The mansion lay wrapped in an unusual silence.

Hemanth pushed the main door open quietly, rolling his shoulders as he stepped inside. The lights were off, the hall drowned in darkness, and for a brief second, the stillness felt... wrong.

A shadow shifted.

he felt that it's just his mind,but

again the same shadow appeared in front of him.

His breath caught.

Ghost? That too in this big mansion?!

Before his mind could react, his body already had.

"AAHH–"

CLICK.

The lights snapped on.

"OYE!"

Pain shot through his ears as fingers twisted them mercilessly.

"Itni raat mein tum iss darwaze se kyun aa rahe ho, betaji?" his mother snapped,"kya balcony nhi  thi kya anne ke liye?!" his mother added, standing right in front of him - very much alive and very much furious.

"Aah, mumma! Mumma, dard!-" Hemanth winced, bending slightly as she maintained her grip.

"hona chahiye," she retorted. "Raat ke barah baj rahe hain. Dinner kiya ya nahi , Kya tumhe yaad bhi hai? Kya karte rehte ho poora din, haan? tumhare dhyaan kaun karega?Main har waqt rahungi kya?"kya main yahaan 100 saal tak rahoongi?

She finally let go and crossed her arms, eyes blazing.

Hemanth straightened slowly, rubbing his ears... and smiling.

A soft smile.
A dangerous one.

"Aapki bahu rakhegi na mera dhyaan," he said casually, almost teasing.
"Aap chinta mat karo."

Silence followed.

"Meri... bahu?" his mother repeated, blinking. "Yeh kya keh rahe ho, Hemanth? Aaj kal kuch zyada hi bolne lage ho."

"Haan haan, maa," he shrugged lightly.

SMACK.

"Oof!"

She hit his arm and pointed toward the dining area.
"Bakwas bandh. Pehle dinner karo. Baaki baatein baad mein."

Hemanth laughed softly, shaking his head as he walked in.

Behind him, his mother watched quietly — suspicion melting into curiosity.

They sat across the dining table, the soft clink of cutlery filling the silence. The food was warm, familiar — the kind that always made the house feel like home, no matter how late the hour.

His mother spoke first.

"Achha," she said casually, glancing at him,
"ab batao... kaun hai meri bahu?"

Hemanth paused for a heartbeat.

His gaze dropped to his plate, lips curving into an unconscious smile. And then — just for a moment — her face flashed in his mind. Sharp eyes. Fearless voice. No hesitation.

He cleared his throat.

"Bas... hai ek," he replied lightly.

His mother noticed the blush immediately.

She set her spoon down.

"Kya main tumhari maa nahi hoon?" she asked suddenly.

The shift in her tone made him look up.

She was smiling — but her eyes shimmered.

"Sirf isliye kyunki main tumhari asli maa nahi hoon?" she continued softly.
"Stepmother hoon... isliye mujhse nahi bataoge?"

A tear slipped down her cheek.

Hemanth stood up instantly.

"Maa," he said, half-laughing, half-exasperated, gently wiping her tears,
"yeh kya drama hai? Aap acting mein sach mein bohot achhi ho."

She paused. Blinked. Then straightened.

"Achha?" she said suspiciously.

He chuckled. "Aur sun lo — maa toh maa hoti hai. Asli ho ya step, farak nahi padta. Aap meri maa ho."

For a moment, she only stared at him.

Then she smiled — genuinely this time.

"Pagal ladka," she muttered, picking up her spoon again.
"Ja, khana khatam kar."

They had barely taken two bites when—

"BHAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

Both of them flinched.

"What the—" Hemanth groaned. "Ab kaun mar gaya?"

From the hallway emerged his younger brother — tall, grinning, and shameless as ever.

"Mujhe bhi aapke saath aana hai," he announced proudly.
"PLEASE."

"Itni raat ko kyun chillata hai?" Hemanth snapped.
"Poora ghar utha dega."

His mother sighed. "Dono bhaioo bilkul ek jaise hain."

"Bhai ke friend ki shaadi hai na?" his brother continued eagerly.
"Main bhi aaunga. Pakka — koi problem nahi."

Hemanth raised an eyebrow. "Tum aur no problem?"

"Kasam," he said dramatically.

His mother shook her head, amused. "Kuch nahi sudhrega."

Hemanth thought for a second... then nodded.

"Thik hai," he said. "Par zyada shor nahi."

His brother's grin widened. "Done!"

"Ab bas," his mother ordered. "Dinner khatam karo dono."

Laughter filled the room once again.

From a little distance away, near the hallway, his father stood silently, watching.

He didn't interrupt.
Didn't step forward.

His eyes lingered on the scene — his sons laughing, his wife smiling, the house glowing with warmth.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

"Kaash main bhi wahi hota," he whispered.

No one heard him.

Later,

the lights dimmed one by one. Doors closed. The mansion surrendered to sleep.

Hemanth lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, that same unfamiliar face returning to his thoughts.

Hemanth lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, but sleep refused to come. Her face kept surfacing in his mind — that same fearless smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the tilt of her head that always made him feel... something he hadn't understood at first.

He turned onto his side.

"Yeh this feelings..." he murmured,as he remembered those moments of his college days,

The first time she had really reached out to him. She had been chatty, sharing every little detail of her day — what she ate, what annoyed her, what made her laugh. At first, he had found it... irritating. Why did she always have to talk so much? Why did she expect him to reply to everything immediately? He had rolled his eyes more than once, sighed more than he cared to admit, and sometimes wondered if he should just ignore her messages altogether.

But slowly, things had shifted. By the second-to-last year, he found himself waiting for her texts, reading each word carefully, memorizing the way she phrased things, laughing quietly at her jokes even when no one else could hear. Her stories, once a nuisance, had become a part of his day, something he looked forward to. Every message from her made his chest tighten in a way he didn't fully understand — a quiet, dangerous anticipation he couldn't let go of.

By the final year, it had become impossible to ignore. He had begun noticing everything: the curve of her smile, the spark in her eyes, the fearless way she moved through the world. He had fallen — completely, silently — for every little thing that made her who she was.

And then... the ten-year gap.

Even after college, even after life pulled them into separate routines, he found himself thinking of her constantly. Every memory, every conversation, every detail replayed endlessly in his mind. He loved her in ways that scared him — quietly, obsessively, completely. Her laugh became a melody he could never forget, her words a thread that tied his thoughts together. He watched from afar, making sure she was happy, sharing her joys and sorrows in silence, a shadow presence she never knew.

And somewhere along the way, he had realized... she had felt the same. That shy, tentative smile she once gave, the way she had lingered in conversations, the subtle hints that no one else noticed — she had liked him too.

A slow exhale escaped him. For the first time that night, he let himself relax, letting the memory settle over him like a warm weight. Sleep claimed him gently, carrying him away from the past, from longing, and back into the quiet of his own room.

Outside, the night held its breath — quietly guiding them toward what fate had already decided.

.............................................

In the morning, near VOSE MANSION, 

Preetham stepped out of his car slowly, adjusting his cufflinks — not out of habit, but restraint. The night before replayed in his mind with ruthless clarity.

Someone touched her.

That was all Sachin had said.
No shouting.
No explanation.

Just an order.

And Preetham knew better than to ask questions when Sachin Sinha's voice went that cold.

Inside, the mansion was unusually quiet. Staff moved carefully, eyes lowered, whispers swallowed before they formed. Everyone felt it — something was wrong.

Preetham walked straight in, his footsteps steady, echoing against marble floors.

"Rudra," he called calmly.

From the shadows near the staircase, Rudra stepped forward — silent, alert, eyes sharp from a sleepless night.

"Sir."

"Start from the beginning," Preetham said. "Every detail. No emotions. No gaps."

Rudra nodded. "She was walking alone. No security. No cab. Three men followed. One touched her wrist."

Preetham's jaw tightened — just slightly.

"Which one?" he asked.

"The one with the silver ring. Right hand," Rudra replied immediately. "He was drunk. Overconfident."

Preetham walked past him, moving deeper into the mansion. "Where are they now?"

"Locked in the basement," Rudra said quietly. "Alive. As ordered."

Preetham's fingers curled slowly at his side.

"And?" he asked.

Rudra hesitated. "They're not saying anything, sir. No names. No connections. Nothing."

That did it.

A sharp breath left Preetham's chest — not loud, not explosive, but dangerous. If he couldn't extract the truth, he knew exactly what would happen next. And when Sachin Sinha stepped in, there would be no stopping the aftermath.

If Sachin finds out I failed...
Preetham didn't finish the thought.

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

The air grew colder as he descended into the basement.

The moment his footsteps echoed down the stairs, panic erupted.

"Ahh— please! We don't know anything!" one of them screamed, voice breaking.
"Please... leave us! We didn't mean—"

Preetham stopped midway.

Ten bodyguards stood around the space, faces unreadable. A few others remained closer to the men — silent, intimidating, waiting.

Preetham looked at the trembling figures with something close to pity.

"I actually feel bad for you people," he said calmly. "Because if my friend Sachin finds out that you're lying... honestly, even I'm scared to imagine what comes next."

He leaned slightly forward.

"But since you're still choosing silence," his voice dropped, "you're leaving me with no option."

He straightened.

"I'll call him."

A ripple of fear passed through the room.

Preetham turned to the guards. "Make sure they stay... conscious until he arrives."

Nothing more needed to be said.

He walked away.

Outside the mansion, the morning air hit his face as he stopped beside his car. His jaw tightened. Anger burned under his skin — raw, restrained. For the first time that day, he wondered why he hadn't struck them himself.

He exhaled slowly.

And then—

Something felt off.

The mansion stood quiet behind him, too quiet. The kind of silence that settled before a storm.

Preetham glanced back once, eyes narrowing.

Someone here knows more than they're letting on.

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