Tere saath har pal tham jaaye,
Mohabbat ki mehfil jam jaaye.
Tu mera ho, main teri hoon,
Duniya bhi hum par maan jaaye.
Teri baahon mein sukoon mile,
Har gham ka dariya tham jaaye.
Bas ek tera hi hoon main,
Ye duniya bhi yeh jaan jaaye.
â
Authorâs POV
The room was dimly lit, the only sound being the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The chaos from earlier had faded, replaced by a heavy silence.
Avantika stirred slightly, her fingers twitching against the bedsheet. Her lashes fluttered before her eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first, adjusting to the faint glow of the bedside lamp.
Her body felt heavy. Exhausted. Like she had been drowning in darkness and had just managed to break the surface.
She blinked.
The familiar scent of sandalwood and musk filled the airâcomforting, grounding.
Her gaze shifted slightly to the side, and there he was.
Avyansh.
He was seated on the edge of the bed, his forearms resting on his thighs, fingers intertwined. His posture was relaxed, but the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow in his browsâit told a different story.
He had been waiting.
Watching over her.
She tried to move, but a dull ache in her head made her wince. The slight movement was enough.
His head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto hers.
"Mishti."
His voice was quiet, but the relief in it was unmistakable.
He leaned in slightly, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch her, but he stopped just short, hesitating.
Avantika swallowed, her throat dry. Her mind was still clouded, but one thing was clearâhe had stayed.
She blinked again, struggling to form words, but before she could say anything, he exhaled and spoke first.
"How are you feeling?"
His voice was softer now, careful, as if she would shatter at the slightest pressure.
She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.
Because how was she feeling?
Numb. Exhausted. Lost.
And yet, safe.
Because he was here.
Avyansh watched as Avantika slowly pushed herself up, her movements sluggish, as if every muscle in her body ached.
He didnât miss the way her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the blanket over her lap.
Without a word, he reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and held it out to her.
"Here. Drink it."
She hesitated for a second before wrapping her fingers around the glass. The warmth of his skin lingered on the surface, grounding her in a way she didnât expect.
She took small sips, her throat parched and dry.
He watched her closely, his gaze scanning her face for any sign of discomfort.
"Hungry?" he asked.
Avantika shook her head lightly. "Nahi."
Avyansh sighed, placing the glass back on the table.
Then, without another word, he shifted closer.
His presence was overwhelming, strong, yet not suffocating. It was steadyâlike an anchor pulling her back to the surface.
"Idhar aaye." His voice was low, firm, yet gentle.
She blinked at him, hesitant.
He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her wrist, a silent reassurance.
"Avantika," he murmured, his voice softer this time.
She swallowed, unsure, but slowly leaned toward him.
The moment she did, his arm wrapped around her, pulling her carefully into his warmth.
Avantika closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath as she let herself lean into him. The exhaustion, the pain, the weight of everythingâit didnât disappear.
"Would you like to go outside? Meet everyone? They want to see you," Avyansh said, his voice softer than usual, watching her closely.
Avantika looked at him for a moment, her hazel eyes unreadable. Then, she gave a small nod. "Hm.." she said quietly.
"Kapde badal lijiye. Kuch comfortable pehn lein," he suggested, already standing up and walking toward the closet.
She sat there for a second, watching his back as he opened the wardrobe. The way he moved so effortlessly, as if it was second nature to take care of her.
"What should I take out?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Avantika immediately stood up. "Hum khud kar lenge," she said, walking toward him.
He turned fully to face her.
"Hum hai he toh aap kyun kaam karengi?" he said.
She looked at him but didnât respond.
Instead, she reached past him, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her clothes inside the closet.
But before she could grab anything, his hand came up beside hers, pulling out a simple, soft cotton kurta in a muted shade of blue.
"Yeh pehen lijiye," he said, holding it out to her. "Aapko comfortable lagega."
She hesitated for a second before taking it from him, their fingers grazing slightly.
The living room buzzed with warmth and laughter. Conversations overlapped, teasing remarks flew around, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the space.
Avantika sat among them, wrapped in the comfort of family, yet still feeling like an observer.
No one asked her anything too direct, no overwhelming questions about how she was feeling or if she was okay.
Instead, they spoke to her the way they always had.
Ruhaan cracked his usual ridiculous jokes, Dev and Devika bickered over something trivial, and Pakhi kept fussing over whether everyone had eaten enough.
"Bhabhi, chai lenge?" Devika asked, nudging her gently.
Avantika blinked, then nodded.
Devika smiled and called out to one of the maids to bring a cup.
"Bhabhi, aapko pata hai na Ruhaan bhai kitne nalayak hai?" Devika chimed in, smirking.
"Arre, main kyun nalayak hoon?" Ruhaan protested, leaning back dramatically.
Bhabhi, bataiye, kya main sach mein nalayak lagta hoon?"
Avantika looked at him for a second, then gave a small nod. "Haan," she said softly.
For a second, there was silence. Thenâ
Laughter erupted around the room.
"Karwali Bezzati?!" Dev teased, nudging Ruhaan, who placed a hand over his heart in fake betrayal.
Ruhaan gasped loudly, his expression exaggerated with mock pain. "Bhabhi⦠nalayak keh diya?!" He clutched his chest, staggering back as if she had just stabbed him.
"Aapne mujhe nalayak keh diya?! Itna bada dhoka?! Itna bada ilzaam?!"
Before Avantika could even respond, Ruhaan dramatically stood up, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. He took slow, measured steps forward, as if composing himself from deep heartbreak.
He placed a hand on his chest, closed his eyes for a moment, and then, in his most poetic voice, began his shayari:
"Aapke bin adhura sa lagta hai jeevan,"
"Par nalayak keh diya, tut gaya mera mann!"
"Socha tha milenge izzat aur pyaar ke haar,"
"Par mile bas ilzaam, yeh kaisi takraar?!"
He exhaled dramatically, placing a hand over his forehead like a tragic hero.
Then, with sudden energy, he walked towards the flower vase, plucked a flower, and turned back to Avantika with sorrowful eyes.
"Aap chahe jitna bhi dukh de hum par,"
"Phir bhi rahega yeh dil bekhabar!"
"Na kabhi gila karenge, na shikwa karenge,"
"Har dafa aapki shaan me bas shayari kahenge!"
At the last line, Ruhaan suddenly bent down on one knee, holding the flower up toward Avantika like a heartbroken lover making his last plea.
"Phir bhi aapse pyar karta rahega, yeh aapka Devar!"
Avantika took the flower from Ruhaanâs hand, her lips curving into a small, amused smile.
Ruhaan immediately puffed out his chest, looking left and right as if expecting applause. "Thank you, thank you!" he said dramatically, bowing like a performer after a grand show.
The room was silent for a moment, everyone exchanging glances. Ruhaan frowned. "Acha nahi tha kya?" he asked, looking around, confused by the lack of reaction.
Before anyone could replyâ
"Ab tum ache nahi rahoge," came his motherâs voice, making everyone turn toward her.
Ruhaanâs brows furrowed. "Kya?" he asked, still clueless.
"Udhar dekhiye bhaiya," Devika muttered, nodding towards the doorway.
Ruhaan turned slowly, and his heart nearly stopped.
There stood Avyansh. Arms crossed, phone in hand, his expression unreadable.
Ruhaan gulped.
"Bas bhaiya, ab aapki aarti utarne ka waqt aa gaya," Dev whispered, grinning as he stepped beside Avyansh.
Before Ruhaan could react, Dev casually forwarded a hockey stick toward Avyansh.
"Lijiye bhaiya, phone mat phekiye, mehenga hai. Isse mariye," Dev said, his face completely serious.
Ruhaanâs eyes widened in horror. "WHAT?!?"
The room exploded into laughter.
Even Avantika, who had been quiet most of the time, chuckled behind her hand.
Ruhaan took a step back, hands raised in defense. "Avy⦠Bhai sun⦠It was just a joke! Masti thi bas! Pyaar mohabbat wala scene tha!".
Avyansh, still expressionless, took the hockey stick from Devâs hands.
Ruhaanâs soul nearly left his body.
"Bhabhi apne pati ko samjhaye" he yelped, darting behind Avantika for cover.
As Avyansh took a step forward. Raghuvanshi mansion filled with laughter once again, the sound echoing through the halls.
Flashback (When Avantika Fainted)
As the house emptied, a heavy silence settled over the Raghuvanshi estate. The weight of the night still lingered in the airâAvantikaâs fainting spell, the rush of doctors, the lingering tension in everyoneâs expressions.
Avyansh stood near her bed. His fingers curled into fists at his sides before he exhaled sharply, shoving his emotions down.
"Maa, aap yahi rukiye. Mujhe thoda kaam hai." His voice was calm, but the storm inside him raged on.
Pakhi looked at him carefully, noticing the shift in his postureâthe way his jaw clenched ever so slightly, the flicker of something dark in his eyes. But she simply nodded.
He gave a small nod before turning on his heel, walking toward his study.
Once inside, he shut the door with a quiet click. The room was dim, lit only by the warm glow of a single lamp. His hands reached for his phone, fingers steady as he dialed a number.
The call connected after a single ring.
"Sir," a deep, composed voice answered on the other end.
Avyansh sank into the leather chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk.
"Destroy Meenakshi Agarwal. Her whole family." His voice was low, measuredâdevoid of any hesitation.
A slight pause. Thenâ"Consider it done, sir."
But Avyansh wasnât finished.
"Donât make it easy. Do it slowly." He leaned forward, eyes darkening. "I want them to feel every bit of their downfall. Every loss. Every crack forming in their so-called perfect world."
"Understood, sir. Weâll begin immediately."
"No," Avyansh interrupted, his voice sharper now.
"Not immediately. Make them suffer first. Let them think they still have control before you take it all awayâpiece by piece."
Another pause. Then, a smirk in the voice on the other end.
"It will be done exactly as you wish, Mr. Raghuvanshi."
Avyansh didnât respond. He ended the call, placing the phone face-down on the desk.
He exhaled, rubbing his temples, his head tilting back against the chair.
His eyes burned with unshed fury, but there was something else beneath itâsomething colder.
The weight in Avyanshâs chest didnât ease after the first call. If anything, it intensified.
His grip on the phone tightened as he dialed another number. The line barely rang before the person on the other end picked up.
"Sir," the voice greeted, professional and sharp.
"Avantikaâs tutors," Avyansh began, his tone steady but laced with quiet rage. "The ones who taught her between the ages of 10 to 16âtwo female teachers. I want everything on them. Every detail. Their past, their present, where they are now. And I want it fast."
A brief pause. Thenâ"Understood, sir. Weâll begin the search immediately."
"I donât want just basic information," he added, his jaw tightening. "I want to know what kind of people they are. How they treated her. If thereâs anythingâanything at all that connects them to what she went through."
"Yes, sir."
He ended the call, dropping the phone onto the desk. His fingers curled into fists, his nails pressing into his palm.
His mind wasnât just racingâit was calculating, strategizing.
Raghav. Akshat.
Who? Which one of them was it?
The way Avantika reacted to both of their names⦠the fear in her eyes, the way her body tensedâone of them was responsible.
Maybe both.
She just needed to open up more, just a little more.
And when she didâ
He would destroy whoever hurt her.
Piece by piece.
Flashback ended.
A full moon hung in the sky, bathing the terrace in soft silver light. The night was quietâtoo quiet, mirroring the stillness inside her.
Avantika sat on the terrace swing, her guitar resting on her lap. Her fingers hovered over the strings, trembling slightly, longing to play.
But she didnât.
She couldnât.
The weight of grief pressed down on her, heavier than ever.
It had been a week since her grandfather left. A week of suffocating silence.
Each day passed in a blur, people moving around her, speaking, comfortingâbut she barely heard them.
The grief wasnât just from now. It was old, layered, stacked upon years of suppressed guilt.
Her grandmother⦠gone because of her carelessness.
Her grandfather⦠gone now, too.
Her fingers tightened around the neck of the guitar. The urge to play was overwhelming, almost painful.
Music had always been her escape. The only thing that could untangle the mess inside her.
But right nowâ¦
She felt like if she played, she would break.
Completely.
A sudden breeze made the wind chimes above her jingle softly. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to push away the lump forming in her throat.
The night was silent, the wind carrying a soft chill. Avantika leaned back against the swing, her eyes closed, drowning in the weight of everything.
And thenâ
"Gaa lo, beta⦠yeh tumhari galti nahi thiâ¦"
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers froze against the wooden body of the guitar.
"Dadu�" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The familiar warmth of his voice surrounded her, wrapping around her like a long-lost embrace.
And then another voice followed. Soft, nurturing, filled with an affection she had longed forâ
"Music is you. Itâs your emotion. Tell me, by stopping it, by not letting it flow⦠is it making you better?"
A shiver ran down her spine.
"Dadi Maa�" Her lips trembled as the name slipped out, her eyes still closed, as if afraid opening them would break this moment.
"Sing for yourself. Sing for us."
Both voices echoed in her mind, blending into the wind, into her soul.
A lone tear escaped her closed eyes.
Her grip tightened on the guitar, her fingers pressing into the fretboard.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
She inhaled deeply.
Exhaled.
Then, with slightly shaky fingers, she played the first note.
A single strum, vibrating in the empty night.
Another.
And another.
Slowly, the intro of Yeh Jism by Ali Azmat began to take shape under her fingertips.
The melody, raw and deep, filled the air around her, wrapping around her like a long-forgotten comfort.
The weight in her chest didnât disappearâbut for the first time in days, it felt lighter.
She let the music carry her.
She let herself feel.
And she sang.
The first words escaped her lips in a whisper, trembling yet powerful.
"यॠà¤à¤¿à¤¸à¥à¤® हॠतॠà¤à¥à¤¯à¤¾, यॠरà¥à¤¹ à¤à¤¾ लिबास हà¥â¦"
The wind carried her voice across the terrace, blending it with the soft rustling of leaves, as if nature itself paused to listen.
Avantikaâs fingers strummed the guitar, her touch growing steadier with each passing note.
"यॠदरà¥à¤¦ हॠतॠà¤à¥à¤¯à¤¾, यॠà¤à¤¶à¥à¤à¤¼ à¤à¥ तलाश हà¥â¦"
Her voice cracked slightly, emotion thick in her throat, but she didnât stop.
"फ़ना à¤à¤¿à¤¯à¤¾ मà¥à¤à¥, यॠà¤à¤¾à¤¹à¤¨à¥ à¤à¥ à¤à¤¸ नà¥â¦"
A shiver ran through her body as the words sank deep into her soul, every lyric pulling her closer to the grief she had buried.
Her grip on the guitar tightened, her fingers pressing harder against the strings.
"तरह-तरह शिà¤à¤¸à¥à¤¤ हॠहà¥à¤â¦"
Her breath hitched, but she kept going.
She felt the rawness of it, the ache in every syllable, the weight of the memories pressing against her chest.
"रà¤à¤¼à¤¾ हॠà¤à¥à¤¯à¤¾ तà¥à¤°à¥, दिल-à¤-à¤à¤¹à¤¾à¤ तबाह à¤à¤¿à¤¯à¤¾â¦"
A lone tear slipped from her eye, trailing down her cheek.
She wasnât just singing.
She was breaking.
Pouring everything out.
Every ounce of guilt.
Every moment of helplessness.
Every suppressed scream.
Her voice trembled but never faltered.
She let the music carry her pain, her love, her loss.
Somewhere in the distance, unnoticed by her, Avyansh stood at the doorway, watching.
His heart clenched at the sight of herâeyes closed, tears falling, completely lost in the melody.
She wasnât just singing.
She was bleeding.
And he had never seen anything more heartbreaking⦠or more beautiful.
(Make sure to hear it agar nhi kiya toh feel nhi aayega.)
"रà¤à¤¼à¤¾ हॠà¤à¥à¤¯à¤¾ तà¥à¤°à¥, दिल-à¤-à¤à¤¹à¤¾à¤ तबाह à¤à¤¿à¤¯à¤¾..."
Her voice, now steadier, carried the pain she had buried for years. Each word cut through the silence of the night, raw and aching, as if she was finally letting the weight inside her escape.
"सà¥à¤¾ à¤à¥ à¤à¥à¤¯à¤¾ तà¥à¤°à¥, वà¥à¤¾ à¤à¥ बà¥à¤µà¥à¤¾ à¤à¤¿à¤¯à¤¾..."
The melody wrapped around her like a long-lost memory, her fingers moving instinctively over the strings, playing out every suppressed emotion.
The past. The grief. The guilt.
Everything poured out through her voice.
"दà¥à¤¬à¤¾à¤°à¤¾ à¥à¤¿à¤à¤¦à¤à¥ सॠयà¥à¤ मà¥à¤à¥ à¤à¥à¤¦à¤¾ à¤à¤¿à¤¯à¤¾..."
Her breaths came shallow, her chest rising and falling with each lyric, her body swaying slightly with the rhythm.
"à¤à¤¹à¤¾à¤-à¤à¤¹à¤¾à¤ फिरà¥à¤ मà¥à¤ ढà¥à¤à¤¢à¤¤à¥?"
Her voice cracked.
A tear slipped down, but she didnât wipe it away.
She just kept singing.
"रà¤à¤¼à¤¾ हॠà¤à¥à¤¯à¤¾ तà¥à¤°à¥, दिल-à¤-à¤à¤¹à¤¾à¤ तबाह à¤à¤¿à¤¯à¤¾..."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear them.
Their voices still whisperingâSing.. music is you.
"सà¥à¤¾ à¤à¥ à¤à¥à¤¯à¤¾ तà¥à¤°à¥, वà¥à¤¾ à¤à¥ बà¥à¤µà¥à¤¾ à¤à¤¿à¤¯à¤¾..."
She felt their presence, their warmth, as if they were right there, listening.
"दà¥à¤¬à¤¾à¤°à¤¾ à¥à¤¿à¤à¤¦à¤à¥ सॠयà¥à¤ मà¥à¤à¥ à¤à¥à¤¦à¤¾ à¤à¤¿à¤¯à¤¾..."
Her fingers trembled against the strings.
Her lips quivered, but she sang through it.
"à¤à¤¹à¤¾à¤-à¤à¤¹à¤¾à¤ फिरà¥à¤ मà¥à¤ ढà¥à¤à¤¢à¤¤à¥?"
Somewhere in the shadows, Avyansh stood motionless, watching her.
He had never heard her like this.
Never seen her like this.
It wasnât just a song.
It was her soul, laid bare.
And it broke something inside him.
She sat there, bathed in the silver glow of the full moon, her guitar resting on her lap. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the strings, the last echoes of her song lingering in the air.
Her hazel eyes, glistening with unshed tears, stared at the moon as if searching for somethingâsomeoneâbeyond its light.
A soft shuffle of footsteps broke the silence.
She didnât need to turn around.
She knew it was him.
"Apne suna?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Avyansh walked closer, standing beside the swing, his gaze fixed on her.
He nodded.
She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to steady the storm inside her.
"Sometimes, you have to let go of the grief you're holding," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding.
"Move on."
She let out a hollow chuckle, her lips curling into a bittersweet smile.
"Move on..." she repeated, as if testing the words on her tongue. "Itâs not that easy, Avyansh ji."
"I know," he admitted, crouching down in front of her. "But carrying it foreverâitâll only break you more, Jaan"
Her throat tightened.
She wanted to believe him.
Wanted to believe that one day, the weight would be gone.
That the voices would fade.
That the past wouldnât haunt her every time she closed her eyes.
But right now?
Right now, it still hurt.
She turned her gaze back to the moon, her fingers brushing against the strings once more.
"Then teach me," she whispered. "Teach me how to let go."
Avyansh crouched in front of her, watching her carefully, his sharp eyes softening at the vulnerability in hers. She was tryingâtrying so hard to hold herself together, but the cracks were there, visible in the way she gripped the edge of her dupatta, in the way her lips trembled after every breath.
"Then teach me," she whispered, her voice breaking.
His heart clenched.
He reached forward, gently wrapping his hands over hers, stilling her restless fingers.
"You donât have to do this alone" he said quietly.
She let out a hollow chuckle, shaking her head. "But I am alone, Avyansh ji. I always have been."
"No," he countered, his grip tightening just slightly. "Not anymore."
A lone tear slipped from the corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek.
He lifted his hand, brushing it away with his thumb, his touch lingering for a second longer than necessary. "Letting go doesnât mean forgetting," he said. "It just means making space for something new."
She swallowed hard. "And what if I don't want to?"
He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes searching hers. "Then Iâll wait."
A sharp breath hitched in her throat.
"I'll wait for as long as it takes," he continued, his voice firm. "But I wonât let you drown in this pain."
Her gaze flickered to him, searching, doubting, hoping.
The wind picked up again, carrying the faint chime of temple bells in the distance.
She looked back at the moon. "Dadu used to say that the moon holds stories of those who leave us."
Avyansh followed her gaze. "Maybe. Or maybe itâs just reminding us that even in darkness, thereâs light."
She exhaled shakily, blinking away fresh tears.
"Move on," she murmured, as if trying to convince herself.
"Not alone," he corrected. "With me."
A silence stretched between them, heavy but comforting.
For the first time in days, she didnât feel like she was standing at the edge of an abyss.
For the first time in years, she allowed herself to believeâjust a littleâthat maybe, just maybe, she didnât have to fight alone anymore.
"I will," she whispered, her voice barely audible against the night breeze.
Avyanshâs fingers, still gently holding hers, gave the lightest squeeze. "You will?"
She nodded, staring at their joined hands. "Iâll try."
A small, almost invisible smile tugged at his lips. "Thatâs enough for now."
She looked up at him, searching his face.
"What if I fail?"
"Then Iâll remind you that youâre stronger than you think," he replied instantly.
She let out a small, bitter chuckle. "And if I break again?"
His grip tightened, his eyes darkening with determination. "Then Iâll be there to hold you together."
Her breath caught in her throat. No oneâno one had ever said that to her before.
"You canât promise that," she said, her voice quieter now, uncertain.
"I can," he countered. "And I will."
She bit her lip, looking away.
"Why, Avyansh? Why do you care this much?"
His jaw clenched for a moment before he answered. "Because you deserve to be cared for."
A lump formed in her throat. "And if one day... I canât be who you want me to be?"
He exhaled sharply, as if frustrated by the very thought. "Avantika," he said, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I donât want you to be anyone but yourself."
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the faint hum of the city beyond.
"You said youâll try," he murmured. "Thatâs all I ask."
She inhaled deeply before nodding again. "Okay."
Avyansh gave a slow nod, releasing her chin but not her hand. "Good."
She sighed, rubbing her free hand over her face. "Can we just sit here a little longer?"
"As long as you want," he said without hesitation.
And so, they sat there under the full moonâsilent, but not alone.
â¡ââ â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡â â â¡â â¡â â¡â â¡
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