The past came rushing back in broken fragments, flashing like a cruel reel in her mind. How her mother had always avoided speaking about her father. How that woman had suddenly fallen silent the moment his name slipped from her lips. Her own wedding. And then—Mukesh’s eyes. They hadn’t carried lust, but something deeper, something raw—pain, rage, and a hate that seemed older than time itself. Even her grandparents’ burning resentment toward her father lingered in those memories.

Her entire body trembled under the weight of a truth that was still incomplete, yet sharp enough to wound her. She didn’t want to believe it, but every sign, every silence, every glare—everything was stacked against her.