Amrita and Avni sat in the car, silence lingering like a heavy fog. Avni's eyes darted around, absorbing the unfamiliar surroundings as they drove away from the market. She didn’t ask questions—maybe Amrita had some other plans. After all, Avni was new here, and Amrita wasn’t exactly known for being predictable.

But something didn’t sit right.

Amrita, of course, noticed.

Avni glanced sideways, still unsure why Amrita had suddenly insisted on this shopping trip in the first place. The whole thing felt… off.

Without warning, the car jerked to a halt.

Startled, Avni's gaze snapped to the window—only to find herself staring at a bus stop.

"Dekho, paanch minute baad yaha se ek bus jaati hai. Tum bhaag sakti ho..."

(Look, in five minutes a bus leaves from here. You can run away...)

Amrita’s voice was too calm. Too rehearsed.

Avni let out a slow sigh and leaned back into the seat, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Yup. Something was definitely brewing in Amrita’s scheming little brain.

She turned to her with a half-smirk.

"Toh... jealousy yaha tak pohoch gayi?"

(So... your jealousy has reached this level?)

Her tone dripped with mockery.

Amrita didn’t respond. Just looked away, pretending Avni's words were background noise.

Instead, she dropped a bag onto Avni's lap.

"Ye rahe paise."

(Here’s the money.)

Avni raised a brow and peeked inside. Notes. Lots of them.

Her head snapped up.

"Chura ke layi ho!?"

(Did you steal this!?)

Her voice cracked with disbelief—and a little amusement.

Amrita glared now, visibly annoyed.

"Main tumhari help kar rahi hoon, toh chupchaap niklo yaha se!"

(I’m helping you, so just get out of here quietly!)

Avni rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of her head. She stared at Amrita with pure disbelief, her voice laced with irritation and mockery.

"Tum sach mein bewakoof ho ya sirf acting kar rahi ho?"

(Are you actually stupid or just pretending to be?)

Amrita raised a shaky finger at her, lips parting as if to say something... but the words froze halfway. The fire in Avni’s eyes wasn’t something she’d expected.

Avni leaned forward slightly, her brows drawn together in a furious knot.

She scoffed, venom laced in her every word.

"Pehli baat... agar mujhe bhagna hota na, toh kab ka bhaag chuki hoti. Tumhare naatak jhelne ke liye yahan nahi baithi hoti."

(First of all... if I really wanted to run away, I’d have done it long ago. I’m not sitting here to tolerate your little dramas.)

She gestured around at the bus stop, her voice rising.

"Aur doosri baat... maan lo, maine bus pakad bhi li. Toh kya hoga? Haan? Tumhara psycho baap jaake mere papa aur behen ko maar daalega, simple."

(And second of all... let’s say I do take the bus. Then what? Huh? Your psycho dad will just go and kill my dad and sister. Simple.)

Amrita’s face tightened, her jaw clenching. But Avni wasn’t done.

She glared straight into Amrita’s eyes, voice low now—but deadly.

"Mujhe farak nahi padta."

(I don’t care.)

The words landed like knives.

"Jise marna hai, mare. Bas mujhe mera Guru wapas chahiye. Uske liye... main kuch bhi kar sakti hoon."

(Whoever has to die, let them. I just want my Guru back. And for that... I’ll do whatever it takes.)

Her voice didn’t shake. Her eyes didn’t blink.

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a vow.

And Amrita... was finally silent.

Avni blinked in surprise, then broke into a slow, disbelieving smile.

"Oh my God... tumhe lagta hai us aadmi aur mere beech kuch chal raha hai?"

(You actually think there’s something going on between me and that guy?)

She let out a soft laugh—half pity, half mockery.

"Seriously? That’s what your brain cooked up? So stupid."

She leaned back, hands raised in surrender, eyes rolling dramatically.

"Tumhe Guru chahiye na?" (You want Guru, right?)

She gestured toward the open road, like giving her a send-off.

"Toh jao na! Shaadi kar lo, affair rakho, bacche paida karo... mujhe fark nahi padta."

(Then go ahead! Marry him, have an affair, pop out some babies—I don’t care!)

She turned to her with theatrical flair, eyes wide with mock seriousness.

" par nahi  tum toh poori Ekta Kapoor ki villain nikli!"

(But not Because you’ve gone full Ekta Kapoor villain mode!)

And then she launched into full mock-drama, arms gesturing wildly like she was narrating a soap opera trailer:

"Guru ne zabardasti ki shaadi Avni se ki... par dheere dheere dono ko pyaar ho gaya... par hamari Amrita—jo is kahani ki villain hai—usse yeh bardasht nahi hua... toh usne ek raaz bhari saazish rachhi..."

(Guru forcefully married Avni... but slowly they fell in love... but our Amrita—the villain of this tale—couldn’t tolerate it... so she plotted a dark scheme...)

She paused, struck a fake-ominous expression, and hummed:

"Dheem... tanaaa..."

Then, she dropped the act with a sigh and a shake of her head.

"Mujhe is bakwaas story mein koi interest nahi hai. Arre, main khud chahti hoon ki tum dono ek ho jao!"

(I have zero interest in this pathetic story. In fact, I want you two to be together!)

She smirked, her sarcasm reaching lethal levels now.

"Tum na ek kaam karo—jab bhi Guru tumhare ghar aaye na, uske drink mein kuch mila dena. Fir acting karna jaise tum dono ke beech sab kuch ho gaya. Toh chaahe woh na chahe, use tumhe accept karna hi padega!"

(You know what you should do? Next time Guru visits, spike his drink. Then pretend like you both slept together. That way, even if he doesn’t want to, he’ll have to accept you!)

She clutched her heart dramatically, voice full of mock-sympathy.

"Aur main? Main toh yeh sab sunkar roti roti ‘bechari’ ban jaungi… aur tum dono ke liye khushi khushi raasta chhod dungi."

(And me? I’ll cry my little tears and play the poor girl role… and happily walk away for you two lovebirds.)

She smiled sweetly—fake enough to curdle milk.

Amrita sat there, motionless—but her eyes told a different story.

She didn’t believe a single word Avni had said.

Her mind was spiraling.

She knew Guru didn’t love her. He never had. That was the painful part.

But until now, it hadn’t scared her. She could handle indifference.

But this... this closeness she had seen between him and Avni over the last two days—it was something else. Something real.

And that? That terrified her.

Avni glanced at her—really looked. The way Amrita’s fingers gripped her own lap, the way her breathing was uneven, her eyes darting, unblinking.

Restless. Scared. Broken in a way she wouldn’t admit.

Avni exhaled slowly. Her voice softened.

"Tumse ek baat poochhni hai..."

(I want to ask you something...)

She paused. Her tone shifted—serious, not sarcastic.

"Main sach mein yahan se chali jaungi. Par aise... chupke se nahi ja sakti."

(I will leave. But not like this. Not secretly.)

Amrita blinked, confused.

"Kya?"

(What?)

Avni swallowed hard. This question had been burning inside her for too long.

"Meri behen ki shaadi tumhare bhai se tay hui thi. Fir Guru ne yeh sab kyun kiya...? Kya hua?"

(My sister’s marriage was fixed with your brother. Then why did Guru do all this...? What happened?)

There was silence. Then Amrita’s voice came out—low and bitter.

"Kyunki mere papa... Sahil ko pasand nahi karte."

(Because my father... doesn’t like Sahil.)

Her jaw tightened.

"Unke liye woh ek nikaamma hai. Nalayaak. Jise zindagi mein kuch nahi aata."

(To him, Sahil is useless. A loser. Someone who can’t achieve anything in life.)

The words stung even as she said them.

Amrita parted her lips, about to say something more—maybe something honest, maybe something cruel—but then she paused.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

There was a shift.

A very slight change in Avni’s face. The kind that only someone watching too closely would notice.

And Amrita was watching closely.

"Tum kahin yeh toh nahi soch rahi ki mera bhai tumhari madad kar sakta hai?"

(Wait... you're not seriously thinking my brother can help you, are you?)

Her voice sliced through the air, laced with suspicion and disbelief.

Avni hesitated. Just for a second. Her lips parted, like she was about to deny it, explain herself—something—but the words didn’t come.

That one tiny moment was all Amrita needed.

She let out a bitter scoff.

Of course. Of course.

"Main kuch nahi bata sakti."

(I can’t tell you anything.)

Her voice turned cold, defensive. The wall was up again.

"Yeh tumhare aur mere papa ke beech ki baat hai. Mujhe usmein kuch nahi bolna."

(This is between your father and mine. I have nothing to do with it.)

She looked away for a second, and when she looked back, there was something... softer in her tone. Just barely.

"Bas itna jaan lo—Sahil, Guru ki tarah bilkul nahi hai."

(Just know this—Sahil is nothing like Guru.)

There was weight behind those words. Something unspoken. Maybe pain. Maybe regret. Maybe warning.

Both girls froze as a sudden knock on the window jolted their attention.

Amrita turned toward the sound—and her breath hitched for a moment when she saw him.

Guru.

Standing right outside the car, looking... well, like himself. Calm, unreadable, and always showing up at the worst possible time.

She quickly rolled down the window, and without even realizing it, a soft smile crept onto her face. Automatic. Like muscle memory.

"Tum log yahan kya kar rahe ho?"

(What are you two doing here?)

His tone was casual, but his eyes scanned them both—curious, sharp.

Amrita, ever the actress, tilted her head and replied with a sugary smile, voice laced with fake innocence.

"Avni se dosti karni thi... toh socha use aas-paas ghuma laaun."

(I wanted to be friends with Avni... so I thought I’d take her out, show her around.)

Guru raised a brow, clearly not buying it.

Then he glanced at Avni—who was busy trying not to roll her eyes into another dimension.

"Ammu, dosti ke liye galat insaan dhoondha hai tune," he said dryly.

(Ammu, you've picked the wrong person to be friends with.)

"Dushmani rakhna hi zyada accha hota hai kuch logon se."

(Sometimes it’s better to keep enemies than force a friendship.)

That earned him a sharp look from Avni. She didn’t say anything, but her silence was loud.

Amrita gave a small nod, the smile on her lips faltering just a bit.

Guru turned back toward Amrita.

"Tu ghar ja... apun waise bhi ghar ja raha hai."

(You head home. I’m going that way anyway.)

He tilted his head toward Avni.

"Ise leke chala jaaunga."

(I’ll take her with me.)

There was something final in his tone—like it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a decision.

Avni glanced at Amrita—and for a moment, her sarcasm melted.

She saw it.

That flicker in Amrita’s eyes.

Jealousy.

But not the petty kind. The kind that comes from fear... from pain. From the terrifying thought of losing someone you’ve already imagined your future with.

And just like that, Avni's impulse kicked in—not to hurt, but to prove she wasn't the threat Amrita thought she was.

She turned to Guru and said firmly,

"Main aa jaungi khud."

(I’ll come by myself.)

Guru scoffed, not even hiding his annoyance.

"Aur tujhe aise lagta hai apun yeh sab sunne ke liye yahan aaya hai?"

(And you think I came here just to hear that nonsense?)

Before Avni could reply, Amrita jumped in—trying to defuse whatever this tension was quickly morphing into.

"Guru, main chhod dungi... tum jao. Hum aa rahe hain."

(Guru, I’ll drop her. You go ahead. We’re coming.)

But before she could say more, Guru cut her off, tone casual but words lethal.

"Ammu... yeh husband-wife ke beech ki baat hai. Tu beech mein na hi aaye toh accha hai."

(Ammu... this is between husband and wife. It's better if you stay out of it.)

The silence that followed was violent.

He didn’t even realize what he’d just said.

But the impact? Immediate.

Amrita’s smile collapsed like glass. Her face turned pale. That one line? It wrecked her.

Not because he meant it. But because he didn't. He said it so carelessly.

And Avni?

She stood frozen for half a second, eyes wide in utter disbelief.

Then—her jaw clenched, her hands fisted by her side.

Without saying a word, she opened the door and stepped out of the car.

Each movement sharp, controlled—like she was holding herself back from throwing the door at someone instead of opening it.

The air between them had changed.

Words had been said that couldn’t be taken back.