The hospital air reeked of antiseptic, sterile and sharp, but beneath it lurked something heavier.

Something sour with grief, clinging to her skin like the weight of unspoken goodbyes.

Meher stood just outside the door, her fingers trembling as she remembered the letters aayat has send her . Letters that smelled of old ink and memories, of love and longing, of a sister who would never write again.

She unfolded the first one, her vision blurring as Aayat's familiar handwriting danced across the page.

"Di, if I could bottle up happiness and send it to you, I would-sealed tight, so you could open it whenever you missed me. You always worry too much, but I promise, I'm happy. Veer loves me in ways I never even dared to dream. And you know what? When our little one kicks, I swear I can already tell-he's stubborn, just like me. But maybe, just maybe, he'll have your patience too. I hope he does."

A breath shuddered out of her, and she pressed the letter to her chest, as if by holding it close, she could summon Aayat back.

"Di, I know Papa will never forgive me, but tell me you will. If not now, then someday. Maybe when you see my baby's face, you'll understand why I had to choose this life. Tell me you'll hold him when I can't. Just in case."

A sob broke free from Meher's throat, and she bit her lip to silence it. The cruel irony of those words twisted like a knife in her heart. Aayat had written them in hope, never knowing they would become a prophecy.

"Meher," a voice called, breaking through her thoughts.

She turned to see Roshni, her friend's eyes red-rimmed but steady. "Let's go see Aayat."

The letters crumpled slightly in Meher's grip.

The moment she had been running from was here.

Slowly, she moved forward, each step heavier than the last, until she reached the room where her sister lay.

The world dimmed.

Aayat was still. Too still.

"The girl who once filled rooms with her laughter, who scribbled dreams into letters sealed with love-now lay before her, swallowed whole by a silence so vast it felt like the world had exhaled its last breath."

Meher knelt beside the cold, lifeless form, her trembling fingers brushing a strand of hair from Aayat's forehead. "I'm here," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I made it, Chutki."

She let out a soft, broken laugh, her tears dripping onto the white sheet covering Aayat's fragile form. "You always told me to let go of grief, to choose happiness. But how, Aayat? How am I supposed to let this go?" Her voice turned desperate, almost childlike. "How does this pain stop?"

No answer. Only silence.

Minutes passed-or maybe eternity-before Roshni placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder. "Meher... it's time. We have to take her for the final rites."

Meher shook her head. "No."

The word came out small, fragile, but absolute. She clutched Aayat's hand as if she could tether her back to life. "She is my Chutki. How can I let her go?"

But fate was cruel and unstoppable. Hands she didn't recognize gently pried her fingers away, and the weight of her loss was carried out of the room.

A hollow emptiness settled in her chest, vast and unrelenting.

She barely noticed the figure approaching until a voice-firm yet respectful-cut through her haze.

"Miss Bhat, please come with me."

She blinked up at the uniformed man. A captain.

Rajwar's men

Still too numb to question, she followed, Roshni's steady presence beside her the only thing keeping her grounded. The corridor blurred past her until they were ushered into a private waiting room.

And that's when she saw him.

Yashwardhan Rathore.

The man whose blood ran through Veer's veins. The man Aayat had spoken of only in hushed, uncertain tones.

He sat at the head of the room, not just occupying space, but owning it-like a man who had long decided the fates of others with nothing more than a glance.

He was dressed in stark black, his posture unnervingly composed, like a man untouched by grief. His gaze, sharp and unyielding, flickered over her just once before dismissing her entirely.

A chill ran down Meher's spine.

This was the man Aayat had feared. The one who had never accepted her.

And yet, sitting before her, he had just lost a son.

The weight of that truth settled in the air between them. Heavy. Unspoken.

Meher squared her shoulders, forcing herself to hold his gaze this time. She had lost her sister. He had lost his son. And yet, there was no grief in his expression-only calculation, only silence.

The tension was suffocating.

Then, a movement. A slight tilt of his head, as if acknowledging her presence, before he spoke.

"Take a seat "

Low, firm, expectant.

It was not a request.

Flustered, Meher barely had a chance to react before the suited man beside him cleared his throat.

"I am the lawyer who drafted Mr. and Mrs. Veer Rajwar's will," he announced, breaking the uneasy quiet. "And now, I would like to read it in front of the family."

The room tensed.

Meher's pulse stilled.

Aayat's last words, her last decisions, were about to be revealed.

And with them, the weight of an unchangeable future.

The room was heavy with silence, the kind that crushed the air from her lungs. The lawyer had barely begun when Yashwardhan Rathore, who had remained impassive so far, spoke for the first time.

"Raunaksh is on the way. Wait."

Meher's frown deepened. The name meant nothing to her.

Aayat had never mentioned anyone named Raunaksh in her letters, not once. Who was he? Why was his arrival so important that everything else had to pause?

She barely had time to process before movement at the door caught her attention. A uniformed captain walked in, his posture stiff with urgency. He leaned in close to Yashwardhan, voice low but clear enough to send an uneasy ripple through Meher's chest.

"No traces from the car have been found, sir. No new leads."

A hush settled over the room.

Meher's heart kicked against her ribs. No traces? No leads?

She turned toward Yashwardhan, her voice edged with suspicion. "Why are you searching for leads?"

The lawyer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The captain straightened, carefully avoiding her gaze.

Meher's fingers curled into fists. "It was an accident, wasn't it?" Her voice trembled, but she held her ground. "Tell me why you're still searching."

No answer.

The realization came slowly, creeping into her mind like a shadow before it finally crashed down like a thunderclap. Her breath caught in her throat.

"It wasn't an accident... was it?"

The weight of those words filled the space between them.

She turned back to Yashwardhan, whose face remained unreadable. No denial. No confirmation. Nothing but silence, and somehow, that was worse.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and aching. "It was one of your political games. And they-" she swallowed, her body trembling "-they became collateral damage."

Roshni grabbed her arm, trying to steady her. "Meher, stop."

But she couldn't. Wouldn't.

Aayat and Veer weren't dead because of fate. They weren't stolen by some cruel accident.

They were murdered.

Tears blurred her vision. Aayat's laughter, her soft letters filled with love, Veer's unwavering devotion-it had all been snuffed out because of something bigger, something ruthless.

She turned away, a sob caught in her throat. And then-Aaryan.

Her sister's last piece. The only part of Aayat still breathing. Still here.

She won't leave him in this chaos.

With renewed urgency, Meher stood, her chair scraping against the floor. She turned to Yashwardhan, opening her mouth to speak-

But the door swung open.

Footsteps. Measured, firm, deliberate.

A gust of wind from the hallway rushed in, lifting the ends of her dupatta. The delicate fabric slipped from her shoulder, pooling onto the cold floor at her feet.

And then-she turned.

Her breath stilled.

There, standing in the doorway, was him.

Raunaksh Rajwar.

And the world shifted.

The weight of his presence filled the room, stealing the air between them. His sharp gaze swept across the space, calculating, assessing-until it landed on her.

For a second-just a second-she saw it.

A flicker of something unreadable as his gaze lowered, tracking the silk pooled at her feet. But it wasn't the dupatta that held him still.

It was her.

More precisely, the delicate stretch of skin bared at the base of her shoulder-a tiny, unassuming mole nestled in the hollow there.

His breath slowed.

His fingers flexed at his sides.

Something flickered in his stare,More precisely, the delicate stretch of skin bared at the base of her shoulder-a tiny, unassuming mole nestled in the hollow there.

His breath slowed.

His fingers flexed at his sides. Something flickered in his stare, dark and intent, as if he had just stumbled upon something he had no right to notice-no right to want.

A muscle in his jaw tightened. He forced himself to look away-but not before his gaze lingered, just a second too long, his restraint barely holding.

Meher shifted, oblivious to the war brewing within him, but he felt it-an unsettling pull, a desire unspoken. That single dot of ink on her skin, so insignificant, and yet, in that moment, it consumed him.

He exhaled sharply, schooling his face back into impassivity. But deep inside, a thought took root, unshakable.

Now that he had noticed it, he wasn't sure he could ever look away.

He walked past her without a glance, his heavy boots brushing against the delicate cloth on the floor.

Raunaksh doesn't sit immediately. His eyes sweep the room, taking in every detail-the crisp envelope on the lawyer's desk, the tension bracketing Meher's shoulders,

His voice, when it comes, is steel-edged. "Let's not waste time. Read it."

The lawyer unfolded the crisp envelope.

His voice was steady, but the words inside threatened to shake the very ground beneath her.

"This is the last will and testament of Veer Rajwar and Aayat Bhat-Rajwar..."

Meher's breath caught. A cold weight settled in her chest, pressing, suffocating.

She wasn't ready. She would never be ready.

"We, Veer and Aayat, entrust the sole guardianship of our son, Aaryan Rajwar, to Meher Bhat."

The words slammed into her like a wave, knocking the air from her lungs.

A sharp breath. A stunned silence.

Her heart pounded, a wild, erratic rhythm against her ribs. The room blurred at the edges, voices faded into a distant hum. Her fingers trembled where they lay in her lap, curling into the fabric of her saree as if anchoring herself to something-anything-solid.

Sole guardianship.

Her. Alone.

The paper in the lawyer's hands felt heavier than anything she had ever lifted.

Aayat's voice echoed in her head, full of life, full of love. "Di, if I could bottle up happiness and send it to you, I would."

And yet, Aayat was gone.

Meher's eyes burned, her vision shimmering as she stared at the words that had just rewritten the course of her life. She swallowed, her throat tight with unshed grief.

She had lost Aayat. She had lost Veer.

But she would not-could not-lose aaryan

No matter what it took, she would protect him.

Across the room, Raunaksh went completely still.

The lawyer kept reading, oblivious to the storm brewing in his presence. "We trust that Meher will raise Aaryan with the love and care he deserves. We make this decision with the utmost faith in her-"

The lawyer's voice droned on, but the weight in the room had shifted.

Raunaksh Rajwar wasn't looking at the will anymore.

He was looking at her.

At the fire in her eyes, the unshaken defiance in the set of her shoulders.

And then, without thought-without reason-he reached down.

The dupatta, still lying where it had fallen, was claimed in his grasp. His fingers curled around the fabric, not just holding it-possessing it.

The silk slid through his hold, but he didn't return it. Not yet.

His thumb brushed over the fabric, slow, deliberate, as if memorizing its texture. Or perhaps imagining how it had felt against her skin. His jaw tightened, his grip firming.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might keep it, as though the very thought of giving it back was something he wasn't ready for.

When he finally lifted his gaze to hers, there was something unreadable in his eyes. Dark. Unrelenting. A silent claim.

"Your love won't be enough to raise him," he said, voice quiet, but edged with something sharper than steel.

Meher inhaled slowly. A storm brewed in her chest, but her voice was steady when she spoke.

"And you think you people can?"

Yashwardhan, who had been silent till now, exhaled. "No," he admitted. "But we can protect him."

The air turned to ice.

Meher's fingers curled at her sides. Her eyes, dark with grief and fury, flickered between them.

"How?" she asked, her voice soft but cutting. "The same way you protected Aayat? The same way you protected Veer?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Raunaksh's grip on the fabric tightened. The muscles in his jaw flexed, but he didn't look away. Instead, he took a step forward. Then another.

Until there was barely a breath between them.

Their eyes locked.

"There are enemies even we don't know about, Miss Bhat," he murmured, voice deep, heavy with something that almost sounded like warning. "You think they won't come for him? That they won't hunt him down?"

Meher refused to back away.

But when he leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost against her skin, the weight of his words settled into her bones.

"What will you do then?"

The question didn't need an answer.

Because, for the first time, she felt it.

Not just the war between them-but the war waiting outside.

And in its wake, a single unspoken truth:

Neither of them could afford to lose.

Meher didn't flinch. She didn't cower. If his words were meant to shake her, they had failed.

Instead, she lifted her chin, her voice quiet but unyielding.

"And when that day comes, Mr. Rajwar, when the world turns its cruelty toward him-" she stepped even closer, her presence unwavering, "he won't need an army. He won't need walls built from power and fear."

Her gaze burned into his, fierce and resolute.

"He will have me."

Raunaksh's fingers clenched around the dupatta. A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he said nothing.

Meher exhaled slowly, a bitter smile ghosting her lips.

"Because love, Mr. Rajwar, may not be forged in steel or sharpened like the weapons you wield-" her voice dipped, soft yet unyielding, "but it is the only shield that has ever truly saved anyone."

And with that, she reached out-deliberate, certain-and took her dupatta from his grasp.

The silk slipped through his fingers.

And in the silence that followed, something heavier lingered.

A war neither of them had yet named.

__________________________

Dear Readers,

This chapter is one of the most emotionally intense ones I've written so far. It's not just about grief; it's about the weight of choices, the burden of love, and the fight to protect what remains when everything else is lost

This chapter marks the beginning of a battle-not just for Aaryan's custody, but between lo

ve and power, defiance and control. Meher and Raunaksh are two forces colliding, and neither is willing to back down.

I hope you felt the tension, the heartbreak, and the quiet, unspoken war brewing between them. This is only the beginning.

Let me know your thoughts-I'd love to hear how this chapter made you feel!

-Anyasen