“A year after Prachi disappeared,” I said, my voice hollow, “Shashank Roy approached my parents with an alliance—for his daughter, Alisha.”

Maithili didn’t speak. Her silence was gentle, grounding—more comforting than any words.

“My parents agreed immediately,” I continued. “After everything, they just wanted… normalcy. And me?” I let out a bitter laugh. “I had no one. I thought maybe… maybe life could go back to normal. Maybe I could have someone to share my burdens. Someone who’d love me.”

I paused, swallowing hard. “I missed having Di around during my marriage. She was my anchor. My support system.”

I looked down at my hands—still, heavy, like they carried every memory I’d ever tried to suppress.

"When I met Alisha, we barely spoke. She agreed to marry me, saying she was okay with it. After our wedding, Alisha stayed distant. I assumed she needed time to adjust."

I took a breath. “But then… I saw her with someone else. That’s when I understood. She didn’t want this marriage. It wasn’t shyness. It was silence born of pressure. She loved someone else. Her father had forced her into the marriage. I confronted her. She didn’t lie—she just hadn’t told me the whole truth.”

“She was kind about it. Honest. We applied for a mutual divorce. The court asked us to stay together during the mandatory period before final separation.”

I sighed. “History repeating itself. Only this time, I was the one being left behind.”

“My parents were devastated. First Di disappeared… then my marriage fell apart. They didn’t understand. I didn’t tell them the real reason. Just said it was a compatibility issue. My mother… she was heartbroken.”

I paused.

“One day, I was at work when I got a call from an international number. I almost didn’t answer. But then I heard her voice ‘Abhi’ and everything stopped.”

A storm of memories swelled inside me. “It was Di. My Prachi Di.”

“She said she was in London. Asked me to come. I didn’t hesitate. Travel had just reopened after COVID. I booked the first flight I could.”

“She said she’d meet me at arrivals. I stood there, scanning every face. And then… I saw her. Thin, pale, six months pregnant. I didn’t even recognize her at first. She looked like someone life had hollowed out and left standing anyway.”

“I hugged her tight. God, I’d missed her. Two years without her. I asked her to come back home. To Delhi. But she refused. She didn’t want to face our parents in that state. She was stubborn like that. So, I brought her to Mumbai. To my apartment.”

“By court order, Alisha and I were still staying under the same roof. She met Di. I called Richa, told her everything she, Kaushik, and Vikrant came immediately. Richa cried holding Di. No one asked questions. They just stood by us.”

Maithili’s fingers were still on mine, warm and unwavering.

“I went to every check-up with her. I had no clue about anything—Di was the gynaecologist. But I supported her the best I could. I even felt Myra’s first kicks. I used to read stories to Di’s belly at night. Talk to Myra before she was born.”

“I kept asking Di what had happened. Who was responsible. Why she left. But she never said. And when I pushed too hard… she looked at me and asked, ‘Abhi, am I a burden to you?’”

My chest tightened at the memory.

“I said, ‘No, Di. Never. Don’t ever say that. You could never be a burden. I just wanted to protect you. To know what happened. To know who did this to you.’ I told her, if I found out who he was, I’d kill him with my bare hands.”

I looked at the floor.

“Then… one night, around her eighth month, I heard noise from her room. She’d gone into labour. I rushed her to the hospital. Just before they took her in, she looked at me and said, ‘Abhi, promise me—if anything happens to me, you’ll choose the baby. You’re her guardian now. Don’t tell Ma or Papa the truth and about me. And Myra… she should never know who I was. You’ll be her father. You’ll raise her as your own.’”

“I cried. I told her she’d be fine. That she’d hear Myra call her ‘Mamma.’ That I’d be the cool uncle. But she knew Maithili. She was aware of the complications from the start.

“That’s why she called me and that’s the reason she came back to India. I found out about it after her delivery when her doctor informed me.

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t stop.

“She gave birth to Myra. Premature. Fragile. My little miracle. Di never woke up again.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I watched Myra from behind NICU glass for days. Just breathing. Waiting. And when the day came to bring her home, I lied to my parents. I told them she was my friend’s daughter—he’d died in an accident, and I was taking responsibility.”

“It was Di’s last wish. And I kept it.”

“She chose the name too. Myra. It means ‘beloved.’ And she is.”

I looked at Maithili then, my gaze unwavering.

"After Di died, I was shattered. But Myra… she kept me standing. If I lost my sister, she lost her mother. So, I buried my grief. For her."

I took a deep breath.

"I failed my sister in life. But I won’t fail her in death. I’ll protect Myra with everything I have. No matter the cost."

My jaw set.

"My mother wanted me to get married but after Myra entered into my life, I never wanted to get married. I couldn’t risk someone not loving her as their own. I was ready to be alone forever."

A pause. Then, softer—

"Later my parents moved to Mumbai. To help with Myra. And for the first time since Di left… I saw them happy again. Myra brought them back to life."

A faint, broken smile.

"Maybe that was Di’s final gift to our parents. A way to heal them, even when she couldn’t stay around them."

I looked at Maithili, my voice quiet, yet steady.
“Myra is my daughter, Maithili,” I said. “My sister… she was always a second mother to me. And now… I’m a father to her daughter. I hope you understand.”

She didn’t speak right away. Instead, she reached up and gently wiped away the tears I hadn’t even realized were falling.

“You’re brave, Abhi,” she whispered. “I can’t even imagine being in your place. Watching your sister die in front of your eyes and not being able to tell your own parents—who still live with the hope that their daughter is alive somewhere… That must be unbearable.”

Her words pierced straight through the part of me that had been holding everything in. I nodded slowly, breathing through the weight of it.

“Do you have a picture of her?” she asked softly.

I walked over to my desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a photo frame. Inside were two photographs—one from our childhood, with Di ruffling my hair and me scowling playfully; the second from later years, the same pose, older, yet filled with that same bond.

I handed it to Maithili.

She looked at the pictures, a soft smile playing at her lips. “She’s beautiful.”

“She was,” I smiled back. “Myra’s just like her. The way she talks… the way she eats… sometimes I feel like I’m seeing and raising Di all over again. I think that’s why my parents adore her so much. Even if they don’t say it out loud, they see their daughter in Myra. And I pray every day that I never have to break that illusion… never have to tell them the truth.”

Maithili looked up from the photo and met my eyes. She turned slightly, still holding the picture, and said something that made the world pause for a moment.

“Di…” she spoke softly, speaking to the photo, “I’m Maithili. I’m going to marry your brother. And from today… if Abhi is Myra’s father, then I promise I’ll be her mother in every way that matters. I’ll try to give her the love you would’ve given her… if you were still here. That’s my promise to you.”

I couldn’t speak. Her words didn’t just touch my heart they settled into the deepest part of my soul.

That silent vow to my sister… it filled the room with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years. My heart swelled with pride, with relief, with gratitude.

In that moment, I knew something for sure:

Di hadn’t just given me Myra. Somehow, in her own way… she had sent me Maithili too.

Maithili handed the frame back to me carefully, and as I placed it back in the drawer, she asked, “So, Di didn’t tell you what happened to her? Why she left her marriage or who Myra’s father is?”

I paused. That question had lived in the shadows of my heart for years.

“No,” I said, my voice low. “She never told me. And I always suspected Richa might’ve known something... she was Di’s closest friend. But even when I asked—after Di left us—Richa never said a word. Just silence. And after a point... I stopped asking.”

Maithili looked thoughtful, almost sad. “Maybe,” she murmured, “just like you... she’s carrying her friend’s promise.”

That hit something inside me. A silent agreement. A shared understanding.

I looked at Maithili. “Maybe…”

For a moment, we just held each other’s gaze—two souls tethered to secrets not their own.

Then, her phone rang.

Maithili answered swiftly. "Ma? … No, I’m fine… Lock the door, I have spare keys in the car… Goodnight." She hung up, cheeks pink. "My mother. I left in a hurry—just told her it was important."

I smiled. "She was worried?"

"Just checking if I’d be late." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious.

I nodded with a small smile.

Then Maithili tilted her head, eyes curious again. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course.”

I mean, she’s your sister’s best friend, elder to you... your best friend’s bhabhi too, if I’m not wrong.”

I chuckled. “Hmm. Di used to call her Richa since school, and I picked it up. Back then, I was just the little brother tagging along. Later, when she married Kaushik bhai, Vikrant started calling her ‘Bhabhi.’ But for me... I couldn’t. It sounded weird. Even to her. So, we just stuck with ‘Richa.’”

Maithili laughed quietly.

Later, she glanced at her phone, then looked at me gently. “I should leave, it’s already late.”

I nodded, rising from where I was sitting. “I’ll drop you.”

She shook her head softly. “No, Abhiram. I came by car, I’ll manage.”

I frowned slightly, my voice firm but calm. “It’s midnight, Maithili. I can’t let you drive alone at this hour, no matter what. Let me drive you home, and I’ll have my driver pick up your car from your office tomorrow morning.”

She hesitated, eyes flickering. “I would have, but… I must leave early tomorrow. Need to drop my mother at school.”

I paused for a second, “Okay. Then let me come with you.”

She looked surprised. “And how will you get back?”

I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage. Might even get some fresh air for once.”

Maithili shook her head firmly, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “No, Abhiram. It’s already too late. You need to go home too. It’s been a long day. You should rest. I’ll call you as soon as I reach.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could get a word out, she cut in gently, “I’m not going to listen to anything else. You’re going home. You’re resting. Non-negotiable.”

I chuckled, raising my hands in surrender. “Alright, fine. But at least let me follow you till your place. That way I’ll know you reached safely.”

She was about to argue, I could tell, but I added with a small grin, “I listened to you. Now it’s your turn to listen to me.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and finally nodded. “Okay, deal.”

We both walked out together, that quiet understanding between us deepening with every step.