: Departure

The early morning sun filtered through the dense mist that hovered above Rishikesh, casting a golden glow over the Dubey and Randhawa households. Birds chirped softly in the trees, unaware of the quiet storm brewing in the hearts of two families preparing to say goodbye.

It was the day Akash and Pihu would leave for Mumbai.

For work.

For their new life.

For a marriage that neither knew how to live.

Inside the Randhawa mansion, the staff moved quietly, respectful of the emotional current in the air. Radhika Randhawa moved through the halls with folded hands, instructing the servants to pack sweets and snacks for the journey. Her face glowed with warmth, but her eyes—sharp and motherly—searched for her son again and again.

Surya Randhawa stood on the balcony, sipping his morning tea, gazing at the hills. He hadn’t said much that morning, but his silence was heavy, full of hope and perhaps a quiet regret—for pushing this marriage, for watching his son drift from the emotional maturity he once hoped for.

Akash stood in his room, closing the last suitcase. Dressed in a crisp black shirt and blue jeans, he looked every bit the man the world revered—powerful, composed, intimidating. But as he looked around the room one last time, a flicker of emotion crossed his face. This had been his home for years. And now he was leaving, with a woman who felt more like a silent shadow than a wife.

Pihu entered the room quietly. She was wearing a soft green kurta with white leggings, her hair braided simply. No makeup, no jewelry except the mangalsutra that now clung to her skin like a brand. She walked to the other side of the room, picking up a diary from the table, sliding it into her handbag.

Their eyes met briefly.

“You ready?” Akash asked, adjusting the strap on his wristwatch.

“Yes,” she replied calmly.

Neither smiled.

Neither asked more.

Downstairs, the cars were packed. The Dubey family had already arrived. Aashi ran to hug her sister tightly, not bothering to wipe her tears.

“I’m going to miss you so much, didi,” she sniffled.

Pihu smiled and hugged her back. “I’m just a call away, silly.”

“Still…”

Their mother, Sunita Dubey, stepped forward next, holding a small silver thali with tilak and rice. She did the aarti for both Akash and Pihu, her hands trembling slightly.

“I know things have been sudden,” she whispered to Pihu, “but I trust you. You’ve always been strong.”

Pihu swallowed hard. She couldn’t bring herself to answer, so she only nodded.

Her father, Mohan Dubey, patted Akash gently on the shoulder.

“Take care of her,” he said quietly. “No matter what… she’s our world.”

Akash nodded stiffly. “I will.”

Radhika came next, cupping Pihu’s face. “Call me every few days, okay? I’ll teach you how to make Surya’s favorite sabzi,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“And yours too,” she added, turning to Akash, who gave a slight nod.

Pihu bent down to touch her in-laws’ feet. They blessed her with all the love she didn’t know how to receive yet.

Surya looked at Akash one final time. “Mumbai is not just work, Akash. It’s your home now—with her. Don’t let ambition make you blind to what’s real.”

Akash didn’t reply.

He didn’t need to.

They both knew he had already made his choices.

As they climbed into the car, Pihu rolled down the window one last time. Aashi waved at her, tears running freely down her cheeks. Sunita sobbed quietly into her pallu. Radhika stood next to her, arms around her shoulders. The air felt thick with all the words left unsaid.

The car started.

Pihu looked ahead.

She didn’t glance back—not because she didn’t care, but because she knew if she did, she might crumble.

The drive to Dehradun airport was silent. Neither of them spoke. The car’s steady hum and the occasional radio jingle were the only sounds. Pihu stared out at the trees blurring past. She thought about her parents—how they had aged slightly, how proud they looked despite their worry.

She also thought of Akash—how little she knew about him, how much she used to think she did.

He was a stranger she had once loved.

And now, he was her husband.

They boarded the flight without drama, surrounded by people who didn’t know that this wasn’t a honeymoon trip but a pact born out of pressure, silence, and unresolved pain.

As the plane ascended into the sky, Pihu closed her eyes and rested her head against the window.

She wasn’t afraid of the unknown anymore.

She just didn’t know if she had the strength to live with the known.

In Mumbai, a luxury apartment in Lower Parel awaited them—one of Akash’s many properties, spacious and modern, overlooking the city skyline. A maid and caretaker had been assigned to make the place comfortable.

“This is your room,” Akash said as they entered, pointing to a separate bedroom.

Pihu looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“Fine.”

He didn’t explain. She didn’t ask.

The day ended with them in opposite corners of a house that was technically theirs but emotionally hollow.

As Mumbai sparkled outside like a million dreams stitched into one skyline, two people stood on its edge—bound not by love, but by fate’s unkind design.

And yet, somewhere deep in the noise of the city and the silence between them, something had shifted.

This was not the end of their story.

Only the beginning.

Mumbai pulsed with energy, a chaotic dance of neon lights and constant movement. But inside the towering glass-and-steel apartment in Lower Parel, the air had gone still—taut with something unsaid, something brewing.

Pihu had just returned from her orientation at the hospital, her ID tag still hanging around her neck. Her new life as a child psychologist had officially begun. She had stepped into the apartment with the weight of exhaustion and quiet hope, ready to take refuge in silence.

But she wasn’t alone.

The sound of laughter—high-pitched and deliberately loud—echoed down the hallway. She froze. A woman’s voice. Then a deeper one—familiar.

Akash.

Her heart thumped in her chest as she walked toward the living room.

And there she was.

Sam.

Tall, glamorous, dressed in a skin-tight red dress, sipping wine like she owned the place. Her eyes met Pihu’s, amused, taunting.

“Darling, you’re back,” Sam cooed mockingly. “Missed me?”

Akash stood beside her, his arm casually slung around Sam’s shoulder, looking perfectly at ease, like this wasn’t his wife’s home. Like Pihu was an intruder.

“What is she doing here?” Pihu’s voice came out quiet but firm.

Akash shrugged. “This is my house. I can bring anyone I want.”

Sam smirked. “Don’t be so territorial, sweetheart. We’re all adults here.”

Pihu looked at Akash, disbelief swimming in her eyes. “We’re married, Akash.”

He chuckled. “A marriage of convenience. You know what this is. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Sam stood up, heels clicking against the floor, walking slowly towards Pihu. “Don’t take this personally. Akash and I go way back. You’re just... a placeholder.”

Before Pihu could respond, Sam suddenly stumbled, her wine glass crashing to the floor. She let out a dramatic yelp, clutching her arm.

“She pushed me!” she cried out.

“What?!” Pihu’s eyes widened in shock. “I didn’t even touch you!”

But Akash was already moving, rushing to Sam’s side. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

Sam nodded, eyes gleaming with fake tears. “She just snapped. I don’t know why…”

Pihu stepped back, horrified. “She’s lying! I didn’t touch her!”

Akash turned to her, fury blazing in his eyes. “Enough!”

He stormed toward her, his face inches from hers. “I brought you here, gave you this roof, and this is how you repay me? By attacking my guest?”

“I didn’t—”

Before she could finish, his hand connected with her cheek.

The world stilled.

A loud ringing filled her ears. Her head jerked to the side. She clutched the wall for balance, stunned, humiliated.

“You’re nothing but a gold digger,” Akash spat. “And don’t you ever forget your place. You hold no value in my eyes. You never did.”

He stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

The silence that followed was heavy and cruel.

Sam smirked, walking over to where Pihu stood, shaken and quiet.

“Well,” she whispered, “looks like the prince finally showed you what you're really worth.”

She leaned in, venom in her voice. “You’re not his wife. You’re his punishment. And I’ll make sure you stay exactly where you belong—beneath us.”

Pihu didn’t answer. Her cheek burned, her soul trembled.

But her spine straightened.

She wouldn’t cry.

Not tonight.

Because something inside her had cracked—not broken, but awakened.

And that spark would become a fire.