Mihir sat alone in his apartment, the dim light from the window casting long shadows across the room. The silence around him was suffocating, but nothing compared to the storm inside his chest.

He replayed the words he had said again and again—like a tape on a loop.

“Blood is thicker than water…”
“When you have your own child, you’ll change…”
“I don’t want to risk my daughter’s future…”
“A child not born of your blood is always an outsider.”

And most of all, the look in Maithili’s eyes.
Tear-struck. Wounded. Betrayed.

He gripped the edge of the couch tightly, his knuckles white.

“What have I done…”

The sound of the door clicking open pulled him from his spiral. It was Tina. She walked in quietly, observing him with calm, serious eyes. She didn’t speak at first—just looked at her brother. And somehow, that silence was heavier than any scream.

Mihir met her gaze briefly but dropped his eyes almost instantly.

Tina finally spoke. Her voice wasn’t angry. It was heartbreakingly honest.

“You know… when we were kids,” she said, settling into the chair across from him, “you were the one who always protected us. You were the eldest. The strong one. We looked up to you.”

Mihir didn’t respond.

“But today?” Tina’s voice tightened. “I saw a man who shattered his sister. A woman who’s done nothing but love a child your child with everything she has… and you questioned that love like it meant nothing.”

Mihir clenched his jaw. “I didn’t mean—”

Tina cut him off gently but firmly. “But you did. And that’s the problem. You let your pain talk. Not your heart.”

She sat down across from him, lowering her voice. “Bhai, I know this hurt you. Finding out Prachi had your child and never told you. Losing her without a goodbye. I get it. But what you said to Maithili…?”

She looked down, voice softening even more. “You questioned her love. Her upbringing. Her entire identity as a mother. And that? That broke her.”

Mihir closed his eyes, regret washing over him like a tidal wave.

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “I… I never thought about what I was really saying. I just… I was so overwhelmed. I got to know Myra is my daughter… I realized I missed everything… I felt like I lost everything. And then I reacted—”

“But you reacted cruelly,” Tina said, her voice quieter now. “And worst of all, you forgot who Maithili is. You forgot the kind of heart she has.”

Mihir lowered his head into his hands.

“She’s my baby sister,” he said brokenly. “She used to follow me around everywhere. And I… I raised a finger at her. At her love?” He paused, blinking back tears. “I saw her eyes today, Tina. Those eyes will haunt me. I… I hurt her. Deeply.”

Tina reached out and touched his arm gently. “Then fix it, Bhai. Don’t let this be the end. Don’t let your ego bury the people who still care for you.”

Mihir nodded, slowly but with certainty. “I will. I need to.”

He looked up at her, his voice cracking but clear.
“I’ll tell Maithili how sorry I am. I’ll tell her that whatever I said—about her, about Abhi—it wasn’t the truth. It was anger. It was fear. And… and frustration that I never even got a chance to know my daughter.”

He swallowed hard, pain dancing in his voice.

“But that doesn’t excuse me,” he added. “I hurt her. And Abhi. I questioned their love, their parenthood, and I had no right. I’m going to own every word I said I…..I stood there and said she might change once she has her own child.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’ve never said anything more shameful in my life.”

Tina walked over and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Then tell her that. Not as a brother trying to undo a mistake. But as a man who finally understands the depth of her love.”

Tina walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Mihir looked up at her, eyes glistening with pain and resolve. “Abhi would be hating me right now… Iam not sure if he ever lets me near Myra again… even if Abhi never forgives me… Mihir swallows hard. …he deserves to hear it from me—that I was wrong. That I see him. That I see what he’s done… what he’s been. Not just to Myra, but to Prachi. To Maithili. To this entire family.”

His eyes shimmer, holding back tears.

“I won’t have peace until I stand in front of them and say it how sorry Iam and I’ll carry that shame with me until my last breath.’

He turned to Tina, voice firm now. Soft but certain.

“I’m happy,” Mihir whispered, “being her Mamu. Her uncle. Her friend. Her silent cheerleader in the stands. Because that’s who I truly am in her story. And Abhi… Abhi is her Papa. And he deserves that title more than me. More than anyone in this entire world.”

Tina’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached for his hand.

“I’m going to look Abhi in the eye tonight and thank him. Even if he never forgives me… I want him to know that I see everything he’s done. I see the love. The sacrifices. The man who gave up his world so Myra could have one.”

A soft smile touched his lips through the tears.

“And I’m going to tell Maithili… that I’m proud of her. That I’m so sorry. And that I hope one day she can look at me again… not with pain, but with peace.”

Tina gently touches his arm, proud but emotional.
“Then let’s go,” she says softly.
“Let’s make it right, even if all we get in return… is silence. Even silence is better than the weight of regret.”

Mihir nods.

…………………….

The elevator chimed softly as it arrived at their floor. Maithili stepped out first, each step composed, even if her heart was nowhere close to calm. Vikrant walked beside her in equal silence. Their usual chatter, sarcasm, and work banter were replaced today by a heavy quiet that hung between them like smoke.

Maithili offered a tired smile to a colleague who passed by. From afar, she looked like herself poised, professional, a woman in control. But a closer look would reveal the subtle puffiness under her eyes, the way her lashes were slightly clumped from hastily washed tears, and the faint pinkness of skin that had been rubbed raw from wiping them away.

As they stepped into the glass-walled bullpen, Abhi looked up from his screen. His gaze found Maithili instantly. He didn’t need to study her for long just a second, and he knew.

Something was wrong.

He stood up, approaching her slowly. His brows knit, voice low. “Hey… you, okay?”

Maithili tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and forced a smile. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He stopped in front of her, eyes searching hers. “You’ve been crying.”

Maithili blinked too fast, too deliberately. “No, no… nothing like that.” She added a loud chuckle that didn’t reach her eyes. “Tina ordered something ridiculously spicy, and we followed it up with iced water like amateurs. I think I’m still recovering.”

Abhi tilted his head slightly, as though measuring her answer. He didn’t respond, just let out a low hum, the kind that said I hear you, but I don’t believe you.

Before the silence stretched too long, Vikrant stepped in. “We’re getting late for the review call.”

Abhi didn’t take his eyes off Maithili for another long second, then finally turned to follow them to the conference room.

The meeting was routine. Projections. Targets. Campaign feedback. Design tweaks. Numbers and strategy. It was supposed to be the kind of thing Abhi could breeze through. But not today. Not with Maithili sitting across from him, nodding at the right moments, taking notes like usual… but not really there.

Her laughs were a second too late. Her pen fidgeted between her fingers. Her eyes wandered out the window whenever no one was looking. But Abhi was always looking.

When the meeting finally ended and the team members dispersed with a shuffle of laptops and murmurs, it was just the three of them left.

Maithili stood, collecting her notes. “I’ll update the team, assign roles for the new vertical, and brief the creatives on version three.” Her voice was clipped. Professional. Efficient. But her knuckles were white around her ipad.

Abhi and Vikrant nodded. She gave them both a polite smile—tight, unconvincing—and left the room. The door clicked shut behind her with a softness that felt heavier than a slam.

Abhi waited a beat before he turned to Vikrant.

“What happened?”

Vikrant looked up. “What?”

“At lunch,” Abhi said, voice firm now. “Did something happen?”

Vikrant scoffed lightly, trying to dismiss it. “No. Nothing happened. Why are you asking?”

Abhi’s eyes narrowed. “She’s been off since she walked back in. Maithili. She’s pretending everything is fine—but she’s not okay. She’s smiling like she’s practiced it a thousand times in the mirror, but her eyes won’t play along. I know her.”

Vikrant hesitated. Just a flicker—but Abhi caught it.

“She seemed normal to me,” Vikrant replied, a little too quickly.

Abhi leaned against the edge of the conference table. “Not to me.”

There was a silence, heavy and thick.

Vikrant let out a breath. “Spicy food,” he said again. “Tina made everyone eat this chili-loaded dish, and then we all went ice-cold with water. Trust me, you don’t want the details.”

Abhi just stared at him, the corners of his mouth twitching—not in amusement, but in restrained frustration.

He nodded slowly. “Sure,” he said at last. “If you say so.”

The two men walked out of the conference room, side by side.

But as they walked, Abhi’s thoughts raced.

They’re hiding something. Both of them. Maithili’s eyes aren’t lying—but her mouth is. And Vikrant… he never talks that fast unless he’s dodging.

Something had cracked. And no matter how many layers they used to cover it, Abhi could feel the tremor underneath. The silence between their words spoke more than their excuses.

What are you hiding from me, Maithili?
And why does it feel like it’s about to change everything?

Abhi was leaning over a set of final design approvals, fingers tapping absently against his pen when a soft knock sounded at his cabin door.

“Come in,” he called, not looking up.

“Papa!”

His head jerked up, and a smile broke across his face. “Myra?”

There she was—his little whirlwind—standing in the doorway in her yellow frock and butterfly hairband, her bag half open and water bottle bouncing at her side.

“Princess! What are you doing here?” he asked, already rising to lift her into his arms. “You don’t have swimming today?”

“I completed it, Papa!” she chirped proudly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Nanny aunty said Mamma asked her to bring me here.”

Abhi’s brows furrowed slightly. That’s strange.

Last night he and Maithili had discussed visiting the GYN today. After last night’s long talk about having a child, Maithili had been insistent on getting a check-up just to be sure everything was okay.

And the appointment was in less than an hour. Then why Myra at office?

He looked back at Myra, who was now busy opening her tiny bag to pull out a pink dairy. “Where’s Mamma now?”

“Mamma is talking to some people,” she said. “She told me to come to you. She’ll join soon.”

Abhi nodded, gently settling Myra into his lap.

“Well then,” he said with a smile, brushing her hair back, “tell me all about your day.”

And Myra did. In great, winding detail—from swimming laps to the chocolate milk that wasn’t chocolatey enough, to how her friend Zara lost her towel and cried.

Abhi listened with full attention, nodding and smiling at all the right places

Suddenly, Myra gasped and pulled away, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh! Papa! Day after tomorrow we’re going to the zoo!”

“The zoo?” Abhi smiled. “Really? That sounds exciting!”

“Yes! And I want to go! Please say yes?”

He laughed. “Of course, Princess. You can go.”

“Yayy!” she squealed and dug into her bag again, pulling out the notice from her diary. “Here. Sign here, Papa. Please!”

Abhi scanned the paper, then signed it without a second thought.

Just then, the door opened and Maithili stepped in. “Sorry, baby, they all came early so I sent you to Papa.”

Myra turned to her cheerfully. “No problem, Mamma!”

Maithili smiled and walked over, smoothing Myra’s hair. “How was swimming? Tell me everything.”

And Myra did—again—with the same excitement, the same hand gestures, and the same dramatic gasp about Zara’s towel. Abhi and Maithili exchanged a brief, amused glance.

“And Mamma,” Myra finished, “I’m going to the zoo!”

Maithili’s smile faltered.

“The zoo?”

“Yes, and Papa already said yes! He signed the diary too.”

Maithili turned sharply to Abhi, her smile now gone. “You signed it?”

Abhi raised an eyebrow. “Yes? She’s going with her school, with her teachers and friends. What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Maithili said, voice growing colder, “is that you didn’t ask me.”

Abhi blinked. “It’s just a school trip.”

“It’s not just anything,” Maithili snapped. She knelt beside Myra and said softly, “Baby, if you want to go to the zoo, Papa and I will take you. Just the three of us. Okay?”

Myra’s face crumpled. “But I want to go with my friends…”

Maithili's tone turned firm. “When Mamma says no, it means no, Myra. Don’t argue.”

Myra’s lips quivered. She looked between her parents, clearly confused and hurt.

Abhi quickly intervened. “Princess, go to the cafeteria. There’ll be snacks waiting for you. Go, okay? We’ll talk later.”

Maithili cut in. “No, I’ll ask someone to bring snacks here—”

Abhi held her gaze. “She knows this office. It’s safe. Let her go.”

Myra hesitated, then gave a small nod and left the room. A moment later, Maithili followed her briefly to call the nanny and instruct her to stay close.

Inside the cabin, Abhi’s voice was low but firm.

“What is wrong with you, Maithili? Why are you being like this?”

You overreacted.”

“No, I didn’t,” she snapped.

“You’re treating this like something huge. It’s just a school trip, Maithili. We’ve let her go before—”

Maithili cut him off. “Not this time.”

Abhi stared at her. “Why? What’s happened to you?”

She looked at him, eyes suddenly brimming with unspoken fear. “Because I don’t feel safe.”

There was a beat of silence. Abhi's confusion deepened.

“Maithili… it’s Myra. It’s school. She’s safe.”

“I said no,” Maithili replied, her voice cracking slightly. “And I mean it. She’s not going alone. Either you or I will go with her. Otherwise, she’s staying home.”

Abhi softened his tone, trying again. “Jaan, she’s safe. It’s just one day. All her friends will be there—”

“No,” Maithili snapped. “You don’t get it. I can’t let her go alone. I won’t.”

Her voice shook with something deeper. Something heavier. Not just worry.

Fear.

Abhi stepped closer, slowly. “Maithili… what happened? This isn’t about the zoo.”

She looked away her hands trembling slightly.

Abhi exhaled slowly. “Alright. We won’t send her to the zoo. But you need to tell me what’s happening. Because you’re not just being protective… you’re scared. And I need to know why.”

Maithili stood silently, her back half-turned. I’m not sending Myra anywhere alone.”

Her voice was steady, but underneath it was a crack Abhi could hear.

“Okay,” he said softly. “But what’s going on, jaan? You were fine this morning—”

“I’m fine now,” she cut him off, her tone clipped.

Abhi took a breath. “Alright… then why did you ask Nanny to bring Myra to the office? We have an appointment in less than an hour. You do remember, right?”

Maithili finally looked up at him, her expression unreadable. “We’re not going.”

Abhi blinked. “What do you mean we’re not going?”

“There’s no need to visit the doctor,” she said, her voice flat.

“But you were the one who wanted it,” he said, trying to keep calm. “You were so excited last night. You wanted to check everything—just to make sure we could start trying.”

Maithili looked him in the eyes.

“I don’t want to anymore,” she said. “No more doctor. No more planning. No more baby.”

It hit him like a jolt of cold water.

“What?” His voice came out lower than he meant it to. “Maithili… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we don’t need another child,” she replied, emotion tightening her throat. “Myra is enough. She’s more than enough.”

Abhi just stood there, stunned.

This wasn’t the same woman who had excitedly spoken about cribs and names less than twenty-four hours ago. This wasn’t the woman who had laid her head on his chest and whispered, "Let's have a kid. A little piece of you and me."

This woman looked... cornered. Terrified. Like someone whose entire foundation had just shifted beneath her feet.

“Maithili… this doesn’t make sense,” he said carefully. “Something happened after lunch. You’ve been off ever since you came back. Now this?”

“I said what I needed to,” she whispered. “We’re not having a baby. That’s it.”

Abhi opened his mouth to protest, to ask the dozens of questions flooding his mind, but she was already stepping back.

“You take Myra home,” she said suddenly. “I have a few meetings left, and she’ll be bored here.”

“Okay… but we can send her with the driver—”

“No,” she said firmly, looking him dead in the eye. “From now on, Myra will travel only with either you or me. Not alone. Not with a driver. Not with staff. Only with us.”

That caught him off guard again.

Abhi nodded slowly, his gaze narrowing. “Alright. I’ll take her.”

She gave a brief nod, then turned toward the door. Her steps were quick, purposeful—like she needed to leave before he could stop her with a question she didn’t want to answer.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Abhi stood still for a long moment. Something had changed.

Something deep and hidden inside Maithili had cracked wide open since lunch—and he didn’t know what it was.

But he would find out.

Abhi remained seated at his desk—still, silent, and confused. His hands hovered over his laptop, but he wasn’t typing. His mind was spinning, replaying every word she had said.

No more kids.

Myra will only travel with us.

She’s enough.

Those weren’t just statements—they were barricades, hastily built out of fear. But fear of what?

Just then, there was a quick knock on the door, followed by Vikrant stepping in with a tablet in hand.

“Abhi, I was thinking—” he began but paused as he saw the look on Abhi’s face.

Abhi didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on nothing. His thoughts were far away.

“Abhi?” Vikrant called again, more firmly.

Abhi blinked and looked up, startled. “Huh? Yeah… Vikrant. When did you come in?”

Vikrant closed the door gently behind him, shutting out the noise from the corridor. He walked over and set the tablet down on the desk.

“Forget the update,” he said. “What’s going on with you? You look like someone just pulled the floor out from under you.”

Abhi leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “You tell me what’s going on.”

Vikrant frowned. “What?”

“You were there at lunch. Did something happen?” Abhi asked, his voice steady but loaded.

Vikrant was caught off guard. “Abhi… I told you. Nothing happened.”

“That’s not true,” Abhi said quietly. “Something happened. Because ever since Maithili returned from lunch, she’s been acting… off.”

Vikrant kept quiet, but his lips pressed into a thin line.

Abhi continued, frustration lacing his words. “She called Myra here out of nowhere. Then refused to let her go on a school trip. She’s suddenly terrified to let Myra out of her sight. And the baby…” he trailed off, swallowing. “She doesn’t want a child anymore. Said Myra is enough. Just like that.”

Vikrant looked down, jaw clenched. He didn’t have to guess. He knew exactly what had shaken Maithili.

Mihir’s words.

“I’ll talk to her,” Vikrant said softly, stepping forward.

Abhi’s eyes narrowed. “You know something, don’t you?”

Vikrant hesitated.

“Look,” Abhi said, leaning in, his voice low but firm. “If there’s something going on—something I don’t know about—then tell me before I have to find it out on my own.”

Vikrant didn’t answer. But the silence said enough.

Abhi stood up slowly. “I’m going home. With Myra. But Vikrant…” he paused at the door, looking his friend in the eye. “I’m not blind. I see what’s happening. And I promise you—I will find out.”

Vikrant watched him go, guilt rising in his chest like a tide.

Outside, Abhi walked toward the cafeteria where Myra sat chatting with her nanny, her laughter echoing through the corridor. For a moment, his heart eased

He smiled at her, masking the storm brewing inside him.

But as he took her hand and walked away, one thing became clear:

Whatever Maithili was hiding… whatever secret Vikrant wasn’t ready to share…

He was going to uncover it. Soon.