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~ Shravani’s POV ~

The living room was too quiet for my liking. The kind of quiet that settles like dust — thick, suffocating, unnatural. If it were his kind of quiet, there’d be the low hum of the television, or the faint sound of him flipping through news channels, muttering something under his breath.

But today, nothing.

I exhaled softly and pushed the thought aside, making my way to the kitchen. That’s when I saw it — a bowl of kheer, perfectly served, the steam still rising faintly from its surface.

My brows pulled together.

Who made it?

Rivaanth never cooked. Ever. And kheer wasn’t something you made by accident.

A chill ran down my spine.

I walked to his room — empty. The bed was neatly made, the wardrobe slightly ajar, as if someone had taken something out in a hurry.

My heart started to beat a little faster.

Then, I walked toward my room.

And there they were.

The divorce papers.

Lying perfectly flat on the bed.

Signed.

For a second, I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The room felt smaller, my breath shallow. The words blurred as I stared at his signature, clean and decisive.

He signed them.

Finally.

I should feel relief, right? That this chapter is finally closing. That I don’t have to carry the weight of a relationship that hasn’t really existed in years.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I felt… hollow.

Because this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel. The closure I had wanted for so long — it shouldn’t hurt like this.

I sank down on the edge of the bed, running my fingers over the papers. His signature — sharp, confident, unhesitating — mocked me.

“Finally,” I whispered to myself. “You did it.”

But then, under my breath, the truth slipped out. “And yet, I lost you… again.”

I sighed, wiped my eyes quickly, and changed into my nightwear, trying to ignore the ache growing in my chest. Maybe sleep would numb it for a while.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

I frowned, glancing at the clock. Almost midnight.

Who could it be at this hour?

My mind immediately jumped to him. But no, it couldn’t be. Not after… not after this.

Still, my feet carried me to the door before my thoughts could stop me. I pulled it open — and froze.

Rivaanth stood there.

Disheveled hair. Wet T-shirt. Eyes red, swollen, and distant.

For a second, neither of us said a word. The faint sound of rain filled the silence between us — steady, rhythmic, cruelly calm.

My throat tightened. “Where… where were you?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed fixed on me — too long, too quiet, too heavy. It was the kind of look that felt like goodbye.

And then he spoke, voice low, almost hollow. “To meet my friend.”

I frowned. His friend? In this city? That didn’t make sense. He barely spoke to anyone outside his unit, and his transfer meant most of his circle wasn’t even in this state anymore.

My lips parted to ask who, but the words just… stayed stuck.

It shouldn’t concern me. Not anymore.

Why do I care?

I took a step back and nodded, pretending his answer satisfied me. Pretending that my chest wasn’t twisting with something sharp and unfamiliar — worry.

He gave me a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, and walked past me into the house. His shoes left faint wet prints on the floor. I wanted to ask him to dry off, to change, to at least say something that would make the silence between us feel less like a storm waiting to break.

But instead, I turned and walked to my room.

The papers were still there, lying on the bed — cruel, mocking proof of what we’d become.

I stood there, staring at them again. The signatures looked darker now, as if the ink had soaked deeper into the page with every second that passed.

I should be happy. This is what I wanted.

Freedom. Closure.

But all I felt was this strange ache, somewhere deep — the kind that doesn’t let you breathe too easily.

With a sigh, I picked the papers up carefully, folding them along the crease before slipping them into the cupboard. Out of sight, at least for now.

Maybe once they’re gone, it’ll stop hurting.

Maybe.

My phone pinged, lighting up the dark room.

Adhvika: “We have a Diwali party to attend day after tomorrow 🪔✨ Wear something bright this time, okay?”

I stared at the message for a long second, her cheerful tone somehow making the emptiness around me louder.

Diwali — the festival of lights.

How ironic.

Because the only light in my house tonight was fading behind a closed door.

I kept the phone and tried to sleep. Because of tough day sleep came instantly.

~ Rivaanth’s POV ~

The rain had stopped by the time I stepped into my room, but its smell lingered — that earthy scent of wet mud that usually calmed me. Tonight, though, it only made the silence louder.

I changed into my black T-shirt and sweatpants, rubbing a towel through my hair, trying to shake the thoughts out. But the moment I looked at the mirror, I saw it — her reflection behind me. Not physically, but the ghost of it. The way she stood earlier, eyes questioning, voice trembling.

Where were you?

Those three words had pierced deeper than I expected.

I wanted to tell her. That I wasn’t out meeting some random friend. That I was with him. That I spent the evening sitting in front of a grave with a tiffin full of kheer, talking to the silence that used to answer back.

But what good would it do?

She doesn’t need my grief anymore. She doesn’t need my ghosts. She’s already living with enough of her own.

I ran a hand through my hair and sat on the edge of the bed, my eyes falling on the empty cupboard. The papers were gone.

So she’s kept them safe. Maybe she’ll submit them tomorrow. Maybe this really is the end.

I closed my eyes, leaning back. The ceiling fan hummed softly, and for a moment, I tried to remember the sound of her laughter. The way she used to steal the remote, how she’d pretend to ignore me when I called her name just to make me repeat it.

And then there’s today — her voice, formal, distant. “Where were you?”

Where was I?

At Prayan’s grave, asking him for forgiveness I’ll never get.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “You idiot, Prayan… you still mess me up even when you’re gone.”

I remembered his laugh, the way he used to tease me — ‘Major sahab, one day this serious face will make your wife run away!’

Guess he was right.

The lump in my throat burned. I leaned forward, pressing my palms together, elbows on my knees. “She’s not mine anymore, yaar,” I whispered. “Maybe she never was.”

But even saying that felt wrong. Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself, every part of me still wanted her.

Still remembered the warmth in her tone when she said my name.

Still burned when I saw her smile at someone else.

Still shattered when I saw her eyes dim whenever I entered the room.

I looked at my hand — the same hand that had just signed the divorce papers. It didn’t feel lighter. It felt emptier.

The door creaked softly; she must have turned off the lights in the hall. I heard the faint sound of her anklet — one single jingle — and my heart clenched.

She’s here, in the same house, yet miles away.

I rubbed my face, forcing my voice low. “You’re doing the right thing, Rivaanth. She deserves better. Someone who doesn’t drown her with his past.”

The words felt bitter.

Because no matter how much I said them, a part of me screamed the opposite — that I could be that better if only she’d let me try again.

A knock broke my thoughts. Soft, hesitant.

“Rivaanth?”

Her voice. Barely audible through the door.

My heart skipped. I looked up, uncertain whether to answer.

“Yes?”

“I… just wanted to say… the kheer was good.”

The corner of my lips lifted into the smallest, saddest smile.

“Goodnight, Shravani,” I whispered back.

“Goodnight,” she replied, voice trembling for just a second — the kind of tremble that says what words can’t.

The footsteps faded, and I exhaled.

I lay down, staring at the ceiling again, listening to the faint rustle of rain returning outside. The house was quiet, but inside me, everything screamed.

Because the truth was simple — she might have signed the papers with her hand.

But I’d just signed away my soul.

~ Shaurya’s POV ~

I visited my brother’s grave — my elder brother, Prayan.

Every year I came here, and every year it felt the same.

The tightness in my chest. The silence that pressed down like a weight. The guilt that refused to loosen its grip.

But today… it wasn’t just grief. It was anger.

Because no matter how much time passes, the image of that day doesn’t fade — the chaos, the blood, and Rivaanth standing there with eyes that said everything and nothing at once.

And just when I thought I’d be alone here — fate had its own twisted sense of humour.

He was there.

Major Rivaanth Rathoreya.

My brother’s best friend. My brother’s shadow. The man who had once promised me that Prayan would always return safe.

But this time… he looked nothing like the man I remembered.

The man I saw today wasn’t composed. Wasn’t calm.

He looked shattered — a ghost wearing a soldier’s uniform. His shoulders drooped, his eyes were red, his hands trembling as he kept a tiffin box beside the grave.

Kheer.

Of course. Prayan’s favourite. The two of them used to fight over it like kids.

He stood there for a minute, lips moving soundlessly, as if talking to him. And then suddenly, as if something inside him snapped, he walked away. Fast. His steps uneven, his breath ragged. He brushed past me without even noticing I was there.

And in that second, I saw it — the tears on his face, blending with the rain.

For the first time, I didn’t see the Major.

I saw a man begging the universe for mercy.

My fists clenched. My heart didn’t know whether to hate him or pity him.

He got into his car, slammed the door, and drove off like a storm trying to outrun itself.

Leaving behind silence, and me — standing beside the grave of the one man who could’ve told me the truth about that day.

I exhaled, kneeling down in front of the grave. My fingers brushed over the engraved letters.

Lt. Prayan Viraj Shekhawat

A soldier. A brother. A promise never kept.

“Whatever Rivaanth is going through,” I muttered, my voice low, bitter, “he deserves it, right, bhai?”

The wind rustled through the trees, scattering a few petals from the garland I’d placed. For a second, I could almost hear his laugh again — teasing, reckless, infuriating.

But when the silence returned, it was heavier.

And for the first time, I hesitated.

Because something about the way Rivaanth looked didn’t scream guilt anymore. It screamed grief.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

I sighed and got up, brushing the mud from my jeans. That’s when I noticed something glinting near the bench. A leather wallet, drenched halfway in the rain.

I frowned, picking it up.

It looked expensive, old, the kind of thing a soldier would never carry if not for emotional value.

Curiosity tugged at me. I opened it, and inside — tucked behind the ID card — was a photograph.

Shravani.

Her hair longer, smile softer, eyes brighter — clearly taken years ago. Maybe five. Maybe six. Definitely not recent.

I frowned deeper.

So this is her. The mystery wife no one knew about. The woman who managed to tie down the stoic Major Rathoreya.

No one in the department had any clue. He’d kept her hidden from everyone.

Why?

Why would a man like him — who could face bullets and blood without flinching — hide his wife from the world?

I slipped the photo back inside, staring at the wallet a second longer before closing it.

Maybe I’d return it tomorrow.

Maybe.

Or maybe I’d keep it tonight — just to remind myself that even men like Rivaanth bleed, even if they hide it behind their medals.

As I walked out of the graveyard, rain still pouring, my brother’s name echoed in my head.

“Prayan…” I whispered. “What did he do to make you take that bullet?”

The wind howled in response — empty, endless, and cruelly familiar.

And for the first time in years, I wasn’t sure if I wanted revenge anymore.

I just wanted answers.

Not blood. Not closure. Just… answers.

The kind that stop the noise inside your head and let you breathe again.

I stared at Prayan bhai’s grave for a few seconds longer, the marble catching faint traces of moonlight. The rain had stopped, but the smell of wet mud still lingered—sharp, heavy, almost comforting. My shirt was drenched, my shoes sinking into the soft ground. But leaving didn’t feel easy.

I whispered, almost to myself, “You’d probably hit me if you saw me like this, bhai.”

He always hated when I carried anger around like a second skin. Said it would burn me before it ever reached the people I aimed at.

He was right.

Maybe it already had.

With one last look at the grave, I turned and started walking home. The night was quiet, too quiet for a day like this. Streetlights flickered. The air carried the faint sound of temple bells from afar. Every year, around this time, the city felt festive — homes glittered with diyas, people laughed over sweets — but in our house, silence was tradition.

Mom and Dad always pretended to sleep early on this day. But I knew better. They just lay in bed, pretending the ache didn’t exist, pretending their eldest son wasn’t lying in the ground while the world kept spinning.

By the time I reached home, the clock had passed eleven. I dropped my keys on the counter, kicked off my shoes, and looked around. Every corner of the house whispered his memory.

The photo frame on the wall — Prayan’s bright grin, his arm around my shoulder. The same photo we took after his first mission as a Major. His smile had always been effortless. Mine, hesitant.

I sighed and went to my room. The air was thick with the scent of rain and dust. Tossing my jacket aside, I sat on the edge of my bed, running my hands through my hair.

And then — out of nowhere — Ishira’s face flickered in my mind.

That girl. Why now?

We’d barely spoken, not even properly met yet, but something about her had carved a place in my thoughts. Maybe it was the way she carried herself — fearless, unapologetically loud in a world that preferred quiet women. Or maybe I just needed a distraction from everything that was slowly falling apart inside me.

I chuckled dryly. “You’re losing it, Shaurya.”

Shrugging off the thought, I reached for my phone.

A message from Adhvika lit up the screen —

“Diwali party at Karan and Tejasswi’s place. Day after tomorrow. You better not bail!”

A party. Perfect. Exactly what I didn’t need.

But then again, it was Adhvika’s invite — and she never took no for an answer. And Tejasswi and Karan? They were family, in a complicated, intertwined way. Maybe showing up wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I needed to see faces that weren’t haunted by loss.

I texted back a short reply — “I’ll try.”

Almost instantly, she replied — “That means yes.”

I smirked faintly. Typical Adhvika.

Throwing my phone aside, I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Lights from passing cars painted shifting patterns on the walls, fleeting and fragile. Just like everything else in life.

Somewhere deep down, I still felt that ache — the kind that doesn’t scream but hums quietly in your bones. The kind that makes you talk to the dead.

I turned slightly, glancing at the framed photo of Prayan bhai on my bedside table. He looked so alive there — strong, confident, teasing.

“Prayan bhai,” I murmured, my voice low but steady, “upar se dekh raha hai na tu? Toh apne chhote bhai ke liye koi bandi hi bhej de.”

The words came out half as a joke, half as a plea.

“I complain to you every day, bhai. I just… want someone who gets it, you know? Someone who’ll stay even when I’m not easy to love.”

I chuckled to myself. “A woman who’ll love me, argue with me, kiss me till I forget the world, and let me hold her till the nightmares stop.”

Silence answered me, as it always did.

I sighed, lying back. “Bhai, tujhe toh mil nahi payi… par apne chhote bhai ka hi soch le.”

It was the same conversation every year — me talking, him listening from wherever he was. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was the only thing keeping me sane.

The rain started again, soft this time, tapping against the window like a heartbeat. I closed my eyes, letting it fill the silence. My thoughts drifted back to Rivaanth — the look on his face today at the graveyard. Broken. Unrecognizable.

For years, I had blamed him for what happened. For how our lives cracked. I wanted him to suffer the way we did. But when I saw him standing there — eyes red, face pale — the revenge didn’t feel like victory anymore.

It felt hollow.

Maybe he already suffered enough. Maybe we all had.

What I wanted now wasn’t revenge. It was truth.

Why did everything happen the way it did? Why did people I loved turn into ghosts in my life?

My phone buzzed again. Another message — this time from Atharv.

“See you at the party, soldier. And wear something traditional for once.”

I groaned. “Great. Now they’re teaming up on me.”

Still, I smiled faintly. Maybe a night of chaos wouldn’t be the worst thing. Maybe it was time to stop talking to ghosts and start talking to people again.

Maybe.

I turned off the lights and lay down, staring at the faint reflection of diyas glowing in the nearby houses. Somewhere in the distance, laughter floated through the air, and I wondered how long it had been since that sound didn’t sting.

As I drifted closer to sleep, I thought again about Ishira — her name fitting in my thoughts too easily. I didn’t know her yet, but something about the memory of her smirk made the corners of my lips curve slightly.

Maybe the universe was finally sending an answer to all those late-night prayers I’d been tossing into the dark.

“Goodnight, bhai,” I murmured softly, turning on my side.

The rain grew heavier. The city sparkled.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t dream of graves or guilt —

I dreamed of headlights, wind, and a girl laughing in the storm.

Maybe… just maybe… she was on her way.

To be continued...

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