Vijay Reddy, who lay helplessly chained to the ground. His body was a mess of bruises, blood, and torn clothes. The wounds on his skin had dried into dark, crusted patches, and his eyes were swollen, yet burning with pain.

A few men brought in a sofa, placing it at a deliberate distance from him. They took their positions silently behind it, arms crossed like loyal hounds awaiting command. And then, Sanjay entered.

His every step echoed with smugness. Seeing Vijay Reddy's pitiful condition, a wicked smile crept onto his aged, wrinkled face. With a grunt, he settled his frail body onto the sofa, leaned back with disturbing comfort, and locked eyes with his enemy.

His fingers tapped slowly on the sofa arm-tap... tap... tap-each beat synced with the coldness in his stare.

"Aaj milne kyun aaya hai?" Vijay Reddy's voice cracked through the silence, laced with suspicion and fatigue.

[Why have you come to meet me today?]

Sanjay's smirk widened. "Meri beti ki shaadi hai... tujhe nyota dena chahta tha, isiliye."

[My daughter is getting married... I came to invite you.]

He paused for effect, then added with venomous calm, "Soch raha hoon meri beti ke saath-saath tujhe bhi vida kar doon..."

[I'm thinking of bidding farewell to you as well... along with my daughter.]

Vijay Reddy's eyes widened in fear. "Meri beti ko bhi aazaad kar de fir..."

[Then set my daughter free too...]

Sanjay let out a low, mocking chuckle. He nodded slowly, as if enjoying the helpless plea.

"Thik hai... use aazaad toh karna hoga," he murmured, "par sochta hoon bechari ko yeh bhi batadu... uski maa ki maut kaise-"

[Alright... I will set her free. But I'm thinking, maybe I should also tell the poor girl how her mother died-]

"NAHIII!" Vijay's voice suddenly roared, firm and trembling with terror.

Sanjay stared at him, amused-like a predator toying with its prey.

"Chal, nahi batata..." he said with a theatrical shrug, then leaned forward slightly, voice low and cruel,

"warna bechari... mar jaayegi. Aur use marna thodi hai."

[Fine, I won't tell her... or the poor will die. ]

•••

Guru slowly opened his eyes, his vision blurry and unfocused. A sharp pain shot through his head, making him wince. He squeezed his eyes shut again, groaning softly as the headache throbbed mercilessly. He buried his face into the pillow, hoping the pain would ease.

After a moment, he turned his head to the side, cheek resting against the pillow. His tired eyes scanned the room, dull and half-aware, until they landed on something - a single earring lying on the table beside the bed.

His gaze froze.

He blinked slowly, trying to focus. The shape, the shine... it wasn't his. It didn't belong here.

And then the realisation hit him - this wasn't his room.

It was hers.

A jolt ran through him, and he pushed himself upright on the bed, clutching his head with both hands. The movement made the headache worse, but the panic rising in his chest overpowered it. He sat there, eyes closed, trying to breathe, trying to remember.

How did he end up here?

His mind was blank. Just a blur of broken images and noise. Nothing made sense.

His focus shifted when a soft knock echoed from the door. He looked up, still dazed, as Soori stepped in, holding a glass in his hand. Without saying much, Soori walked over and handed him the lemon juice, knowing it would help with the hangover.

Guru took it wordlessly, eyes still heavy, fingers curling around the cold glass.

Soori paused for a second, then spoke quietly, "Bhai... bhabhi ko Amrita didi apne saath le gayi hai..." (Brother... bhabhi went with Amrita didi.)

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Guru alone again - confused, aching, and still trying to make sense of where the night had left him.

Just as he brought the glass to his lips, his phone rang, breaking the silence. The sharp sound made his head throb even more. His eyes shifted to the table where the phone was kept, screen lit up with a name that made his chest tighten - Sanjay.

He quickly reached for it and answered, his voice low and rough from the night before.

"Thai hai... apun aata hai..." (Alright... I'm coming.)

He cut the call without saying anything more.

.

Guru sat quietly on the couch, his body present but his eyes restless. They kept drifting around the house - scanning every corner, every shadow - searching for her. He had expected Amrita to walk in with Avni by now, but neither of them was in sight. The silence was beginning to feel heavy.

Sanjay, seated across from him with a newspaper in hand, seemed relaxed. But he wasn't missing a thing. His eyes flicked up for a second, catching the way Guru's gaze wandered.

"Kise dhoondh raha hai?" (Whom are you looking for?) Sanjay asked casually, pretending to stay focused on the newspaper.

Guru snapped out of it and quickly looked away, his tone forced and light, "Koi nahi bhai... bas sajawat dekh raha tha..." (No one, brother... just looking at the decorations.)

Sanjay didn't press, but the smirk on his face was hard to miss. He folded the newspaper and placed it neatly on the table in front of him.

"Sajawat toh acchi hai... bas kaam bhi ho jaye toh ek din mein do khushi." (The decoration is nice... if the work gets done too, it'll be two joys in one day.)

Guru gave a faint nod, but his mind was still stuck elsewhere - in a room that felt safer, around a girl whose absence was beginning to bother him more than he'd like to admit.

Sanjay leaned back slightly, his voice calm but the weight in his words unmistakable.

"Tu abhi hi nikal ja... taki kal sham se pehle aasake." (Leave right now... and be back by tomorrow evening.)

It wasn't a suggestion - it was an order wrapped in a casual tone.

Guru paused for a second, the hesitation barely visible but still there. He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes low.

"Ji bhai," he answered quietly.

Guru impatiently tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched and shoulders stiff. His eyes stared blankly ahead, but his mind was clearly somewhere else - far away from the road in front of him.

Jai, sitting beside him, finally broke the silence, glancing sideways. "Kisi ka wait kar rahe hai kya hum?" (Are we waiting for someone?)

Guru didn't look at him. "Nahi toh..." he replied flatly, eyes still fixed forward.

Jai gave a slow nod but kept observing him. It had been thirty minutes since they sat in the jeep. Guru was in the driver's seat, hands resting on the wheel - yet the engine hadn't even started. The silence in the vehicle was louder than any words.

Something was off. Something was holding him back.

And Jai could see it all, even if Guru wasn't ready to admit it.

"Waise... bhabhi mandir gayi hai, shayad Amrita didi ke saath..." Jai spoke up again, this time tossing out a line that unknowingly hit the center of Guru's chest.

Guru's head turned sharply, eyes narrowing on him.

Jai swallowed and quickly added, "Bas yuhi bataya..." (Just mentioned it casually...) trying to soften his words, as if they hadn't just stirred something wild.

Guru didn't reply - just gave a small nod. But something had already snapped.

His voice came next, low but laced with urgency. "Jai, tu utar. Apun bas paanch minute mein tujhe lene aata hai..." (Get down. I'll pick you up in five.)

Jai stared at him for a moment. But then he caught the storm in Guru's eyes - and without another word, he stepped out of the jeep .

The second Jai's foot hit the ground, Guru didn't wait.

He slammed his foot on the accelerator like a man possessed.

The tires screeched, the jeep lurched forward, and in a blink, he was gone - tearing through the road as if his life depended on it. His grip on the wheel was tight, veins showing, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.

He wasn't just heading to the temple - he was chasing something deeper, something unnamed.

Like if he didn't see her now... right now... something inside him would break beyond repair.

.

Guru's boots hit the temple ground with urgency, the dust kicking up beneath each impatient step. His eyes scanned the courtyard like a man possessed-jaw tight, breath sharp, nerves clenched.

Then... he saw her.

A flicker of soft fabric. A pallu drawn gently over her head. She moved slowly, taking parikramas around the peepal tree, her hands joined in front of her chest, head bowed.

For a second, his entire body went still. Like someone hit pause on the storm inside him.

She was safe.

His shoulders, stiff for hours, dropped slightly. His fingers, clenched into fists till now, relaxed at his sides. He didn't even notice the strange ache that left his chest-the kind that had sat there heavy and tight ever since he couldn't find her.

His foot moved forward automatically.

But just as he stepped closer, his eyes landed on the row of footwear outside the sacred tree boundary. He stopped.

And then... almost without thinking... he bent down, pulled off his shoes, and left them beside the others.

That wasn't him.

He didn't do rituals or rules. He didn't even believe in these things anymore. But in that moment, walking toward her barefoot felt like the only way.

He followed her quietly-each step silent, deliberate, a pace behind.

She hadn't seen him yet.

And he didn't call her name. Didn't make a sound.

He just watched. Followed her every step in rhythm.

Something about her looked fragile today. Not weak. But... soft. Worn. Like maybe she had held too much inside.

He didn't understand what twisted in his chest.

All he knew was-he didn't want to leave anymore.

Not now.

Not with her like this.

Not when he had just found her again.

After completing the seventh round, Avni finally stopped in front of the sacred tree. Her palm rested gently on the bark, fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion and unspoken prayers. She closed her eyes and let out a silent breath, as if surrendering every burden to the universe.

And then, she opened them-slowly, softly.

Her gaze drifted sideways... and it hit her like a wave.

Guru.

Standing beside her. Eyes closed. Hands joined. A calmness on his face she had never seen before-not in all those fights, not in all those taunts, not even in those rare moments of silence. His jaw was relaxed, his brows unknotted. Like he had found peace.

And the most absurd part?

She didn't even know she was the reason behind it.

Behind his peace.

For a second, she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears-not from fear, not from confusion-but from something... deeper. Unfamiliar.

A memory from last night came rushing back, sharp and tender all at once.

His body had shifted to the other side, head sliding more properly onto her lap, face turned in, resting softly against her stomach. He had curled into himself, like a child hiding from the world. And his arms? They wrapped around her waist, clutching her like she was the last thing keeping him alive.

"Guru..." she had whispered, trying to push him gently. The smell of alcohol was making her dizzy, her head pounding. But the second her hands moved to push him away... she froze.

He whimpered.

Low. Broken. A sound she wasn't ready for.

His body had started sweating, trembling like he was caught in the middle of a nightmare he couldn't escape from.

"Amma..." The word left his lips in a breathless whisper. So raw it made something twist inside her.

She had exhaled shakily. "Guru... sab thik hai. Sab thik hai..." her voice had dropped to a whisper, as her fingers moved slowly through his hair, calming him... and herself.

That was the moment she realised... maybe pain was their only language. The one thing they both understood too well.

She had lost her mother in an accident. But him? The question of how his mother died suddenly felt unbearable. The pain in his voice last night wasn't ordinary-it was haunting.

She had leaned her head back against the cupboard, staring down at him as his breathing evened out. And when her body shifted slightly, he shifted too-moving closer, like she was the only safe space left in his broken world.

And still... the words of that old woman echoed in her mind-why did she hate her father, and yet love Guru like her own?

Her throat tightened as she blinked back to the present. Quickly, she looked away.

Without another glance, she stepped back, slipped on her sandals, and turned to leave-her heart still thudding from memories she never asked for.

But she didn't get far.

His hand caught her wrist, stopping her mid-step.

She turned around, breath caught, ready to snap-but her eyes fell to his hand. In it... was her anklet.

"...Yeh tumhe kaha mila?" she asked, glancing down at her bare ankle. ("Where did you find this?")

"Ayeee... ped ke aas-paas ghoomte waqt gir gaya tha toh apun utha liya," he said casually, looking down at the tiny ornament. ("While roaming near the tree, it fell down, so I picked it up.")

She stared at him like he'd just insulted God. Roaming? Seriously? That's how he described a parikrama?

"Or Saat Barr ghoomne ki kya jarurat thi?" He asked.

"Tumhe kya? Meri marzi!!"

"Kunki tere chakkar me apun ne bhi ..." His voice became low.

She looked at him with wide eyes , question dripping from her eyes but she chose to ignore it and keep focus on her anklet.

"Wapas karo," she muttered, trying to snatch it from his hand. ("Give it back.")

But he moved a step back, hiding it in his fist.

She sighed and looked away, jaw tightening in irritation. Guru let out a deep breath, watching her face carefully.

"Yeh toot gaya hai," he said after a moment, showing her the stretched hook. "Apun ise theek karake tujhe wapas dega." ("It's broken. I'll get it fixed and give it back to you.")

"Zarurat nahi hai," she said stiffly. "Yeh waise bhi-" ("No need. It's already-")

Before she could finish, he slipped it into his pocket.

"Yeh beech se tootne wali hai..." he said softly. "Kisi ne apun se kaha tha... yaadein ko bas rakhna hota hai, zaroorat nahi hoti." ("This one's about to break... someone once told me, memories are meant to be kept, not used.")

Her eyes narrowed. "Maine aisa kuch nahi kaha tha..." ("I never said that...")

"Apun ne kab kaha tune kaha tha?" he replied quickly, raising an eyebrow. ("Did I say you said it?")

She lifted her finger to argue-but nothing came out.

And then... his eyes fell on something else.

A scratch.

On her wrist.

He held her wrist - gently, like it was made of glass. His eyes dropped to the faint scratch on her skin, and something inside him shifted. Guilt slammed into his chest like a wave crashing over rocks.

"Yeh... yeh apun ne kiya?"

("Did I... do this?")

he asked, his voice rough, uncertain.

Avni didn't answer. The silence between them buzzed like static.

Guru exhaled slowly, his words falling out almost breathlessly.

"Apun ko nahi pata apun tere room mein kaise aaya... ya raat ko kya kiya... par jo bhi kiya, uske liye apun tujhse mafi maangna chahta tha. Isiliye tujhe dhoondhta hua yahan tak aaya..."

("I don't know how I came into your room... or what I did last night... but whatever it was, I wanted to apologize. That's why I came looking for you... all the way here...")

He looked down, ashamed.

"Dekh... apun sharminda hai, bohot zyada. Apun ne kabhi nahi socha tha ki tere saath aisa kuch..."

("Look... I'm ashamed. Deeply. I never thought I'd ever... do something like that to you-")

"KUCH GALAT NAHI KIYA TUMNE!"

("You didn't do anything wrong!")

she cut in, her voice firm and sharp, stopping his downward spiral in an instant.

His breath hitched.

She stared at him, her eyes steady and honest.

"Yeh tumne nahi kiya hai."

("You didn't do this.")

But Guru wasn't satisfied. He stepped closer, voice lower - not accusatory, but protective.

"Phir? Phir kaise hua?"

("Then? Then how did it happen?")

His words weren't just questions - they were a demand for truth. For clarity. As if he needed to know who dared hurt her, even in his absence.

She opened her mouth to speak, but something inside her held back.

Why does he care? He's one of them too...

So she looked away and said quietly,

"Koi nahi... bas ek bacche ko laga main uski maa hoon toh haath pakad liya. Chudiya toot gayi... usi ka nishaan hai."

("No one... just a child who mistook me for his mother and held my hand. The bangles broke... that's the mark you see.")

A lie. And she knew he didn't believe it - not entirely. But he didn't push.

His phone rang, cutting through the tension like a blade. He turned, picked it up.

"Haan... apun raste mein hai. Bas..."

("Yeah... I'm on the way. Almost there...")

Then his eyes met hers again.

Her voice was calm, almost cold now.

"Mujhe meri payal wapis karo."

("Give me back my anklet.")

She frowned.

"Mujhe tum par bharosa nahi hai."

("I don't trust you.")

His reply was immediate.

"Apun ko bhi nahi hai... par tere maamle mein apun khud pe bharosa kar sakta hai."

("I don't either... but when it comes to you, I trust myself.")

And without waiting for a reaction, he turned and walked away - leaving behind questions, emotions, and that quiet, unexpected ache in the space between them.

Avni saw him disappearing.

Her eyes shifted when she heard a low voice behind her. She turned and saw Amrita with her fiancé with whom she came here. Forcefully.

Amrita didn't waste a moment.

"Kya Guru aaya tha?"

("Did Guru come here?")

The question was simple, but her tone held quiet curiosity.

Avni opened her mouth, lips parting to speak-

But her fiancé interrupted, a teasing smile playing on his face.

"Lagta hai janab ko yaad aa gayi hogi ."

("Looks like the gentleman suddenly remembered her...)

"...toh socha Bhagwan ke saath-saath inke bhi darshan le lein."

(...so thought he'd visit God and get a glimpse of her too.")

He chuckled, glancing playfully at Avni, clearly enjoying his little jab.

Something in Amrita's expression shifted. A flicker of annoyance. Maybe more.

She folded her arms, her voice laced with a scoff.

"Nahi, Guru aisa nahi hai."

("No, Guru's not like that.")

She said with a dry laugh,

"Woh toh pehli aur aakhri baar sirf uski maa ki pooja ke liye aaya tha."

("He only came that one time - for his mother's ritual.")

"Phir mandir mein aaye? Tchh... kabhi nahi."

("Coming to a temple again? Tchh... never.")

"Uska bas chale toh woh chappal utare bina bhi ghar ke mandir mein ghus jaaye."

("If it were up to him, he'd step into a home temple without even taking his shoes off.")

She scoffed again, rolling her eyes like the very idea of Guru being spiritual was a joke.

But Avni stood frozen.

Her mind immediately flashed back - Guru walking beside her silently, head bowed. That peace on his face. His bare feet brushing the stone floor. Him noticing her wrist, gently holding it. That guilt in his eyes. That hesitation in his voice when he asked if he'd hurt her.

What Amrita said... didn't match that man.

Avni's lips parted slightly, but she didn't say anything. She just... stared.

And then Amrita added casually, almost like dropping a stone into a still lake-

"Aur waise bhi... papa ne use do din ke liye bahar bheja hai."

("And anyway... Dad's sent him out of town for two days.")

That did sting.

Avni blinked slowly. That meant... he wasn't even supposed to be here?

Then why was he here?

Because of guilt?