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Author pov..

The air in the hospital shifted instantly, thick with panic, pain, and desperation. 

A piercing scream shattered the silence* echoing through the halls like a dying prayer. 

"Rudhranshhhhhhhhhh!"

The nurses rushed in, their faces filled with urgency as they ran toward the hospital bed where Prisha trembled violently her body weak, drenched in sweat, her skin ghostly pale, drained of all life. 

Her once-bright eyes had lost their shine, replaced with a dull emptiness—a reflection of the grief that had swallowed her whole. 

It had been one month. 

One month since she lost everything. 

Her husband. 

Her baby. 

Her precious little girl. 

And in that month—she had been trapped in deep sleep, locked in the arms of a coma, her mind haunted by the trauma that had stolen her world away. 

The burning car. 

The flames. 

The wreckage. 

Her husband inside—gone. 

The horror of that moment had left her paralyzed, left her body shutting down, refusing to accept the truth that had ripped through her soul. 

But now—she was awake. 

And her body was fighting back. 

Her fingers trembled as she ripped the wires off her skin, her breath coming in harsh gasps. 

She wasn’t supposed to be awake yet. 

She wasn’t strong enough. 

But she didn’t care. 

She had to find him. 

She swung her legs off the bed  her bare feet touching the cold floor—but the second she tried to stand, her legs gave up beneath her. 

Her body collapsed forward. 

And before she could hit the ground— 

Two arms wrapped around her. 

"Prishaaaaa!"

Yuvaan’s voice rang out  filled with relief and panic all at once as he caught her just in time, holding her upright, keeping her from falling completely. 

Prisha’s tired, broken eyes met her brother’s—but she had no time to acknowledge him, no time to process. 

She had only one thought, one mission, one desperation. 

Her voice broke apart, choked with urgency. 

"Bhai… where is Rudhransh?" 

Her hands clutched his arms, her grip weak but desperate as she looked up at him. 

"He’s okay, right?" 

She was convinced she had just seen him a few hours ago—not knowing she had been unconscious for an entire month. 

Yuvaan froze. 

The weight of her words struck him too deeply, shattering his resolve, making him hold her tighter, unsure of what to say. 

What could he say? 

How was he supposed to tell her? 

His throat closed up, his arms tightening around her, his heartbeat rapid, erratic. 

"Tell me where Rudhransh is!" 

Prisha’s voice rose, her body struggling as she tried to push out of her brother’s grip, fighting to free herself . 

"Let me go! I have to see him! I have to ask for forgiveness! I have to stop him!" 

Her pleas turned into sobs  shaking through her chest, breaking her apart. 

And then—her body failed her again. 

Her legs buckled, her breath hitched painfully, but before she could collapse, another set of arms caught her. 

"Prishaaaa!" 

This time—Abhinash held her firmly, keeping her up  his voice filled with worry, heartbreak, and unbearable grief. 

And before anyone could process what was happening— 

Soumya, Kunal, Neha, and Shreyansh rushed into the room.

The room  felt suffocating, thick with grief, desperation, and a truth too cruel to accept.

Prisha’s voice broke through the silence, shattered by tears, trembling with hope she refused to let go of.

"Rudhranshhhh… where is he, Dad?" 

Her gaze locked onto Abhinash, her eyes swollen, filled with agony, searching for reassurance—for a lie, for anything except the truth. 

But Abhinash’s heart tore apart at the question. 

How was he supposed to say it? 

How was he supposed to tell his daughter that the man she loved—the man she was searching for—was gone? 

Forever. 

His lips parted, his breath hitching, but no words came. 

Not yet. 

The pain was too deep, too unbearable.

But Prisha? 

She didn't wait. 

She took a shaky step forward, trying to move past him, trying to run, trying to reach Rudhransh herself. 

Her voice cracked filled with frantic desperation. 

"Okay, don’t tell me—I’ll find him myself!"

But before she could stumble forward—Abhinash pulled her back. 

His hands cupped her face, forcing her to look at him, forcing her to see the heartbreak in his eyes.

And then—the words that destroyed her. 

"He is gone, Prisha."

His voice was low, trembling, breaking apart beneath the weight of sorrow. 

"Gone forever. Away from us." 

Prisha’s chest tightened, her breaths short and uneven. 

Her world spun her fingers curling into fists, her mind refusing to process what he was saying.

"No… you’re lying." 

She shook her head violently  trying to push past him again, her words messy, bubbling through her tears. 

"I know my Rudhransh is here—he must be outside." 

She gasped, her voice filled with determination, clinging onto her denial. 

"He’s angry with me—that’s why he isn’t coming inside! Don’t worry—I will beg him for forgiveness!"

She swayed forward  her legs weak, her body collapsing under the weight of her emotions. 

"He will forgive me! I—" 

Then—another voice shattered the air. 

A voice heavier, sharper, final.

"It’s been one month."

Prisha froze, her breath hitched. 

Her chest felt like it had stopped moving altogether.

"He’s dead, Prisha." 

Shreyansh’s voice didn’t waver, but it carried something more painful than anything—absolute truth. 

"Rudhransh Agniwanshi… maar chuka hai."

The world around her collapsed. 

Her heart stopped beating. 

And for the first time—her body failed her completely. 

The hospital walls closed in around her, suffocating, pressing down as the weight of reality began crushing her all over again.

"Shut up, Bhai!"

Her scream pierced through the silence, raw, filled with agony as she backed away, her trembling body finding support against the cold wall. 

Her breath came out in frantic gasps tears streaming down her pale cheeks as she refused to believe it—refused to accept the words ripping through her chest.

"Kya bole jaa rahe ho aap log?! Rudhransh bahar hai! 

Her voice cracked—a desperate plea, a broken denial.

"I know it—he's angry with me. He hates me. But I will—" 

Her words tumbled over each other, drowning in sobs, in hope that didn't exist anymore. 

"Let me go!" 

Her hands folded together, begging, pleading, sobbing as she looked at them—at her family with tear-filled, hollow eyes.

"Please, let me find him! He will leave me if I don’t—he will!"

No one spoke. 

Because everyone had tears in their eyes, pain in their souls, grief that they wished they didn’t have to carry.

Then—soumya stepped forward. 

Her voice was shaky, hesitant, but firm with the truth Prisha refused to hear.

"Prisha… come to your senses, beta."

A beat. 

A silence too thick, too heavy, too unbearable.

"Rudhransh is no more." 

Her chest tightened, her heartbeat stopped for a moment, frozen in horror, suffocated by the truth. 

"He died that day… in the car." 

The words felt like thunder, like lightning striking straight into her soul. 

She gasped, her hands clutching at her heart, her legs shaking beneath her.

"No…" 

She shook her head violently stepping away, refusing—refusing, refusing, refusing. 

"Please don’t say this! Stop joking! It’s not something to joke about!"

Her eyes darted around the room* frantically searching—searching for him.

"Maa… he’s near me, I know it—he’s here! He has to be!" 

She stumbled forward, weak, desperate, lost in a spiral she couldn’t pull herself from.

"Prisha, you need rest." 

Yuvaan’s voice was firm but filled with worry, his hands gripping her shoulders, holding her in place.

"Where are you going? You are very weak."

*"Humm… no…"

Her voice was barely a whisper now, her breath shaking, her heart breaking. 

"I don’t need rest… I need Rudhransh. In front of my eyes." 

She pushed forward, breaking free, her legs wobbling beneath her as she moved through the hospital corridor. 

Looking. Searching. Hoping. 

And then—Vihaan caught her wrist, stopping her in place. 

"Prishaaaa!"

His voice was soft, filled with emotion, filled with pain he didn’t want her to suffer anymore. 

He took a deep breath, his fingers cupping her face, brushing away stray strands of her messy hair, wiping at her swollen, red eyes. 

And then—he shattered her world completely.*

"Rudhransh is dead."

The words hit like a final nail in a coffin.

"Accept it." 

She gasped, her body weakening, collapsing, refusing to stand straight.

Then—his voice dropped lower.** 

Softer. 

More fragile. 

"It’s been a month since you went into a coma." 

Prisha’s breath hitched painfully.

"Along with you…"

A beat. 

A pause. 

A moment too long, too silent, too heartbreaking.

Then—he said the words that killed her all over again.

"You lost a huge amount of blood."

Another pause. 

Then—the final truth.

"And also… your b-a-by."

His voice hook**, barely above a whisper. 

But it was enough. 

Prisha’s world collapsed completely.** 

"B-baby?"

Her voice was broken, trembling, barely escaping her lips. 

She was… 

Pregnant? 

Her breath turned shallow, uneven her heartbeat too fast, too erratic. 

She stumbled back, her body refusing to move properly as her eyes searched their faces, pleading for a lie—for something else—for anything else.

"Ba-by…" 

She gulped, her chest aching, her vision blurry, her soul screaming for this nightmare to end.

And in that moment—everyone froze in shock. 

She didn’t know.

She never knew. 

She had been two and a half weeks pregnant.

With a baby girl.

A baby girl she lost. 

A baby girl  who went to heaven before she ever had a chance to meet her.

"B-baby…"

Prisha’s voice was barely above a whisper, trembling, fragile, suffocating beneath the weight of the truth she had just learned. 

Her tear-filled eyes darted toward her family, searching their faces—**pleading for a lie, for reassurance, for something other than the unbearable reality crushing her chest. 

Then—Soumya stepped forward.

Her hands reached out, gripping Prisha’s arms gently but firmly, holding her before she could collapse completely. 

Prisha’s breath hitched, her body frozen, her lips parted in shock, unable to form words—unable to process.

"M-maaa…" 

Her voice cracked as her vision blurred, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, suffocating her entirely. 

"My b-a-by…" 

Her fingers curled into fists, gripping onto nothing, onto emptiness, onto the void that had replaced the future she never knew she had. 

A strangled sob escaped her throat, her knees buckling beneath her. 

But before she could fall—Soumya wrapped her arms around her tightly. 

A mother’s embrace. 

A desperate attempt to hold her together before she broke into pieces. 

"Nothing, Prisha." 

Soumya’s voice was soft, gentle, painfully soothing—one filled with sorrow but also urgency. 

"Take a deep breath, beta. Calm down."

But how could she? 

How could she calm down when her entire world had shattered beyond recognition? 

Soumya tightened her hold, gently stroking Prisha’s back, grounding her, keeping her from spiraling further into the abyss. 

"We’ll talk later, okay? Right now, you need rest."

Her voice was filled with love, reassurance, trying to pull Prisha away from the grief drowning her completely.

But would rest fix this?** 

Would anything? 

"Is Vihaan Bhai telling the truth?" 

Prisha’s voice trembled, barely escaping her lips, as the weight of his words pressed down on her chest, suffocating, unbearable. 

Her breath hitched, her body weakening, her fingers twitching as she struggled to comprehend the reality unfolding before her.

Her lips parted her voice fragile—barely a whisper, barely a breath. 

"M-my b-a-by…"

Her knees threatened to give out beneath her  her vision blurring as the hospital walls closed in, the truth crashing down on her like a storm she had no strength to withstand. 

Why hadn’t she known?

Why hadn’t she realized she was pregnant? 

Why had she lost something so precious before she even knew it existed? 

Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs, a sharp ache spreading through her chest as her fingers curled into trembling fists  desperate for control—desperate to hold onto something, anything. 

And then—warm hands cupped her face. 

Firm. Gentle. Grounding her before she collapsed completely. 

"Prisha." 

The moment Soumya called out her name  the fear in her voice shattered the fragile silence  sending a wave of panic through the room. 

Her breath hitched as she watched Prisha’s eyes flutter, her body swaying dangerously—her strength slipping away. 

And then—she collapsed.

"Prishaaaaaa!"

Shreyansh’s voice rang out, desperate, filled with urgency, as he lunged forward  his hands cupping her face gently but firmly  trying to wake her up—trying to keep her with them. 

Her skin was too cold, too pale, her once-bright eyes dim, lifeless, shutting down beneath the weight of everything.

"Prisha, open your eyes, baccha!"

Abhinash’s plea was thick with emotion , his voice cracking  his chest tightening as he looked at his daughter—his little girl, slipping further into unconsciousness. 

Tears filled his eyes, his grip on her tightening, protective, terrified, as her condition  grew worse right before their eyes.

Her body felt fragile in his hold, her breath  shallow, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t.

The room became chaotic  filled with frantic calls for the doctor, desperate whispers, hands shaking her gently, pleading for her to stay awake.

She couldn’t go. 

Not again. 

Not like this. 

_______

Abhinash’s voice was thick with worry  laced with a desperation he couldn’t hide anymore.

His eyes never left his daughter, watching as Kunal checked her vitals, his hands steady but his expression tense. 

The silence stretched, unbearable, suffocating.

Every second that passed felt like an eternity.

Finally—Kunal exhaled sharply his brow furrowed, his fingers pressing lightly against Prisha’s wrist, feeling for her pulse. 

Abhinash’s throat tightened. 

"How is she?" 

His voice was rough, strained, filled with fear—fear of the worst, fear of losing her, fear of hearing something he wasn’t ready to accept.

Kunal glanced up, his expression  grim but controlled , assessing the situation with careful precision. 

The room was drowning in silence thick with grief, worry, and the unbearable weight of uncertainty. 

Kunal took a deep breath, his fingers barely steady as he checked Prisha’s vitals one last time. 

His gaze lifted to meet Abhinash’s, filled with quiet pain and helplessness—a feeling no doctor should ever allow themselves to have, but this time, he couldn’t stop it. 

His voice came out low, hesitant, fragile. 

"I... I can't say anything, Uncle.

Kunal swallowed hard, feeling the weight of emotions threatening to break through his carefully constructed walls. He wasn’t supposed to be shaken—not like this, not as a doctor. But the reality of watching Prisha slip away was suffocating. 

She wasn’t his sister by blood. 

She was his sister by heart  by the memories they had built since childhood. 

Every Raksha Bandhan she had tied a rakhi on his wrist, promising to always be his little sister, his responsibility, his family. 

She had been pampered by him, teased, spoiled, protected—loved like his own. 

And now—she was barely holding on. 

His fingers trembled slightly as he brushed her hair away from her pale face, his touch gentle, filled with quiet pain. 

"For an entire month, she has been like this."

His voice was low, thick with grief. 

He exhaled sharply, pressing his hand to her wrist, feeling the weak pulse beneath his fingers—almost like a dying flame. 

"Today was the first time she showed hope—hope that she would wake up. That she would come back to us." 

He turned slightly, meeting Abhinash’s gaze—the gaze of a father drowning in helplessness. 

"But then the news broke her all over again." 

The words were heavy, suffocating. 

"The news of Rudhransh." 

A pause. 

A silence too thick, too suffocating.

"The news of her baby."

Abhinash clenched his fists, his breath coming in sharp gasps as Kunal continued, forcing himself to speak through the pain.

"Her heart…"

His voice shook, barely above a whisper. 

"It’s worse now."

Another silence. 

Another moment where no one could bring themselves to speak. 

Kunal’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling slightly. 

"We can only pray now."

Abhinash’s breath hitched, his grip tightening around his daughter’s hand, his knuckles turning white from holding onto her so tightly.

Kunal inhaled deeply, trying to push his emotions aside—but he couldn’t.

Not this time. 

Not when it was her.

"Because no medicine is working on her."

The truth hit like a slap, sharp, cruel, suffocating. 

Abhinash stiffened his entire body rigid his head slowly shaking in rejection. 

"No…" 

A whisper. 

A denial. 

A plea that none of them could afford to believe in.

Kunal closed his eyes briefly  trying to keep himself together. 

"She’s losing her hope to live, Uncle." 

His voice cracked , breaking apart. 

Then—the final, haunting truth. 

"If… if in 24 hours she regains her consciousness—"

He stopped. 

His throat  tightened painfully. 

His gaze fell back to Prisha—her fragile form, her shallow breathing, her lost face. 

"Then it will be a relief for us."

Another pause. 

Another silence too long, too suffocating, too merciless.

And then—the possibility none of them wanted to hear.

"But if…"

His breath shook, his chest tightened, his vision blurred slightly as he looked down at her. 

Kunal  exhaled sharply, his chest **tightening , regret settling deep into his bones as he looked at Prisha’s fragile, motionless form on the hospital bed. 

"We made a mistake."

His voice was hoarse, filled with guilt, breaking through the thick silence of the room. 

"We shouldn’t have told her about her pregnancy… about the miscarriage." 

The truth hit him too late, and now, the damage was done.  

He glanced at Abhinash, but the man didn’t respond. 

Didn’t move. 

Didn’t even blink. 

His entire focus was on his daughter, his trembling hands wrapped around hers  his grip tight but desperate—as if holding her tightly could somehow bring her back to life. 

And then—he whispered.

His voice barely audible choked with sorrow, with regret, with an ache that refused to let go. 

"Please, don’t do this, Prisha." 

His thumb gently brushed over her cold fingers, his breath shaking as he leaned closer, resting his forehead lightly against her hand. 

"Come back to us, baccha."

The words were filled with longing, filled with pleading, filled with the quiet desperation of a father watching his child slip away right before his eyes.

His grip tightened, his voice breaking further as the confession spilled from his lips.

"Dad is sorry."

His breath hitched. 

"I… I am responsible for your pain."

He closed his eyes briefly, his tears falling silently, soaking into her skin. 

"I was the first one to doubt Rudhransh."

His voice was fragile now, barely hanging on. 

"I kept him locked away, caged, without giving him the chance to speak, to explain, to prove himself." 

Another pause. 

Another painful silence. 

"Dad is really ashamed, Prisha."

He took a deep breath—one that shook violently, one that barely kept him together.

"But don’t punish him like this, baccha."

A soft sob escaped him, the helpless sound filling the sterile hospital air.

His tears dripped onto her motionless hand, tracing the outline of her fingers, slipping into the spaces between his own. 

She wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But instead—she lay  silent, lifeless, unmoving. 

_______

IN KASHMIR

The room was a mess—things scattered everywhere, pillows thrown, books tossed aside, drawers left half-open. 

Akshita stood in the middle, her small frame trembling  her hands clenched into fists, her eyes filled with unshed tears. 

She sniffled, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, as she turned to face the people in front of her—Adarsh, Neil, Vansh, and Rihaan—all standing there, silent, watching her with sadness in their eyes. 

She hated it. 

She hated the way they looked at her, as if something was wrong, as if she was too fragile, as if they didn’t want to say something she desperately needed to hear. 

Her lips quivered and suddenly—anger took over her grief.

"You told me they would come soon!" 

Her voice rose, frustration shaking through every syllable. 

"You said they were on a trip, but when?!" 

She took a sharp step forward, her tiny hands gripping Neil’s shirt tightly shaking him as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. 

"Why haven’t they called me?!" 

Her voice cracked, and her grip loosened slightly, her body trembling as she searched Neil’s face for answers—answers no one seemed willing to give. 

Neil tensed, his jaw locking, his throat tightening, but he didn’t speak. 

Didn’t respond. 

Didn’t give her what she was asking for. 

"Bolo naa!"

Her desperate plea rang through the room, loud, aching, as she stumbled back, gripping her arms, shaking her head violently. 

"Where are they?!" 

She turned to Vansh and Rihaan, her lips trembling her breath uneven. 

"Mujhe jaana hai unke paas!" 

She screamed, her voice breaking, her knees threatening to give out.

"I’m missing them so much!" 

She gulped, her chest heaving, her breath catching painfully in her throat. 

Her lips formed a small pout, quivering, fragile, filled with longing. 

And then—her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Are they angry with me?" 

Her words were weak, uncertain, afraid. 

She blinked rapidly, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks as she stumbled forward again, gripping Neil's wrist tightly.*

"Did I do something?"

Her voice cracked, barely escaping her lips now.

She swallowed, her entire body shaking, her sobs turning more silent, more broken. 

"Bolo na, Neil…" 

Her hands tightened around his wrist  her gaze searching his, pleading. 

"Kya kiya hai maine? Kya woh gussa hai mujhse?" 

The silence was deafening.

And it hurt more than any answer ever could.

Akshita’s small hands clutched onto Neil’s shirt, her body trembling as sobs wrecked through her chest. 

Her voice cracked  desperate, filled with the helplessness of a child trying to bargain with fate—trying to fix something she didn’t even know was broken. 

"Take me to them!" 

Her words spilled out in between gasps, in between choked breaths, as if saying them fast enough would make them come back.

"I will ask for forgiveness! I will be a good girl!"

She sniffled hard, her tears streaming down her cheeks  soaking into the fabric of Neil’s shirt as she held onto him tighter. 

"I won’t eat too much ice cream! I won’t watch TV too much! I won’t go anywhere without telling you all! I will…"

Her voice grew weaker, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, until she couldn’t finish her sentence. 

Neil’s arms wrapped around her, his grip firm, protective, filled with something deeper than just comfort—filled with pain.

His lips pressed against her hair, his breath shaky, his own chest tightening with emotions he couldn’t afford to express right now. 

Then—he broke the silence. 

"Your buddy is far away from us, Akshita." 

The words were careful. 

Soft. 

But filled with sorrow that he couldn’t hide. 

Akshita’s tear-filled eyes lifted confusion twisting across her small face as she stared at him. 

"Where is he?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper now, fragile, uncertain, afraid. 

Neil felt a lump rise in his throat, his hands instinctively tightening around her before he slowly pulled away. 

His lips parted, but no words came. 

Instead—he stood up, his back straightening, his jaw locking, his breath coming out sharp. 

And then—he left.

Just like that. 

Without saying anything. 

Without answering her question. 

Without turning back. 

Akshita’s heart hammered painfully, confusion mixing with panic as she hurried after him. 

"Where is Buddy?!" 

Her voice rose again, louder, filled with desperation as she ran forward, but before she could chase after Neil completely—Rihaan stepped in front of her. 

His grip was gentle, but firm—his fingers wrapping around her wrists, stopping her from going after Neil. 

"Come." 

His voice was low. 

Soft. 

Filled with something Akshita couldn’t quite understand. 

He swallowed hard, his expression careful—too careful, as if he was fighting his own emotions, forcing himself to stay strong. 

Trying to be strong for her.

Trying to be strong for his brother. 

Trying to be strong when everything was falling apart.

"I will tell you."

The words were a promise. 

But they were also a lie.

Because Rihaan wasn’t about to tell her the truth. 

Not yet. 

Not like this. 

_________

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