The flames had died hours ago, but the air still stank of burnt wood, molten iron, and that faint, bitter tang of ash that clung to the throat. The once-grand Rathore warehouse — one of the seven hidden "caves" only a select few knew about — now lay in a charred skeleton. The high arched beams had collapsed inward, the roof reduced to splinters. Walls were half-standing, blackened like the pages of a burnt manuscript.
Shivaay stepped over a broken steel frame, boots crunching on glass and debris. His eyes scanned every corner — not with panic, but the cold, deliberate gaze of a man mapping a crime scene. Lakshay, however, moved differently — his hands brushing over the remains of the shelves, the floor, as though trying to feel the history beneath the ash. Dhairya was quiet, posted near the doorway, watching the shadows like they might shift into enemies at any moment.
The desert winds howled through the charred skeleton of what was once the heart of Sapphire's power — the Shamsher Warehouse, code-named Ghost Veil. Jagged steel beams, blackened and twisted, clawed at the ash-streaked sky like the fingers of a fallen giant.
This was no ordinary warehouse. For years, it had housed the deadliest arsenal in the underworld — custom-forged weapons, explosives crafted in shadows, and the secrets of a syndicate that ruled through fear and precision. Named after Shamsher — the assassin who never missed his mark, yet met death not by bullet, but by his own faltering heart — it was a legacy carved in iron and blood.
Now, all that remained was ruin. Walls once humming with deadly whispers were silent, scorched beyond recognition. The acrid scent of burnt gunpowder mixed with the desert dust, a bitter reminder of battles fought and lives lost.
Those who had entered Shamsher swore the air was thick with echoes — ghosts of violence and loyalty, betrayal and sacrifice. The blaze that consumed it was no accident; it was a message written in fire, a wound that bled through the veins of Sapphire's empire.
Then Lakshay's fingers stopped. Something small, folded, half-buried under soot caught his attention. He tugged it free — a scrap of paper, edges singed but ink still intact. He unfolded it slowly.
It wasn't a threat.
It wasn't a warning.
It was... poetry.
""Chand jab saahil-e-samundar mein utarta hai,
Maujon ka rang, qismat ki tarah, badal hi jaata hai."
(When the moon descends upon the shore of the sea,
The color of the waves, like fate, begins to change.)
Lakshay read the lines twice, brows furrowing deeper each time. Finally, he looked up, walking to Shivaay and Dhairya.
"D. Ye dekho." Both men turn around, looking at the man they had termed as their spine. The three cluster together, with Dhairya reading the note aloud.
(Look at this.)
Silence followed for a few moments until Lakshay decided to break it.
"Bhai... aisa nahi lagta, Ye Shekhawat ka kaam nahi hai. Poetry? Naah... Dev kab se shayari likhne laga? That guy's idea of words is abuses and orders. Uski style to hamesha seedhi, kutte-ki-tarah kaatne wali hoti hai."
(Bhaii, don't you feel, Shekhawat is not the one behind all this. Poetry? No. Since when did Dev started doing shayaris?... His style has always been straight, just like a dog biting.)
Shivaay took the paper, his muscles tightening as his eyes scanned the words. He didn't speak. He read the note again, his jaw ticking. The words didn't fit the Shekhawat style at all. No open challenge, no vulgar threat — just... something personal, almost intimate in its precision
Lakshay went on, almost to himself, "Aur sabse badi baat... ye warehouse. Iski location bhi Dev ko kaise pata hoti? He didn't even know its real significance. This wasn't just another storage space, bhai. Ye hamare liye sanctuary tha."
(And the most important thing- this warehouse. How would Dev even know its location.... It's a sanctuary for us.)
Dhairya stepped forward now, his voice low but heavy with certainty. "I agree. Shamsher warehouse is one of the Seven Caves. Sirf hum aath ko pata tha. Ya phir... kuch hi family members ko. Dev ka network strong hai, lekin itna strong nahi."
(Only the eight of us know about it... Or a few family members.. Dev's network, certainly, is strong, but not this much.)
The three stood in silence for a moment, the fire's afterglow painting their faces in tired gold.
Shivaay read the poem again, slower this time, like he was searching for a hidden cipher. His thumb ran over the singed edges. Still, nothing clicked. Only an itch at the back of his mind — this wasn't over.
"This," Dhairya said, gesturing to the ruin around them, "kisi aur ka motive hai. Someone who isn't tied to the syndicates... at least, not directly. This feels like it was personal."
Lakshay kicked at a burnt beam, sending sparks of ash swirling into the air. "Personal... aur poetic. Dangerous combination."
Shivaay finally folded the paper, tucking it into his jacket. "We'll find him. But first..." His eyes swept the damage again, and his tone hardened. "...we rebuild."
Orders were quick, efficient, almost military- assess the damage, list the salvageable items, begin groundwork for a rebuild..
Lakshay was already on his phone, calling the architects who had worked on the original structure.
Dhairya directed the remaining guards to secure the perimeter — no one in, no one out without clearance.
Shivaay moved toward the main office corner, the one room that had resisted the fire partially, jotting down a list: steel reinforcements, triple-lock security, underground expansion.
Outside, the cold wind carried the faint crackle of dying embers. Inside, among the charred remains, three men were already stitching the bones of a new fortress — and plotting for the ghost who had just declared war in verse.
When most of the chaos was under control, the three remained, unwilling to leave until the last of the embers cooled. The dim light of late evening filtered through the broken windows, falling across something small on the floor near a beam.
Shivaay's steps slowed.
There — nestled among ash and dust — lay her jhumka. The golden filigree was tarnished, one pearl missing, but he'd recognise it anywhere. It had been days since his last visit here... days since he'd unknowingly left one of it there.
For a second, the air seemed to thicken. He bent down, fingers brushing against the cool metal as memories — most t prominently, their last interaction— came flooding back in a rush that left his chest tight.
His eyes moved, scanning for the missing blue pearl. And there it was, the tiny one lying near a broken wooden table. Shivaay picked it up, and the hand was just closing around the earring when—
"Shivaay!" Lakshay's voice cut through the haze, urgent. Dhairya was pointing at the half-functioning monitor in the corner. The warehouse's CCTV system had miraculously survived enough to replay the scene of the foundation blast, as it coordinated every camera in the entire city.
The screen flickered, snowy static fading to the image of that day.
There it was — the moment of the blast. But not how he remembered it.
A man — unfamiliar, hood pulled low — deliberately pushed a heavy cart forward. The cart slammed into Hanitra's side, forcing her to stumble. And in that split-second, she shoved Vasudha away from harm's path, taking the brunt of the blast's shockwave herself.
Shivaay's eyes hardened.
It wasn't recklessness. It wasn't carelessness. It was deliberate. She hadn't endangered Vasudha — she had saved her. And he... he had blamed her.
The realisation was a gut punch. His fingers tightened around the jhumka.
Hanitra deserved more than just an explanation. She deserved a proper apology — one from the heart. And maybe... maybe he'd already waited too long to give it.
"So. Ab to clear ho gya? Sorry to tujhe hi maangni hai."
(So, it's clear now. You have to apologize.)
"Pata hai, daant mat nikal."
(I know, stop grinning.)
"We are leaving in seven." Lakshay announced among the three, already moving to arrange the new design structure with the architects.
But Dhairya? Grinning at his friend, sheepishly.
"Tu muskura kyun raha hai?" Shivaay mutters loud, clearly irritated.
(Why are you smiling?)
But the grin only got wider. "Kuch nahi. Pehli baar tujhe sorry bolte hue dekhunga, bas."
(Nothing much, just that I'll see you apologizing to someone for the first time.)
"Konsa tujhe bol raha hoon."
(As if I'm saying sorry to you.)
Dhairya lowers his tone, making it almost theatrical, mixed with a silent chaos.
"Yahi to. Tu hame sorry nahi bol raha. Ussey bol raha hai jo aapke according, sir, matter hi nahi karti. Can you beleive yourself? Kaal raat se tadap raha hai tu... And above that, SHIVAAY SINGH RATHORE and MAAFI? Historic moment indeed."
(That's the thing. You aren't apologising to us, but to a person, who according to you, doesn't matter. Last night.. you were desperate for her forgiveness.)
A silence follows as Dhairya turns dreamy, closing his eyes, a hand on his heart. "Kaash mera Vivaan yahan hota....
(How I wish my Vivaan was here...)
Scene shifted as the three reached home, almost around 9. Dinner was held together, with threats and joys being discussed simultaneously.
NEXT MORNING.
I woke up at around 7. It was the first time that I had not celebrated Holi with baba and my pandit ji, the two men now I'm a daughter to. Though they did gave me call, their presence was still missed by me. Wearing my same yellow kurti and skirt, I stepped out, to participate in the aarti.
Last night, my thoughts were tangles between leaving this temple or staying here. And the conclusion that crossed me? I was leaving it in two days.
"Hey Kanha. Jaldi se koi hint ya clue dedo please... Mujhe ghar jaana hai yaar..." I prayed in my mind, clearly telling my deity that I miss my town.
(Please give me a clue or hint really soon. I wanna go home.)
Analyzing everything that I've found out so far, it's clear- Shivaay Singh Rathore is controlling his father's position. No clear threats or serious protests again the reign have been noted. Ravindra Yadav was surely a close member to Dharma's inner circle. Shekhwats are rumored to own the foundation, and they are rivals to the Rathores. The former are an influential family in the city, having royal lineage traces. The younger daughter-in-law of the Rathores is rumored to be a Shekhawat, but no one believes this is true. Some say Rajeev Shekhawat is also related to the Shekhwat family.
Also, from what I can see, from what my names lead to, these people may or may not have a hand in the assassination of Miheer or the reason behind Abhiraj's CM position.
And today, I might have my hand on the video of Miheer's death. Since days, I'm looking for the video, for different angles to find atleast something suspicious, something that may have gone unnoticed or silenced..
A local journalist here, which I met last afternoon, claims to have a recording of that whole rally. All thanks to a few kids who had run away while stealing my bag, I stumbled across that man, a 53 year old native with a strong dialect, which was quite difficult to understand. But as we both talked, and him having similar thoughts like me, I asked him the question of Miheer's death and he told me he had recorded how the favourite leader of this state was killed.
"Badi Jiji... Badi Jiji..." three cute little girls came rushing to me, as I moved to leave for breakfast.
"Hanji? Boliye?" I smiled, kneeling to their level.
(Yes sweetie?)
"Ek na bohot lambe Bhai sa aapko dhondh rahe hain."
(A very tall man is looking for you.)
"Hmm?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Haan, aur vo na bohot sundar bhi hain..."
(Yes. And he's also very handsome.)
"Nahi, hamari Jiji zyada sundar hain."
(No. Our sister is more beautiful.)
The one who had praised that unknown man, turned her face to me.
"Badi Jiji, aap na khud dekhna unhe.. ek dum hero lagtein hain."
(Elder sister. You go and see him yourself, just like a hero.)
I mocked scolded her. "Ye umar hai aapki ye bolne ki? Jaake khana khao, bachche itni jaldi bigadte nahi hain."
(Should you be saying such things in this age. Go have your breakfast.)
I stood up, walking towards the area where someone was waiting for me.
Hey Kanha, bas koi maarne na aaya ho, himmat nahi hai filhaal mere pass.
(O Kanha. Let is not be someone to kill me. I've no strength right now.)
I walked, until I saw who was actually waiting for me there. Janab Shaitaan. Shivaay Singh Rathore, dresses in all formals, shades on and having a bouquet.
Pakka ye aadmi sorry maangne aaya hai.
Ya tujhe maarne, kahin ye phool teri mayyait ke liye ho?
Paagal hai kya? Koi itna sundar thodi dikhta hai uss time...
Tujhe vo sundar lag raha hai, neech aadmi.. Yaad hai na usne kya bola tha..
Haani, agar usne sorry maangi na, murder kar diyo, main sambhaal lungi.
Nahi, tu iski mat sun, ye dimaag to bewakoof hai...
Achcha main bewakoof hoon??
(I'm sure he's here to apologise.)
(Or to kill you. I doubt these flowers are for your funeral.)
(Are you insane? No one looks this attractive for a funeral.)
(DO you find him attractive? Bloody human. You do remember what he had said?)
(If he aplogises, Murder him, I'll handle.)
(No, don't listen to this brain. She's an idiot.)
(O really? Am I an idiot?)
TUM DONO CHUP RAHO, I'LL TALK AUR FIR DEKHTEIN HAIN, MAARNE AAYA HAI YA MARNE.
(Will you both be quiet? I'll talk to him and then we'll decide, is her here to kill or get killed.)
"Mr. Rathore?" I speak as our distance becomes shorter.
"Umm yeah... Good Morning..." HE IS HESITATING?
DIKHAWA HAI HAANI, TUJHE MAARNE SE PEHELE.
USSE BOLNE TO DE, GOOD MORNING BOL HAANI.
(It's all an act, before killing you.)
(Let her speak, say good morning.)
"Kahiye?"
(Speak?)
Perfect meri Tara, ye hui na baat. Aise hi coldly bolna hai. Rona aa jana chahiye iss aadmi ko. Sadd ke jaun meri jaan pe..
Galat shiksha de rahi hai tu isse, bechara phool bhi laya hai, tere favourite.
To varmala pehna doon?
(Perfect. That's the spirit. Just be cold like that. He should cry. O no evil eyes to you..)
(You're giving her wrong advice. He even brought you flowers, your favourite ones.)
(Shall I wed him?)
"Hanitra..." His voice came out, lower, soft.. "Hanitra, I... I mean mai..."
DEKH RAHI HAI HAANI, TAB TO NAHI HAKLAYA JAB SUNA RAHA THA, AB JAB GALTI MAANE AAYA HAI, DEKH KAISE BOL RAHA HAI.. VAPIS JAA ANDAR...
HAANI ISKI MAT SUN, EK BAAR APNE AAS PASS TO DEKH.
(Look at him Haani. He didn't stammer when he yelled at you.. Let's go back inside.)
(Haani, don't listen to it, just look around you atleast once.)
And I did, shifting my eyes from him, to the surrounding and the scene froze me- Tulips, all pink ones, same as the bouquet...
Haani. Sorry hi bolne aaya hai. Maan jana yaar.
(He's really here for a sorry. Please forgive him.)
Bilkul nhi, galat karke sorry bolne aaya hai, teri galti nahi hai koi. Be in Attitude.
(Absolutely not. He's here after making a mistake, not you who had done that.)
"Hanitra. I know. Jaane anjaane-" I shot him a look. "Nahi, jaante hue, I said words that-"
(Unintentionally.. No intentionally..)
"I don't have time for you Mr. Rathore, jaldi kahiye kya kehena hai."
(Speak fast, what do you even want to say.)
Wohoo... YESSS... Apna khana thanda ho jayega, bol isse jaldi kare.
(O yes. Your food shouldn;t turn cold. Ask him to tell fast.)
"Hanitra.... These..."
And I turn, coming back inside the temple, while he tails behind.
"Atleast baat to suno Hanitra.."
(Atleast just hear me once..)
"Aapne suni thi? Nhi, you just gave your decree." My steps turn faster. WHY IS HE STILL FOLLOWING ME?
(Did you listen?)
"Jaanta hoon, galti huyi hai, but sorry hi to maangne aaya hoon."
(I know, I did make a mistake. But I'm here for a sorry only. )
"Main koi dukaandar lagti hoon aapko? Jo sorry muft mein baat ti hai?"
(Do I look like a shopkeeper to you? Who sells sorry for free?)
"Haan.. Nh-- Nahi... I mean ki-"
(Yes.. No.. NO. I mean you-)
And I shut the door, reaching my room, on his face.
Bade aaye Sorry maangne aaya hoon.
MARNE HI AAYE THE.
(I'm here for sorry, my foot.)
(He did come here to get killed.)
"Haan...."
(Yes.)
Gadhe aadmi. Kya bol raha hai? dukaandar hai kya vo?
(You idiot. What are you saying? Is she a shopkeeper?)
"nh-Nahi... I mean ki-"
(No. I mean you-)
And she shut the door, right on my face.
I blinked. Once. Twice..
Bouquet still in hand.
Like a rejected Romeo in corporate clothes.
Trying to interpret what just happened.
Sahi hua tere saath. Tab to bada cheekh raha tha, ab jab sorry bolni hai, teri zubaan ko lakwa lag gaya?
Badhiya hua usne tere muh par door band kiya.
Par baat to suni na usne.
Oo. delusional devta, hawa mein mat udd. Ussey pankh kaatne aate hain.
(Best thing happened with you. Weren't you yelling at her then. But now, when you need to apologize, your tongue was paralysed? )
(It was good that she slammed the door on your face.)
(But she did listen to me.)
(O Mr. delusional, don't fly high. She's expert in cutting wings.)
I sign. And then, realization hit me- I was in a temple, with my shoes REMOVED?
What antics was this? It was as if I instinctively had removed those, before following her inside.
"Kya karvayegi ye ladki mujhse..."
(What will this girl make me do.)
And I leave, back to work, because she was definitely not going to open the door, especially not for me.
At VASR, I tried to have myself buried in work, shifting my focus. The luxury corporate floor was oddly... calm. Tulips in the hallway.
Lakshay was checking something on his tablet, most probably the new recommendations of industry sites.
Ding.
Inspector Veer enters, a little flustered, a file in one hand and muttering to himself.
I look up, raising an eyebrow and then back to the file. "Kya hua Veer?"
(What has happened Veer?)
Veer grumbles, almost to himself.
"Pata nahi kaun pagal aadmi hai. Pure Jaipur main Tulips hi Tulips laga diye. Chaar banquets already complain kar chuke hain—'tulips chura liye kisi ne!' Main bata raha hoon, ek baar haath aane do uss aaadmi ko..."
(God knows whose that insane idiot. The whole Jaipur has been decorated with Tulips. Four banquet hall have already called- someone has stole tulips. I'm swearing, just let me once catch that person.)
I freeze.
Lakshay, from the corner of my eyes, smirks, without lifting his head.
"Fortunately, Inspector... That 'paagal' is sitting right in front of you. Karlo arrest."
(Go on. Arrest him.)
I internally stab both of them.
Veer freezes, then looks at me. Then at the tulips in the office.
Eyes go WIDE.
In a stunned tone, he asked- "Sir aapko kabse tulips pasand aa gye?"
(When did you start liking tulips?)
Lakshay mutters too slowly, "Jabse bhabhi ji gussa hui." and then, lets out a quiet chuckle.
(Since the moment sister-in-law has been angry.)
But straight-faced, I look at the one sitting infront of me. "What's the work, Veer?"
Veer blinks twice. Shakes his head.
Pulls out the file and slides it across the table.
Stands and leaves, muttering something like ye log bhi kya karte hain.
(What do these people even do.)
As if this was not enough to irritate me, fate slaps hard, sending two idiots at the same time.
"Ye Veer tha na, Lakshay? Kya bad-bada raha tha?" Vivaan asks, confusion being his second identity.
(It was Veer right? What was he even mumbling?)
"Soemthing like paagal, tulips chor? Ye police officers bhi..." Dhairya follows the tone.
(Madman.. Tulips thief... O God these police officers.)
"Unhi ki baat ho rahi hai Sir, jinke to signature mein bhi rage hota hai." Lakshay calmly speaks, looking at his tablet.
(The one in question is the sae man whose even signatures have rage.)
Both stare at him, and he nods at me, and clearly, they now know the story.
Vivaan & Dhairya freeze. Then — BURST OUT LAUGHING.
"Bhaii? Seriously?? Veer ko kon bataiye, inhe nahi, inki wali ko pasand hai." Vivaan teases me.
(Who's gonna tell Veer? Not Shivaay but Shivaay's one likes these.)
But I glare, "I don't love her."
Instantly, Dhairya and Lakshay dramatically sync, having a hand on their heart.
"And I don't breathe oxygen."
Vivaan grabs a tulip from the vase and holds it up. Mock seriously, he begins- ""Shaant ho jao Shivaay baba. Yeh tulip nahi... ye to aapka dil hai, bilkul pink-pink."
(Patience Sage Shivaay. This is not a tulip.. this is your heart, all pink-pink.)
I groan at this.
"Tum teeno ke beech mera khoon ho jata toh badhiya hota."
(Were that I was stabbed while being around you three.)
I started sorting a few files, going to the shelf, while the three move around being the menace they are.
Suddenly, Vivaan speaks, eyeing an bouquet.
"Ek bouquet main bhi le jaun kya? MoD ki entry table pe achcha lagega..."
(Can I take one of the bouquet? It'll look good on the entry table of the Minitry of Defense.)
My eyes narrow instantly.
I snatched the bouquet back like it's a national treasure.
Tujhe kya bhoot chad gaya? Le jaane de usse.
Kyun? Usne paise diye hain kya??
Tu dosti main paisa dekh raha hai? Seedha bol na Hanitra-
Haan. Haan. Vahi, par main usse ye kyun bataun?
Tujhe therapy chahiye, main rukoon thodi der?
Bhool mat, heart main hoon, dhadakna band ho jaunga..
Ho ja, vaise konsa ye aadmi kaam ka hai? Mera to sar dard hone lag gaya iske chakkar mein.
Haan yaar, gadha to ye hai, hum bhala kyun ladein?
Ab bol bhi bewakoof.
(What has you possessed? Let him have it.)
(Why? Did he pay for it?)
(Are you bringing money in friendship? Speak clearly it's for Hanitra-)
(Yeah. Yeah. Same thing. But why should I tell him.)
(Do you need therapy? Shall I stop working for a while?)
(Don't you forget. I am the HEART. I'll stop beating.)
(Stop then this man is already useless. I'm getting a headache all because of him.)
(Really man. This man is the idiot, why should we two fight over?)
(Speak now, you idiot.)
Deadly, I reply to Vivaan, "Touch it again and I'll show you what a tulip looks like after getting stomped on."
Dhairya raises his hands in mock surrender. "Chill bhai. Flower power mein possessiveness allowed hai, par bouquet pe war mat karo."
(Chill bro. It's allowed to be possessive over a flower but atleast don't wage a war over a damn bouquet.)
But Vivaan? Into his drama mode. He staggers back as if stabbed.
Clutching his heart, he blurts out, as if auditioning for a soap opera.
"Dyaan se dekhiye iss aadmi ko! Yeh wahi hai jo ek phool ke liye apni dosti ka khoon kar raha hai!"
(Look carefully at this man. He's the same who is ready to kill his own friend for a damn flower.)
He turns to Lakshay, tears almost forming. NAUTANKI SAALA.
"Ek waqt tha... jab hum bhaiyon ke beech mein sirf gunfire aata tha. Aaj... tulip aa gaya... aur sab kuch badal gaya..."
(There was a time when we all let only gunfire between us. But now, tulips have entered and everything has changed.)
Lakshay sighs.
He sounded deadpan while looking at the three of us. Are we chaotic? Hell yes. Poor guy. The only sane one.
"Main kis paap ka fal bhugat raha hoon... Pichhle janam mein kis murderer ko bacha liya tha jo yeh teen mere gale pad gaye..."
(What sin am I even paying for? Which murderer did I save in my past life to get these idiots?)
Dhairya walks up, grinning and throws his arm around Lakshay's shoulder.
"Tere jaise sane insaan ki iss duniya mein bohot zarurat hai, bhai"
(This world needs many sane people like you.)
Vivaan picks up another tulip and gives it a flying kiss.
"Bhai... tu kya samjhega... Yeh pink wali cheez... humari future bhabhi ki pasand hai."
(How will you even understand dude. This pink thing is loved by our future sister-in-law.)
Shivaay, maar daal isse, VASR ke neeche hi dafna diyo.
(Shivaay, kill him. And then bury him under the building itself.)
I throw a pen at him, and he gasps.
"Tu mujhe maarna chahta hai? Aane de mere Kritanjay ko, vo zinda jala dega tujhe."
(You want to kill me? Let my Kritanjay come once, he'll burn you alive.)
AUTHOR'S POV
It was early evening, everyone was busy except the two chaos lovers, who were sitting at the dining table, discussing something. In the living room, Vasudha had just walked through the entrance hall, coming back from Aarambh. And the scene makes her go still.
Servants were carrying tulips — fresh, pink, vibrant. Vases were being filled, corners decorated, the entire mansion looks like a Dutch flower field exploded.
She raises an eyebrow.
Confused, she asks. to no one particular. "Yeh sab... tulips? Kisne mangaaye?"
(All these tulips? Who asked for them?)
From the dining table, came an answer, from a person who had his mouth stuffed with snacks. Vivaan.
"Aren't tulips your favourite, Badi Maa?"
Still confused, she looks at him, "Nahi. Mujhe to pansies pasand hain."
(No. I like pansies.)
A beat of silence. Both boys freeze mid-bite. Then—with a mock gasp, both sync.
"KYA?"
(WHAT?)
Vivaan drops his biscuit. Dhairya smacks his own forehead.
"Shivaay ne to bola yeh aapke favourite hai! Surprise dena chahta tha..." The latter speaks, dramatically.
(Shivaay told us that these are your favourites. Wanted to surprise you.)
All three go silent for a second. Then the boys exchange a dramatic look, and rush toward Vasudha, dragging her to the couch.
"Pakka Badi Maa... yeh kisi ke chakkar mein hai." Vivaan whispers, loudly.
(I'm sure badi maa. He's in love with someone.)
This makes the lady shocked.
"Kya?? Hanitra to isse pasand nahi thi, toh aur kaun hai?!"
(What? He doesn't like Hanitra. Then who can it be?)
Both boys CHOKE. Almost die. Coughing.
Vivaan panics. "Hanitra?! Aap... aap usse jaanti ho??"
(You know her?)
Vasudha simply smiles like a peaceful detective.
"Bilkul meri badi bahu lagti hai vo. Bas meri khud ki aulad hi bekaar hai."
(She looks exactly like my eldest daughter-in-law. But my own son is a useless fellow.)
Both boys collapse on either side of her, one resting his head on her lap, other on her shoulder. Total betrayal mood.
"Plan fail ho gaya Badi Maa. Aapko already sab pata hai..." Vivaan sulks, having his head on her lap.
(Our plan failed. You already know everything.)
"Pata hai aapko badi maa, Shivaay to lattu hai Hanitra par. Par bewakoof hai aapka ladka, sab gadbad karta hai. Batao kahan aap aur tauji, proper love marriage wale. Aur kahan aapki sabse badi santaan."
(Do you know badi maa, he's head over heels for her. But your own child is an idiot, does everything wrong. Look at you and uncle. A love marriage couple. And then look at your son.)
"Haan badi mummy, usse to pyaar ka "p" bhi nahi pata."
(Yes aunt, he doesn't even know a single thing about love.)
Vasudha laughs, stroking hair of both her kids and then, decides to drop the bomb.
"Sahi kehe rahe ho dono, par Shivaay ki aankhein jhoot nahi bolti, jaise uss din...." And tells the whole damn incident that happened on Phoolon Ki Holi.
(You both are saying, right but Shivaay's eyes don't lie. Like that day..)
As she completed her story, Dhairya and Vivaan freeze. Then, widen their eyes in betrayal.
Vivaan was the first to scream. "DHOKHA!!"
(BETRAYAL.)
Both run straight into the room where Shivaay and Lakshay were working on the new warehouse shipments.
The door BURSTS OPEN.
Vivaan and Dhairya storm in like FBI agent.
"SAALE JHOOTHEEEE!" The first one spoke.
(You bloody liar.)
Shivaay, who had flinched hearing the first scream was now stunned.
Vivaan paces like SRK.
"Sharam nahi aayi tujhe, bhaiyon se baat chupate hue," he turns to the other man in the room, "Lakshay, tu jaanta tha?"
(You shameless man. You tried to hide this from your brothers? Lakshay, did you know?)
And the poor sane man, shakes his head like an honest baby.
"Main...? Nahi! Main to tulips tak hi simit tha."
(Me? No. I just knew about the tulips.)
Both men turn to Shivaay again, and Dhairya points.
"LAKSHAY KO BHI NAHI BATAYA?"
(You didn't even tell Lakshay?)
"Aane de Advait ko, tujhe mara nahi na to kehna."
(Let Advait come, he'll definitely kill you.)
"Aur Kritanjay? Bhai vo to tera postmortem kar dega!"
(And Kritanjay? He'll postmortem your body.)
Vivaan grabs his chest, like a betrayed heroine in a soap opera.
"Tu apni love story humse chhupa raha hai? Arey tabse dost hain jab tune bolna bhi nahi seekha tha. Aur aaj?"
(Were you hiding your love story from us? We are friends from the time when we were learning to speak and today?)
Shivaay faceplams himself, Lakshay closes his eyes, praying for the Earth to split. Dhairya wipes a fake tear while Vivaan? Proceeds with his opera.
"Bhai, main to ye soch raha tha ki tu humein apna best men banaayega shaadi mein...
Par tu to apni love story ke poore episode mein humein audience tak nahi bana raha!"
(And I was here thinking that you'll make us your best men in the wedding. But you didn't even make us an audience in this love episode of yours.)
He pauses for a moment and then-
"Mujhe divorce chahiye. Iss dosti se. Iss dost se." He wipes his imaginary tears with tulip petals.
(I need divorce. From this friendship. From this friend.)
"Mujhe bhi. Aur emotional alimony bhi do."
(Even I need that. Also, give us emotional alimony.)
Shivaay blinks at this, while Lakshay mutters, almost to himself- Mujhe iss planet se transfer chahiye, please."
(I need a transfer from this planet please.)
Dhairya folds his hands.
"Main to ab Dosti Helpline pe complaint karunga! Haan!"
He makes a phone call, highly doubtable if it was fake.
'Hello? Dost Helpline? Ek toxic dosti ka case hai...
Victim: Dhairya and Vivaan.
Accused: Mr. Shivaay Tulip Singh Rathore.'"
(It's a case of toxic friendship.)
Vivaan joins him. "Complaint reason likho:
– Trust issues
– Withholding information
– Secret Holi hugs
– Attempt to emotionally murder bhaiyon ka faith!"
Shivaay finally SNAPS.
"TUM DONO CHUP HO JAOGE KYA KABHI?!"
(Will you both ever be quiet?)
Lakshay, deadpan, walks away slowly.
"Main HR se resignation likhwane jaa raha hoon. Jis din se aap logon ka partner hoon, peace hi nahi mila hai."
(I'm going to ask the HR to write my resignation. Since the day I've met you guys, there's no peace in my life.)
Vivaan shouts after him.
"REFUND MEIN MERA BHI HISSA HAI."
(Even I get a share in the refund.)
NEXT MORNING, chaos still at its peak.
Shivaay had just stepped down the stairs, buttoning his cuff, when he spots his mother and asks, too casually to be him.
"Maa, aap free ho na aaj?"
(Mom, you are free today, right?)
Vivaan and Dhairya give his calm expressions a suspicious look, but let the lady in question answer anyways.
"Haan, bilkul free hoon. Bol kya hua?"
(Yeah. I'm totally free. What happened?)
"Kuch khaas nahi. Main bas vo kuch kaam se jaa raha tha, Chandpol ke pass. Purane mandir ke area mein. Agar aap chahein to chal sakti hain, aapke mandir ke darshan bhi jo jayenge. Holi ke next day shubh hota hai na."
(Nothing special. I was just visiting the Chandpol region for some work. Near the ancient temple area. If you want, you can come, and pray offerings there. Don't you say it's auspicious to visit there on the next day of Holi?)
Pin-Drop Silence.
Vivaan spits out his coffee. And begins, being all dramatic that he is.
"Kon hai tu... Aur hamara Shivaay kahan hai?!"
(Who are you and where's our Shivaay?)
Dhairya gasps, and places a hand on Shivaay's forehead. "Bhai tu theek hai? Bukhar to nahi hai na?"
(Bro, you are fine right? Do you have a fever?)
Vasudha chuckles. "Shivaay aur mandir? Bada ajeeb lag raha hai sun ke."
(Shivaay and temple? Sounds weird.)
"Mujhe bhi ajeeb lag raha hai keh ke." He answers, dryly.
(Even I feel weird saying it.)
Seventeen minutes and Vasudha, Vivaan, Dhairya and Shivaay arrive at the destination. Shivaay looked utterly out of place in the divine aura.
Vivaan starts whispering the moment his friend steps inside the divine hall. "Badi Maa. Mandir ke andar tak aaya hai. Kuch khipa- pila to nahi diya kisine hamare Shivaay ko?"
(Look. He's even stepped inside the temple. Did someone gave him something?)
Dhairya nods seriously. "Lagta hai kisi ne kaala jaadu kar diya hai ispar. Chandan wale havan ka time aa gaya. Kaho to Pandit book karvaun?"
(Seems like someone did a black magic on him. It's time for a sandalwood- havan. Shall I call a priest? )
Vasudha laughs softly "Tum dono bhi na..."
(You two..)
AND THEN- BOOM
Hanitra turns. Dressed in a simple yellow yet striking cotton kurta, a calm glow on her face after offering prayers. She catches Vasudha's gaze, eyes widen a bit and then walks over, to her.
FLASHBACK, TWENTY MINUTES AGO.
Hanitra was in the famous market of Chandpol, looking for someone. Her eyes scanned every corner, every stall until she spotted him- The local journalist, who had promised her to give the recording.
As she approached, his eyes lit up in faint recognition. Without a word, he pulled a small cassette tape from his bag, wrapped in newspaper.
"This... is the last thing I could salvage before they burned everything," he said, voice trembling but steady. "It's the recording of the day Mihir was..." His voice trailed off, unwilling to say the word.
Hanitra's fingers closed around the tape, her heart thudding. "Dhanyawad Kaka sa." she whispered, meaning it more than the words could carry.
(Thank you uncle.)
They stood there a moment, the air heavy with things neither could say.
"I wish I could give you more," the old man said, eyes clouding with regret. "But these days, even truth has a price I can't afford to pay."
Hanitra gave a small nod. "This is enough. You've already risked more than you should."
She turned to leave, tucking the tape safely into her bag, when his voice called her back.
"Bete... suno," he said softly. She turned, and he was looking at her with the kind of gaze that seemed to weigh more than the years in his bones. "Yahan ka jo bada mandir hai na... vahan darshan zaroor karna. Kehte hain, Holi ke agle din shubh hota hai."
(Child listen) (Do visit the old temple here. It's considered auspicious to visit there just after the Holi.)
Hanitra blinked, sensing there was more in his tone than simple devotion — maybe a warning, maybe a blessing. She gave a slight nod, then walked away, the cassette pressing like a heartbeat against her side.
FLASHBACK ENDS, BACK TO PRESENT
With a genuine concern Hanitra asks the lady- "Ma'am, ab kaisi hain aap?"
(How are you now?)
Vasudha smiles, all dreamy. "Much better, beta. Aur tumhe dekh lia na, ab to aur bhi theek hoon. Thank you again."
(And I feel even better after seeing you.)
As the two ladies talk, Shivaay is dragged by his two friends to a corner in the side.
Vivaan whisper-screams as they get to an enough distance.
"To ye vajah hai?! Ye Hanitra hai jiski wajah se tu mandir aaya? Dhokebaaz nikla tu to, kutte saale!"
(So this is the reason. You came in the temple just because of Hanitra ,right? You are a traitor bloody bitch.)
Dhairya continues what his partner left.
"Tu toh bola tha koi connection nahi hai tumhara. Aur yahan to direct hame Shiv-Parvati jaisa darshan ho rahe hain. Ab to maan ja bhai, tumhari jodi to uparwala bhi bana raha hai.!"
(You were saying that you both have no connection? And here we're witnessing a divine union. Come on man, believe it now, even Gods want you two together.)
But Shivaay gives the two a cold glare. "Chup raho dono Mujhe nahi pata tha vo yaha aayegi.."
(You both stay quiet. I had no idea she would be here.)
Haan haan, jaise morning main unki location trace nahi kar raha tha tu.
Vo mandir ke area mein aa rahi hai, isliye hi to tu maa ko laya.
Haan to, inhe kyun bataun, for cheekhne lag jayenge.
(Oh yeah, like you really didn't see her location in the morning.
She was coming here, that's why you brought mom here.
So what? Why should I tell them? They'll just scream.)
Shivaay tries walking toward Hanitra.
She looks at him, eyes sharp, voice sharper. "Don't. Even. Dare."
And Hanitra turns away. The chandbells jingle above as she walks past him.
Vivaan and Dhairya are almost falling over trying to hold in their laughter.
But as she starts fading from there eyes, Dhairya remembers something and walks to Hanitra.
She stops hearing her name by her minister.
"Sir?" She was confused yet formal.
But Dhiarya? Casual, as if having a normal conervsation.
"Dekho, I don't know what you're sniffing around for in this city, but... a little birdie said there's a secret conference tomorrow. "
She raised a brow.
"There's a high-level Senior Journalists' Conference in Delhi. It's exclusive — media veterans, award-winning editors, and five handpicked final-year journalism students."
Quietly, she tries to complete his sentence. "Let me guess... CSR gets one slot."
The Education Minister smiles. "Exactly. And the university dean, board, and—let's not forget—a certain Education Minister who's given you exactly nine awards... unanimously agreed on one name."
Hanitra blinked.
"Yours." he says warmly.
She turned her face away, overwhelmed. But looks back, whispering, as if terrified to hear her own voice.
"Sir..."
"You deserve this, Hanitra. Not because you saved someone. Not because you're an orphan who rose above everything. But because you are brilliant. You're sharp, relentless, terrifyingly composed — and above all, you care."
There was silence for a beat.
"You've always been kind to me, sir."
He gives his favourite student a soft smile.
"I'm not kind. I'm honest. And I respect the hell out of you, Hanitra."
He gives her a card and continues- "You're attending that conference. I'll see to it. And if anyone, anyone, tries to question your place there— they'll answer to me, not you."
She gave a faint, trembling smile.
"Thank you... sir."
And the drama queen thought to tease her lightly. "Still 'sir', huh? Nine awards, and you won't call me 'bhaiya or bhai' once?"
"Not happening, sir." He gets the answer, with a mock glare.
He laughed, and for the first time that day — she did too.
Dhairya's smile lingered for a moment, but then his eyes darkened slightly. He stepped a bit closer, voice lowering with an intensity that quieted even the wind around them.
"Hanitra... one last thing."
She looked up, sensing the shift in his tone.
"I don't know what truth you're chasing.
What you're writing in your notebooks.
Whose name you're circling.
But... don't expose it yet."
Hanitra blinked, lips parting slightly. She didn't answer.
"Listen to me." He sounded firm. "You're brave — I know that. You don't flinch from fire.
But you're not invisible, Hanitra.
And in this country, truth has teeth.
And wolves hide in marble rooms."
Her jaw tightened. She knew exactly what he was referring to.
She had a list. And some of those names sat in ministerial chairs.
"I'm not afraid."
"I know." He assures softly. "That's what scares me."
Hanitra's eyes were glassy again.
Not with fear. But with the weight of being seen.
She nodded once — silent promise.
"I'll keep it close. Until I'm ready."
"Good. Because when you do speak... the world will listen."
And with that, he tapped her shoulder once — a silent brother's blessing — and walked away into the daylight.
Hanitra stood rooted for a moment, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.
Her notebook was still hidden in her bag— its pages full of names and theories.
She had no mother.
No shield.
But she had truth.
And even wolves bled when cut deep enough.
Meanwhile, in the SUV that was being driven by Shivaay, it was all chaos, because the master of weapons in Sapphire could not convince the intelligence head and the influential power.
Vivaan speaks in a mocking tone- "Bhai, tu toh tapasvi nikla. Bhakti bhi nahi kari aur ye darshan."
(Broo.. You're fated... Didn't even pray and still this scene?)
Dhairya snorts."Mandir jaane ka asli uddeshya mil gaya — Hanitra Devi ke darshan."
(We found your real reason to visit the temple- to see Hanitra.)
Vasudha smirks from the front seat. "Kuch to khaaf hai meri Hanitra mein, usse dekhte hi Shivaay freeze ho jata hai."
(My Hanitra is surely something. Shivaay freezes every time he sees her. )
"Maa? Kya bol rahi hain aap? Aapki Hanitra?"
(Mom? What are you saying? Your Hanitra?)
"Matlab tu maanta hai ki usse dekhte hi tu freeze ho jata hai?" Checkmate. This was VASR, the wife of a strategist, the mother of a mastermind and herself a secret, deadly manipulator.
(So you confess that she does make you freeze?)
"Wohoo Badi Mummy, aapka to golden lehenga book kar rahe hain hum."
(We are booking a golden lehenga for you.)
The car drives down Jaipur's narrow temple roads, tulips blooming at every turn.
The storm has just begun...
Tomorrow, the air of Delhi, the center of power will welcome a new force, a rising threat to the blind power and a blind worshipper of Truth.
Rajasthan, was not just a state with the royal culture, it was a center of all political decisions, directly or indirectly. And people outside the state, of the inner syndicates having knowledge about this? Obviously possible.
And Hanitra will go any length to unveil this mask of prosperous and pure reign of ABHIRAJ SINGH RATHORE.
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