Guru sat quietly, his eyes locked on the anklet—Avni’s mother’s anklet, as she had mentioned.

He had never noticed her wearing it before. Maybe because it was too simple—just a plain chain, without any jingling bells. The kind of thing that could stay unnoticed… even in the quietest of moments.

But today, it was lying on his bed. No drama, no questions—he had just picked it up.

At first, he didn’t understand why it mattered. Why Avni had agreed so easily, without a fight, without a word. But now he understood.

This anklet wasn’t just jewellery—it was a memory. A bond. A silent piece of her mother’s presence she had held on to for years.

Before he could think further, a voice broke his thoughts.

"Kiski payal hai, Guru?"

("Whose anklet is this, Guru?")

He turned. Amrita was standing behind him, eyes narrowing.

He opened his mouth to answer, almost carelessly—

"Yeh Gulabo ki—"

("It’s Gulabo’s—")

"Gulabo?" she interrupted sharply, her tone laced with disbelief at the new nickname.

Guru blinked, realizing his slip.

"Avni?" she asked, not wanting to hear ‘yes,’ hoping for some other name—any other name.

But he nodded.

That silent confirmation hit her like a punch to the chest. Another trauma stacked on top of the chaos she’d already endured today.

She took a shaky breath, eyes still on the anklet. And then, without a word, she stepped forward and snatched it from his hand.

"Sundar hai," she said softly, staring down at it.

("It’s beautiful.")

The sweetness in her voice was forced. Too sugary, too polished.

But the jealousy dripping from it? Impossible to miss.

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her voice couldn’t hide the sting. And her silence screamed louder than words.

She held up the anklet delicately, turning it in her fingers.

"Gulabo," she repeated under her breath with a bitter chuckle.

"Tum dono ke beech sirf nafrat hai na?"

("There’s only hatred between you two, right?")

Amrita’s voice was tight, holding back a storm of emotions. But Guru looked at her, clearly caught off guard.

He frowned, confused more than anything.

"Dekh, tu galat samajh rahi hai… apun bilkul pasand nahi karta usse—"

("Look, you're misunderstanding... I don't like her at all—")

"Phir woh tumhare kamre mein kya kar rahi thi?"

("Then what was she doing in your room?")

Her voice cracked, eyes flashing.

"Meri engagement ke din tum dono..."

("On the day of my engagement, you two...")

"...aur aaj bhi tumhe aana toh mere hi ghar tha, phir bhi uske saath alag kyun aaye?"

("...and even today, you were supposed to come to my house. Then why did you come separately with her?")

Guru exhaled, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

But Amrita wasn’t done.

"Tum bhool toh nahi gaye na woh kiski beti hai...!!"

("You haven’t forgotten whose daughter she is… right!!")

He looked her straight in the eye. Cold. Steady.

"Dekh, aisa kuch nahi hai... yeh uski maa ki hai, aur apun ko yeh mil gayi. Bas."

("Look, there’s nothing going on... this belonged to her mother, and I just happened to find it. That’s all.")

But Amrita didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed locked on his, a strange mix of bitterness and a broken smile tugging at her lips.

"Theek hai," she said coolly, holding the anklet tighter.

("Alright then.")

"Phir yeh mere paas hi rahegi..."

("Then I’ll keep it with me...")

She took a step back, voice laced with venom-coated calm.

"Waise bhi, usse shaadi sirf use dard dene ke liye hi ki hai, toh dekh hi dete hain... usse wapas kyun karna yeh?"

("Anyway, you married her just to hurt her, right? So let her see it... why return it? Especially when this love is supposed to be so 'special'.")

Her sarcasm stung, but it was her eyes—those accusing, unreadable eyes—that struck deeper.

Guru let out a sharp breath, jaw tightening.

He knew how stubborn she was. When Amrita decided something, logic rarely changed her mind. And the worst part? Somewhere… she wasn’t wrong.

He had married her not out of love. Not out of any noble reason. But out of revenge.

To hurt her.

And now, her every word was just a mirror, reflecting the truth.

•••

Avni’s blood was boiling.

She had stormed into Guru’s house, heart pounding, face flushed—not from embarrassment, but pure rage.

He had left her alone at Sanjay’s place. Alone. Without a word.

No “wait for me,” no “I’ll be right back.”

Just casually handed her off to someone else like a responsibility he couldn’t be bothered with.

And then had the guts to not even be home when she came running here?

But still… she waited.

Not because she wanted to see him. Not because she needed an apology.

But because he had her mother’s anklet.

The one thing—the only thing—that mattered to her right now.

And she wasn't going anywhere without it.

Her arms were folded tightly across her chest as she paced the room like a caged lioness. Every passing second added fuel to her anger.

“Aakhir tumhara problem kya hai, Guru?” she whispered to herself, biting the inside of her cheek.

("What exactly is your problem, Guru?")

Her eyes burned. Not with tears—but with frustration.

She had trusted him, even for just a moment. Trusted him enough to let that anklet go.

And now? He wasn’t even here.

Every sound outside made her head snap toward the door.

Waiting. Fuming. And yet—hoping.

Because when he walked in, she wasn’t going to stay quiet.

Not this time.

Her eyes flew open the moment she heard the creak of the front door.

Without thinking, she rushed toward the main gate—barefoot, breath hitched.

And for a second—just one stupid second—seeing him gave her happiness.

Like she had been holding her breath all this time… and finally exhaled.

She ran straight to him, hand outstretched—not for a hug, not for comfort—

Just one thing.

Her mother’s anklet.

Guru stopped at the threshold, surprised by her sudden appearance. His gaze moved to her outstretched hand, then up to her half-teary, sleep-deprived eyes.

"Tu soyi nahi?" he asked casually, as if her being up this late was the most natural thing in the world.

("You didn’t sleep?")

Avni glared at him, her voice sharp and without patience.

"Bakwaas mat karo. Wapas do mujhe."

("Don’t talk nonsense. Just give it back.")

She wasn’t in the mood for his silly small talk.

Yes, she had waited for him—like an owl, eyes wide open, even as the night bled into dawn.

But she wasn’t about to admit that.

Her hand remained between them, steady and demanding.

All she wanted—was what belonged to her mother.

And she wasn’t leaving without it.

Ignoring her pleading eyes, the guru stepped away from her, leaving her startled. She quickly followed behind him, her voice trembling as she asked again, “Guruji, meri maa ki payal… "

(“Guruji, my mother’s anklet… )

She grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stop. Frustrated by her persistence, he angrily jerked her hand away and snapped,

“Fek di apun ne!”

(“I threw it away!”)

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Tum mazak kar rahe ho na? Tumne khud bola tha ki tum mujhe woh de doge—”

(“You’re joking, right? You promised you'd give it to me—”)

He cut her off with a growl,

“Abe apun ne fek di na! Tujhe samajh nahi aa raha kya? Kitni baar bol—”

SLAP!

A loud, sharp slap echoed through the room like a crack of thunder.

The guru froze, his hand instinctively cupping his stinging cheek. He stared at her in shock. Her eyes weren’t pleading anymore—they were burning. Burning with rage, betrayal, and something even more dangerous: power.

Tonight, she was angrier than him. Stronger. More merciless.

“You know what?” she snapped, voice shaking, chest rising and falling with fury.

“Tum kuch deserve hi nahi karte ho!”

(“You don’t deserve anything!”)

Tears welled up in her eyes, but they weren’t of weakness—they were fire.

“Mujhe laga tum samjhoge… kyunki meri tarah tumhari bhi maa nahi hai.”

(“I thought you’d understand… because like me, you don’t have a mother either.”)

Her voice cracked, pain bleeding into every word.

“But no… you proved me wrong. You proved me so wrong!”

He stood there, stunned, silent—as if her words had slapped harder than her hand ever could.

Avni’s breathing grew heavier, like she was holding a storm inside that had nowhere to go. Her fists were clenched, and her lips trembled—not in fear, but in rage that had been buried for too long.

She pointed a shaking finger at him, voice dropping to a cold threat.

“Kal tumhari maa ke liye pooja hai, right?”

(“Tomorrow is the prayer ceremony for your mother, right?”)

Her eyes narrowed.

“Agar maine uss pooja ko barbaad nahi kiya na… toh mera naam bhi Avni nahi hai.”

(“If I don’t ruin that pooja… then I’m not Avni.”)

And with that, she stormed out, her footsteps echoing like thunder.

......

She had locked herself in the very room where, just last night, she didn’t even want to live.

And now… it felt like the only place where her pain could breathe without being judged.

Guru tossed and turned on the bed, sleep nowhere in sight. Her words echoed in his ears like a cruel mantra:

“You proved me wrong.”

“Tum kuch deserve hi nahi karte ho.”

“If I don’t ruin that pooja… then I’m not Avni.”

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm building in his chest. But the more he tried to distract himself, the more he felt her pain sitting heavily in the air.

His eyes wandered—desperate to anchor themselves to anything.

And that’s when they landed on it.

His mother’s almirah.

For a moment, he just stared. Then, something pulled him out of bed—like a string tied to his guilt—and he got up, switched on the light, and slowly walked toward it.

His hand reached out and gently touched the wooden surface, fingers brushing against it as if he were touching his mother’s face. A soft, broken smile tugged at his lips…

Like a little boy meeting his maa again after years.

He took a deep breath and opened the almirah.

The scent of old memories wrapped around him.

But what stunned him… was what he saw.

Everything inside was untouched, yet renewed. The sarees were folded neatly, not a speck of dust anywhere. A soft fragrance lingered, one that wasn’t there before.

His eyes widened.

There were fresh designs painted on the almirah, tiny floral patterns along the corners—delicate, loving strokes.

And then it hit him.

Avni.

She had given life back to something even he hadn’t dared to touch since his mother died.

His gaze fell on the pale yellow silk saree hanging inside—his mother’s favorite. It looked almost new.

His throat tightened. His heart sank.

He closed the almirah slowly. His fingers curled into a tight fist, and his forehead came to rest against the cold wood.

And for the first time in years…

He felt guilt.

Real, burning guilt that crept into his bones and refused to leave.

He had hurt the one person who brought light back into the one place he kept locked away in darkness.