Page 114

Devika finally speaks, her voice calm but distant. “Pratap uncle asked us to let the past go, but that doesn’t erase the hurt, Simran. It can’t undo what happened. We’ll need time.”

I nod, holding Veer tighter as he clings to my churidar.

“Take all the time you need. Just… please don’t shut me out completely.”

They don’t reply to that, their silence cutting deeper than any harsh words could. The coldness between us stings.

“Devika, give her the family jewellery for tomorrow’s wedding,” Meher finally says, not meeting my eyes.

Devika walks over to her wardrobe and removes several ornate boxes. Wordlessly, she places them in my hands.

“These are Walia family pieces,” she says, her voice formal. “Pratap uncle had them made for both his daughters-in-law. He wanted us to give you yours.”

Her words are polite, but they sting nonetheless. I take the boxes and manage a weak smile, saying, “Thank you.”

A servant appears, calling for Devika, and she excuses herself, leaving Meher, Veer, and me alone in the room. For a moment, there is nothing but silence between us, but when Veer stretches his tiny arm towards Meher again, she melts a little, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his fist.

Her gaze then shifts to me, and I wish it didn’t. I try to hold her stare, but the guilt bubbling inside me threatens to spill over.

“Meher, I—” I begin, but she cuts my words, gesturing with her hand to stop.

“No matter what you say now, Simran, you’ve really gone too far this time. Vishnu’s my big brother. You know how much he means to me. I’d told you how I felt when I found out he was my brother, how devastated I was. You saw me stand up to my own father for his rights. I stood against my father for him, Simran.” Her voice cracks with emotion. “And yet, you hurt that same brother of mine. The man I love and respect so much. You robbed him of his right to know he had a son. For months, Simran. Do you even realise what you’ve done?”

Tears prick at the corner of my eyes. Veer starts getting fussy, nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck—his usual sign of hunger. The timing of his innocent gesture only deepens the emotional weight of the moment.

“Vishnu’s heart is too soft,” Meher continues. “I’m glad he found it in himself to forgive you after all this. But I’m not him. I have every right to hold onto this grudge for as long as I want, until it feels right here.” She points to her heart, her eyes reflecting her pain. She then scoops up Avika in her arms and walks out of the room.

My tears spill freely now, and I can’t stop them. Veer squirms in my arms, trying to grab the shimmering lace on my dupatta, blissfully unaware of the storm raging within me.

I’m still processing her words when familiar arms encircle me from behind. I flinch, but Vishnu gently turns me around, his jaw clenching when he sees my tears. He wipes them with his thumb, his eyes darkening with concern.

“I’ll talk to Meher—” he starts, but I grab his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” I say firmly. “I told you not to come between us. Meher is right. If I were in her place, I’d be just as angry and hurt.” I manage a weak smile. “But in all this, there’s one thing that makes me happy—you have the best sister in the world. Someone who would fight with the devil himself for you. And that’s something I’ll always be grateful for.”

His lips twitch into a smirk, and for a brief moment, the tension dissipates. “I know,” he says. “I’m lucky.”

Before I can respond, Veer fusses again, more insistently this time, babbling and pulling at my dupatta with his tiny fists.

“What did you feed him this morning?” I ask.

“Some mashed banana and Ragi porridge,” Vishnu replies. “Devika said that’s healthy. But he didn’t eat much.”

“He needs his milk now,” I say, adjusting him in my arms. But before we can move, a man appears in the doorway.

“Sir, the media personnel are here.”

“Coming,” Vishnu says, his entire demeanour shifting into that of a leader. He then turns to me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

“I’m announcing you as my wife,” he says simply, “and letting them know about Veer.”

My heart skips a beat, and my grip on Veer tightens. I know what this means—history is repeating itself. The Chief Minister’s son having a child out of wedlock, just like his father before him. The media will have a field day, and the headlines will be merciless.

Vishnu reads the worry on my face. He steps closer, his hand resting on my arm.

“Don’t worry,” he says softly. “I’ll handle everything.”