Aisha couldn't breathe.
The photograph on Aarav's desk wasn't old, faded, or part of some forgotten memory. It looked recent. High-resolution. Professional.
A woman stood in the image—smiling faintly, eyes soft, posture graceful.
She wore a pale blue dress that shimmered gently in the light from the window.
Her expression was calm… serene… almost angelic.
Aisha would've admired her beauty—
If not for the fact that the woman's face looked exactly like hers.
Her breath trembled.
Same eyes.
Same brows.
Same soft, heart-shaped face.
Same mole just above the lip.
The only difference?
The woman in the photograph looked slightly older. More mature. More composed.
A version of Aisha she had never been.
A shadow passed over her heart.
"Who are you?" she whispered to the photograph, fingers brushing the frame.
Her chest tightened further.
Why would Aarav keep a picture of someone who looked exactly like her?
And why hide it?
She tried pulling the second photo. Underneath the first frame was a stack—seven more pictures. Different angles, different clothes, different backgrounds.
Same girl.
Same face.
Her face.
Her pulse hammered in her ears.
Suddenly, the air shifted behind her.
A cold voice sliced the silence.
"What are you doing?"
Aisha froze.
Aarav stood at the doorway. His hair was slightly disheveled, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled back. But his eyes—
His eyes were ice.
Glass-sharp.
Hard.
Unforgiving.
Aisha swallowed. "I—I was just—"
"What," he said again, stepping closer, "are you doing in my study?"
She backed up instinctively. "I just wanted to put your file back. I didn't mean to—"
His gaze fell on the scattered photos.
His entire body tensed.
A second passed.
Two seconds.
Aisha felt her heartbeat in her throat.
Aarav closed his eyes briefly, as if holding back something dangerous.
When he opened them, he looked calmer—but it was the calm of someone containing a storm.
"You shouldn't have touched that," he said quietly.
"It was on the table," Aisha whispered, voice shaking. "I wasn't snooping, I swear."
He didn't respond.
His silence hurt more than shouting.
Aisha held the photograph with trembling fingers. "Aarav… who is she?"
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
"Aarav," she repeated, "I deserve to know."
Finally, he spoke.
"She was someone important."
The word was made her stomach twist.
"Is she…" Aisha hesitated, "dead?"
Aarav didn't answer. Instead, he reached out and took the photograph from her hand—a little too quickly, a little too protectively.
He looked at the picture for a long moment.
"She looked like me," Aisha said softly. "Why?"
Aarav finally met her gaze.
"You don't need to worry about that."
"But I am worried."
"You shouldn't be."
"That's not an answer, Aarav."
He inhaled sharply.
For the first time, she saw a flicker—just a flicker—of vulnerability in his eyes. Fear. Regret. Pain.
But it vanished the next moment.
"Go to your room," he said, voice firm, final. "Now."
Aisha stared at him, heart stinging. "You're hiding something big from me."
"You don't want the truth."
"Maybe I do."
"No," he said quietly, "you think you do."
The softness in his tone broke her more than any harshness.
He turned away from her.
Conversation over.
She stood silent, fighting tears as he locked the drawer and placed the photos inside.
He didn't look back at her.
He didn't explain.
He didn't comfort.
Aisha walked out slowly, shutting the study door behind her.
---
Later That Night
The penthouse was too quiet.
Too still.
Aisha lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the woman's face burned into her mind.
Who was she?
Why did she exist?
Why did she look exactly like her?
Her eyes stung.
Was Aarav comparing them? Replacing someone? Repeating something?
A horrible thought rose in her mind.
Did he marry me because of her?
The idea made her stomach drop.
Suddenly—
Click.
A faint sound echoed from the corridor.
Aisha sat up instantly.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't human.
It wasn't mechanical.
It was…
A door unlocking.
Her blood ran cold.
Slowly, she stepped out of bed and walked into the hallway.
And there it was.
The locked door—the one Aarav had warned her never to approach.
Its lock slowly turned on its own.
Click… click… click.
Aisha's breath hitched.
The door creaked open an inch.
Only an inch.
Enough for cold air to escape.
Enough for a whisper to slip out.
"Don't trust him…"
Aisha's heart stopped.
It was a woman's voice.
Soft.
Broken.
Desperate.
"Who are you?" Aisha whispered back, body trembling.
Silence.
Then—
"Aarav lied…"
The whisper sent chills crawling up her spine.
Aisha stepped closer despite every instinct screaming to run.
"What did he lie about?" she asked shakily.
This time, the whisper was clearer, harsher.
"You're not the first…"
Aisha's lips parted.
Her knees weakened.
The door suddenly slammed shut with a loud BANG, making her jump backward.
The lights flickered.
Aisha clutched her chest, trying to breathe.
Not the first.
Not the first what?
Not the first wife?
Not the first woman who looked like her?
Not the first person to hear the whisper?
Her entire world tilted.
She backed away from the door, heart racing violently.
---
Moments Later
Behind her, the elevator dinged.
Aarav stepped out, looking exhausted—but the moment he saw her pale face and trembling body, his eyes widened.
"Aisha? What happened?"
She pointed at the locked door. "Someone—someone was inside! I heard her voice!"
His jaw tightened.
He looked at the door.
Then at her.
And for the first time since she married him—
Aarav looked afraid.
"Aisha," he whispered, stepping toward her slowly, "tell me exactly what you heard."
She shook her head, tears falling. "She said… she said I'm not the first…"
Aarav's face went white.
"What are you hiding from me?" Aisha demanded, sobbing now. "Who is she? Who am I?"
He looked at her as if the truth itself was a knife.
Finally, he spoke.
His voice broke.
"Aisha… I don't know how to protect you from this."
He pulled her into his arms.
She didn't push him away.
But the fear didn't leave her chest.
Because for the first time—
She felt like the danger wasn't just behind the door.
It was inside the man holding her.