Aisha stared at the framed picture on Aarav's bookshelf—the same woman whose voice she heard behind the locked door.
The same woman whose smile looked eerily similar to hers.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
The woman in the photograph had long, wavy hair cascading down her shoulders, a gentle yet confident gaze, and a faint scar near her eyebrow—just like Aisha's own tiny old childhood scar.
Aisha touched her face unconsciously.
No… it can't be…
"Why are you standing in the dark?"
Aarav's voice cut into the air.
Aisha jerked, turning instantly. Aarav stood near the entrance, a towel around his neck, hair damp from a shower. He looked exhausted—yet alert the moment he saw her holding the frame.
He froze.
She froze.
Silence stretched—sharp and suffocating.
Aarav stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Who told you to open anything in my study?"
Aisha swallowed. His voice wasn't loud, but something inside it felt fragile… like he was scared of her answer.
"I didn't open anything," she whispered. "It was already there. I just… saw it."
Aarav walked to her, staring at the picture in her hands.
His palms clenched.
His jaw tightened.
But he didn't snatch the photo back. He didn't shout. That scared Aisha more than anything—because it meant he was trying to hide, not confront.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"Who is she?"
Aarav didn't respond.
"Aarav," she said softly, "tell me the truth."
He exhaled a long, painful breath and looked away, turning toward the rain-drenched window. "Her name was Anaya."
Was?
The word stung her chest.
Aisha slowly placed the frame down, afraid her shaking fingers would drop it.
"Is she… related to you?" she asked.
Aarav didn't turn. "She was my wife."
Aisha felt the world stop.
Her ears rang.
Her vision blurred for a second before she steadied herself on the table.
Wife.
Aarav had been married before.
The realization wasn't what hurt—it was the way he said it.
Flat. Cold. Emotionless.
Like he had sealed every memory of that woman behind iron doors and thrown away the key.
Aisha forced herself to speak. "You… you were married? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think I owed you that explanation," he replied without looking at her.
His voice wasn't cruel—it was broken.
Aisha felt her chest tighten. Not from jealousy… but from confusion. Pain. Fear.
"Then the voice behind the locked door—"
"Is not her," Aarav said sharply, interrupting. "Don't mix them."
His tone softened immediately, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I didn't mean to snap."
Aisha hesitated. "Then who is behind that door?"
Aarav stiffened again.
His silence answered everything.
"There is someone," she whispered, trembling.
Aarav finally turned toward her, his expression unreadable.
"There are things I can't tell you yet."
"But I'm your wife," she whispered. "Even if this marriage is fake… even if we signed a contract… I'm living here. I need to know what's happening around me."
Aarav's eyes softened, but only for a second. "Some truths aren't safe to know."
Aisha lifted her chin stubbornly. "I'm already involved, Aarav. I heard the voice. I saw the door. And you didn't deny it—someone is inside."
A muscle worked in his jaw.
"You want the truth?" he asked quietly.
She nodded.
Aarav stepped closer, until he stood so near she could feel his breath. His scent—sharp, clean, familiar—wrapped around her like invisible chains.
He lifted her chin with a single finger.
Slowly. Carefully.
Like she might break.
"Aisha," he whispered, "the more you know… the more danger you will be in."
Her breath caught.
The air between them thickened—fear, longing, and something deeper.
His thumb brushed her jaw unconsciously.
Aisha's heart raced.
"Aarav…" she murmured, feeling her body react to his closeness.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if fighting himself.
"Aisha. Don't push me. Don't dig into things that aren't meant to be touched."
"But that woman—Anaya—" she began.
Aarav opened his eyes and stepped back suddenly, like her name had burned him.
"Anaya is gone," he said flatly.
"How?" Aisha whispered.
Aarav didn't answer.
A strange pain flickered in his eyes—something too deep to be spoken aloud.
Aisha studied him closely. "Is that why you locked that room?"
Aarav's expression changed subtly. His breathing quickened, but he looked away before she could read him.
"You think I locked it because of her?" he asked with a humorless laugh. "No. That room… is something else entirely."
"So open it," she said boldly.
Aarav's head snapped toward her.
Aisha met his eyes without flinching. "If it's so dangerous, let me see."
"No."
The word cut sharply, leaving no room for argument.
"Why not?" she demanded. "I'm already scared! The shadows, the voice, your past—everything feels like a half-told story."
Aarav walked toward her again, but this time, his steps were slow… controlled… dangerous.
He leaned in, his lips a breath away from her ear.
"Because if you step into that room…"
His voice dropped, low and intimate.
"Your life will never be the same."
Aisha shivered.
Her throat tightened.
"Aarav," she whispered, "you're scaring me."
He pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes.
"I'm scaring myself," he admitted quietly.
The raw honesty shook her more than his anger ever could.
His hand lifted—for a moment she thought he would touch her cheek again—but he stopped himself and stepped away.
"That's enough truth for tonight," he said softly.
Aisha's eyes followed him as he walked toward the door.
"Aarav…" she called again, voice trembling. "Do you hate me for finding out?"
He paused at the door.
Slowly, he turned just enough so she could see the emotion in his eyes.
"Hate you?" he whispered. "No, Aisha. I'm afraid I might do the opposite."
Her breath caught.
Before she could respond, he walked out—leaving her heart racing, her mind spinning, and the photograph of a dead wife staring at her from the table.
And for the first time, Aisha wondered…
What exactly had she married into?
A mysterious past. A locked door. A dead wife.
And a husband…
who might be starting to feel something he wasn't supposed to.