Aarush was proudly touching his bandaid, showing it off to Anvi who cheered for him,

"Wah wah, hero sahab, ab toh aapko chocolate bhi milni chahiye!"

Aarush giggled through his tears, the fear fading away. He leaned against Avyukta's chest, finally calm.

But Maan's eyes, sharp as ever, fell on the smudges of blood near her abdomen, the scrapes along her arms and knees. His chest tightened.

He frowned, crouching lower.

"Beta... tum bhi idhar aao. Tumhe bhi chot lagi hai."

Avyukta stiffened immediately, hugging Aarush closer as if shielding him.

"Mujhe kuch nahi hua. Bas usse dekh lijiye... main theek hoon."

Maan's brows knitted. His tone grew firm but gentle.

"Main doctor nahi hoon, par MBBS second year mein hoon... thoda bahut samajhta hoon. Yeh theek hone ka tareeka nahi hai. Khoon lag raha hai tumhari kurti pe. Abhi infection ho jaayega. Haath-pair bhi katt gaye hain. Dikhaiye mujhe."

Avyukta's throat bobbed nervously. She shook her head, her voice trembling yet stubborn.

"Nahi... zarurat nahi hai."

Arnav, watching quietly all this while, finally spoke, his voice low and steady.

"Beta... darne ki baat nahi hai. Maan sirf madad karega. Tumhara dard kam hoga."

Anvi leaned in gently, her hand hovering near Avyukta's.

"Dekho, tumne apne bhai ke liye kitni himmat dikhayi. Ab apne liye bhi thodi si himmat dikhao na baccha. Tumhe bhi dard ho raha hoga na?"

For a second, Avyukta's facade cracked—the way her lips pressed tight, the flicker of tears in her eyes—but she quickly masked it, whispering,

"Main seh sakti hoon. Mujhe aadat hai."

Those words pierced deeper than any wound.

Maan exchanged a glance with Arnav, silently asking permission. Arnav gave the faintest nod.

Maan's tone softened again, coaxing.

"Bas thoda sa... sirf dho denge aur davai laga denge. Tumhare bhai ko bhi toh chahiye ki tum strong raho, hai na?"

Avyukta's arms loosened a little around Aarush at those words. Aarush looked up innocently, touching her cheek.

"Jiji... please aap bhi dikhaiye... aapka khoon nikal raha hai....mujhe dar lag raha hai."

That broke her. She closed her eyes, and a tear slipped down.

Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded.

"...Theek hai."

Maan spread a thin sheet on the wooden bench of the schoolroom, turning it into a makeshift cot.

"Beta, yaha let jao. Sirf thodi der ke liye," he said gently.

Avyukta hesitated, clutching Aarush even tighter.

"Main... main yahin baith jaaungi. Mujhe letene ki zarurat nahi hai."

Before Maan could insist, Viren stepped closer. His voice was quiet, trembling, but carried an authority Avyukta couldn't ignore.

"Beta tumhe kuch nahi hoga. Bas do minute ke liye usse godi se utar do...dr jaldi sw tumhe dawai laga denge na....phir tumko thoda aaram milega."

Avyukta's lips quivered. Aarush looked up at her, whispering,

"Jiji... please."

Finally, with visible reluctance, she let Anvi lift Aarush into her lap. The little boy still clutched his sister's dupatta as if afraid she'd disappear.

Viren gently helped Avyukta lie down. His hand, rough yet trembling, adjusted her dupatta aside. When he slowly lifted her blood-stained kurti just enough for Maan to clean the wound, his breath caught in his throat.

Across her fragile skin were not just fresh scrapes from the fall... but angry red welts, deep purple bruises, and faint older scars—thin, cruel lines, unmistakably from a cane.

For a moment, silence crushed the room.

Anvi's gasp was sharp, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Yeh... yeh sab kisne kiya?" she whispered, eyes flooding.

Arnav's jaw tightened like stone, his fists curling so hard his knuckles went white.

Maan froze, the cotton trembling in his hand. His voice was low, restrained fury lacing every word.

"Yeh... koi accident ke nishaan nahi hain. Yeh toh... maar ke nishaan hain."

Viren couldn't breathe. His chest burned, as though someone had taken a blade and pressed it straight through his heart.

His mind screamed — yeh meri beti nahi ho sakti... meri Avu aisi nahi thi...

But another voice, quieter, steadier, whispered back — dekh... wahi aankhein hain... wahi hari aankhein...

His throat tightened. The child before him had the same eyes — those green eyes that once sparkled with mischief and laughter — now dulled, weighed down by pain no child should know. The chubby cheeks that once pressed against his shoulder were now hollow, pale.

His heart refused to accept it. Nahi... yeh meri Avu nahi ho sakti... mujhe Seghal Nivas jaana hoga... meri Avu ke paas.

But another part of him, the part that still remembered every lullaby, every giggle, whispered: Wahi hai... tumhari Avu wahi hai.

And yet — how could he ask her?

What would he even say?

Are you the same girl I abandoned seven years ago?

How could he look at Aarush — the little boy clutching her dupatta — and ask, Are you the son I never even knew existed until a few hours ago?

He lowered his head, unable to bear the weight of it. His hands trembled. His eyes burned.

Avyukta's lashes fluttered. Fear flickered instantly — fear of being questioned, of being blamed.

"Main... main gir gayi thi... mujhe chot lag gayi... bas."

Her lie was clumsy, desperate, but her eyes pleaded: don't ask, don't push,don't....not in front of my brother please.

Anvi broke down, tears falling freely as she cupped Aarush closer, shielding his ears.

"Bhaiya... she's just a child..."

Arnav's heart tightened. He just looked at the small girl holding the weight of the entire world on her shoulder still protecting his brother.

But Viren — he didn't speak. He only sat there, frozen between past and present, guilt and disbelief.

Maan dipped the cotton into antiseptic, his hand trembling as he brought it near Avyukta's bruised skin. The moment the liquid touched her raw wound, a sharp hiss escaped her lips. Her fingers clutched the wooden bench tight, knuckles whitening.

Aarush immediately panicked, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to wriggle out of Anvi's hold.

"Jiji! Jiji, dard ho raha hai na? Main doctor ko daatunga ! Jiji ro mat, please ro mat!"

Avyukta's own eyes brimmed with tears, but instead of letting out her pain, she turned her face to him, forcing a shaky smile. Her voice cracked but stayed gentle.

"Aru... meri taraf dekho...mujhe dard nhi ho raha ap...Achaa.... Suno na, ek kaam karte hain.....Tum mujhe gaana sunao....Kaunsa tha woh? Haan... Chanda chamke cham cham wala."

Aarush sniffled, confused, still crying. "Woh... woh gaana?"

Avyukta nodded quickly, suppressing another hiss as Maan's cotton touched another welt.

"Haan, wahi! Tumhe yaad hai na? Chanda chamke cham cham... aage kya tha, Aru?"

Aarush hiccupped, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. His tiny voice quivered as he answered,

"Chanda chamke cham cham... cheekhe chaukanna chor... cheeti chaate cheeni chatori... cheeni khor..."

Avyukta's face lit up despite her pain, her eyes sparkling with forced cheer.

"Haaaan! Bas wahi tha! Dekho, mujhe toh yaad hi nahi aa raha tha."

And then, with all the energy left in her, she began to sing, her voice soft, melodious, trembling only when another wave of pain surged through her body:

"Chanda chamke cham cham, cheekhe chaukanna chor... cheeti chaate cheeni chatori, cheeni khor..."

She even lifted one hand in the air dramatically, lying there on the bench as if performing a stage

"Kitna mushkil ye gaana... zara gaake dikhana!"

Aarush sniffled again, but this time a giggle slipped out. He clapped his little hands, mispronouncing the tongue-twisters in his excitement.

"Chanda... chaate... chanke... chini chaukanna cheekhe chor!"

Both siblings burst into laughter, their voices colliding in chorus as they sang together:

"Chanda chamke cham cham, cheekhe chaukanna chor, cheeti chaate cheeni chatori, cheeni khor..."

The entire room froze.

Viren's throat tightened painfully, his chest aching so much he had to clutch it with his hand. His eyes blurred with tears as he watched the frail little girl, bleeding and broken, putting every ounce of strength into making her brother laugh.

Anvi blinked rapidly, her lips trembling. Arnav's rage softened into something heavier — helplessness.

Even Maan's hands trembled as he tied the bandage, whispering,

"Ho gaya, bas ho gaya. Tum bahut strong ho, beta."

By then, Aarush was giggling, and Avyukta — stiff from pain — was still smiling, still humming softly, as if the wounds didn't exist.

But behind every smile, the cracks showed — of pain, of fear, of a childhood stolen.

And amidst them all, Viren sat silently — a father torn between denial and recognition, staring at the little girl whose pain felt too much like his own.

Avyuktha sat up on the bench, her arms still around Aarush, who was standing in front of her, looking up with wide, trusting eyes. She joined her small hands together, her voice steady despite the lingering pain.

"Thank you... aaplogo ne meri aur mere bhai ki bahut help ki. Thank you so much... hum aapka ehsaan kabhi nahi chuka payenge," she said, her eyes glinting with a mixture of pride and gratitude.

She carefully lifted Aarush into her embrace. "Ab hame jaana chahiye... humari madat karne ke liye bahot shukriya," she added, her tone firm yet polite.

Arnav stepped forward quickly, concern etched on his face. "Beta... tumhe aaram ki zarurat hai. Aur please, Apne bhai ko neeche utar do... tumhari body pe bahut chot hai."

Avyuktha's gaze met his, calm but unyielding. "Thank you... lekin please, hame jaane dijiye. Please... mujhe ye sab ki aadat hai," she said, her voice carrying a quiet dignity.

The room froze. Every eye was fixed on her, taken aback by her composure and the weight of her words. No one said anything. Not a word.

And then, just like that, she turned and left, Aarush still in her arms, leaving a stunned silence behind.

The silence in the classroom lingered—thick, suffocating—until Maan's voice finally cut through, strained but steady.

"Papa... Chutki... Bhaiya... aap log yahan Sitara mein kyun aaye ho? Aur yeh dono bacche aapke saath kyun the?"

His gaze darted from Arnav to Anvi, then landed on Viren—confusion, disbelief, anger flashing in his eyes.

Arnav's throat tightened. For a moment, he couldn't meet his brother's gaze. Then, with a slow exhale, he began.

He told him everything. The truth Viren had buried for years. The children. The night's chaos. The revelation that shattered them all.

By the time Arnav finished, Maan's fists were clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. Angry tears blurred his eyes.

He turned to Viren, voice shaking.

"How could you? HOW COULD YOU do this—to Ma... to us?"

Viren went still, words dying in his throat.

Maan's voice broke, yet the fury beneath it only deepened.

"Aapko pata hai maine doctor banna kyun chaha? Not because I hated business—because I HATED that you left us alone for it! Aur aaj... aaj samajh aa raha hai... itne din, itni raatein... aap business trips pe nahi jaate the."

His breath hitched, eyes blazing.

"Meri Chutki ki ptm meetings, sports days, concerts... sab miss hue. Bhaiya ne apna bachpan gawa diya, satrah saal ki umar mein do bacchon ka baap banana pada....kyu kyuki humlog dote eehte the ki mumma chali gyi...papa kaha hai....aur aaj pata chal raha hai papa apno dusri family basa rhe the...."

His voice trembled, tears spilling freely now.

"Aap... baap keh laane ke layak bhi nahi ho... Mr. Jaisingh."

The words struck like a whip. Viren's shoulders dropped, his silence louder than any defence.

Before Maan could continue, Arnav stepped forward, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Maan... bas.. Calm down," he said softly but firmly.

Maan trembled in his brother's arms, face buried against his shoulder, silent sobs wracking his chest.

The room fell still again—only his ragged breaths echoing in the emptiness.

After a moment, Arnav spoke, voice calm but resolute.

"Abhi... yahan rukna sahi nahi. We need to go to Sehgal Nivaas and gather information about the kids "

No one argued. Without a word, they began to move—each step heavy with betrayal, pain, and questions that refused to fade.

And as they walked out of that classroom, the silence followed them—like a shadow that knew too much.

Maan's words still rang in Viren's ears — each one sharper than the last. Selfish. Layak nahi ho. He walked in silence, his steps uneven, his breath shallow.

Every face around him — Arnav's weary calm, Anvi's tear-stained eyes, Maan's silent rage — felt like a reflection of all he'd broken.

And yet, it wasn't their anger that haunted him most.

It was the image of the little girl on that wooden bench. Her trembling hands. Her forced smile. Those green eyes.

His heart still refused to accept it — Nahi, meri Avu wahan nahi ho sakti. But his mind... his mind kept whispering otherwise. Wahi thi... wahi aankhein... wahi awaaz...

Each whisper tore through him like glass.

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