Morning light poured through the grand windows of the Pratap Singh mansion, gilding the marble floors in shades of gold. The soft scent of incense drifted through the halls as Kiara descended the stairs, her saree fluttering lightly with every step — a delicate floral print that caught the light like a whisper of spring.
She had spent longer than usual getting ready — just enough blush, just enough shimmer. Maybe she wouldn't admit it aloud, but she wanted Yuvaan to notice.
In the living hall, Chandrika sat with Susheela and Vinod. The air was calm, domestic — a rare peace after the chaos of the past days.
"Good morning, Moti Baa," Kiara greeted warmly, touching Chandrika's feet.
Chandrika smiled with grandmotherly affection. "Jeeti raho, beta." She reached beside her and handed Kiara a silver thali. "This is your sargi, dear. Tomorrow is Karva Chauth — the first one after your marriage. You will keep a fast for Yuvaan's long life."
Kiara blinked, slightly taken aback but smiled softly. "For Yuvaan's long life…" she murmured, her cheeks turning pink.
Just then, Yuvaan appeared at the staircase — hair slightly tousled, black shirt unbuttoned at the neck, every bit the dark charm he always carried. He heard Chandrika's words and frowned.
"Moti Baa, seriously?" he said, walking down. "You know I don't believe in such superstitions. Karva Chauth, fasting for long life— come on. I'm not going to die that easily."
Chandrika gave him a gentle but firm look. "Yuvaan, this isn't about superstition. It's about love, faith, and prayer for your husband's well-being. This ritual has meaning — one that connects hearts beyond reason."
Vinod chuckled lightly from behind his newspaper. "Let him say what he wants. You women never listen anyway."
Susheela snorted. "Of course, she shouldn't. Fasting for someone like Yuvaan — huh! If the Gods heard who she's praying for, they might just faint."
"Susheela!" Chandrika scolded sharply.
Kiara ignored the jab, her eyes quietly finding Yuvaan's. He looked exasperated but there was a trace of worry — the kind that only comes from someone who actually cares.
"Kiara," Yuvaan said seriously, "you don't have to do this. I don't want you fainting just because some ancient tradition says so."
Kiara's voice was calm, resolute. "I'm not doing it because of tradition, Yuvaan. I'm doing it because I want to."
He looked at her, searching her face for a hint of hesitation — but there was none.
Chandrika smiled knowingly. "True devotion doesn't seek logic, Yuvaan. It just exists."
Yuvaan ran a hand through his hair, half-annoyed, half-defeated. "You all are impossible," he muttered, turning away — but his eyes lingered on Kiara a second longer, betraying something softer.
Kiara looked down at the sargi thali in her hands, her heart fluttering between faith and emotion.
For once, it wasn't about ritual.
It was about him.
The college courtyard buzzed with chatter and laughter as students poured out between lectures.
By the fountain, Angad leaned casually against the railing, his usual grin plastered on his face — but today, it wasn't Mishka he was talking to.
It was Betty.
Her tone was syrupy-sweet, her eyes glinting with playful charm as she spoke. "So, Angad," she said softly, "we should totally hang out sometime. Maybe I can help you make someone jealous?"
Angad smirked, catching on to the hint. "You're not subtle, Betty. But yeah… maybe that's exactly what I need."
They both laughed — loud enough for the nearby crowd to notice.
And from the corridor above, Mishka did.
She stood there quietly, a book clutched in her hands, her gaze steady but unreadable.
Her eyes followed the two for a long moment — the fake laughter, the easy smiles — before drifting away.
Why is a chudail like Betty going after Angad? she wondered silently.
Her instincts prickled — that quiet, almost psychic sense she carried. Something about Betty wasn't human. Her aura reeked of something… wrong.
But Mishka said nothing. She just turned away, her expression calm yet shadowed by unease.
Behind her composed silence, one thought lingered — a mix of jealousy and warning.
Stay away from her, Angad. You have no idea who you're dealing with.
Later
Mishka walked briskly through the quiet corridor, the late sun slanting across the tiled floor. Angad spotted her and quickly excused himself from Betty, calling out,
"Hey, Mishka! Wait up!"
She stopped, her expression unreadable as always, and turned slightly. "What is it?"
Angad jogged to her side, smiling boyishly. "I was saying — my family's hosting a Karvachauth party tomorrow for my sister-in-law. Thought maybe you'd like to come."
Mishka arched a brow. "Why not invite Betty?"
Angad chuckled nervously. "Betty? She'd probably turn it into a photoshoot. Besides, you're Kiara's cousin — it feels more… right."
At the mention of Kiara, Mishka's gaze flickered for a moment before she masked it with a faint, indifferent smile.
"You and Kiara never really seemed close," Angad continued curiously. "Why's that? You two just met recently or what?"
Mishka's voice was steady but distant. "Because we were unaware of the relation until recently," she replied smoothly.
Angad nodded, accepting the answer easily. "Ah, that happens in big families. Anyway, I'll text you the details — it'll be nice to see you there."
He gave a small wave and walked off toward the parking lot, humming to himself.
Mishka stood still for a moment, watching him leave, her calm eyes reflecting a strange tension beneath the surface.
Unaware, she had said.
But she knew very well who Kiara was — and why she had to stay close.
Vikram's orders still echoed faintly in her memory, his voice firm and cold.
She wasn't just Kiara's cousin. She was her silent protector, bound by duty… and a secret no human could ever know.