harsh, broken laugh, the tears blurring my vision.

"Pyaar kya hota hai, main batati hoon tumhe. Pyaar woh hai jo main Aryan se karti hoon. Woh sukoon hai, woh hifazat hai. Aur yeh... yeh jo tum kar rahe ho, yeh sirf ek ghatiya pagalpan hai. Tum sirf ek mareez ho jo apni zidd ko mohabbat samajh baitha hai."

The moment his name left my lips, the room went deathly silent.

Dev's breathing stopped. The "sorry" that had been playing on a loop died in his throat. His face didn't just turn angry—it transformed. The muscles in his jaw tightened so hard I heard his teeth grind.

The fake sadness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a dark, bottomless void of psychopathic rage.

"Aryan..." he whispered, the name sounding like a curse on his tongue.

Suddenly, he lunged. Before I could even scream, he had me pinned against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping my shoulders so hard I felt my bones groan.

 He leaned in, his face so close that I could feel the erratic heat radiating from his skin.

"Phir se wahi naam?" he growled, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. 

"Maine kaha tha na Gulaab... us insaan ka naam mere samne mat lena. Par tum nahi manti."

He grabbed my burnt hand—the one he had just apologized for—and squeezed it. I let out a blood-curdling scream as the raw skin flared in agony, but he didn't let go. 

He leaned into my ear, his voice turning into a chilling, soft purr.

"Tumhe lagta hai woh tumhe bacha lega? " He chuckled, a sound so hollow it made my heart stop. 

"Uski wajah se tumhe yeh dard mila hai. Jitna tum uska naam logi, utna main tumhe dard dunga. Main tumhe itna dard dunga ki ek din tum 'Aryan' bolna bhool jaogi... sirf 'Dev' yaad rahega."

He let go of my hand and instead wrapped his fingers around my throat—not to choke me, but to possess me. He stared into my eyes with a terrifying intensity.

"Tumhe sukoon chahiye na? Main doonga sukoon. Par sirf meri sharton par. Tumhe mere junoon se nafrat hai? Toh hone do. Nafrat karo mujhse, par raho sirf meri. Main tumhe itna barbad kar dunga ki mere alawa tumhe koi dekhne layak bhi nahi bachega. Tum sirf Dev Singhania ki ho... aur agar mere naam ka rang tumhare hath par nahi chadh raha, toh tumhara khoon baha kar main apna naam likhunga."

He suddenly let go and stepped back, smoothing his hair as if nothing had happened. He looked at the medical kit and then at me with a sweet, haunting smile.

"Ab baitho. Humein bandage lagani hai. Log bahar intezar kar rahe hain, Gulaab."

I slumped against the counter, gasping for air, staring at the stranger who claimed to love me. I knew then—I wasn't just fighting for my freedom. I was fighting for my life.