The Lies That Broke Him

Arnav’s hands worked over Avyuktha’s
calves in slow, practiced strokes...steady pressure meant to coax the ache out, nothing hurried or indulgent. She’d protested at first, a soft, automatic objection that sounded more like habit than resistance, and when he hadn’t stopped, she hadn’t moved away either.

It didn’t take him long to realise she was fighting sleep.

He noticed it gradually. In the way her shoulders would sag, then square again as she corrected herself. The faint nod of her head she’d lift a heartbeat too late. Her blinks grew longer, heavier, and whenever her breathing began to settle into a deeper rhythm, she would deliberately change it, as if even rest was something she needed to guard against.

His hands never paused, thumbs circling, palms easing the tension he could feel beneath her skin. But his attention had shifted. The more he noticed, the more it puzzled him.

She was exhausted, that much was obvious, yet every part of her seemed determined not to give in. Arnav frowned slightly at the effort she was putting into staying awake, at the unnecessary tension in her posture, the way she kept straightening herself the moment drowsiness crept too close.

He watched her like that for a few minutes more, hands still moving, before he finally spoke.

“Avu,” he said quietly, almost gently, “Neend aa rahi hai toh soja.”

When she didn’t respond, he added, firmer this time, “Jabardasti jag kyun rahi hai?”

Avyuktha stiffened at once, sitting a little straighter, as if alertness could be summoned on command. She shook her head quickly. “Neend nahi aa rahi mujhe.”

Arnav’s hands paused.

He looked up at her, one eyebrow lifting, confusion creasing his brow rather than disbelief. “Acha?”

Avyuktha swallowed, her eyes shifting away for the briefest moment before returning to his.

And that was when Arnav realised, this had nothing to do with sleep.

Arnav’s hands slowed as he watched her more closely now. The way her body leaned into his touch betrayed her exhaustion, even as her mind stubbornly refused to rest. Her eyelids fluttered, lashes brushing her cheeks before she forced them open again, straightening herself as if sleep were something she had to fight off.

He frowned, confusion knitting his brows.

“Dikh raha hai avu tujhe neend aa rhi hai toh jabardasti kyu jag rhi hai.”

She didn’t respond, only shifted slightly, her body betraying her even as she tried to stay alert. Arnav moved then, gently pulling her closer to his chest, the familiar weight of her settling against him. His fingers slid through her hair instinctively, slow and calming, the way he used to do when nights grew too heavy for small hearts.

“Aa mai sula deta hoon,” he said softly, his fingers continuing their path through her hair.

But the moment the word sula reached her, Avyuktha reacted as if jolted awake. She shot up immediately, pulling away from him.

“Mujhe nhi sona.”

The suddenness made Arnav’s frown deepen. “Kyu?”

For a second she faltered, then scrambled for an answer she thought he would accept. “Bss aise hi… vo vo aaru uth jayega thodi der mai toh mai uske pass jati hoon,” she said quickly, already moving to get down from the bed.

Arnav’s hand closed around her arm, stopping her.

“Avu..”
His voice was stern now, not loud, but firm enough to make her freeze where she stood.

He looked at her carefully, the sternness melting into concern as he added,
“Bata... Sona kyu nhi hai tujhe.”

Avyuktha’s gaze dropped to her lap. Her shoulders curved inward, small, guarded.“Vo....vo mai soungi toh nightmares aayenge.”

Something twisted painfully in Arnav’s chest.

He softened instantly, his hand coming up to her hair again. “Baccha nightmares ke darr se sona nhi na chod denge...”

She nodded, a quick little movement, and tried to sound light, almost chirpy, as if that could erase the weight of what she was saying. “Haa mai nightmares se darr nhi rhi bhaiya...”

Then, as if proud of herself, she explained, “Vo mai kya karti hoon na jab nightmares aate hai na toh mai 2 3 din lagataar jagi rehti hoon toh phir jab soti hoon na toh nightmares nhi aate.”

She spoke like it was a clever trick, a solution she had perfected over time.

Arnav listened, his throat tightening.

This wasn’t bravery. This was survival.
A twelve year old learning to punish her own body just to protect her mind.
Learning to stay awake because sleep had become unsafe.

He opened his arms without a word.

Avyuktha moved into them immediately, her back settling against his chest as if that was where she belonged. One of his arms wrapped securely around her waist, the other returning to her hair, fingers moving slowly, protectively.

“Baccha nightmares se ladne ka ye bahot galat tareeka hai Avu...” “Aise toh teri aur tabiyat kharab ho jayegi....”

Her response came softer now, words blurring as exhaustion finally began to claim her. “Haa i know that bhaiya...”

Her head tilted slightly against him, voice drifting, unaware of how much she was revealing now that sleep was overtaking her. “Lakin nightmares mai bhaiya sb chillate rehte hai… mumma vo...”

Arnav felt his breath hitch.

“Unka blood loss…” she murmured, eyes closed now. “Vo chillati hai… sab cheez Aaru ro raha tha...Mumma uth hi nhi rhi thi phir sb mumma ko leke chale gye…”

Her body relaxed further, voice barely above a whisper. “Mujhe bahot darr lagta hai isliye mai soti nhi hoon taaki vo sb phirse na dikhe.”

Arnav went completely still.

The images formed against his will...blood, screams, chaos...the kind of horror no child should ever have witnessed, let alone relived night after night. He understood now. Viren’s fury hadn’t just scared her, it had ripped open memories that never truly healed.

His chest ached as he realised how long she had carried this alone. How she had found her own escape because no one had been there to hold her through it.

He tightened his arms around her gently, grounding her against him.

“Avu,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the storm inside him, “Tujhe nightmares nhi aayenge... Mai hoon na tere pass..I'll fight your nightmare away...you just relax baccha....bhaiya hai na...kuch nhi hoga....”

Avyuktha’s breathing evened out gradually, her weight growing heavier against Arnav’s chest as sleep finally claimed what exhaustion had been demanding for days. Her fingers curled faintly into his sleeve, an unconscious search for something solid, something that would stay.

Arnav kept his arm firm around her waist, his other hand still moving through her hair in slow, repetitive strokes. He barely noticed the passage of time. His mind was too full, crowded with images he hadn’t meant to revisit.

Abhimaan had been nine.

Too young to understand death, yet old enough to remember every sound of it.

The nights after Sudha died had been the worst. Abhimaan would jolt awake gasping, eyes wild, calling out in a voice that didn’t sound like a child’s at all. He used to scream about blood on the floor, about Sudha not responding, about the silence that followed the chaos. Sometimes he wouldn’t scream, he would just shake, silently, as if his body had learned to carry fear without making noise.

Arnav had been there then.

He remembered sitting on the edge of the bed night after night, pulling Abhimaan into his arms when the nightmares refused to let go. Running his fingers through his hair. Whispering the same reassurances again and again until the shaking stopped. Staying awake even after Abhimaan fell asleep, just to make sure he didn’t wake up alone.

Abhimaan had never learned to fight his nightmares by himself.

Avyuktha had.

That was what made Arnav’s chest ache now, the realisation settling deep and heavy. Somewhere along the way, this child had learned that sleep wasn’t safe, that rest came with a cost. So she had chosen exhaustion instead. She had chosen wakefulness. She had chosen survival.

His hand stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle rhythm, his grip around her unconsciously tightening, as if the weight of that understanding demanded something solid in return.

Avyuktha slipped fully into deep slumber against his chest, her body finally giving in after hours of resisting rest. The tension she carried so carefully seemed to ease all at once, her weight sinking into him, trusting and unguarded.

Arnav looked down at her for a long moment.

Her lashes rested against her cheeks now, her breathing slow and even, the faint crease between her brows slowly smoothing out. In sleep, she looked younger, smaller...like a child who had simply run out of strength.

Carefully, so carefully, Arnav shifted his position. He adjusted his hold, easing her down onto the bed, making sure her head rested comfortably against the pillow. He didn’t rush it, pausing each time she stirred slightly, waiting until her breathing settled again before moving further.

Once she was settled, he brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and leaned down, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to her forehead...a quiet promise, a reassurance.

His hand returned to her hair, fingers moving slowly, protectively, the way they had all night, until the room fell completely still and her sleep remained undisturbed.

He stayed there, just like that, keeping watch.

Pari and Abhimanyu entered Arnav’s room quietly. The lights were dim, curtains half drawn, the soft glow falling on the bed where Arnav sat beside Avyuktha. His back was slightly bent toward her, one hand resting protectively near her shoulder, the other moving slowly through her hair...gentle, rhythmic, as if afraid even his touch might wake her.

Avyuktha lay curled beside him, her breathing deep and even now, lashes resting against her cheeks. The restlessness that had clung to her earlier was gone, replaced by the fragile peace of sleep.

Pari paused at the doorway, her chest softening at the sight. She leaned slightly toward Arnav and whispered, “So gyi kya bhai?”

Arnav looked up, eyes tired but calm, and nodded once. Carefully, with practiced patience, he slid out of the bed, every movement measured so the mattress wouldn’t shift. He gently adjusted the pillow beneath Avyuktha’s head and pulled the duvet up around her, tucking it lightly near her shoulder.

For a moment, all three of them stood there in silence...the room filled with a quiet kind of love, the kind that didn’t need words. Abhimanyu rested a hand on Arnav’s shoulder, a silent acknowledgment, while Pari’s gaze lingered on Avyuktha, her heart heavy yet warm.

Nothing more needed to be said. The room held its breath...guarding her sleep.

All three of them stepped out of the room quietly and moved into the hall, the door closing softly behind them. Abhimanyu went straight to the table and carefully placed the medicines and the bowl of soup there, as if even the clink of porcelain might disturb the fragile calm of the house.

Arnav sank onto the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. He sat in silence, eyes fixed on the floor. Pari and Abhimanyu exchanged a brief, worried glance, the kind that carried unspoken concern.

After a moment, Arnav lifted his head and looked at Pari. “Pari…” His voice came out hoarse. He paused, clearing his throat slightly before continuing, “Pari… vo Avu keh rahi thi… usse nightmares aa rahe hain. Isliye vo so nahi rahi. Keh rahi thi… do teen din nahi soyegi, phir soyegi toh nightmares nahi aayenge.”

Pari closed her eyes for a second and exhaled slowly, steadying herself before speaking.“Kal ka incident might have triggered her nightmares, bhai,” she said softly. “Abhi hum bas itna kar sakte hain ki usse ek safe environment mile.”

Pari shifted a little closer to Arnav, her voice calm, measured, the way it always became when she slipped into her doctor’s instinct.

“Nightmares are quite common in children,” she said gently, meeting his eyes. “Especially when they’re going through stress. Sabse important baat ye hai ki bachcha safe feel kare.”

She paused, letting the words sink in.

“I would advise you to keep a very consistent bedtime routine and avoid any frightening content in the evening. ,” Pari continued softly. “If she wakes up from a nightmare, don’t scold or dismiss her. Hold her, reassure her, and remind her that she's safe now.”

Arnav’s jaw tightened slightly as he listened, every word landing deep.

“Aur haan,” Pari added, her tone firm yet kind, “It’s absolutely okay if she needs you nearby at night for some time. Sleeping in the same room or letting them fall asleep next to you can actually reduce nightmares because it calms their nervous system. This isn’t a bad habit, it’s emotional support."

She leaned back slightly, exhaling.

“Time ke saath, jab vo phir se secure feel karne lagegi, tab hum dheere-dheere independent sleep encourage kar sakte hain. But abhi… comfort zyada zaroori hai.”

Pari’s eyes softened.

“Agar nightmares bahut frequent ho jaayein ya din ke behaviour ko affect karne lagein, toh hum further support explore kar sakte hain. but for most children, reassurance and consistency work very well.”

The room fell silent again, but this time, the silence carried a little less fear and a little more hope.

Arnav sat a little quieter after that. He exhaled slowly, then turned toward Pari.
“Pari, tu jaa… fresh ho ja. Raat bhar hospital mein thi,” he said softly. “Main soup pi ke tere room mein aa jaunga.”

There was guilt sitting heavy in his chest, guilt for making her shoulder so much when she had already spent the entire night at the hospital, running on exhaustion and responsibility, and still came back to hold everyone together.

Pari raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Hmm, hmm… main sab samajh rahi hoon. Jaise hi main jaungi, aap soup phek doge, right?”

She knew Arnav too well. He would never drink soup willingly.

Arnav looked at her and smiled, a small curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Main pi lunga, Pari,” he said quietly. “Tu apne pati ko chhod jaa… nigrani rakhne ke liye.”

Pari’s expression softened instantly. The moment she noticed that sad smile, her heart clenched. “Sab theek ho jayega, bhai,” she said gently. “Aap itna stress kyun le rahe ho?”

Arnav waved it off lightly. “Arre, main koi stress vress nahi le raha. Tu jaa fresh ho ja na,” he added, eyes flicking to her face. “Chehra dekh rahi hai apna? Sleep-deprived chipkali dikh rahi hai.”

Pari didn’t miss a beat. “Haan toh aap bhi thakela Dracula dikh rahe ho,” she shot back.

She stood up, grabbed her dupatta, and looked pointedly at Abhimanyu.
“Make sure he drinks that soup,” she ordered.

Then she turned back to Arnav. “Phir room mein aa jaiyega. Jaa rahi hoon main.”

She walked away, clearly irritated, muttering under her breath,
“Dracula kahin ke… main chipkali dikh rahi hoon inko. Khud ki shakal dekhi hai?”

Her voice faded as she exited, leaving behind a faint echo of banter and a room that felt just a little lighter despite everything.

Arnav let out a breathless chuckle, then picked up the soup slowly. He sipped it quietly, each movement deliberate, lost deep in his own thoughts. The glow of the hall lights caught the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw, the guilt shadowing his eyes. He looked… painfully human...guilty, sad, and utterly drained.

Abhimanyu watched him carefully. The same Arnav who would throw the biggest tantrum over something as small as drinking soup...even now, even after growing up, was sitting quietly, sipping without complaint. Normally, when children were around, Arnav would drink it willingly to set an example. But without them, it was like trying to fight World War III just to get him to swallow a spoonful.

Seeing him like this, so tired and heavy with guilt, Abhimanyu’s chest tightened. His heart clenched, watching the man who always seemed so untouchable appear… vulnerable, weary, and deeply, utterly sad. For a moment, he simply stayed silent, letting Arnav’s quiet struggle speak volumes.

Abhimanyu spoke gently, his voice low, careful. “Arni… ek baat batani thi tujhe.”

Arnav glanced up, eyes tired but alert.
“Haan…” he replied softly.

Abhimanyu exhaled and began, telling him how Anvi had come, how Pari had pulled her aside, and then carefully explained everything Pari had shared about what Anvi must have been going through...the fear, the loneliness, the frustration, the heartbreak.

Arnav listened quietly, his face unreadable, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa. When Abhimanyu finished, Arnav let out a long exhale and looked at him. “Mujhe pata hai ye sab, Dada… bas ye nahi pata tha ki vo kal aayi thi aapke paas baat karne.”

He put the soup down, rubbing his face with both hands, trying to calm the storm inside him. His voice came out low, steady but edged with tension.
“Main sab maan raha hoon, theek hai… she was stressed, frustrated, what not… okay, main sab maan raha hoon… lekin ek baat bataiye… ye saare reasons justified hain uska ghar se bhaag jaane ke liye, hmm?”

Abhimanyu didn’t interrupt. He just listened, letting Arnav spill what was churning in his mind.

“Kal usko kuch ho jaata, toh main kya karta… nahi, aap batao! Kal uski bewakoofi mein kuch ho jaata, usko… toh main kya karta?” Arnav’s patience snapped, voice rising, shaking with frustration. “Har cheez mein dimaag chalta hai, har cheez mein kaise jhooth bolna hai, kaise baaton ko manipulate karna hai… har cheez mein… lekin kal nahi chala, right?”

He paused, chest heaving, then continued, voice raw, anger and fear blending together. “Main maan leta hoon… she was heartbroken, stressed, what not… lekin agar kal usse kuch ho jata, toh main kya karta!”

His words tumbled out faster now, uncontrolled. “15 feet ki diwaal kood ke bhaag gayi… 15 feet ki diwal! Upar se… she was driving at 130… phone ghar pe chhod diya… Jaan nikal gayi thi meri yaha pe soch-soch ke ki usko kuch ho na jaye… Pagalon ki tarah security pe chilla raha tha main… pure sheher mein security daud rahi thi… I don’t give a damn what was the reason, I don’t give a damn about it!”

Abhimanyu reached out, voice pleading, trying to calm the storm without clashing with it. “Arni… ek baar sochke dekh na, bacchi hai…” he said softly. “Pari ne mujhe samjhaya… tab mujhe samajh aaya ki kya beet rahi hai uspe, Arni… sab meri wajah se ho raha hai… I messed up… meri wajah se usne ye sab kiya. Arni… mujhe laga ki ek day or half a day silent treatment would make her understand that words used in anger can hurt someone so deeply… lekin phir maine Mr. Jaisingh ko call karke sab mess up kar diya… tu please samjh baat ko… she was scared, Arni… scared, lonely… even then she came to talk to me… lekin phir… vo sab…”

His voice faltered slightly, eyes pleading, hands tightening slightly. He had never seen Arnav like this...so angry, so vulnerable, so intensely protective. He felt the weight of guilt pressing down on him, desperate for Arnav to understand Anvi’s perspective, to see that it wasn’t reckless rebellion but fear and confusion that had driven her actions.

The hall fell silent for a moment, filled only with the weight of emotions too big for words, both of them caught between anger, guilt, and the fragile understanding of a frightened child.

Arnav snapped, the words tearing out of him before he could stop them.
“Baat sirf iss ek baar ki nahi hai, dada...”

The room fell silent, but Arnav didn’t pause. He dragged in a sharp breath, chest heaving, and continued, voice rough.

“Uss din jab maine party mein jaane se mana kiya tha...that damn late night party with smokers, drinkers, hookers…” His jaw clenched. “Maine sirf mana kiya tha. Bas. Aur turant isne battameezi shuru kar di. Aap overbearing ho, toxic ho, what not.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Theek hai. Aur phir uske father ne permission de di.”

He rubbed his face hard, fingers pressing into his eyes as if trying to hold himself together. “Aur isne… isne ek baar bhi nahi socha ki bhaiya ne mana kiya hai.” His voice cracked despite himself. “Raat ko main iske room mein gaya tha isko manane. Aur wahan jaakar maine dekha...yeh already jaa chuki thi.”
He swallowed. “Ek baar bhi nahi socha.”

Arnav turned to Abhimanyu, all the walls he usually kept up finally collapsing.

“Main kya tha, dada?” he asked hollowly. “Bas ek temporary guardian inki life mein. Aur kuch nahi.”

His lips twisted in pain. “Inn dono ko koi farak nahi padta mujhse. Ki mujhe koi baat buri lagegi… ya mujhe koi cheez pasand nahi.”

Suddenly, he snapped again, anger flaring through the hurt as he faced Abhimanyu. “Mujhe kya chahiye? Bas yeh...ki yeh dhang se padhe, likhe, apna career settle kare, life mein stable ho jaaye. Uske baad jo masti karni hai karo, jo karna hai karo.”

He shook his head sharply. “Maine isko kabhi kisi safe party mein jaane se mana nahi kiya. Aaj tak nahi. Lekin inn dono ko lagta hai main control freak hoon.”
A harsh, humorless laugh broke out of him. “Mazza aata hai mujhe inko bandh ke rakhne mein, hai na?”

The bitterness settled deep in his voice as he added, slower now, heavier.
“Isliye jab Mr. Jaisingh wapas aaye humari life mein… usne unke shabd mere shabdon se upar rakh diye.”
His eyes darkened. “She went to that damn party.”

A pause. A breath that shook.
“Ek party… apne bhai se upar thi.”

He looked away, shaking his head, chuckling bitterly as if mocking his own feelings. “Badhiya hai,” he muttered.
“Good.”

He looked at Abhimanyu, a hollow, almost broken smile on his face.
“Dono ne milke kya mast gadha banaya hai mujhe,” he said bitterly. “Matlab, main yeh sochta tha ki board meetings mein chehre dekh ke sach samajh jaata hoon. Aur yahan, mere hi ghar mein… they were lying to my face every single day.” His jaw tightened. “Aur mujhe pata hi nahi chala.”

Anger and grief tangled in his voice as he went on, words heavy with hurt.
“Mere trust ko uthake… fek ke mere muh pe mara hai dono ne.”

Memories flooded him, his voice faltering as he recalled them.
“Yeh aati thi mere paas ...bhaiya, mujhe neend nahi aa rahi, aap sula do.”
A faint, painful smile flickered. “Aur mujhe lagta tha meri bacchi ko meri zarurat hai.”

He swallowed hard.
“Phir main Abhimaan ko check karne jaata tha, toh yeh kehti thi
..bhaiyu so gaye hain.”

His eyes darkened. “Aur woh ladka… chupke se bahar nikal jaata tha. Aur main?” A humorless laugh escaped him. “Main gadho ki tarah maan leta tha inki baatein. Main so jaata tha… jab woh raat ke andheron mein sadkon pe ghoom raha hota tha.”

Arnav continued, pain sharpening every word. “Main roz poochta tha ...college kaisa gaya?” He shook his head slowly. “Aur yeh seedha mere muh pe jhooth bol deti thi. Aaj yeh hua, woh hua.” His fists clenched. “WITHOUT AN OUNCE OF GUILT”

Arnav exhaled, his breath sharp and uneven, as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. The restraint snapped, and he said harshly, “Mai aaj bhi gya tha iske pass... I know Mr. Jaisingh's  words must have ripped her apart... Mai gya tha usse baat krna... I tried to initiate the talk and asked her ki college mai kya hua tha aaj... Phirse isne mere muh pe jhooth bol diya... Phirse... Keh rhi hai 'kuch nhi bhaiya... It was a stupid argument about fresher party and i lost control'....”

His jaw clenched. He shut his eyes, frustration crashing into him all at once, and then he opened them again, voice strained as he continued, “I saw the CCTV footage dada... I clearly saw that other girl was trying to provoke anvi and i am damn sure anvi wouldn't lose her control over a stupid fresher party....”

His hands came up to his face, rubbing it furiously, like he was trying to wipe away the anger and the helplessness both. His voice dropped for a moment, heavy with forced patience, as he said, “Maine socha chalo jaane do... Jab comfortable hogi toh khud hi batayegi... Maine pucha padhai kaisi chal rhi hai...Duniya bhar ki baatein bata di isne, sab theek hai, ye hua, woh hua, vagera vagera…”

He looked at Abhimanyu then...hurt and fury starkly visible in his eyes, no attempt left to hide either and said,
“Jhooth bola isne... PHIRSE... she was not going to college for an entire week lakin ek zara isse sharam nhi aayi jhooth bolte time....”

His voice wavered for just a fraction of a second, the crack of a brother who had trusted blindly. He swallowed and continued, “I though meri bacchi sach bata degi... Mujhe already dean se pata chal gya tha she was not attending college... Lakin jab maine pucha toh phirse isne jhooth bol diya”

He inhaled sharply, then added, softer but no less broken, “Aur Abhimaan…”
He paused. “Mujhe lagta tha mera Maan kabhi mujhse jhooth nahi bolega. Kitna seedha hai.”

Arnav’s anger wasn’t born out of Anvi’s mistake alone, it came from something far deeper, something that hurt far worse. It was the trust she had shattered, the trust he had given her and Abhimaan without a second thought. He had trusted them blindly, raised them with his own hands, loved them like his own children long before the world ever saw them that way. He had spent years making sure they felt safe with him, making sure they knew they could come to him with anything...fear, mistakes, guilt, even the ugliest truths. And now, standing here, realizing how easily his children could look him in the eye and lie, again and again, about everything that mattered… it broke something inside him. It wasn’t anger that made his chest ache....it was the quiet, unbearable grief of knowing his heart had cried where his voice no longer could.

A bitter chuckle slipped out. “Par mujhse bada bewakoof shayad iss duniya mein ho hi nahi sakta, dada.”

He looked back at Abhimanyu, eyes glistening now. “Mere paas aane ke bajaye jhooth bolna zyada prefer karte hain.”

His voice cracked. “Clearly, I failed....Guardian ke taur pe bhi… aur bhai ke taur pe bhi.”

A lone tear escaped his eye. He didn’t wipe it away. “Arre, agar koi problem thi toh ek baar bata ke toh dekho,” he said helplessly.

“Theek hai, agar Keshav nahi jaa raha tha toh usko bhi nahi jaana tha. Mujhe batati.”

He shook his head, desperate now. “Main ek do din college skip karne deta. Sabko pata hai college mein kitni hi padhai hoti hai.” His lips trembled. “I know she's a bright kid. She would have managed.”

He looked down, voice sinking into quiet anguish. “Ya agar college mein aur koi problem thi, woh bhi batao. Main madad karne ki koshish karta.” A pause. “Lekin nahi… jhooth bol do. Cheezon ko manipulate kar do.”

He let out a hollow breath. “Wahi zyada better lagta hai in logon ko.”

Arnav quickly wiped the tear away, dragging the back of his hand across his face before anyone could see it linger. He straightened, shoulders squaring as he forced himself back into control.

“Aur aapki galti nahi thi,” he said, voice steady but hollow. “Your intentions were right, the situation messed up. You were not at fault.”

He exhaled slowly. “Aapko laga that one day silent treatment would make her realise her mistake, and it did that.”

A pause. His jaw tightened. “Haan… bas aapko Mr. Jaisingh ko nahi bulana chahiye tha.”

The anger flared, sharp and raw.
“I don’t want that man in my life even for a bit,” he said flatly. “And also because of him my daughters have to go through their trauma again.”

Abhimanyu sat there, helpless, watching Arnav pull himself together piece by piece, unsure what he could possibly say or do to make anything right.

Arnav stood up abruptly and went to the drawer, pulling out the first-aid kit. He opened it with practiced hands, took out an ointment, and held it out.

“Isko please unn dono ko laga dijiye,” he said quietly.

Abhimanyu took it without a word.

Arnav stepped back, then stopped, as if something tugged at him. He turned again, looking at Abhimanyu.

“Dada.”

Abhimanyu met his eyes.

“Ek baar please check kar lena dono ko,” Arnav said. “Khaas karke Anvi ko, Mr. Jaisingh ki baaton ka usko bahot bura laga hoga.” His eyes brimmed again, voice wavering. “I know… mai khud baat kar leta.”

He swallowed hard. “But right now I really don’t want to lash out on her again.” Guilt seeped into every word. “I already lost control yesterday,” he said, ashamed.

The anger was still there...fierce, burning but beneath it lay something far more painful. He was furious, shattered by their lies, yet the image of them crying wouldn’t leave him. The sound of it clawed at his chest, made his heart ache in a way rage never could.

He wiped his eyes again, sniffing softly.
“I need some time,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Abhimanyu looked at him, utterly broken by the sight.

Then he stepped forward and pulled Arnav into a hug.

Arnav didn’t move at first. He just stood there, lifeless, empty. Slowly, his head dropped onto Abhimanyu’s shoulder, eyes closing as he tried to steady himself, to breathe through the storm tearing him apart from the inside.

After a moment, Abhimanyu gently pulled away.

Without saying anything, Arnav turned and walked towards Pari’s room to get the injection.

Meanwhile, Abhimanyu, clutching the ointment, moved silently towards Anvi’s room.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now.

I want to cry. I want to pull them into my arms, hold them close, bury their faces in my chest the way I used to when the world scared them. But every time I look at them, I feel my trust shatter all over again...quietly, painfully, like glass breaking inside my ribs.

I can forgive them for anything done to me. I can forgive the hurt, the disappointment, even the harsh words. I can forgive being pushed away.
But I cannot forgive this...putting themselves in danger and then standing in front of me and lying about it.

I cannot forgive being kept in the dark when all I ever tried to be was their light.

Sometimes, when I look at them, I can’t even see the children I raised anymore.
The ones I carried through fevers, the ones who clung to my fingers while learning to walk, the ones who were raised with so much love, so much care....I search for them… and I can’t find them.

My heart refuses to understand how easily they lie now.

They were the same children who couldn’t hide anything from me. The ones who would shift from one leg to the other, eyes lowered, words tumbling out in confession after making a mess because they trusted me. Because they felt safe with me.

And now… now they look me in the eye and lie.

It breaks me in a way I don’t have words for.

The worst part is, when they cry, I still see them as small. Their faces blur into memories of scraped knees, nightmares, tiny fists clutching my shirt. My heart rushes to them instinctively, aching to protect, to fix, to shield.

But my mind forces me to see the truth I don’t want to accept, they’ve grown up. And somewhere along the way, they learned to lie to me. To hide. To betray the trust I gave them without question.

Every time I see them right now, my heart cries out...silently, helplessly.

And there’s one question that keeps rising inside me, no matter how hard I try to push it away

Was I just a temporary caregiver in their lives? Someone meant to raise them… but never meant to be trusted once they grew up?

~Arnav

___________________________________________

Thank you so much for reading this chapter

I really hope you liked it. This one was heavy and emotional to write, so your comments truly mean a lot to me, please don’t hold back, comment everything you felt while reading

Also, please help me complete the targets so I can bring the next update soon. Your love, votes, and comments motivate me more than you know.
Let’s finish the targets together update coming asap

QUESTIONS FOR YOU ALL

1. Do you feel Arnav’s hurt is justified after everything that happened?

2. Do you think Arnav overreacted, or was his reaction bound to happen?

3. What advice or suggestion would you give Abhimanyu?

4. Do you think Anvi and Abhimaan should apologise to their brother? If yes, how should they do it?

5. Which moment affected you the most emotionally in this chapter?

One word for each character + any suggestion you have for their journey:

Anvi –

Abhimanyu –

Abhimaan –

Avyuktha –

Aarush –

Arnav –

Pari –

Your thoughts and feelings truly matter, please share them