Anjali sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers digging into her scalp as the dam finally burst. 

Four years of stolen life, four years of a fabricated identity, and four years of a father's hollowed eyes and a daughter's missing laughter came crashing down on her.

"Aryan... I am so sorry," she choked out, a sob racking her fragile frame. 

She remembered the way he had looked at her at the cafe—the desperation, the raw agony in his eyes—and how she had looked back at him with nothing but confusion.

 The guilt was a physical weight, crushing the air out of her lungs.

She forced herself to stand, her feet hissing in protest as the wounds from the glass shards reopened. Every step was a needle of fire, but she didn't care. 

She limped toward the door, her movements frantic and clumsy, and made her way downstairs.

In the living room, Mr. and Mrs. Bisht were sitting calmly on the sofa, sipping their morning coffee amidst the floral wedding decorations. 

The sight of their domestic peace made Anjali's blood boil. She remembered Mrs. Bisht's constant pressure, her "motherly" advice to marry a monster like Dev, and the way they had both watched her struggle in silence.

She reached out and violently shoved a heavy decorative stand beside her. It crashed to the floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

The Bishts jumped, the coffee nearly spilling from their hands. They looked up to see a haunting sight: 

Anjali standing there, her hair disheveled and falling over her face, her eyes bloodshot and blazing, and her feet wrapped in blood-stained bandages.

Mrs. Bisht stood up, her face a mask of  concern. "Jhanvi! Beta, ye chot kaise lagi?"

Anjali looked at her with an expression so blank it was terrifying. 

"Usi ne di hai... jis se aap meri shaadi kara rahi hain."

Mrs. Bisht blinked, confused. "Huh? Dev ne? Main abhi usse baat karungi, pehle tu baith ja."

 She reached out to touch Anjali's forearm, but Anjali recoiled as if burned.

"Kya baat karogi?" Anjali's voice was hollow, echoing in the quiet house.

Mrs. Bisht looked at her daughter's feet, then back at her face. 

"Yahi... ki uski himmat kaise hui meri beti ko chot pahunchane ki?"

Anjali let out a cold, sharp chuckle that lacked any humor. "Meri beti?" She stepped closer, her eyes turning dark and lethal. 

"Aur kab tak jhoot bolengi aap, Maa?"

Mrs. Bisht stiffened. A flash of pure terror crossed her face. Does she know? No, it's not possible, she thought desperately. 

"B-beta... ye k-kya bol rahi ho?"

Anjali leaned in, her face inches from the woman who had claimed her. 

"Jo sach hai, wahi bol rahi hoon."

"K-kaisa s-sach?"

Anjali stared directly into her soul. "Ki main aapki beti nahi hoon."

The entire house seemed to freeze. Mrs. Bisht gasped, her hand flying to her mouth,

 while Mr. Bisht felt the crushing weight of four years of guilt finally pinning him to his seat.

"Jhanvi... b-beta..." Mrs. Bisht tried again, reaching out with a trembling hand.

"JHANVI NAHI HAI MERA NAAM!" Anjali screamed, the sound tearing through the festive decorations.

  "ANJALI... ANJALI TANEJA NAAM HAI MERA! AUR JIS INSAAN KO AAP PAGAL KEHTI HO, USKI BIWI HOON MAIN!"

Mrs. Bisht began to tremble violently. "Nahi beta... ye tera veham hai—"

"VEHAM? Seriously, Maa?" Anjali's voice broke.

 "Kyun? Kyun itne saal mujhse mera sab kuch chhupaya? KYUN?"

"B-beta... m-maine jaanke nahi kiya," Mrs. Bisht sobbed, her composure finally shattering.

 "Jab tum humein mili, us waqt humari apni beti humein chhod ke chali gayi thi. Humein tum mein humari mari hui beti nazar aayi—"

"Jo ek baar chala jata hai, woh laut ke nahi aata, Maa! Nahi aata!" Anjali shouted. 

"Aapne mujhe nayi zindagi di, uske liye bahut-bahut shukriya. Lekin ye jaante hue ki main shadi-shuda hoon, mera ek parivar hai... aapne meri shadi us darinde se fix kar di? KYUN?"

Mrs. Bisht could only sob, her face buried in her hands. 

She had no words left to defend the theft of a woman's life.

Anjali walked past her, standing in front of Mr. Bisht, who couldn't even bring himself to look her in the eye. 

"Aap toh bata sakte the, Papa..."

Mr. Bisht slowly joined his hands together in a gesture of plea. 

"Mujhe maaf kar de, beta... main har baar batana chahta tha, lekin teri maa ne mujhe kasam di thi."

Anjali let out a broken, cynical laugh.

 "Unhone ek kasam di, aur aap jhoot pe jhoot bolte gaye? Mera kya, haan? MERA KYA? Itne saal main apne parivar, apne pati, apne pyaar se door rahi... apni beti se door rahi! Aur jab woh Aryan aapke saamne aaya, tab bhi aapne mujhe sach nahi bataya? Mere pe thoda sa taras nahi aaya aapko?"

She looked around the room, at the wedding finery that felt like a trap. 

"Aapne sirf mujhe nahi toda, Papa. Aapne us choti si bacha ko toda hai jo apni maa ke liye tadap rahi hai. Aapne us insaan ko toda hai jo har roz meri yaad mein  mar raha hai. Iska hisaab kaise denge aap?"

Mr. Bisht sat in silence, his head bowed, as the girl they had called Jhanvi finally died, leaving behind a woman named Anjali who was ready to burn the world to get back what was hers.

"Har cheez ka hisaab dena zaroori nahi hota, Gulaab," his voice cut through the sobbing of Mrs. Bisht like a jagged blade.

The air in the room didn't just turn cold; it turned lethal.

 The heavy, metallic scent of the jasmine decorations seemed to rot in an instant as Dev Singhania leaned against the mahogany door frame, his silhouette blocking the morning sun.

Everyone in the room froze. 

Mr. Bisht's hands began to shake uncontrollably, and

 Mrs. Bisht's breath hitched in her throat. Anjali didn't flinch. She stood her ground, her eyes burning with a new, dangerous clarity.

"Tumhe bhi pata tha na?" she asked, her voice steady but dripping with venom.

Dev tilted his head, a dark, amused chuckle vibrating in his chest. 

He pushed off the door frame and began to walk toward her, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the floor—the sound of a ticking clock.

"Obviously, Gulaab... Mujhe kaise nahi pata hoga?" He reached her, not stopping but beginning to walk in a slow, predatory circle around her. 

"Main Dev Singhania hoon. Meri marzi ke bagair is shehar mein patta nahi hilta, toh tumhari zindagi ka itna bada sach meri nazron se kaise chhup jata?"

Anjali's jaw tightened. 

"Phir bhi tumne yeh sab kiya?  ye jante hue ki mai kisi aur ki biwi hoon kisi ki maa hoon.."

Dev stopped behind her. He didn't touch her, but he leaned in, inhaling the scent of her hair with a terrifying, slow deep breath.

 "Tumhe lagta hai koi bhi sachai, koi bhi jhoot,ya koi bhi parivar mujhe tumhe apna banane se rok sakta hai?Agar tumhe aisa lagta hai toh.. 

Bade veham mein jee rahi ho tum phir. Mere liye tumhara ateet (past) mitti hai, gulaab. Aur mitti ko pairon tale kuchal diya jata hai."

Anjali scoffed, turning to face him, her eyes flashing with pure loathing.

"Pata hai, tumhari behen ne mujhe bataya tumhare baare mein. Tumhare parivar ke baare mein. Us waqt mujhe thodi sympathy thi tumse...

 lekin pata hai kya? Jo hua tumhare saath, sahi hua. Tum jaisa insaan na maa deserve karta hai, na baap. You are a monster who deserves to be alone."

The room went deathly silent. The bodyguards at the door reached for their weapons, but Dev held up a hand. He wasn't angry. 

He was smiling—a wide, empty, psychotic smile that didn't reach his hollow eyes.

"Sahi kaha," he whispered, stepping into her personal space. 

"Hum dono ek se hain. Hum dono sirf ek dusre ko deserve karte hain. Sirf tum aur main. No past, no parents, no memories. Just us."