"Thanks."
And she stepped away, her hand no longer on my back.
Her breaths were short, heartbeat rapid, but her eyes... blank. Not scared. Not hurt. Just... observing.
Why didn't she fight back?
I clenched my jaw. Yesterday—I know—she took down four grown men by herself in that parking lot. With calculated rage and precise moves. No hesitation.
Then why now?
Was she cornered? Overwhelmed? No. Her stance showed she chose to not move.
Was she trying to test me? See what I'd do? Was this some twisted move in her investigation?
But another part of my mind whispers—No Shivaay. She's not like that. Right? She doesn't even... feel. At least not for me.
I hated how unsure he felt. About her. About myself. About everything.
But why was she affecting me? Nothing has even happened between us, nothing was going to happen between us.
Before the chaos in his head can spiral deeper—
"Shiv?"
I turned.
My mother, her dupatta soaked in petals, her hand lightly touching my shoulder.
"Chalein?"
(Shall we go?)
I nod slowly, gaze flickering once more to Hanitra, now gone with no trace.
What was she really doing here... if not playing weak?
The car door shuts.
The temple's distant music fades as the SUV glides through the narrow streets of Jaipur.
Maa adjusts the pallu of her pastel pink saree and gently brushes a marigold petal off her lap. She notices a few stuck in my cuff too — but says nothing.
For a long time, neither of us speaks. Just the hum of the car, the rustle of her silk, the city sliding past.
"That girl... the one from the temple... She's really brave."
But I say nothing, my eyes straight on the road.
Mom smiles as she continues, still looking outside the window.
"She stood up to those men like it was war. Questioned the traditions like a true saint. Just a common girl. Not even part of any foundation."
"Usne apna naam to bataya tha.. um.. kya tha...?"
(She had told me her name.. what was it?)
Without Even thinking, I replied in a quite tone, as if it was the most normal thing for me. "Hanitra."
Maa slowly turns to look at me. One eyebrow raised.
"Hmm. Hanitra, huh? How do you know her name, Shiv?" Her tone was laced with... teasing?
I shifted slightly. Silent. Looking straight on the road ahead, my knuckles clenching the steering wheel slightly tighter.
A soft gasp leaves her mouth, as her eyes grow excited and a grin forms on her lips.
"Oh my God. Yeh wahi hai na? The 'thaal' girl? Meri badi bahu, hai na?"
(She's the same girl, right? My eldest daughter-in-law)
I turned to her, stunned.
"Badi bahu?? Mom... stop... you're overthinking it—She's practically a stranger."
But she just shrugs with a smug smile.
"A stranger? You looked at her like she was your next breath."
After a bet of silence, she declared in a tone only VASUDEV ABHIRAJ SINGH RATHORE could.
"Mujhe to meri bahu pasand aayi. Now you both just fall in love aur mujhe jaldi se saas bana do."
(I liked my eldest daughter-in-law... and make me a mother-in-law soon.)
I turned my face away, muttering under my breath.
"Unbelievable..."
At this, mom starts laughing. "Bas ek baar 'Hanitra beta' kehne do... feels right, doesn't it?"
(Let me just call her Hanitra beta once..)
I leaned back in the seat just a little and ran a hand down my face.
I had survived the Mafia Assembly, Ravindra's death, and knife-wielding attackers —
But not my mother's matchmaking fantasy.
After dropping her to the foundation, I went to my solitaire, VASR, the only place that knows my calmness lies there, between those files.
It's good he was here.
I exhaled shakily, the chaos fading, the men gone.
But then the voice inside kicks in—Why, Haani? Why did you let that happen?
I know I've could've taken them—every one of them.
You could've fought. You've fought worse. Alone.
But my feet had moved back, not forward. My fists had stayed still.
I had run.
Kyun?
(Why?)
You were not afraid because they had weapons, fir kyun Taara? Sahara kisliye?
(Then why, Taara? Why seek help?)
And then my own brain answers my questions, cold and clinical.
Are you stupid? These people... they think you're just an innocent girl. A student. You're not some wild vigilante here. You're undercover. You're building trust.
Trust takes time.
Masks take patience.
Besides, today wasn't about winning a fight. It was about belonging.
And to belong, sometimes... you need to look vulnerable.
Still, a bitter part of me stings—
You let yourself be saved. By him. The one person against whom you can't find out the truth.
And as I had stepped back, eyes still shadowed by questions I refused to answer, i had dropped my gaze.
Let him wonder.
Let him have his conclusions.
If he thinks I ran into him, due to some emotions, let him have his theories.
I have got my role to play.
AUTHOR'S POV
The floor-to-ceiling windows of Shivaay's office are tinted blue from the sinking sun. The soft hum of the central AC and city lights filter into the glass-clad office.
The mighty CFO was sitting in his cabin, eyes on nothing but the files ahead, another draft for the Project Sutra.
But as the name of Dharma came forward, his eyes flickered, as if remembering something, or worse- Someone.
Lakshay, the secretary, the one who understood him better than most was just silent, observing the antics of his boss since he returned from that temple.
"Boss?" He finally says, with confusion almost laced in his tone.
"Kahan gum ho aap? You're staring at those files like they murdered someone."
(Where are you lost?)
Shivaay doesn't respond.
His eyes are somewhere else.
His mind flickers —
The temple. The marigold petals.
Her eyes. Wild. Terrified. Scanning.
The way she froze behind him.
How he stood still, shielding her without a second thought.
How she didn't say anything but just a thank you.
Didn't pretend to be brave.
Just stood there — breathing fast, heart thudding, hands clenched in fear but eyes alert.
The way she collided and was caught in his arms.
And how, even then, she was looking around, like the danger hadn't passed.
And then-
SHIVAAY SLAMS HIS FIST ON THE DESK.
Papers fly. A pen rolls off.
Under his breath, in a fury even he can't understand, he speaks, "Why do I care, damn it..."
Lakshay doesn't flinch. Just folds his arms.
"Is it her again, Boss?"
Shivaay stands abruptly. Paces once. Twice. Then turns to the window.
Was he.. Was he tensed?
"Who is she even, Lakshay?"
"First, that temple scene. Then her arrest. Then those bloody earrings. Then yesterday. And now today."
"Why does that girl love putting herself in danger?"
He slams a palm against the glass window.
"Khud ki jaan ki koi parwah hi nahi hai use! Every time — she becomes this... Sherni. This warrior. Like she's out to fix the whole damn world alone! Aur kuch ho gaya toh? Huh?! Kya usse itna sa bhi fark padta hai?!"
(She doesn't care about her life even a bit... And if something happens? Does she seriously not care?)
Lakshay steps closer, voice not growing more sincere.
"Was she in danger again?"
Shivaay exhales — sharp, bitter. Turns around. And angrily, answers that.
"Like she even cares, Lakshay. Mom is Vasudha Abhiraj Singh Rathore. She walks with a convoy, a damn force if needed."
By now, the usually composed CFO was frustrated, with her antics and with the way his heart was reacting to her.
"But her? Hanitra? She's a damn civilian. Not even from this state properly. Doesn't know the underworld, doesn't know our people..."
"Still... the fire in her blood... I swear, iss ladki ke khoon mein hi kuch aur hai. Ek alag hi aag daudti hai."
(There's something else in her blood. It's like a unique fire.)
Shivaay started pacing, as if thinking something deep.
"Do you even know what happened today, Lakshay?"
A Pause.
"Teen aadmi. Teen. Knives in hand. Ready to strike. In that damn crowd."
"God knows what would've happened if I wasn't there. She could've died."
(a whisper) "Mar sakti thi vo..."
He slams his hand on the desk again. The sound echoes.
Shivaay continues, now gritting his teeth.
"But no. Madam only cares about justice. Not her life. Not her safety. Mom was telling me the incident inside — how a woman was being blackmailed using her child. And I was furious even hearing it."
His voice breaks silently.
"But she... she lived it. Faced those people. Answered them. Fought for that woman like it was her battle."
He steps away from the desk, almost breathless from rage — or maybe worry.
He turns to Lakshay, voice low and bitter, "And she knew the consequences, Lakshay. Even after that incident at Dharma Foundation yesterday... she still walked into a mess today."
"And why are you affected by all this, Boss? She's no one... right?"
"I am not affected by her, it's nothing."
"And yet you feel conflicted? Your brain and heart have literal wars when it's about her. What's going on, Boss?"
At this, Shivaay snaps, His breath's heavier now. His hands tremble but not from fear. From helplessness.
"What's going on is that there's a girl out there who doesn't understand what world she's dancing into! She walks into fire and expects not to burn. She picks fights, stands tall, gets chased with knives—and all this while—she's carrying that research? Those questions?
She picks fights, stands tall, gets chased with knives—and all this while—she's carrying that research? Those questions?
You know the kind of vultures we're surrounded by. One leak, one whisper—and if she ends up dead, the world won't ask who did it.
They'll say—"Rathores silenced the threat."
"But she's not our enemy. She's not even from here."
"Exactly."
(He turns, his voice edged with fury)
"She's not from here. She's not a Rathore. Not a VASR executive. Not Sapphire-trained. So why the hell does she behave like she's immortal?"
"So you're angry because it puts your name at risk?"
"I'm angry because I can't control this.
I'm scared that if anything happens to her...
if people find out what she's been searching for...
they won't just blame the Rathores —
they'll destroy everything we've built.
And yet, her stupidity could drag our entire legacy into courtrooms and media debates.
You think I care if she gets hurt?"
Beat.
"I'm protecting more than just her life.
I'm protecting my family.
My name.
My legacy."
Quite venomously, he concludes, "I care if her blood ends up staining my family's name. That's the only thing I protect. Always have."
Lakshay leans in, his hands on the table, voice steady but cutting as ever.
"If she's such a threat to the Rathores, then why not just eliminate her? Your instincts? They've never been wrong before. Why hesitate now?"
He pauses for a second, holding the gaze of his boss with a very- very light smirk.
"Or are you scared? Scared that you want to be the one who ends up wronged?"
Hearing this, Shivaay feels something he can't understand but snaps at his beloved secretary.
"She's no one to me. Why would I care what her stupid conclusions say? I don't owe her anything."
Lakshay smiles a little and straightens his back, arms now folding on his chest.
"You know your family better than anyone, Shivaay. Yeah, they have secrets — but not so dark that just exposing them scares you."
He pauses, eyes locked.
"Tell me the truth — do you love her?"
The CFO glares at him. "Not even a bit."
"Good. Because if this is what not loving her looks like... Pyaar toh aapko barbaad kar dega, boss."
(Love will destroy you.)
"Stop your poetry. And tell, where are those three kept? One of the guards might have told you by now."
"Regular area, basement. Chamber 3."
Five minutes and the two reach an area, SS4's south-eastern block underground. The place where interrogations were generally conducted. Where whispers break, and bones speak truths no soul dares to hear."
And Chamber 3? It was where physical torture prevail. In that area, it was where time slows, screams echo like prayers, and hope is the first victim.
They reach the interrogation block.
Inside, three men tied to chairs, blood crusting on their brows, clothes stained, breathing heavy — but still spitting rage.
Shivaay walks in, dead calm.
He looks at them. Stares.
One of them flinches — that tells him everything.
His eyes narrow seeing a faint snake mark with light fangs on the arms of the second man. He had seen that, too often to mistake and too rarely to remember on whom exactly. But he knew the one who ruled with the sign, the assassins of the enemies.
His mind flashes back — to Shekhawats. Those random men approaching and that sudden fight at the parking lot yesterday. One of them had something similar. The temple. The daggers. Hanitra.
And suddenly, everything makes sense.
He turns to Lakshay, voice lower than a whisper but colder than death. Furious but quiet, he begins-
"Dekha? Kaha tha na maine?."
(See, hadn't I told you?)
He steps closer to the one who had flinched. The one in the left.
Lakshay just tilts his head a bit, in confusion.
"She has no idea, no clear idea that her life is being hunted. None. She walks around with fire in her chest and no shield."
Shivaay kicks the chair of the second man, who spits blood and growls, "They aren't common men, Lakshay."
A beat.
"Yeh Shekhawat ke aadmi hain."
(They work for Shekhawat.)
Silence.
And he continues again.
"This one, with that faint tattoo? A Nightblade, Rank 5. And these two-" He points to the either side of the tattooed man, "Initiates, Rank 1."
Lakshay widened his eyes, now understanding every bit of the story.
"They are assassins of Shekhawats, but kaise-?
Shivaay snaps, now more furious, "Kaise? You are asking it? Don't you remember? Kal? Dharma Foundation? She went there claiming herself as the niece of that bastard- Yadav. And who did he work for?"
"Shekhawats....."
"Correct. Aur aaj? They were not some sexist males trying to kill a girl who bruised their ego-"
And Lakshay finishes the sentence. "They were here to eliminate the girl who was becoming a threat... She is in real danger now.."
Then in a sudden flash —
Shivaay pulls out his gun.
Three shots.
One in each — clean, merciless.
But not fatal. Painful enough to beg for death.
The men scream. One collapses forward. Another groans.
Shivaay exhales, lowers the gun.
"Kill them slowly. I don't want them to die feeling proud."
He turns, walks out.
His footsteps echo again.
Just before the corridor ends, he mutters— just to himself.
"You mess with her... you die before you understand what you did."
Back in the cell, Lakshay steps forward. Stares at the three bleeding wrecks.
He squats in front of the first man, wiping a spot of blood off his own blazer sleeve.
He spoke in a quiet voice, laced with nothing but sincerity. "You three are lucky... Lucky you were caught in time."
He stands again.
"Had even a scratch touched her..." His voice sharper now. "Even your boss would've seen hell knock on his gates."
He pauses.
Then steps back, hands in his pocket.
A final look at them.
Calmly and in an almost poetic tone, he declared his final words to them.
"Shivaay Singh Rathore rarely cares for anyone beyond his bloodline, his family. But when he does...
A pause, a small smirk and-
"Even the Devil bows."
Location- Chamber 3's Inner Washroom- minutes after interrogation.
The sound of water splashing against porcelain echoes.
Inside the marble-lined washroom, Shivaay is scrubbing his hands furiously, blood still crusted around his knuckles.
His breath — ragged.
Jaw clenched so tight, it could shatter the bone.
A single vein on his temple, throbbing.
He looks up —
And meets his own eyes in the mirror.
Wet. Wild. Unhinged.
Shivaay (growls at his own reflection- "Why do you even care? Who is she to you?"
He slams the faucet off. Grabs the edge of the sink.
Leans in. Eyes burning.
The once quiet washroom is now echoing with his shouts.
"Just because you saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, you're ready to destroy the Shekhawat bloodline? Are you out of your mind?"
His fingers dig into the counter marble.
He tries to breathe. Fails.
"You're losing control, Shivaay. Control." He tries to pacify himself, quieter but conflicted.
"She's no one. Nothing. A commoner. And maybe—maybe even a threat."
His voice lowers to a dangerous whisper. Like talking to the devil within.
"She's investigating something. Something that connects... to your family."
His eyes dart up again.
And this time, the reflection stares back — judging him.
"Your job is to protect them," he speaks through his clenched teeth. "Your father. Your graandfather. The Rathores."
Shivaay closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath.
"Not her."
"Never her."
Silence.
A single droplet of blood trails down his palm — missed during the wash.
He sees it. Wipes it with a towel.
Looks back at the mirror.
But this time...
The coldness is returning.
The walls going back up.
Shivaay (final, firm):
"Stay focused.
You protect your blood."
"If she becomes a threat..."
"End her."
He tosses the towel.
Walks out, shoulders squared.
But his heartbeat?
Still not steady.
March 11, Jaipur. The Next Day.
Rathore Mansion.
The Lady of the House was pacing, holding some wrapped gifts in her hand, probably for the children of the foundation. She had just entered the room of the eldest son of the house, when her eyes fell on the pristine white kurta her son was dusting something from.
"Shiv?"
He turned, and that became his worst decision, as his mother saw a big yellow stain, and his carrom powder bottle on ground.
"Yeh kya haal bana rakha hai? Yeh kurta maine diya tha, safed tha yeh! Aaj function hai, sab mein se tu hi..."
(What's all this mess? I had given you this kurta. Today's an event and you out of everyone...)
Suddenly, she stops. From somewhere near the gate, a warm voice echoes—
"Badi maa?"
Her expression softens, her brows lift. She looks at her son, in pure excitement.
"Dhairya aaya hai?"
(Dhairya is here?)
Seeing her smile like she won a big jackpot, her son replies in a deadpan voice- "Aapko badi maa kehene wale bohot ladke hain.."
(There are many boys who call you that.)
But Vasudha? She dashes out of the room, shoving Shivaay's shoulders aside. "Hat samne se."
(Get aside)
Downstairs, Dhairya was already hugging Radhika, the second lady showing her affection towards her most loved child. "Mera baccha! Arre kitna dubla ho gaya tu!"
(My child. Look how slim you have become.)
He grins. "Bas chachi, Lucknow ki daal-roti ka asar hai."
(It's the influence of Lucknow's dal-roti.)
"Mera beta...." He hears a voice from the stairs and grins wider than he already could.
"Meri badi mummy...." and the two crash into each other, like long-lost Bollywood soulmates. The hug is violent enough to shake both.
Meanwhile, on the staircase itself, the Rathore kids were doubting their existence.
Shivaay was the first to speak. "Aulad toh ye hai... hum toh bas formality mein likhe gaye hain."
(He's the real child, we all are here just as a formality. )
"Main toh pakka adopted hoon bhai." adds Varun, in a mock-whisper.
(I am surely adopted bro.)
"Same. Main hospital mein kisi aur ke saath swap ho gaya tha, I'm sure." Aahan, sipping juice, speaks next.
(Same. I was certainly swappped with someone else in the hospital.)
Shivaay descends the stairs slowly. His face is still blank—but his eyes twinkle.
Dhairya throws his arms out again dramatically. "Shivaay! Mera bhaii!"
(Shivaay! My brother.)
He waddles toward him like a penguin, overacting completely. Shivaay raises a brow.
In a deadpan tone, he questions- "Tere tevar theek nahi lag rahe. Afeem shuru kar di kya?
(Your antics don't feel right to me. Are you on drugs?)
Dhairya crashes into him anyway in a bone-crushing hug. Shivaay pretends to resist... and then hugs him back—tight, with a wide smile only Dhairya can bring out.
Later, in the dining room, Dhairya sat on the left-most chair, like a king, Vasudha on one side, Radhika chachi on the other, both feeding him like their life depends on it. The CM himself nods in approval.
With a full mouth, he forwards his hands, shielding his plate. "Arre arre... Badi mummy, chachi! Itna mat khilao!"
(Badi maa. Chachi. Don't feed me this much.)
But Radhika Rathore had a stern face, "Dekha hai shareer apna? Lucknow mein kya khaata hoga?"
(Have you seen your body? What did you even eat in Lucknow?)
And Vasudha finishes, snapping at the poor minister. "Chup chap finish kar!"
(Finish it silently.)
Across the table, Shivaay eyes him like he's plotting murder.
Suddenly, with glittering eyes, Dhairya speaks in a voice that sounds..... teasing.
"Shivaay bhai... teri gaadi ki seatbelt to sahi hai na?"
(Bro... Is the seatbelt of your car fine?)
Shivaay had just taken a sip of juice... and hearing his buddy, chokes hard, spraying it out like a fountain.
And Dhairya just giggles, like the devil himself.
The scene shifted to the foundation main building, where arrangements where still in process. Shivaay and Dhairya had accompanied the two ladies, as per their instructions. The rest? At their specific offices, as it was Holi the next day.
The sun casted a golden glow on the white canopies and bright floral arrangements at the Aarambh Foundation's silver jubilee event. The Aarambh Foundation Jubilee was no small event. The city of Jaipur, dressed in spring hues, buzzed with preparations. Though Holi was just a day away, this celebration held a different fragrance—one of legacy, commitment, and silent milestones.
Outside the grand white-and-gold marquee set up on the Foundation grounds, colorful rangoli spirals greeted the guests. Strings of marigolds swayed gently in the breeze, while schoolchildren from Aarambh's education wing rehearsed their cultural performances backstage.
And amidst the chaos stood Dhairya, sleeves rolled up, his kurta slightly crumpled, clipboard in hand. Dhairya, in a soft beige kurta, moved around the venue with effortless charm—adjusting name cards, checking sound systems, chatting with workers. His laughter boomed across the lawns as he sorted out sound checks, ushered senior citizens to their seats, and coordinated stage entries with Lakshay. The latter one also juggled call sheets and guest entries, the duo working in rhythm.
From a distance, you'd think he was just another volunteer.
No one guessed that the man running cables and scolding lighting boys was an influential minister in Uttar Pradesh, or that he had spoken at the UNESCO's Global Education Meeting in Brazil just months ago. But for him, this wasn't politics—it was family.
"Light thodi warm honi chahiye, nahi to aap logon ki Vasudha ma'am ke photos mein aankhon ke neeche shadows aayenge," he instructed the camera crew.
(The lights should be warm, otherwise there would be shadows under the eyes of your Vasudha ma'am in the pictures.)
Lakshay, adjusting the mic, smirked. "Secret CEO lag rahe ho yaar..."
(You look like a Secret CEO.)
Just then, Vasudha and Radhika entered in elegant pastel sarees, surrounded by Aarambh's trustees. As they greeted everyone, Vasudha's eyes scanned the crowd—
And they lit up.
"Hanitra!" she called out joyously.
Dhairya, still checking the guest list, froze mid-word. His head turned sharply as his eyes landed on the same girl who had once stopped the world of his best friend for a few good seconds at that university auditorium in Agra.
There she was—Hanitra, in a simple plazzo suit, hair open, walking towards Vasudha with a smile that didn't feel rehearsed.
Vasudha wrapped her in a long hug, the kind that said you're safe here. Hanitra looked almost surprised by the warmth, but didn't resist. As they spoke, Vasudha held her hand as though it was a precious link to something deeply personal.
Dhairya leaned toward Lakshay. "Yeh saas-bahu ka milan kab hua?"
(When did this mother-in-law and daughter-in-law duo met?)
Lakshay blinked. "Main to khud confused hoon, yaar."
(Even I'm confused myself bro.)
They both turned towards Shivaay, who stood still as stone, expression unreadable.
"Mujhe kya pata hoga?" he replied, brushing invisible dust off his cuff as he walked away without a glance.
(How would I know?)
Unbothered by Shivaay's exit, Vasudha was now introducing Hanitra to Radhika. The elder woman welcomed her with the same warmth, fixing Hanitra's dupatta and offering her a laddoo.
Dhairya gaped. "Yeh to rishta pakka bhi ho gaya yaar? Aur mujhe to iss bare mein koi khabar bhi nahi hai."
(This relation is even fixed? And I have no idea about this?)
Lakshay couldn't stop laughing. "Shaadi ka trailer chal raha hai. Aap popcorn le aao."
(It's a trailer of the marriage. You should bring popcorn.)
Just then, a volunteer rushed over, asking Dhairya to fix the backstage mic. He jogged off, still throwing glances at Hanitra, whispering to himself, "Yeh mystery to mujhe khud hi solve karni padegi..."
(I definitely would have to solve this mystery myself.)
Meanwhile, inside the marquee, the function was ready to begin.
Shivaay sat in the front row, his jaw tight. Dhairya took a seat left to Shivaay and beside Radhika, who handed him a bottle of water and told him to behave, to which her lovely boy showed a sheepish grin. Vasudha sat in the middle, proud and radiant. To her left, was her son and to her right? Well.. her to be daughter-in-law.
As the host announced the launch of a new Aarambh women's welfare initiative, the crowd clapped. But Shivaay's eyes were not on the stage. They were on Hanitra, standing beside Vasudha, smiling politely, oblivious to the storm she had stirred within him.
Dhairya leaned closer, "Shivaay... bhai... tu theek hai na? Ya main ambulance bulau?"
(Shivaay bro.. are you fine or should I call an ambulance?)
Shivaay just grunted, refusing to let any emotion rise.
The jubilee continued, unaware of the brewing storm just a few rows away. As children were led onto the stage, holding props and singing warm-up songs, Radhika called Lakshay and Dhairya inside with her to adjust the presentation boards. Shivaay remained seated with his mother.
Then, it happened.
A blast tore through the calm.
A sharp, echoing boom thundered from the left end of the stage—flames erupting momentarily from beneath. Dust, cloth, and flower petals burst into the air like shrapnel.
Children screamed.
People ducked. Chairs clattered.
The ground vibrated.
Before Vasudha could react, Shivaay lunged, throwing himself over her.
"Maa!" he shouted, shielding her with his entire body.
The shockwave rippled across the garden space.
Nearby, Hanitra had instinctively hugged a small crying girl, pulling her away from the blast site.
Shivaay turned to his mom. "Maa, chaliye. We need to go."
But Vasudha, even in her shock, remained still. "No. Those kids... they're injured. Shivaay—"
"No!" he said harshly, still holding her arm. "You're more important. I won't let you—"
But Vasudha's eyes were sharp, her voice steel. "Shivaay Singh Rathore. I've not taught you to be scared. Mujhe kuch nahi hoga. I've seen worse. But listen—" Her eyes widened as if suddenly remembering something. "RADHIKA!"
(Nothing will happen to me.)
Her voice cracked.
Shivaay's breath caught.
"Radha..." she whispered again. "And Dhairya... Lakshay... they were inside with her." Panic settled in her chest like iron.
"Shivaay," Vasudha gripped his wrist. "Save them. Please."
Shivaay froze, glancing towards the smoke and broken tiles. His face tenses. For a moment, his façade of calm shatters.
He takes a breath, voice dropping to something more vulnerable yet controlled.
He tries to convince her again, tone laced with desperation and protectiveness- "Maa... vo Radhika Devendra Singh Rathore hai... unhe kuch nahi hoga. Aur Dhairya... Lakshay... vo bhi unke saath hi hain.. They all will be fine, we trust each other.
(Mom she is Radhika Devendra Singh Rathore. Nothing will happen to her. ANd Dhairya and Lakshay.. they are also inside with her.)
He looks at her straight, his voice now quieter... full of the son more than the strategist.
"Lekin filhaal... mere liye sirf ek hi cheez zaroori hai—he pauses, his voice slightly cracks, "Ki aap theek rahein.
(But now, there's only one thing important to me- that you are safe.)
Vasudha is stunned, seeing her ever-steady son this raw.
At that moment, Hanitra rushes over from the other side of the corridor, hugging a crying child, and looks at them. After analyzing the sitution, she states, firmly- "I'll take her, Mr. Rathore. She'll be safe with me."
Shivaay turns to her, nodding after a beat of silence. Desperation in his gaze. Resolve in hers. Then he speaks for the last time, quitely, "Please... dhyan rakhna."
(Please.. Take care of her...)
She nods in return. "You have my word."
Shivaay places a kiss on his mother's forehead, hesitates for just a second, then turns and runs — toward the danger, toward the smoke, toward those still trapped inside.
Behind him, Hanitra steadies Vasudha, guiding her to safety.
And Vasudha looks on, softly murmuring to herself—"Raksha karna, bhagwan... mere bachchon ki."
(Please God.. Protect my children..)
Hanitra turned to Vasudha. "Ma'am, we need to go—this way," she said, guiding her through the narrower path around the stage, where security had already begun sweeping the perimeter.
The crowd buzzed with fear. Screams and dust still hung in the air. But Hanitra's grip on Vasudha was firm.
Contemporary to it, Shivaay had entered the inner wing, looking for his loved ones and also to rescue. The hallway was clouded in grey smoke, broken lights flickering overhead. Faint cries echo from a shattered playroom down the corridor. Amidst the chaos, he pushed through fallen planks and dangling wires, eyes scanning desperately.
Suddenly —
he hears a familiar voice yelling instructions- "Don't move forward further. Pehle left wing ke bachche nikaalo!"
(First move the kids of the left wing.)
He freezes for a second... That voice—Lakshay.
As he steps into the main corridor, his heart tightens — and then relaxes in a burst of relief.
There they are.
His Radhika Chachi, her pale blue saree covered in dust but her expression steady, was helping lift a crying toddler into a volunteer's arms.
Lakshay was using a rod to break open a stuck classroom door, while Dhairya was holding back a collapsed wooden shelf with his full weight, letting two children crawl out underneath.
Shivaay blinks... and then runs forward.
"Chachi! Aap theek ho na??" His voice cracks a bit.
(Chachi, you are fine, right?)
Radhika looks up — a flicker of pain, then warmth. She wraps her arms around her kid, after wiping her forehead.
She was breathless, and just nods at first but then, pulls out of the hug and says, "Main theek hoon, Shiv... par yeh sab... Shekhawat ne kiya na?" Her eyes were now turning fiery.
(I'm fine Shiv.. but all this.. Shekhawat did it right?)
Shivaay's jaw tightens, eyes darkening, but his voice stays even—controlled.
Between his gritted teeth, he answers, "Abhi kuch kehna mushkil hai, chachi..."
he pauses, then softly, like a vow, "Par agar vo iske peeche hai... to kasam mujhe aap dono ki...
vo aadmi zinda nahi bachega.
(It's hard to say anything right now, Chachi. But if he is behind all this.. then I swear on you both, that man won't remain alive.)
There's silence.
A single second of stillness in a storm.
Then—
Lakshay rushes over, in a tone that sounds like.. panic. "Aap theek ho na..bhai??"
(Are you fie bro?)
Dhairya tags, right behind, "Pagal hai kya? Sabko bacha raha hai aur khud?"
(Are you an idiot? Saving everyone but you yourself?)
Both brothers hug him, arms tight, chests heaving. A rare moment of pure brotherhood — no hierarchy, no power, just them.
Shivaay pulls back, brushing their shoulders with urgency but affection.
"Main theek hoon... Tum sab ho na, wahi kaafi hai."
(I'm fine.. You all are alright, that's enough.)
Suddenly, Radhika questions, looking around, worried. "Jiji? Jiji kahan hai?"
(Vasudha.. Where is she?)
Shivaay answers, calmly. "Safe hain, chachi. Hanitra unhe le gayi. Par yeh bachche—"
(She's safe. Hanitra is beside her.. But these kids..)
He gestures to the five or six kids still huddled under a desk, some too shocked to cry.
His voice now turns commanding. "Humein pehle inhe secure zone mein le jaana hoga. Lakshay—tum chachi ke saath jao. Right-wing mein ek safer passage hai—second floor pe evacuation ho raha hai."
(We need to move them to a secure zone first. Lakshay- take chachi with yourself. There's a safer passage in the Right Wing. )
"I should stay here"
"No arguments, Lakshay," Shivaay cuts him. "I need someone I trust with chachi. Jaldi."
Radhika doesn't argue. Her eyes meet Shivaay's, and all she says is— "Bachchon ka khayal rakhna. Aur khud ka bhi.. tum dono.."
(Take care of the kids. And also of yourself.. you two.)
Shivaay nods. Then turns to Dhairya, eyes blazing with purpose.
"Saath mein chalte hain. We need to move everyone out."
(Let's move together.)
Both friends kneel down together. Dhairya lifts a trembling boy in his arms while Shivaay scoops up two younger girls, speaking softly to calm them.
Dhairya consoles a sobbing child, "Kuch nahi hoga, champ... bas aankhein bandh karo, hmm?"
(Nothing will happen champ.. just close your eyes, hmm?)
Shivaay speaks to another, "Race karein? Dekhna kaun pehle bahar pahuchta hai.
(Let's race and see who reaches outside first.)
Through broken corridors, fire alarms, and scattered glass, the two carry the children one by one — shielding them from harm with their own bodies. They pass a shattered mirror on the wall.
Shivaay was holding two small children by each hand, ushering them quickly. Dhairya followed behind, carrying another injured child on his back. Their shoes crunch over broken glass and banners.
The minister speaks first, panting but frustrated, "Kaise yaar? Security to clear thi?"
(How? The security was clear?)
"Sab kuch clean tha. Lakshay aur maine personally verify kiya tha- har fuse, har tunnel, har device." His partmer answers, in a gritted voice.
(Everything was damn clean. Lakshay and I had personally verified every single thing- fuse, tunnel, device.)
Dhairya looks at him, sweat beading down his forehead, expression grim and then speaks, as if dropping the final blow.
"Toh fir iska ek hi matlab hai... We have a mole."
(Then there's only one conclusion to all this..)
The weight of the words hangs between them as Shivaay briefly pauses, looks back at Dhairya, and then at the frightened children ahead. And then concludes the former statement, in almost a whisper.
"Aur woh andar tak jaanta hai kaise kaam karte hain hum."
(And he knows very clearly how do we function.)
Moments later, both reach an inner safe zone, a temporary medical base.
Nurses rush to examine kids being brought in. Shivaay sets down a little boy carefully on a mattress. A girl clutches his hand. But he smiles at her, saying he'll be back and then moves back
"Ab?"
(Now?)
Shivaay walks ahead, not turning. His pace quickens, and Dhairya matches it.
"Shivaay? Ab kahan?"
(Shivaay? Now where?)
"Maa." He answers, in a low, tight voice.
Smoke still lingers in the air, screams of panic now replaced by the cries of injured children. The sirens wail somewhere distant, growing louder. Volunteers rush in and out, trying to gain control over the situation.
Shivaay sprints with Dhairya right behind him—towards the direction where Hanitra had led Vasudha. As they turn the corner to a quieter corridor behind the main building, the sight before them knocks the breath out of their lungs.
Vasudha Rathore, forehead streaked with blood from a sharp cut, lies unconscious on the ground—her head resting in Hanitra's lap, whose left arm is soaked in blood, the fabric of her sleeve torn and pressed against her wound.
Shivaay freezes for a second.
Then breaks.
He rushes forward, the mask of composure fully torn.
"Maa?" he gasps, dropping to his knees.
"Badi Mummy?"
Hanitra's voice is calm, despite the obvious pain on her face. "Don't—Mr. Rathore. Don't lift her like that. The bleeding might worsen if you—"
But Shivaay snaps— not out of anger, but something far more primal. "I know how to take care of my mother!" he growls, voice strained.
He gently yet firmly slides his arms beneath Vasudha, holding her like something far too precious for this broken world.
She stirs faintly in his hold, murmuring, "Shivaay..."
"Maa, I've got you. You're okay now... I promise," he whispers.
Dhairya watches the scene, his eyes falling on Hanitra—only now registering the depth of the gash on her arm. His usual sarcasm fades instantly.
"Hanitra... you're bleeding badly. This is no scratch—you need treatment. Come with us."
She gives a weak nod, still pressing her hand against her wound. She tries to stand, but Dhairya holds her by her good arm and supports her to walk toward the car.
Minutes later, Shivaay was behind the wheel. His hands grip the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles turn white. His shirt is stained from where Vasudha's blood had soaked in.
The silence inside the car is heavier than the air outside.
Dhairya, riding shotgun, keeps stealing glances toward the back seat.
In the back, Hanitra sits, cradling Vasudha gently. Her own arm is still bleeding through the makeshift bandage—a scarf torn from her dupatta. Her gaze is fixed outside the window, hiding the sharp winces behind every bump on the road.
Shivaay doesn't speak a word. The usual perfection in his driving is gone. The vehicle jerks slightly with every impatient turn.
After a long silence, Dhairya finally says—softly but with weight:
"Shivaay..." No response.
He says again, "Tu sun raha hai?"
(Are you listening?)
Still nothing.
So Dhairya leans in closer and adds, "Bhai.. they both need treatment. But Hanitra.. She'll slip into unconsciousness if.."
Before he can complete, a voice interrupts him—sharp, low, and shaking not from fear, but urgency.
"No." Hanitra snapped, from the back, biting through pain.
Both men glance back.
Hanitra doesn't look at them. Her eyes are on Vasudha. Her left hand, the one with the deeper cut, remains pressed awkwardly beneath her. Blood stains the edge of her white dupatta—now serving as a desperate bandage.
"She needs treatment first, Dhairya sir. My cotton dupatta... it's already soaked. If it's left longer, it could infect her wound. Her blood loss is higher than mine. She's unconscious."
Shivaay's eyes flicker to the rearview mirror.
He sees her.
Hanitra, despite the bleeding, pain, and shock—sitting quietly with his mother in her lap. One arm bloodied, one hand still gently brushing Vasudha's hair back from her forehead. No flinch. No self-preservation. Just silent resilience.
Dhairya exhales. Then nods.
"Okay. First her. But the second this car stops—Hanitra, you're not arguing again. We're getting your wound stitched before you faint, alright?"
Hanitra gives the faintest of smiles—dry, sarcastic, but grateful.
And the car speeds through the Jaipur streets, flashing red and white through the growing dusk—carrying two wounded women, one furious son, and one deeply shaken friend who finally understands the weight Shivaay has been carrying.
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