AARUSHI PERSPECTIVE:

The moonlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains of the study, casting long, silvery shadows across the floor. I stood frozen, my breath hitching in my throat as I looked down at the photograph in my hand.

A little girl in a yellow frock sat on a wooden swing, her hair pulled into two messy, chaotic braids. A defiant, joyful smudge of chocolate ice cream was smeared across her round cheek.

"That's…. me," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical weight.

Minutes later, the floor was a sea of history. I sat cross-legged on the plush rug, surrounded by a mountain of old albums and files.

Abhi moved back and forth, bringing more stacks from the high shelves—some leather-bound and regal, others worn at the edges or tied with faded, brittle ribbons.

He knelt beside me, his gaze softening as he looked at the picture. "Six years old," he nodded. "Your dad took that at the park near your old house."

My fingers trembled slightly as I traced the glossy surface of the image, trying to feel the warmth of that sun-drenched day. "They look so happy," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I flipped the pages. There was my mother, glowing with pride, holding me during a school function. Another turn—my father lifting me onto his broad shoulders, my small hands clutching his hair for balance. Another—a bright pink birthday cake with six flickering candles.

I didn't cry. The shock was too deep for tears. But my throat tightened until it ached.

"I don't remember this," I said softly, looking at the strangers who were my own parents. "Any of it."

Abhimanyu moved closer, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. "You were very sick after the accident.... your mind…. locked these away."

I nodded slowly, the silence of the room filled with the echoes of a childhood I was only just meeting for the first time.

The heavy atmosphere of the night before shifted into the golden bustle of the morning.

"I'll be on time, I promise," I said, my focus narrowed on the silk tie I was expertly looping around his neck.

Today was the Designer of the Year award show—the culmination of months of Abhi's hard work.

"Can't you just come with me now?" Abhi murmured, his lips curving into a deliberate, dramatic pout.

He reached out, his fingers catching the hem of my saree and tugging it gently, exactly like a stubborn child refusing to go to school. "Cancel your meetings. Tell them your husband is needy."

I let out a rhythmic laugh, patting his chest as I finished the knot. "It's an important meeting, Abhi. But I promise, I'll be there before the red carpet even begins. I'll come in my own car."

I gave him a mischievous wink. "It's time the world sees the driving skills you taught me. All those 5:00 AM lessons weren't for nothing, even though waking up a Kumbhkaran like you every morning was the real achievement."

"Hey! I am a morning person.... occasionally," he defended weakly.

I stood my her tiptoes, cutting off his protest by lightly kissing his pouted lips. "Go. Win your trophy. I'm right behind you."

As soon as his car pulled out of the driveway, my important demeanor vanished. I quickly whipped out my phone and dialed Priya.

"Priya? Cancel everything for today. Clear the entire schedule."

"Ooh, let me guess," Priya's teasing voice crackled through the line. "Hot date? Sneaking off for a romantic lunch with the boss?"

I smiled, heading toward the stairs. "No, today is Abhi's big show. I need to get the whole troop ready. Bye!"

I hurried downstairs and into the sun-drenched garden. There, sitting in his favorite wicker chair with a steaming cup of tea and newspaper, was my father-in-law. To me, however, he was simply Papa.

"Papaaaa...." I sang out sweetly, dragging the word with a mischievous tilt of my head.

Papa lowered his newspaper just an inch, peering at me over the rim of his reading glasses with a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Whenever that 'Papa' has extra 'A's at the end of it, my bank balance or my peace of mind is in danger," he joked, folding the paper. "What is it, beta? Do you need a new car to practice your husband-waking skills, or are you here to bribe me for something?"

I giggled, slipping into the chair beside him. "Neither! Well, maybe a little bit of a bribe. Papa, you know Abhi's award show is tonight. It's a huge deal."

"I know, I know. He's been pacing like a caged tiger for a week," he chuckled.

I chuckled, but as I sat on the edge of the chair beside him, my expression turned earnest. "Papa, I want you to come to the award show tonight. For Abhi."

The silence that followed was sharp. His gaze shifted back to his paper, his jaw tightening slightly. "He's doing well for himself. He doesn't need an old man like me sitting in a room full of silk and cameras, feeling out of place."

"He doesn't need a critic, Papa. He needs his father," I said softly, reaching out to rest my hand on his sleeve.

"I wasn't a critic," he replied, his voice gruff with a decade-old hurt. "I just didn't want him to struggle. I wanted him in the family business where he was safe, where he was certain of his future. This world he chose.... it was a gamble. I only wanted to protect him."

"And you did," I insisted. "But Papa, the struggle is over. He didn't just survive; he conquered. Tonight, he isn't just a fashion designer. He is the best in the country. All these years, you both didn't even greet properly. Don't you think it's time to tear down that wall?"

I leaned in closer, my voice a gentle plea. "He still looks for your approval in everything he does. Every trophy he wins feels a little lighter because he thinks you don't see the value in it. Come tonight. Not for the fashion, but to show him that you finally accept the path he carved for himself."

"Please? No excuses about your backache or the boring loud music." I said, leaning forward and grabbing his hand.

Papa sighed, trying to look stern. "Aaru, those shows are for the youngsters. All those flashing lights and people dressed like that.... what will an old man like me do there?"

"You'll sit there and look regal so everyone knows where Abhi gets his talent from!" I countered instantly. "Plus, Roohi is already picking out a pocket square for you. You can't break her heart, can you?"

He looked out at the garden, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the arm of his chair. He remembered the shouting matches from years ago, and the quiet, polite distance that had followed.

"The whole family is going," I added quietly. "Imagine his face when he looks out at the audience and sees the man he respects most finally standing in his corner."

I gave him my best 'innocent daughter' look, my eyes wide and pleading.

Papa looked at me for a long moment, his stern expression crumbling into a warm, proud smile.

A long sigh escaped him. He set the newspaper down completely—a symbolic gesture of surrender.

He reached out and placed a firm, loving hand on my head. "Alright. I'll go. I'll put on a suit and sit through those flashing lights. It's time I told him I'm proud of the gamble he took."

"You really know how to twist my arm, don't you?" He patted my head affectionately.

He pulled me into a half-hug, his voice softening with deep emotion. "I am so happy, Aarushi. My idiot sons must have done something very right in their past lives to get a wife like you and Roohi. God finally heard my prayers and gave me two beautiful daughters to balance out the madness of this house."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, my heart feeling full.

Minutes later.

"Papa!" Roohi gasped, circling him. "You look like you just walked off a movie set. If Bhaiya sees you like this, he'll drop his trophy!"

"You look magnificent, Papa," I said, stepping forward to smooth a non-existent wrinkle on his shoulder. "You're going to be the most handsome man in the front row. The media might ignore the models and just follow you."

"Don't fill his head with such nonsense," Mom huffed, though a small, proud smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

He looked at us then; me in shimmering blue, Roohi in champagne gold. "Look at you two. My house finally has some color. Otherwise, it was just me and my stubborn sons in grey suits talking about profit margins."

The Grand Hall was a shimmering sea of velvet, diamonds, and flashing lights. The air, heavy with the scent of lilies and expensive perfume, practically hummed with the electric tension of the night.

Abhi sat in the front row, his jaw set in a tight, sharp line. Beside him, I sat in a midnight blue saree that seemed to drink in the light, my hand discreetly laced through his.

Every time the nominee's names flashed on the giant screen, I would give his hand a firm, reminding him that regardless of the trophy, he had already won my heart.

A few rows back, hidden in the soft shadows of the VIP section, sat the rest of our family. It was a tactical surprise, orchestrated entirely by me.

"And the winner for Designer of the Year is.... Abhimanyu Singhania!"

The auditorium erupted. Chandeliers reflected off polished marble as applause rolled through the hall like soft thunder.

Abhi froze for a heartbeat, his breath hitching, before he stood up. He looked calm to the world, but as he stood, he caught my eye.

I stood up instantly, cheering at the top of my lungs, my face glowing with a joy so pure it outshone the spotlights.

He stepped onto the stage, the heavy gold trophy in his hand. He adjusted the microphone, a rare, genuine blush creeping up his neck as he looked at his wife. That is me.

"I'm sorry everyone," he said, his voice deep and smooth, resonating through the hall. "If the loud clapping and cheering caused any of you a distraction.... my wife is a little too excited."

The audience laughed warmly. I ducked my head, my cheeks turning a deep crimson, but I didn't stop smiling.

"But," Abhimanyu's voice turned serious, his gaze pinning me to the spot. "I would like to invite her to the stage. I wouldn't be here if she wasn't the soul within me. This award.... it doesn't belong to me. It is solely dedicated to her."

The hall gasped as I made my way up. When I reached him, he handed me the trophy, and then in a move that silenced the world he bent down. He didn't just reach for my hand; his forehead almost touching my feet in a gesture of ultimate devotion.

"Abhi!" I whispered in shock, my hands flying to her mouth. "Everyone is looking!"

"Let them," he murmured, looking up at me from his knees with eyes full of reverence. "I'm bowing in front of my God. There is no shame in that."

As we walked off the stage, I didn't lead him back to the front row. Instead, I guided him toward the back, toward the shadows where the family was waiting.

Abhimanyu stopped dead when he saw papa.

Papa stood up. The stern lines of his face had softened, and his eyes were unmistakably misty. For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other.

Then, Dad stepped forward and wrapped Abhi in a crushing, proud embrace.

"Dad?" Abhi's voice was uncharacteristically small.

Dad cleared his throat. "Well? Aarushi said I had to be there to ensure you don't trip on stage. I only come to make sure the family name isn't embarrassed."

Abhimanyu's throat bobbed. He looked at me, as I gave him a tiny, triumphant nod.

"You.... You really come?" Abhi asked, a slow, radiant smile breaking across his face—the first genuine smile he had shared with his father in years.

"Yes, yes," Papa grumbled, and patted Abhi's shoulder with a firm, lingering pressure. "Now try to act like a Singhania. don't cry like a baby. I have a reputation to maintain."

"I'll try, Dad," Abhi whispered, his eyes shining.

"I was wrong, son," he whispered into Abhimanyu's ear, loud enough for the family to hear. " I'm.... I'm proud of you."

Abhimanyu closed his eyes, his grip on his father tightening, a decade of tension finally dissolving.

I beamed, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. He pulled back, looking at me with a mock-serious expression.

"Don't let it get to your head, Abhi," Dad joked, clearing his throat to hide his emotion. "I only came because Aarushi threatened to stop talking to me if I didn't. I'm still not entirely convinced about these high collars, but since my daughter-in-law is the boss of this house, I had no choice!"

The whole family burst into laughter, the tension breaking into pure warmth.

Abhimanyu smiled, his arm sliding around my waist as he looked at our family. He held the trophy up once more, but this time toward all of them.

"Then this award is for the whole family," Abhi said, his voice thick with gratitude. "For Anirudh and Roohi's constant cheering, for my father finally giving fashion a chance, for mom for secretly buying me my first sketchbook and most of all, for the woman who believed in the artist even when the artist didn't believe in himself."

He turned to Dad again. "So, Dad, does this mean you'll finally let me design your suits for the board meetings?"

Dad huffed, adjusting his lapel. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Abhimanyu. One trophy doesn't mean you're allowed to touch my classic charcoal grey.... though, perhaps, just once, we can try that navy blue you mentioned."

The laughter echoed again, a sound more beautiful than any applause received on stage.

As we all moved toward the cars, Dad pulled me and Roohi back for a second. "I meant what I said," he whispered, his voice gruff but thick with emotion. "I'm lucky. My sons are idiots, but they were smart enough to bring you two home."

Roohi giggled, hooking her arm into his. "We know, Papa. We're the best thing that ever happened to this family!"

"And don't you forget it," he chuckled, finally stepping into the car with his head held high.

The house was finally still. The glitz of the award, the camera, and the applause had all faded into a distant memory. Now, the only sound was the soft, rhythmic tapping of rain against the windowpane and the quiet hum of the air conditioner.

In the living room, bathed in a warm, golden glow, I was curled up on the oversized velvet sofa. My head rested on Abhi's lap, and I felt the familiar, grounding sensation of his fingers tracing slow patterns through my hair.

Abhi was scrolling through old files on his tablet. "Abhi?" I whispered into the silence.

"Hmm?" he replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my hair.

"I'm really happy today," I said, my voice small but remarkably clear.

He looked at me with a gentle, teasing smirk. ,"You should be, Moon. You looked like a queen tonight. And you just won Best Wife of the Year in front of half the industry. That's a lot of happy."

I laughed lightly, playfully swatting his arm. "Not because of the award, Abhi."

"Then why?"

I shook my head, my eyes distant but bright. "It's Bhai. I was just thinking.... for the first time in my life, I'm actually going to celebrate his birthday properly. I'm going to be there for him."

I sat up slightly, excitement bubbling in my voice. "Can I go to his place a day early? I want to decorate the whole house before he gets back from work. I want it to be a real surprise."

Abhi didn't hesitate. He pulled me closer and kissed my forehead. "Moon, you never have to ask me for permission for things that bring you joy. If you want to go early, go. Your happiness is your own; it doesn't belong to me to give or take."

I leaned in and kissed his jaw lightly. "Thank you."

The smile lingered for a moment, but then it slowly ebbed away. A shadow crossed my face as a thought I had been suppressing resurfaced. I looked at him intently, my voice dropping an octave.

"Abhi.... about those photos you showed me earlier. Of my childhood and my real parents." I hesitated, searching his face. "You didn't show me all of them. I saw you hide a few."

Abhi's hand stilled in my hair. He didn’t look away.

"I showed you the ones that mattered, Moon," he said softly. "The ones where your parents—your real mom and dad were looking at you with so much love. The other photos.... they weren't meant for today. They're just reminders of a pain you've already survived. Some memories are sunlight, Aarushi. Others are just fire. I didn't want you to burn today."

I looked down, my voice trembling. "Sometimes I think.... what if the accident never happened? What if my parents hadn't died? What if my grandparents had gotten custody instead of my uncle and aunt? What if I hadn't been so scared back then?"

Tears began to pool in my eyes. "What if I had told Bhai the truth in that hospital.... when he asked me? But all I could see was Aransh's face. I was so terrified that I thought my own brother, my Aarav, was the one who did those horrible things to me. How could I even think that, Abhi? How could I hate the person who loved me most?"

Abhimanyu didn't say a word; he simply pulled me into a tight, protective embrace.

"Hey.... look at me," he whispered, cupping my face and forcing me to meet his steady gaze. "You were a child. A scared, injured, traumatized child. You didn’t misunderstand anything, Moon. You survived."

He wiped a tear away with his thumb. "You were surrounded by monsters, yet you still trusted love again. You still smiled. You still became the person you are today. Do you know how brave that is?"

I shook my head, a broken sob escaping my lips.

"You are not weak because you were scared," he said firmly. "You are strong because you are still standing. And your brother? He never stopped loving you. Not for a single day."

I closed my eyes, my breathing ragged. “I wish I had told him earlier.”

"You did," Abhimanyu insisted. "In your own time. And that was enough."

He pulled me back against his chest, holding me until my breathing evened out. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he spoke again.

"You remember your aunt? The one you always asked me about? The one who lived far away but helped you study online? She paid your fees, talked to you for hours when you felt alone.... it was never an aunt, Moon. It was—”

"It was Aarav Bhai," I finished for him, a sad but knowing smile on my lips.

Abhi looked surprised. "You knew?"

"Of course," I whispered. "But for a long time, I thought.... I thought he stayed away because he didn't want me. Because he was ashamed of me."

"No," Abhi said, his voice hard with conviction. "He stayed away because every time he looked at you, he broke into a thousand pieces. He was terrified that if you saw him, you'd see the night you lost everything. He chose to be a voice in the dark just so he could still be a part of your life without hurting you."

"Let's go pack!" I said suddenly, trying to shake off the heavy emotions with excitement. "I want everything to be perfect for Bhai."

We went to the bedroom, the atmosphere turning light and playful. Abhi helped me, though he was mostly just folding things haphazardly into my suitcase while I laughed at his lack of packing skills.

"You're supposed to roll them, Abhi, not smash them!" I teased.

In the middle of the chaos, I grabbed my handbag and began tossing in my essentials—mu charger, my diary, and a few stray papers from the dresser.

"Stay one more night?" Abhi pleaded, pulling me into his arms amidst the half-packed bags.

"No, I want to be there the moment the sun rises," I giggled.

The next morning, the bedroom was flooded with pale gold sunlight. I feel a whirlwind of energy, my laughter echoing against the high ceilings as I zipped up my suitcase.

Abhi stood by the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He wasn't smiling.

"Moon, listen to me," he said, his voice dropping into that protective, serious tone that usually made me melt. "The weather forecast says the rain might return. The highways will be slick. Let me drop you. Better yet, let me come with you. I can work from Aarav's place or maybe I'll leave the car at Aarav's and take a cab back."

I turned around, huffing as I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear and walked over to him looping my arms around his neck. "Abhi, you've been saying five more minutes for the last hour. If I don't leave now, Bhai will be back from his morning shift before I even start decorating!"

"It's a surprise for him, and if you're there, he'll get suspicious. I'll be fine. It's just a two-hour drive. Stop worrying!"

"Then let me send someone with you. Or security," he pressed, his hands resting firmly on my waist.

"No security," I said firmly, though my eyes were soft. "I want to drive to my brother's house, by myself, like a normal person. Can't you let me have that one normal thing?”

Abhimanyu looked into my eyes for a few minutes.

"Fine," he whispered, leaning down to rest his forehead against mine. "But you keep your phone in the passenger seat. You call me the second you step inside his house. And Moon?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you. More than the stars love the sky."

I smiled. "I love you more, Abhi. I'll see you tomorrow night at the party."

He helped me carry the bags down to the car. He double-checked my car tire pressure, the fuel tank, and the GPS but still he was lingering, his hands reluctant to let go of the car door. He kissed me one last time—a long, desperate kiss that felt like a silent prayer.

As I backed out of the driveway, I waved at him through the window.

An hour later, the highway was a blur of grey asphalt and green trees. I hummed along to the radio, my mind busy choosing between blue or silver balloons for Bhai's living room.

Traffic slowed to a crawl near the construction zone. To pass the time, I reached into my hand bag to find my notebook. My fingers brushed against a thick, stiff paper.

"Did Abhi put a surprise card in here?" I wondered with excitement.

I pulled out the plain white envelope. There was no writing on the outside. I quickly tore the seal.

The smile didn't just fade; it vanished as if it had never existed.

As the first few photos spilled onto the passenger seat, my breath hitched so hard it felt like my lungs had collapsed. My hands began to shake violently, the steering wheel vibrating under my touch.

It was me— Younger. Exposed. Twisted into a posture that spoke of terror, not vulnerability. My skin looked clammy, my hair tangled, my eyes wide—pleading yet frighteningly empty. The background was blurred, but the details were unmistakable. The Rathore mansion's drawing room. The same walls. The same cursed space.

Aransh.

I picked up the note, my vision blurring with hot, stinging tears.

"Aarushi, even if I'm not there, these will be. You think you're a queen? Show him these. Let him see the 'Moon' he worships when she's been dragged through the dirt."

The car began to feel like a cage. The walls were shrinking. I couldn't breathe. "No.... no, please.... No" I whimpered, my vision blurring with hot, thick tears. I tried to push the photos away, my hands shaking so violently I could barely hold the steering wheel.

I wasn't looking at the road anymore. I was looking at the photos, my mind spiraling back into that dark, cold cell. I felt dirty. I felt stained. I felt like the 'Best Wife' award was a cruel joke.

How could I face Abhimanyu now? How could I look at Bhai?

The world outside the windshield became a distorted smear of colors. Tears poured down my cheeks, blinding me. I reached down to shove the photos back into the envelope, my foot slipping off the brake and pressing hard onto the accelerator in panic.

A deafening blast of a horn sounded, but it was too late. I looked up, my eyes wide with vacant horror, just as the heavy metal of the truck slammed into my side of the car.

The sound of crushing metal drowned out my final scream.

"Abhi...."

To be continued?....

Thank you for reading.