A tear slipped from Avni’s eyes as the priests’ chants echoed around her. Each word dragged her back to the memories of her own wedding. A wedding—meant to be sacred, meant to symbolize connection, joy, trust, a new family, love—everything pure. But here, these people had turned it into mockery. A mockery of the bride, of her emotions. In the name of revenge, they hadn’t just shattered her life… they had destroyed Amrita’s too.Two women punished for crimes they never committed.

Her fingers gently brushed over the bandage that Guru had tied around her hand.

Guru.

The moment his name crossed her mind, countless thoughts began to swirl inside her. Amrita’s words echoed again—she wasn’t sure if they were right about Guru’s feelings, but one thing she did know was that something had changed. Not in him… but in her. These past days had shifted something within her. It wasn’t hate anymore, not even dislike. It was something different, something she couldn’t name.

And that terrified her.

Because the walls she had so carefully built around her heart… were beginning to crack.

Wiping her tears, she pushed herself up and turned back, her eyes falling through the window onto the crowd gathered below. The weight in her chest only grew heavier. She needed to escape—escape from this cruel, suffocating world.

She rushed to the door, her heart pounding, and yanked the handle with all her strength—only for her eyes to widen in horror. It wouldn’t budge.

It was locked. From the outside.

Her trembling fingers pulled again, harder this time, desperation rising in her chest. She slapped her palms against the wood, hoping someone would hear. But silence answered her cries.

Who did this? Guru?

Her breath caught, confusion and fear tangling inside her. Why? Did he already find out about her plan?

She banged on the door again and again, her voice cracking as she shouted for help. Still, no one came. No footsteps, no reply—just the suffocating stillness of her prison.

Outside, Sanjay lifted his head, his calculating eyes narrowing at the very window of the room where Avni was trapped. One of his men leaned close, whispering something into his ear. For a moment Sanjay said nothing, but then the corner of his mouth curled into a cold, victorious smile.

Sanjay said something back, and the man gave a quick nod before walking over to Guru. He leaned in, passed on the order, and Guru turned to leave without a single word.

But before moving away completely, he cast one last look at the closed window, then walked off.

The marriage was completed, and the hall filled with smiles and congratulations. Everyone seemed happy, exchanging blessings and embraces—everyone except the bride.

She felt as if something vital had slipped from her grasp. With lowered eyes, she followed the motions, touching her parents’ feet alongside her groom. Blessings were given, yet her face remained dry, not a single tear slipping out.

Her eyes lifted, scanning the crowd with quiet urgency. It wasn’t her family she searched for—no, they were right there before her. She was looking for someone else.

But Guru was nowhere to be seen.

Amrita sat in the car, the groom beside her, while her mother wept uncontrollably. But Amrita’s eyes remained dry. Her silence, her stillness, became the subject of hushed whispers among the onlookers.

She turned her head one last time, looking back at the house fading behind her. Every corner of it carried memories—moments etched with the presence of the only person she had ever truly wanted.

Guru.

For Guru, she had fought with everyone—her mother, her father, even her own fate and destiny. She had been ready to die if that was what it took. But in front of one person, she lost.

She lost so badly… in front of the woman he loved.

•••

Avni’s eyes lifted toward Sanjay, who sat casually in the chair opposite her, watching her every move.

“Mujhe nahi laga tha tum mere bete pe bharosa karogi…” (I didn’t think you’d ever trust my son…) he scoffed, his tone dripping with mockery, as though placing faith in his son was the greatest mistake she could ever make.

Her red, tear-stung eyes burned as she glared at him, refusing to lower her gaze. For a brief moment, she held his stare, then shifted her eyes toward the door, where two of his men stood guard outside—silent shadows, making sure she had no way out.

“Accha, chalo thik hai… bhaag jana,” (Alright, fine… you can try to run away) Sanjay leaned back, his voice laced with amusement. “Pehle yeh toh nahi jaana chahogi… ki mandir mein jo aurat diye bechti hai, woh tumse itni nafrat kyun karti hai?” (But don’t you want to know why that woman at the temple, the one who sells lamps, hates you so much?)

His sudden words made her head snap toward him, eyes widening in disbelief. How does he know about her?

He smirked at her reaction, enjoying every flicker of surprise. “Ya phir woh aadmi… jisne us raat tumhare saath battameezi ki?” (Or that man… the one who misbehaved with you that night?)

Her breath caught, her fingers tightening against her lap.

“Ya phir…” his voice dropped lower, deliberate and taunting, “yeh ki tum yaha ho kyun?” (Or maybe… why you’re here at all?)

“Janti ho, us aurat ki poti sirf terah saal ki thi…” (Do you know, that woman’s granddaughter was only thirteen…) Sanjay began, his voice calm but cutting. “Jab woh marne ki haalat mein thi, toh Guru ne use apne haathon se uthaya tha… kachre ke dabbe se nikala tha, aur aspataal mein bharti kiya tha.” (When she was at death’s door, Guru himself lifted her with his own hands… pulled her out of a garbage bin, and admitted her to the hospital.)

He leaned forward slightly, emphasizing every word, his tone growing heavier.

“Kachre ke dabbe se uthakar…” (From the garbage bin…)

The last line hung in the air like a cruel echo, sharp and deliberate, as if he wanted the image to carve itself into her mind.

“Doctor ne bataya… bechari ke saath poori raat balatkar hua tha.” (The doctor said… that poor girl was raped the entire night.) Sanjay spoke slowly, each word deliberate, like he wanted them to cut through her. “Phir bhi… jaan thi uspe. Lekin aspataal mein… dam tod diya usne.” (Even then… she had life in her. But at the hospital… she breathed her last.)

He leaned back, clicking his tongue with mock pity. “Pata nahi, aisi harkat kisne ki… chhe, chhe…” (Don’t know who could’ve done such a thing… tsk, tsk…) But this time, there was no lie. He was speaking the truth. And he was enjoying every second of her pain.

Avni froze, her throat dry as stone. Her fingers dug into her saree, curling into fists, trembling against her own lap. She could feel her chest tighten, her mind screaming the answer she didn’t want to hear. Still, she forced it down, gulping hard, refusing to let the horror spill from her lips.

“Mujhe nahi sunna kuch…” (I don’t want to hear anything…) she mumbled, her voice weak, almost pleading.

But Sanjay didn’t stop. His words kept cutting through the silence like knives. “Bechari ke poore kapde fate hue the…” (The poor girl’s clothes were completely torn…)

“Maine kaha na, mujhe nahi sunna kuch!!!” (I said I don’t want to hear anything!!!) Avni suddenly screamed, her lips trembling, fear tightening every feature of her face.

Her voice cracked in the air, but Sanjay only sat there, calm… watching her shatter, enjoying the storm in her eyes.

“Accha… kisne kiya yeh baad mein batata hoon,” (Alright… I’ll tell you later who did this,) Sanjay said lightly, almost playfully. “Pehle ek kahani aur suno…” (First, listen to another story…)

He leaned back, his tone dropping as he began. “Ek chhota ladka tha… jo apni maa se bohot pyaar karta tha. Lekin apne baap se nafrat. Kyun? Kyunki uska baap uski maa ko roz marta tha. Daaru peeta tha, aur apna gussa bechari maa pe nikalta tha.” (There was a little boy… who loved his mother deeply. But he hated his father. Why? Because his father used to beat his mother every day. He drank, and unleashed his anger on her.)

Sanjay’s voice hardened, dragging her deeper into the tale. “Ek din, woh baap kisi aadmi se mila. Aur apni biwi ko us aadmi ko bech diya. Kyun? Kyunki paise chahiye the… daaru peene ke liye.” (One day, that father met a man. And he sold his wife to him. Why? Because he needed money… for his alcohol.)

Avni’s stomach twisted, her pulse racing.

“Par us bacche ko yeh baat nahi pata thi,” (But the boy didn’t know this,) Sanjay continued coldly. “Uski maa ke saath jo hua… usne apni aankhon se dekh liya. Lekin woh kamre ke bahar tha… kuch kar nahi paya. Us aadmi ka toh woh kuch bigaad nahi sakta tha… toh usne apne baap ko maar dala.” (What happened to his mother… he saw it with his own eyes. But he was outside the room… he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t harm the man responsible… so he killed his father.)

Sanjay’s lips curled into a smile as he leaned closer. “Aur uski maa… apni izzat chali jaane ka gham… aur apne bete ko qaatil bante dekhna… seh nahi paayi. Aur guzar gayi.” (And his mother… the grief of losing her honor, and the pain of seeing her son become a killer… she couldn’t bear it. And she died.)

Silence stretched for a moment before his smile widened. “Aur in dono kahaniyon ka villain toh ek hi hai.” (And the villain in both these stories… is the same man.)

“Waise… woh Mukesh yaad hai na?” (By the way… you remember Mukesh, don’t you?) Sanjay’s tone was casual, almost conversational. “Woh us chhoti bacchi ka baap hai… jo bohot mannaton ke baad paida hui thi.” (He’s the father of that little girl… the one who was born after so many prayers.)

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before tilting his head with mock curiosity. “Par tumhare saath woh sab kyun kiya… pata nahi.” (But why he did all that to you… I don’t know.)

“Aur woh chhota baccha… kaun tha?” (And that little boy… who was he?) Sanjay tapped his chin, pretending to think.

Avni’s lashes fluttered before she shut her eyes tight, the answer pressing out of her like a wound. “Tumhara pati…” (Your husband…)

Sanjay’s lips twisted into a sly smile. “Mera matlab, tumhara pati ko yeh sab nahi pata,” (I mean, your husband doesn’t know any of this,) he drawled. “Tumhare aur Sahil ke plan ke baare mein. Badle ke liye shaadi ki hai.” ( even  your and Sahil’s plan. He married you for revenge.)

He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a mock whisper. “Par becharo ko accha nahi lagega… aadmiyon ka ahankaar chhota ho jaata hai, jab unki biwi kisi aur aadmi se itna bataye.” (But poor thing wouldn’t like it… men’s pride always crumbles when their wives share so much with another man.)

He smirked, enjoying the twist of the knife. “Isiliye use yeh sab nahi bataya. Chinta mat karo.” (That’s why I didn’t tell him any of this. Don’t worry.)

“Chalo, ab ghar jao,” (Come on, go home now,) Sanjay said coldly, waving his hand as if ending a conversation. “Shaadi ka ghar hai… matam toh bana nahi sakte yaha.” (It’s a wedding house… we can’t turn it into mourning here.)

His eyes narrowed, voice laced with venom. “Aur tumhare baap ki fikr mat karna. Jo tumne kiya hai, uski saza usse nahi milegi… kyunki uske karmon ka phal toh tum bhugat rahi ho.” (And don’t worry about your father. The punishment for what he did… won’t reach him. Because you’re already the one paying for his sins.)

He leaned back with a mocking smile. “Accha khasa teri maa tujhe in sab se door le gayi thi. Par koi nahi…” (It’s was good your mother took you away from all this. But never mind…) His voice dropped, cruel and deliberate. “Agar tu nahi… toh teri behen hoti aaj yaha.” (If not you… then your sister would’ve been here today.)

“Aee… ise ghar chhod kar aao.”

(Hey… drop her back home.)