Next chapter i hope you enjoy. Some words are written not just for reading, but for being felt. Some stories take effort to reach the heart, yet are often skimmed and forgotten.

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Every word, every line, every character is crafted with care. They wait to be seen, understood, and remembered. Don't let them vanish into silence.

So pause. React. Share. Let someone know you were here.

Because even a story deserves its echo.

AUTHOR'S POV

Banarasi Kashi.

Naintara stood on the staircase of Assi Ghat. The priest was preparing for the havan, but the air itself felt strange. The clouds hid the sun, heavy and restless, like a storm was waiting to break.

She wore a simple white kurti with palazzo pants, a dupatta casually draped around her neck. Small studs gleamed in her ears, and her specs reflected the wavering light. Her silence today was heavier than usual-she wanted to speak, but the one she wanted wasn't here.

A little away, Aadhira, Ruhanika, and Inayat sat near the stairs. Their constant bickering irritated her until she finally asked them to leave.

Behind her, the sound of engines rolled in. SUVs lined up, black and intimidating. Out descended the Shergills-the so-called perfect united family.

Rajendra and Purvi Shergill, faces masked with innocence but dripping with hidden malice.

And alongside them, the ever-typical Indian bua, Saral, with Tanvir Rawal. Even on a death anniversary, she was dressed like she'd come for a fashion show-designer clothes, flashy makeup.

Their children followed: Mihir and Ved Rawal, Riddhi and Sahil Shergill.

Naintara's lips curled into a sinister smile before vanishing as quickly as it came. Her back was still turned to the cars, but she didn't need to see them-she already knew who had arrived.

Rajendra finally stepped forward. Naintara's eyes met his, cold and distant, sharp enough to slice.

She spoke, her voice low but cutting:

"Ke liye sirf puja mein dhyaan do. Shayad punya kaam le aap. Agar bakwaas karni hai, toh izzat se wapas jaa sakte ho."

("Just focus on the prayer. Maybe it'll earn you some virtue. If you're here to talk nonsense, then respectfully leave.")

Meanwhile, Jitendra and Nitya assisted Pandit ji, deliberately ignoring the Shergills' presence. They knew Naintara could handle them alone.

Her gaze swept over the entire family-a silent warning. No one dared to speak. No one, except Mihir.

"Ab tum hume nahi bata sakti ki hum kya karen aur kya nahi-"

("You can't tell us what to do and what not to-")

But before he could finish, Naintara cut him off, her voice sharp as a blade:

"Arey upar ka dimaag khaali hai kya? Ghutnon se hokar talvon tak bhaag gaya?"

("Oh, is your brain so empty it slipped down from your head, through your knees, and escaped through your feet?")

From behind, Ruhanika snickered, unable to hold back.

Riddhi glared at her sharply, but Ruhanika, unfazed, raised her brows with a mocking "so what?" look that only provoked more irritation.

Naintara didn't even turn fully, her calm voice slicing the air instead:

"Oh Miss Universe... aankhein sambhal ke apne paas rakho. Warna kya pata, kab noch le."

("Oh Miss Universe... keep your eyes to yourself. Who knows when I might just scratch them out.")

With that, she walked ahead, composed and untouchable.

The family sat around the havan. Naintara took her place at the center, performing the rituals with complete focus. The priest's chants echoed across the ghat, mingling with the quiet hum of early morning life-people walking, sitting by the steps, or offering their own prayers.

The fire blazed, its smoke curling around her, but her eyes didn't flinch. She stared through the flames as though testing them, letting the sting wash over without a blink.

Others sat less gracefully. Sarla and Purvi whispered behind cupped palms, more interested in gossip than prayer. Riddhi scrolled on her phone, Mihir following suit.

Meanwhile, Sahil, Mihir, and Ved found their amusement in throwing cheap lines at Aadhira, Ruhanika, and Inayat. The girls, however, ignored them completely. Aadhira, without missing a beat, muttered curses sharp enough to peel paint off a wall-

"MF..." she hissed under her breath, making Ruhanika chuckle.

The rituals ended, and everyone stood for the aarti. Hands folded, voices low, the Shergills tried to appear saintly. Naintara, with quiet authority, carried out the aarti and then moved forward to perform the pind daan.

When it was over, the Shergills lined up before her. Behind Naintara stood her anchors-Aadhira, Inayat, Ruhanika, and the ever-steady Jitendra and Nitya. Their eyes burned into the Shergills, unblinking, unmoving.

Aadhira, of course, couldn't resist. As the boys shifted smugly under her gaze, she began lipsyncing a fresh round of brilliantly creative curses-each one sharper than the last. Ruhanika nearly lost her composure, covering a laugh, while Inayat just smirked.

The air between them grew taut, electric. The ghat wasn't silent anymore-it was a battlefield dressed as a prayer ground.

Naintara's words landed like steel:

"Aane ke liye shukriya. Ab aap jaa sakte hain."

("Thank you for coming. Now you may leave.")

Rajendra threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that echoed across the ghat.

"Tum kitni besharam ho sakti ho. Tumhari wajah se sab kuch hua-aur ab bhi tum hamare parivaar ka hissa banne ka naatak kar rahi ho. Agar tumhari jagah koi aur hota, ab tak sharm se mar jaata. Tum toh bas ek... adopted manhoosiyat ho."

("How shameless can you be. Everything happened because of you-and still you pretend to be part of this family. Anyone else in your place would have died of shame by now. You're nothing but an adopted curse.")

His words spat venom, but what burned him more was Naintara's steady smirk. Unmoved. Unbroken.

She walked towards him with slow, deliberate steps. Every inch closed felt heavier, sharper. Her voice was calm, yet cutting:

"Ho gaya? Ya aur kuch baaki hai? 'Manhoosiyat', 'adopted', 'besharam'-aur kya? Aapko asli takleef yeh hai ki papa ki company ka ek hissa bhi aapko nahi mila. Aur jo mila... woh bhi bas Shergills ke hisse ka. Papa ki asli company sirf hum teenon mein banti hai-aur wahi toh aap apne in nithle bachon ke liye chahte the, na?"

("Finished? Or do you still have more? 'Curse', 'adopted', 'shameless'-what else? Your real problem is that you didn't get a share of dad's company. And what you did get... was only from the Shergills. The actual company was divided between us three-and that's what you wanted for your useless children, right?")

She was now standing just inches away from him, her eyes locked, merciless.

Sarla stepped in, sharp and indignant:

"Zubaan sambhaal ke baat kar, ladki!"

("Mind your tongue, girl!")

Naintara chuckled, her tone dripping with mockery:

"Bua ji, aapki toh baat hi alag hai. Aapke pati ki company kuch hi saalon mein bandh hone wali hai. Aur ab jab apne bacchon ka bhavishya andhere mein dikh raha hai... tab yaad aaya woh darwaaza, jo saat saal se khula hi nahi tha?"

("Aunty, you're something else. Your husband's business is going to shut down in a few years. And only when your children's future looks bleak-you suddenly remember the door you hadn't opened in seven years?")

The ghat grew quieter, tension thick as smoke.

Riddhi snapped, losing all control

"You slut! Tumhe toh main-"

Before she could finish, Aadhira's hand clamped around her throat. Swift. Fierce. The look in her eyes promised danger; she could tolerate the world's insults, but not a single one against Naintara.

Mihir rushed forward, shouting-only to be silenced mid-word with a resounding slap. The force sent him staggering down the steps, his pride shattered more than his balance.

Ved, stunned, tried to charge at Inayat. But the silent one was the most dangerous. With one swift move, he was pushed back, stumbling further and faster than Mihir.

Ruhanika's sharp eyes glinted, her playful aura gone. The girls didn't need weapons-their presence itself was a warning.

Through it all, Naintara stood composed, her voice calm as she commanded:

"Aadhira, chhod do. Apne haath gande mat karo."

("Aadhira, let her go. Don't dirty your hands.")

Reluctantly, Aadhira released Riddhi, but her voice cracked with fury:

"Agar isne ya is ghar ke kisi bhi ne kuch kaha... toh dekh lena main kya karungi. Saaf kar dungi sabko."

("If she or anyone from this family says one more word... watch what I do. I'll finish it all.")

Naintara's final words were calm, deadly, and absolute:

"Chale jao yahan se. Yahan aake apni beizzati aur badhao mat. Yaad rakhna... maine aaj inhe roka hai. Kal shayad main na rokun. Thirty seconds. Phir tumhari gaadiyaan yahan se chali jaayengi-chahe khud se, ya hum dhakel kar."

("Leave this place. Don't come here only to disgrace yourselves. Remember this-I stopped them today. Tomorrow I might not. You have thirty seconds. Either your cars drive away... or we'll make sure they do.")

And just like that, silence fell. In half a minute, the Shergills were gone. Cars rolled away, Mihir and Ved pulled up by guards, defeated.

The ghat still hummed with the echo of chants, but the air knew-

The war had already begun.

NIANTARA POV

I stood before the idol of Shiv ji - silent, unmoving. He's the only one who feels right to be with at the moment. I don't talk much to anyone; it's not that I don't have words, it's that I don't want to share them.

Regret.

Guilt.

Frustration.

They rise up every time I see the Shergills.

Guilt for not being with my parents the last time.

Regret for not stopping them when I knew what they were doing.

Frustration at being tied down by promises I never asked for.

I've thought about doing what should have been done - taking justice into my own hands - but those are dangerous thoughts, and traps. All I have left awake inside me is vengeance. They took everything from me; the rest of me is only the urge to make them pay. They told me I was abandoned at five, that I was an unwanted girl, a burden. That lie has hollowed me out in ways I can't fix.

After hours in the temple I finally left. I pulled out my phone and started to call Aadhira - they were waiting somewhere in the market; I wanted their location.

Then, in a single instant, a crowd shoved us. A thali of kumkum and flowers flew up; in the next heartbeat we were all splattered - kumkum across faces, against fabric.

My favourite white anarkali - Mumma's last gift - was ruined in a smear of red.

I looked up at the boys nearby as they scrambled to pat the powder away.

"Andhe ho? Dikhai nahi deta? Batmeezi insan. " I snapped.

("Are you blind? Can't you see?")

The younger one, maybe in his late teens, tried to stay calm but his voice shook:

"Miss, pehle toh aaram se baat kijiye. Aur haan - galti aapki thi; itni bheed mein call pe kaun baat karta hai?"

("Miss, first speak calmly. And yes - it was your mistake; who talks on the phone in such a crowd?")

My rage flared. "Meri kya galti thi? Main kya kar rahi thi-aur ab mera dress kharaab kar diya."

("What mistake did I make? What was I doing - and now you've ruined my dress.")

The older one stepped forward, voice sharper:

"Aap pehle zubaan sambhal kar bolein. Aur haan, galti aapki thi, humari nahi."

("Mind your language first. And yes, the fault was yours, not ours.")

I wiped at the stain but the powder only spread. The market seemed louder now - a thousand eyes, a thousand small judgments. I felt small and furious all at once: humiliated in public, and angrier that such little things could still unbalance me.

I didn't back down. I straightened my shoulders, held my chin up, and met their eyes. The fight wasn't with two boys; it was with everything they represented - carelessness, entitlement, the kind of small cruelties that let bigger crimes go unchallenged.

"Aap mujhe na bataye kya karna hai aur kya nahi. Aur agar itna hi problem tha, toh thali theek se kyun nahi pakdi aapne?"

("Don't tell me what I should do or not. And if it was such a problem, why couldn't you hold the plate properly?")

I snapped before I could stop myself. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. My throat felt heavy.

Because this wasn't just about some spilled kumkum.

It was Mumma's dress.

Her last gift to me.

The white anarkali - my favorite - the one I had specially stitched because it carried a piece of her in every thread. And now, stained. Ruined. Just like every memory they had already taken away from me.

Tears threatened, but I bit them back. I wouldn't let strangers - or anyone - see me break.

The younger one smirked, his tone mocking:

"Ek dress ke liye itna rona? Drama queens. Agar itni hi padi ho apni dress ki toh address do, puri dukaan bhejwa dunga."

("Crying this much over one dress? Drama queens. If you care that much, give me the address, I'll send you the whole shop.")

My hands clenched. My jaw tightened.

I glared at him.

"Ek number ke badtameez ho tum. Paise se sab kuch kharidne ki aadat hogi na? Lekin kuch cheezein... kuch cheezein dil ke bohot kareeb hoti hain. Jaise yeh dress. Isse kharida nahi jaa sakta. Agar samajh nahi aata, toh bekar ki tipni mat do."

("You're the definition of rude. Maybe you're used to buying everything with money? But some things... some things are too close to the heart. Like this dress. You can't buy that. And if you don't understand, don't comment uselessly.")

I started brushing the kumkum off when suddenly the priest beside them spoke softly:

"Beta, sindoor mat nikalo. Yeh abhi Shiv ji ko chadh ke aaya tha... kisi ki khoyi behen ke liye."

("Child, don't wipe it off. This vermillion was just offered to Lord Shiva... for someone's lost sister.")

My fingers froze mid-air. My breath caught.

For a second, I couldn't tell if it was a blessing, a sign... or just another cruel joke the universe was playing on me.

I rolled my eyes, masking the ache in my chest:

"Italy mein hi reh leti toh better hota."

("Would've been better if I had just stayed in Italy.")

The oldest boy's voice cut through, sharp and accusing:

"Ohh, toh isliye. Foreign return. Mandir aayi bas naam ke liye, photo kheench lo aur chale jao. Aise logon mein sanskaar hi nahi hote. Maa-baap ne kuch sikhaya hoga bhi nahi."

("Oh, so that's why. Foreign return. Came to the temple just for the name, click a few pictures and leave. People like you have no values. Probably your parents never taught you anything.")

Those words.

Like a slap.

Like he had torn open every wound I kept buried.

Maa-baap. Sanskaar.

The very things I had been denied. The very loss that defined me.

My lips curved - not in a smile, but in that cold, dangerous curl I can never control.

They had no idea who they were talking to.

The word hung in the air like poison.

"Maa-baap ne kuch sikhaya hoga bhi nahi."

("Your parents probably never taught you anything.")

That was it.

That was the line he should never have crossed.

My blood roared in my ears. The temple, the people, the noise - it all blurred. All I could hear was his voice stabbing into the one wound I never let anyone touch.

Before I even realized it, my palm had already connected with his cheek.

SMACK.

The sound echoed louder than the priest's chants. He staggered back a step, clutching his face in shock. Gasps rose around the ghat, but I didn't flinch. My hand still stung, but it was nothing compared to the fire in my chest.

I took a step closer, my voice cold, steady, and sharp enough to cut stone:

"Maa-baap ke baare mein ek shabd bhi bola na... toh aaj ke baad sanskaar seekhne ka mauka bhi nahi milega."

("Say even one more word about my parents... and you won't live long enough to learn any values.")

His younger brother froze, eyes wide. The crowd went silent. Even the river breeze seemed to still.

I didn't blink. Didn't soften.

For the first time in a long while, I let the storm inside me show.

Because no one - no one - dared speak of my parents.

The slap still echoed in my ears, my chest rising and falling like a storm refused to calm. The boy-how dare he utter those words.

And then, just as the silence threatened to swallow everything-

"NAINTARA!"

A voice I could recognize anywhere. Aadhira's voice, sharp with worry, cutting through the chaos. She came rushing through the crowd, eyes darting until they landed on me, then on the two boys in front of me.

She froze. Her eyes widened.

For a second, I thought she'd scold me for losing my temper. But then her gaze sharpened, recognizing them.

Her lips curled, venom lacing her tone as she spat out their names like fire:

"Prithvi bhai... Adi."

The older boy straightened immediately, jaw tight. The younger-so it was him, Aditya Ranawat-shifted uncomfortably, but stayed quiet.

And just like that, my blood turned colder.

Of course. The storm I had been sensing all along finally had a face.

His eyes narrowed at me, no trace of guilt or hesitation-only arrogance. He stepped forward, his voice low but dangerous:

"Tumhari aukaat hai kya hume thappad marne ki?"

("Do you even have the audacity to raise your hand on me?")

I took a step closer, refusing to back down, my chin raised defiantly.

"Aukaat se zyada himmat hai mujh mein, Ranawat."

("More than audacity, I have the courage, Ranawat.")

His nostrils flared, and his brother shifted like he was about to intervene, but I didn't let him.

"Apne ghar ki izzat dikhani hai na? Jao wahan, jahan tumhari taqat sirf naam aur paison tak simit hai. Yahan, iss ghat par, tumhari baaton ki koi keemat nahi hai."

("Want to show off your family pride? Do it where your power only counts in names and money. Here, on this ghat, your words hold no worth.")

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, I saw the flicker of challenge in his eyes.

The air grew heavier, as if even Shiv ji himself was watching, waiting for the storm to break.

And in that moment, I knew-this wasn't just an argument.

This was the start of a war.

The boy-Prithvi, as Aadhira had said-was still glaring at me, his cheek red from my slap. His younger brother, Adi, stood stiffly behind him, arms crossed, clearly holding back his words.

Prithvi's voice lashed out again, colder this time:

"Tumhe tameez naam ki cheez hai bhi? Sabke saamne dramabaazi kar rahi ho."

("Do you even know what manners are? Making a scene in front of everyone.")

My rage flared instantly.

"Dramabaazi? Tum jaisi soch ke logon ko toh sirf ek hi aurat ki aadat hoti hai-jo chup rahe, seh le, jhuke. Lekin afsos... main unme se nahi hoon."

("A scene? People like you only respect women who stay quiet, tolerate everything, bow down. Unfortunately... I am not one of them.")

Adi scoffed under his breath, muttering, "Overreacting."

I snapped my head toward him.

"Aur tum... tumhare liye shayad ek kapde ki keemat hi nahi hoti. Lekin mere liye ye sirf kapda nahi tha."

("And you... maybe for you a piece of cloth has no value. But for me, this wasn't just cloth.")

Prithvi's tone sharpened, louder now:

"Bas karo! Tum khud bheed mein phone par chal rahi thi. Galti tumhari thi, aur ab sabke saamne hume doshi bana rahi ho."

("Enough! You were the one walking in the crowd on your phone. It was your mistake, and now you're blaming us in front of everyone.")

My fists clenched, my heart racing. "Meri galti? Tumhari himmat kaise hui-"

"Enough, both of you!"

Aadhira stepped between us like a wall, her eyes blazing at both sides. She raised a hand toward me, the other toward him.

"Prithvi, Adi... jo bhi ho, bas yahin khatam karo. Aur Naintara, tum bhi. Don't create a bigger scene."

I opened my mouth to argue again, but she shot me a look-the one that meant stop.

Before I could retort, I felt another presence. Inayat. Silent, composed, but her eyes flickered with warning as she glanced at the boys, then at me.

Aadhira exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple.

"Inayat... please. Take Naintara from here. Abhi."

I stiffened.

"Aadhira-"

She cut me off with a firm whisper only I could hear:

"Not here. Not now."

Inayat gently but firmly placed a hand on my arm. Her silence was enough to push me forward, away from the boiling chaos.

But as I turned, I locked eyes with Prithviraj one last time. His stare was equally unwavering, burning with unspoken challenge.

And in that glare, I knew-this wasn't over.

The moment we were away from the ghat crowd, my words started tumbling out like fire. I couldn't stop myself. My chest was burning, my throat dry, and anger was spilling faster than I could breathe.

"Dekha tune, Inayat?! Kis tarah baat kar raha tha mujhse-jaise main koi... koi dramatics kar rahi hoon! Aur uska chhota bhai... wah, kya tameez hai! 'Ek dress ki itni bhi keemat nahi hoti.' Arey! Usse kya pata... usse kya pata iss dress ki keemat mere liye kya hai!"

("Did you see, Inayat?! The way he spoke to me-as if I'm some... some drama queen! And his younger brother... wow, what manners! 'This dress isn't worth much.' What does he know... what does he know the value of this dress for me!")

I stopped only to breathe, then started again, pacing restlessly.

"Aur upar se woh bada wala... Prithvi ya jo bhi tha... meri galti?! Matlab seriously? Crowd mein phone pe hona meri galti thi? Tum batao Inayat, meri galti thi kya?!"

("And on top of that, the older one... Prithvi or whoever he was... my fault?! I mean seriously? Being on my phone in the crowd was my fault? Tell me, Inayat, was it my fault?!")

Inayat didn't answer, just quietly pulled out her water bottle and held it toward me.

I waved my hands dramatically.

"Aur fir jab usne maa-baap ke baare mein bola... bas us waqt... khatam. Bas khatam! Mujhe control hi nahi hua. Ek second bhi nahi. Jaise khud par control hi khatam ho gaya ho!"

("And then when he spoke about my parents... at that moment... it ended. Just ended! I lost all control. Not even a second. It was like I had no control over myself!")

My voice cracked a little, but I quickly masked it with more anger.

"Tumne dekha na? Uski shakal? Shocked reh gaya tha. Aur hona bhi chahiye tha. Koi bhi mere parents ke baare mein ek shabd bhi bole, toh main chhodungi thodi!"

("Did you see his face? He was shocked. And he should have been. If anyone dares speak one word about my parents, I wouldn't let it slide!")

Inayat finally stepped forward, quietly placing the bottle in my hand.

Her voice was low, steady-so steady it cut through my storm like still water:

"Paani peelo, Tara."

("Drink water, Tara.")

I blinked at her, still heaving, but she just stood there, calm, unshaken, her eyes holding mine until my hand moved on its own and I gulped down the water.

The coolness soothed my throat. My heartbeat slowed. My words tumbled softer now, more like a child's complaint than a warrior's rage.

"Inayat... mujhe unki shakal hi bardasht nahi ho rahi. Woh attitude, woh arrogance... jaise duniya unki juti ke neeche ho. Aur... aur mujhe sabke saamne besharam keh diya. Mujhe..."

("Inayat... I can't stand their faces. That attitude, that arrogance... as if the world is beneath their feet. And... and they called me shameless in front of everyone. I...")

My voice trailed off.

Inayat gently took the bottle back, capping it without a word. She placed a hand on my shoulder, firm, grounding.

"Bas." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Unke liye apna khoon mat jala. Tumse bada unka sawaal hi nahi hai."

("Enough." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Don't waste your energy on them. They aren't worth it.")

For a moment, I just stood there, breathing hard, my fists slowly unclenching. Her calmness was like a shield-no questions, no judgments, just silent strength.

And though the fire inside me hadn't died, it had at least stopped raging.

I had barely calmed down when I heard the unmistakable sound of heels hitting the stone steps. Aadhira.

She didn't even look at Inayat first-her eyes were on me, blazing like a wildfire ready to consume.

"Naain-ta-raaa!"

She dragged my name, each syllable sharp enough to sting.

"Seriously? Ek thappad maarna tha? Ekdum sabke saamne?!"

("Seriously? Did you really have to slap him? Right there, in front of everyone?!")

I stiffened, guilt flickering for a second, but my pride didn't let me bow down.

"Woh ladka-"

("That boy-")

She cut me off immediately, raising a hand.

"Woh ladka jo bhi tha, tumne uske level par jaake jawab diya. Kya zarurat thi? Humari identity already half-shadow mein hai, aur tumhe laga ghat pe tamasha karna sahi idea tha?!"

("That boy or whoever he was, you stooped to his level. Was that necessary? Our identity is already half-hidden, and you thought making a scene at the ghat was a good idea?!")

Her tone wasn't just anger-it was disappointment. And that stung worse than any insult from those boys.

"Aadhi-" my voice cracked, but she didn't soften.

"No, Tara. Tumhe samajhna hoga. Tumhara gussa tumhari sabse badi taakat hai, lekin yeh tumhari sabse badi kamzori bhi ban sakti hai. Tumhe control lose karne ki afford hi nahi hai."

("No, Tara. You need to understand. Your anger is your greatest strength, but it can also be your greatest weakness. You cannot afford to lose control.")

I looked down, chewing my lip, the sting of her words pressing into me. For once, I had no sharp comeback, no argument.

Inayat quietly stood between us, her presence like a silent bridge, but even she didn't stop Aadhira. She knew I needed this scolding.

Aadhira finally sighed, her eyes softening only slightly.

"Tara... hum sab tumhare saath hain. Lekin apne emotions ko tumhe leash par rakhna padega. Warna dushman kaam easy ho jayega. Aur mujhe tumhari weakness bardasht nahi hai."

("Tara... we are all with you. But you need to keep your emotions on a leash. Otherwise, the enemy will find it easy. And I will not tolerate seeing you weak.")

Her words hit home. Because I knew-she wasn't just being harsh. She was scared. Scared of me breaking.

And maybe... a part of me was too.

I stared at her, still catching my breath from the confrontation. My fists were slowly unclenching, but my mind was buzzing with questions.

"Aadhira... how did you even know them?" I asked, voice tight, curiosity mixed with frustration.

Aadhira's eyes softened slightly, but her tone was steady, serious.

"Woh Ranawats hain, Tara. Rajasthan ke royal family mein se ek. Influence aur power ka koi mukabla nahi. Multi-billionaire family hai, Mumbai shift ho gaye the... almost ek decade pehle."

("They are the Ranawats, Tara. One of the royal families of Rajasthan. Unmatched influence and power. Multi-billionaire family, moved to Mumbai almost a decade ago.")

I blinked, trying to process.

"Aur tumhe yeh kaise pata?"

She gave me a half-smile, almost like she expected the question.

"Humare grandparents unke grandparents ke close friends the. Aur dosti sirf unhi do generation tak nahi rahi... yeh friendship generation to generation chalti aayi hai. Aur... unke ek lost princess ki baat... 13 saal pehle woh princess chhupayi gayi thi. Tabse sab Ranawats... unke heirs... sirf ek hi goal ke liye ek hue hue hain."

("Our grandparents were close friends with their grandparents. And the friendship didn't end there... it's continued generation to generation. And... their lost princess... she was taken away 13 years ago. Since then, all the Ranawats... the heirs... have been united with a single purpose.")

I felt my pulse quicken.

"Heirs? How many of them?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Twelve," she said firmly, her eyes burning with intensity.

"Do you understand, Tara? Twelve young heirs. Strong, skilled, loyal... each one powerful in their own right. And most importantly... they support each other. All twelve. No secrets among them when it comes to protecting one another. Their bond is unbreakable. Even in fights, even in challenges... they rise as one."

I could see it in her eyes. She wasn't just explaining history or wealth... she was describing a force.

"Aur jo tumse fight kar rahe the..." she gestured faintly toward the boys, her voice low and deliberate.

"...woh unke heirs hain. Prithvi, Adi... unka arrogance, unka attitude... it's part of how they were raised. But never mistake their pride for weakness. They would die to protect their own... just like they would fight for the lost princess."

I let the words sink in. My chest tightened.

This wasn't just a family feud, a random confrontation in a temple, or even a clash of tempers.

It was centuries of legacy, loyalty, and a bond that made these young heirs more dangerous than any stranger I'd ever faced.

"Tara," Aadhira said softly, but her voice carried the weight of every word, "yours is different. You're not one of them, and yet... you have to understand the storm you've stepped into. Watch, listen, survive. But above all, respect the force you're up against."

I nodded slowly, the anger in me still simmering, but now replaced with a sharp, thrilling edge of understanding.

They weren't just boys I had slapped.

They were heirs of a legacy.

And that legacy... was ruthless, relentless, and unbreakable.

I took a deep breath, still feeling the heat from earlier. My fists tightened again, though this time it was from frustration, not anger.

"Aadhira... I didn't just slap them for fun!" I snapped, my voice trembling slightly.

("Aadhira... I didn't just slap them for fun!")

"They pointed at me, taunted me... and then my dress... it was the last gift from Mumma. Do you understand?"

("They pointed at me, mocked me... and then ruined my dress... the last gift from Mumma. Do you understand?")

Aadhira sighed softly, looking at me with those calm, steady eyes that always seemed to see right through me.

"Tara," she said, her voice patient but firm,

"they weren't angry at you just because of the slap."

("They weren't angry at you just because of the slap.")

I blinked at her, confusion flashing across my face.

"What do you mean?" I asked sharply.

She took a step closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear.

"They're angry because they were here for the puja... for their lost princess."

"That vermillion you ruined? It was part of the offering. Part of the puja. For her."

My stomach twisted. I hadn't known. Not a single clue. The anger I had felt earlier... it was now mixed with guilt and even more frustration.

"So... it wasn't just about me, it was about her?" I whispered, almost to myself.

Aadhira nodded slowly, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder.

"Yes, Tara. Their anger wasn't personal... but they are trained to protect and honor their own. And today, you got in their way, unknowingly."

I looked down at my ruined dress, the pride of my mother in tatters, and then back up at her. My voice was quieter now, a mix of defiance and remorse:

"I didn't know. But I didn't stand there quietly either. I didn't let them insult me."

Aadhira's eyes softened.

"And that, Tara... is why I admire you. But you have to learn when to fight... and when to step back. Understanding comes before anger."

a shaky breath, the fire inside me simmering down just enough to listen. For the first time, I felt the weight of what I'd stepped into-the intensity, the history, the unbreakable bond they all shared.

And somehow, that made me even more determined.

Even after stepping away from the ghat, my mind refused to settle. My heart was still racing, but it wasn't just anger anymore. There was something else... something I couldn't put into words.

I kept thinking about Prithviraj and Aditya. About the way they had stood there, arrogant, unyielding, like nothing could shake them. And yet... there was something familiar. Something strange that tugged at my memory, like I had known them before, in a life I couldn't remember clearly.

"Why do I feel like I know them?" I muttered under my breath.

It didn't make sense. They were strangers. Random boys-or so I thought. And yet... the way they carried themselves, the confidence, the subtle unspoken bond between them... it felt like I had seen it somewhere before.

The twelve heirs Aadhira had spoken about swirled in my mind. Twelve people, bound by loyalty and history. I could almost feel that energy in the air around Prithviraj and Aditya. Their aura was magnetic, commanding, yet... oddly familiar.

It made my stomach twist in an unexpected way. Anger and irritation still lingered, yes. But underneath, there was curiosity. A strange pull toward them, a feeling I couldn't name. Like... recognition. Not of faces, but of presence.

It was confusing. Frustrating. And yet... it made me want to understand them, even if it meant facing more confrontations.

Inayat, standing silently beside me, handed me the water bottle again, grounding me. But even as I sipped, my mind kept replaying the scene-their faces, their stubbornness, the way Prithviraj's gaze had locked on mine, unyielding.

A part of me shivered at the intensity of it. Not fear. Not attraction. Something... different. A spark of awareness, like pieces of a puzzle I didn't know I had, floating just out of reach.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. "Focus," I whispered to myself. "They are not here to play. They are the part. And you need to survive this... understand them first, then... decide your next move."

Even as I said it, I knew one thing: meeting them had changed something inside me. Something that would not go away easily.

It wasn't just anger. It wasn't just curiosity. It was something... dangerous, intense, and strangely familiar.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The same intense scene will continue in the next one, so stay tuned.

Yes, I added both Aditya and Prithviraj here-because when I posted on my board about the characters I wanted to show in the argument, only two names were mentioned, so I included both to make it more interesting.

If you liked the chapter, please do vote and leave a comment-I love hearing what you think! And don't forget to check out my other books, you'll definitely enjoy them.

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