Tears streamed down Manvi's cheeks as she absorbed the harrowing tale of Aarav's life. Controlled and manipulated, his love taken for granted, his father's death at the hands of his stepmother each revelation deepened her understanding of the man behind the mask of ruthless arrogance.

Sharda, despite her pain, managed a smile through tears. "Jis bachi ke liye usne Maya ki har baat maani! Chatt se khud gaya, apne aapko angaare pe chalaya, Sumitra ke aage girgata raha. Usi bachi ne usey 12 saal se nafrat di.. ussne apne aap ko iss kadar badal liya ki koi bhi ab use takleef nahi deta."

Manvi struggled to comprehend. "Kaki, Aaravji ne Khushi ko sach kyun nahi bataya?" Her voice trembled with disbelief.

"Wo nahi chahta tha ek beti apni maa se nafrat kare aur uska dard jaanke dard mein rahe jisse wo har raat ladta hai lekin aajtak apne dil se unn zakhamo ko mita nahi paaya," Sharda replied sorrowfully.

"Dadi..." a voice choked. They turned to find Khushi in the corridor, tears streaming down her face. It was clear she had heard everything.

Sharda approached her, gripping her shoulders tightly. "Kyun Khushi? Kyun gayi tum apne pita ko chodke? Are kya nahi diya usne tumhe? Tumhari har icha puri ki, badle mein sirf tumhara pyaar chahta tha... lekin tumne bhi usey takleef di..." She shook her and pushed her away.

"I am sorry Dadi... main nahi janti thi ki dadda ke saath meri mumma aur Sumitra dadi ne itna galat kiya hai," Khushi apologized tearfully.

"Kaise janti thi tum Khushi? Tumne sirf uske saath badtameezi ki... kabhi use samajhne ki koshish nahi ki! Nahi uski dard bhari aankhein padh paayi tum! Dekho kahan aa gaya hai wo..." Sharda's voice rose. She shoved Khushi away. "Chali jao tum! Yahan se..."

Khushi's sobs echoed in the sterile corridor of the hospital, her guilt consuming her as she stood before the ICU door. She gazed at her father, once a formidable figure who commanded respect with a single glance, now frail and fighting for his life, connected to machines that sustained his weakened body.



Her heart clenched as she realized the depth of her misunderstanding. She had wrongly believed that Aarav had expelled Maya and disrupted her life for selfish reasons. In truth, he had endured unimaginable pain and sacrifice to protect her, to shield her from the bitter truths that now haunted her.

"I am sorry Dadda... I am really really sorry," Khushi whispered, her voice choked with remorse. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she recalled his unwavering love and fierce protection, the sacrifices he had made silently, without seeking recognition or gratitude.

She ran away from there, Sharda's words echoing in her mind. The weight of her actions and the pain she had caused her father crashed down on her, filling her with regret and sorrow.

Sharda's stern words reverberated in her mind, amplifying her anguish. The weight of her actions, the disrespect she had shown her father in her ignorance, crashed down upon her with crushing force. Regret and sorrow enveloped her, overwhelming her senses as she fled from the hospital corridor, seeking solace and repentance for the pain she had inflicted on the man who had fought tirelessly for her happiness.

The weight of her actions pressed down on her, the guilt and regret building with every stride. The memory of the bitter encounter with her father, Aarav, played over and over in her mind, each repetition deepening the ache in her chest.

She could still see the hurt in his eyes, the sadness that had settled in his features when she had lashed out at him not once but millions times in past 12 years.

"Khushi, yeh main tumhare liye laaya tha. Tumhe bahut pasand hai na paintings karna?" he had said, his voice soft, hopeful even, as he handed her the set of colors.

But instead of gratitude, she had met his gesture with anger. The colors hit the floor with a thud, scattered, just as her emotions were now. "Nahi karni mujhe koi paintings! Aapse kitni baar kaha hai mere kamre mein mat aaya karo? I hate you, Mr. Malhotra!" she had shouted, her words harsh, cutting deep into the man who had always put her first, even when she couldn't see it.

His response was calm, laced with a sadness she had been too blind to notice. "Kyun? Dadda loves you," he had said, his voice breaking slightly.

But Khushi, consumed by her own pain and anger, had been relentless. "no you don't! karte toh jab main seediyon se giri thi aap hospital mein hote.. aap nahi they mere paas jab mujhe aap chahiye they! mere ghar aane ke baad bhi you kept distance from me. You abandoned me. Mujhe Anika bua ke paas bhej diya na khud milne aaye aur na mumma ko aane diya. meri mumma ko aapne dhakke maarke bahar nikala.. you are very bad! sirf apne baare mein sochte ho aap.. jao yahan se" 

Aarav had sighed deeply, the sound heavy with a sorrow that Khushi, in her youthful anger, had not understood. "Khushi, uss waqt tumhare liye wahi zaroori tha," he had tried to explain, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

But Khushi had been unforgiving. "Mujhe khudse door karna aapke liye zaroori tha? Apni 4 saal ki beti se hospital se milne bhi zyada zaroori tha na aapka kaam. Just leave," she had shouted, turning away from him, unwilling to hear anything more.

Now, as she stood outside the hospital, the reality of her father's words and actions hit her like a tidal wave. The wind blew softly against her tear-streaked face, as if trying to soothe the storm raging within her. She could finally see the truth that had been obscured by her own pain and misconceptions. The realization was crushing. Her father had never abandoned her; he had only done what he thought was best, protecting her even when it meant distancing himself.

The pieces began to fall into place. The reason he had never remarried, the way he had shielded her from anything that might cause her pain, including the memories of a life that had broken him. He had protected Manvi from a manipulative marriage, just as he had tried to protect Khushi from the chaos of their own broken family.

Every act she had perceived as neglect or abandonment had been a sacrifice on his part, a choice to bear the pain himself so she wouldn't have to. The anger she had held onto for so long melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sorrow for the years they had lost, for the love she had been too blind to see.

Khushi sank to her knees, her strength finally giving way as she was consumed by the weight of her realization. The tears came freely now, mingling with the dust on the pavement, a testament to her deep regret and newfound understanding. Her heart ached with the desire to turn back time, to take back the words she had thrown at her father in anger, to show him the love she had kept buried beneath her pain.

But she couldn't change the past. All she could do now was seek forgiveness and hope that it wasn't too late to mend the broken bond between them.

The realization dawned on her why he had never remarried or brought another woman into their lives. His protection of Manvi from a manipulative marriage mirrored his own painful experiences.

A gentle touch on her shoulder made Khushi turn, and she found Manvi standing there. Without hesitation, Khushi threw herself into Manvi's arms, tears flowing freely now. The weight of everything she had learned, the emotions she had suppressed for years, poured out in that embrace.

Manvi held her close, soothing her with a comforting hand on her head, offering silent reassurance and understanding. Khushi's sobs echoed in the corridor, a release of years of confusion, hurt, and now clarity.

As they stood there, embracing amidst the hospital's hustle and bustle, Khushi felt a deep connection with Manvi, a bond forged not just by circumstance but by shared pain and eventual understanding. In that moment, Khushi found solace in Manvi's presence, a pillar of strength amid the storm of emotions that had engulfed her.

"Bas... beta... bas," Manvi calmed her down.

"Dost! Mere dadda ne apne andar itna dard chupake rakha... unhone mujhse itni badi sachai chupayi kyun? Agar wo mujhe sach bata dete toh main itne saal use nafrat nahi karti," Khushi's voice trembled with emotion, grappling with the years of misunderstanding.

Manvi, her own eyes filled with tears, took a deep breath, "Iska jawab tumhe unse lena hoga Khushi."

Khushi pulled away from their embrace, shaking her head in denial, "Main unse nazrein bhi nahi mila paungi! Are kitna kuch kaha maine unhe... matlabi, sirf apni parwah karte hai... aur jaane kya kya! Lekin kabhi unhone mujhse uchi awaaz mein baat nahi ki... kyun?"

Manvi gently cupped Khushi's face in her hands, her voice soft yet firm, "Kyuki tum wo farishta ho jisne unhe himmat di Sumitra aur Maya se ladne ki... apni aur tumhari zindagi ko behtar banane ki! Agar wo dono ko ghar se nahi nikalte toh aaj tum bhi wahi sab sah rahi hoti jo tumhare dadda ne saha."

Khushi nodded in agreement, wiping away her tears with determination, "Dadda bahut bure hai! Unhone unn logo ki wajah se khudko badal liya... mere dadda mujhse door kar diye."

Manvi smiled through her own pain, "Kabhi kabhi humein khudko badalna padta hai Khushi... ab tum hi ho jo unhe wapas jeene ki wajah de sakti ho."

With newfound strength, Khushi nodded decisively, "Wo nahi jayenge... kahi nahi jayenge mere liye... unhe thik hona hoga," she said with determination.

"haan unhe thik karna hai aur phir unhe itna pyaar dena hai ki wo apne ateet ke panno ko phir kabhi yaad na kare. Meri Khushi aisa karegi na?" Manvi asked.

Khushi agreed affirmatively. 

Khushi rushed into the hospital, her steps purposeful as she marched towards the ICU room. The echoes of their conversation lingered in her mind, fueling her determination to mend their fractured relationship and be the source of hope and healing her father needed now more than ever.

She opened the door and entered the ICU. Her heart shattered at the sight before her. Her father, Aarav, lay on the hospital bed, surrounded by a web of medical equipment. Tubes and wires snaked from his frail body to machines that beeped and hummed rhythmically, a stark reminder of his precarious state. The pale, almost translucent quality of his skin contrasted sharply with the sterile white sheets, making him appear even more fragile.

The nurse and doctor, standing by his bedside, turned their heads as Khushi entered. The nurse's expression was a mix of curiosity and empathy, her eyes softening as she took in the distressed figure of Khushi. The doctor, a seasoned professional with a compassionate demeanor, held a clipboard in one hand, his brows furrowed with concern. His stethoscope hung around his neck, a silent witness to countless battles between life and death.

Khushi's gaze was fixed on her father. The man who had always been a pillar of strength in her life now lay motionless, his chest rising and falling with the aid of a ventilator. The sight of the oxygen mask covering his face, the IV drips feeding vital fluids into his veins, and the heart monitor's relentless beeping felt like a cruel assault on her senses. Her mind was a whirlwind of memories his hearty laughter, his stern yet loving guidance, and their recent, painful argument.

A lump formed in her throat as she took a hesitant step forward, her legs feeling like lead. The smell of antiseptic and the low hum of fluorescent lights added to the surreal atmosphere, making it hard for her to believe that this frail figure was her formidable father.

"Dadda," she whispered, her voice breaking the silence. The nurse's eyes met hers, offering a silent acknowledgment of her pain.

"Dadda kaise hain, doctor" Khushi asked, her voice wavering with anxiety. The doctor glanced at Aarav and sighed, the weight of his words pressing down on him.

"Beta, humne bahut koshish ki lekin yeh kisi bhi treatment ka respond nahi kar rahe hain. Shayad yeh jeena hi nahi chahte."

Tears welled up in Khushi's eyes, blurring her vision. She clutched her father's hand, the warmth of his skin a small comfort in the cold, clinical room. "he has to fight," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "Inhe jeena hoga mere liye.."

The doctor and nurse exchanged a look before the doctor nodded gently. "I'll give you a few minutes alone with him," he said, signalling for the nurse to follow him out. As they left the room, Khushi felt an overwhelming sense of isolation and urgency. She was alone with her father, in this crucial moment, with only her desperate hope and the beeping machines as witnesses.

Khushi walked to Aarav and held his hand tightly. The roughness of his once-strong hand against her smooth skin brought a fresh wave of sorrow. She glanced at the machines attached to his body, each beep a painful reminder of his fragile state. He was breathing with the help of oxygen, the rhythmic rise, and the fall of his chest orchestrated by a machine. The sight of her strong, formidable father reduced to this state shattered her, and guilt for leaving him alone weighed heavily on her heart.

"Dadda, utho..." she said, trying to hold her emotions in check. Her voice echoed slightly in the quiet room, bouncing off the sterile walls.

However, Aarav didn't respond. Khushi called him again, more desperately this time. "Dadda, dekho aapki Khushi aa gayi hai aapke paas. Please, uthiye... mujhe bahut zaroorat hai aapki."

Her words echoed in the sterile room, bouncing off the whitewashed walls and blending with the soft, rhythmic beeping of the machines. Khushi's eyes, glistening with tears, scanned her father's face for any sign of recognition. His eyes remained closed, his chest rising and falling with the help of the ventilator. The ventilator's hissing was a cruel reminder of his fragility, contrasting sharply with the strong, invincible image of her father she held in her heart.

The monitors beside his bed displayed his vital signs, their green lines dancing steadily, yet seemingly mocking her helplessness. The soft glow of the monitors cast an eerie light on Aarav's face, emphasizing the deep lines etched by years of hard work and worry.

Khushi's desperation grew. She moved closer, her hand trembling as she held his. His skin was cool and clammy, a stark contrast to the warmth she remembered from his reassuring hugs. She squeezed his hand tightly, willing him to respond, to show any sign that he could hear her.

"Dadda, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Dadda, I am sorry... I am sorry Dadda, mujhe aapko aise chodke nahi jaana chahiye tha... aap utho, mujhe danto, par iss tarah akele mat chodke jao. Main kya karungi aapke bina, haan?"

She leaned over, her tears falling freely now, landing on the crisp hospital sheets. The fabric soaked up her sorrow, darkening with each drop. Her father's stillness was a knife to her heart, each second of silence deepening her despair.

Khushi glanced around the room, hoping for a miracle, her eyes landing on the array of medical equipment surrounding them. IV bags filled with clear fluids hung like lifelines, while the heart monitor's steady beeping continued its relentless rhythm. The sterile smell of antiseptic was overpowering, adding to the surreal, almost dreamlike quality of the moment.

The nurse, who had been watching from the doorway, exchanged a concerned glance with the doctor. They both knew the importance of emotional connection in such critical times, but the sight of Khushi's heartbreak was almost too much to bear. 

Khushi's mind raced with memories of her father: his hearty laughter, his stern but loving guidance, the way he would ruffle her hair affectionately. Each memory was a stark contrast to the reality before her, making the present moment even more unbearable.

"Dadda," she whispered again, her voice barely audible. "Mujhe aapki zaroorat hai. Please, uthiye."

But Aarav remained still, his body unresponsive. The only sounds were the mechanical breaths of the ventilator and the incessant beeping of the heart monitor. Khushi's heart ached with a pain she had never known, a deep, consuming grief that seemed to swallow her whole.

She pressed his hand to her cheek, the coolness of his skin contrasting with the warmth of her tears. "Dadda, aapko jeena hoga mere liye," she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of hope and despair. "Humari sab galtiyon ko sudharenge, hum phir se khushiyan laayenge. Please, Dadda, mere liye..."

The silence was deafening, and the stillness of the room pressed down on her like a weight. Khushi continued to hold her father's hand, her heart breaking with each passing second of unresponsiveness.

"Aapke bina main kaise jeeungi, Dadda? Aap humesha kehte the na ki main aapki Khushi hoon? Toh phir apni Khushi ko kyun itni takleef de rahe ho? Aapne hamesha mujhe sambhala, ab mujhe bhi mauka do aapko sambhalne ka. Dadda, please uthiye..."

Aarav didn't respond, and this was breaking Khushi's heart. She remembered the moments spent with him, their laughter, their arguments, his unwavering support, and the love that bound them together. The memories flooded her mind, both bitter and sweet, each one a reminder of the bond they shared.

"Dadda, aap nahi uthe na toh main aapse bahut door chali jaungi! Marr jaungi main, Dadda... marr jaungi main..." Her voice cracked, desperation seeping into every word. She placed her head on top of his chest and cried, her sobs muffled against his hospital gown.

Outside the room, the atmosphere was tense. The doctor, a seasoned professional with years of experience, watched through the glass with a mixture of hope and concern. He knew the power of a loved one's voice and the strength of emotional connections, even in the face of medical adversity.

Manvi and Sharda stood close to the door, holding each other for support. Manvi's eyes were red from crying, her face etched with worry. Sharda, though equally distressed, tried to maintain a facade of strength for her daughter.

"Doctor," Manvi whispered, her voice trembling, "kya kuch ummeed hai?"

The doctor turned to her, his expression somber yet hopeful. "Kabhi kabhi pyaar aur apno ki awaaz se bhi chamatkar ho sakta hai. Yeh waqt bahut important hai. Khushi ka pyaar unhe wapas la sakta hai."

Manvi clung to Sharda, her eyes red from crying. "Humari Khushi apne Dadda ko zaroor wapas layegi," she whispered, trying to muster strength from her belief.

Inside the room, Khushi continued to cry, her tears soaking through her father's gown. She felt a profound sense of helplessness, a void that threatened to consume her. The steady beeping of the heart monitor seemed to mock her despair, its relentless rhythm a stark contrast to the chaos in her heart.

Khushi continued to plead, her voice raw with emotion. "Dadda, yaad hai aap hamesha kehte the ki main aapki taqat hoon? Ab mujhe apni taqat banne dijiye. Please, Dadda, apni Khushi ke liye aankhein kholiye"

"Dadda," she whispered again, her voice hoarse from crying, "please, aapke bina sab kuch adhoora hai. Humari zindagi phir se shuru karni hai. aap mujhse door nahi jaa sakte Dadda."

As she lay there, her tears falling onto Aarav's chest, she felt a faint, almost imperceptible movement. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, she lifted her head, her tear-streaked face full of tentative hope. She stared at her father's face, searching for any sign of consciousness.

The seconds stretched into an eternity. Then, ever so slightly, Aarav's eyelids fluttered. It was a tiny movement, almost too small to notice, but to Khushi, it was everything.

"Dadda?" she whispered, her voice a mix of disbelief and joy. "Aapne... aapne aankhein kholi?"

Aarav's eyelids fluttered again, and this time, his fingers twitched in her hand. Khushi's heart soared, a rush of hope flooding her entire being. "Doctor!" she called out, her voice ringing with a newfound strength. "Doctor, please! Jaldi aaiye!"

The doctor and nurse rushed into the room, their faces lighting up with cautious optimism as they observed the faint signs of life returning to Aarav. They quickly began checking his vitals, their movements efficient yet gentle.

Khushi, still holding her father's hand, watched with bated breath. The doctor turned to her, a small smile playing on his lips. "Beta, yeh aapke pyaar ka asar hai. Lagta hai unhone aapki awaaz sun li."

Khushi nodded, tears of joy streaming down her face. "Dadda, aap jeet gaye. Aapne meri baat sun li. Ab jaldi se theek ho jao, humari zindagi phir se shuru karni hai. Main hamesha aapke saath rahungi, Dadda. Promise."

The room, once filled with despair, now buzzed with a fragile hope. The beeping of the machines continued, but to Khushi, each sound was now a promise of life, a promise of a second chance.

Aarav opened his eyes, the world slowly coming into focus. The first thing he saw was Khushi, her tear-streaked face hovering above him, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and sorrow. He blinked, disoriented, the harsh lights of the ICU making him squint. The beeping of the machines and the sterile smell of antiseptic reminded him of where he was.

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he gazed at his daughter, standing before him. The girl who had left him alone when he refused to make Manvi her stepmother. The memory of their argument and her departure flooded back, bringing a fresh wave of pain.

A weak, pained smile spread across Aarav's face as he touched Khushi's cheek, his hand trembling with emotion. He wiped away her tears, his touch gentle yet laden with the weight of years of unspoken pain. His voice, though frail and raspy, carried a depth of emotion that spoke volumes.

"Main tumhe chodke nahi gaya, Khushi... tumne mujhe akela chod diya."

Khushi's heart twisted at his words, guilt and regret flooding her being. She clasped his hand tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks onto his. "Dadda, I'm so sorry. I was angry and hurt, but I shouldn't have left you. Please forgive me."

"Tum wapas aa gayi mere liye wahi kaafi hai," he replied softly.

Khushi hugged him tightly, seeking solace and forgiveness in his embrace. She remembered the bitterness that had driven them apart, the pain that had festered in his heart for so long. As she held him, her mind raced with questions.

"Kyun, Dadda? Aapne mujhe apna dard nahi bataya... Meri nafrat kyun sehte rahe aap itne saal?" Her voice trembled with a mixture of sorrow and confusion.

Aarav was taken aback at first, the weight of Khushi's words piercing through his defences. He realized in that moment that Sharda must have revealed the truth—the painful past that still haunted him at night, the secrets he had buried deep within himself.

He gently parted from Khushi's embrace, his eyes brimming with tears that mirrored her own. "Kyun ki main nahi chahta tha tum uss dard ko mehsus karo jo maine bachpan se jeeya hai! Tumhe har dard takleef se door rakhna chahta tha main..."

He looked down, his voice breaking with the weight of his confession. "Tum meri baat pe vishwas nahi karti, Khushi... Mujhe kamzor insaan samajhti... Meri tumhari humdardi nahi chahiye thi, sirf tumhara pyaar chahiye tha."

The room seemed to grow quieter, the beeping of the monitors fading into the background. Aarav's vulnerability lay bare before his daughter, his regrets and pain laid out in the open for the first time. Khushi listened, her heart aching with the realization of how deeply her father had suffered alone, shielding her from his own anguish.

"Dadda," Khushi whispered, her voice trembling with compassion and love. Her words carried the weight of regret and realization. "I am sorry, Dadda. Aapki beti ne aapko samajh nahi paayi, aapki aankhon mein chupe dard ko nahi padh paayi... Hamesha aapko meri mumma ko ghar se nikalne ka ilzam lagaya lekin ek baar bhi yeh nahi pucha ki kya wajah thi! Aapne hamesha mujhe protect kiya, Dadda... Mujhe sab kuch diya aur maine aapko sirf dard diya."

Aarav listened to Khushi's words, his heart breaking and healing simultaneously. He felt a surge of emotions—pain, relief, and above all, love for his daughter who stood before him, vulnerable and seeking forgiveness. Tears continued to stream down his cheeks as Khushi reached out, her hands trembling, to wipe them away. 

Aarav's voice, roughened by years of unspoken words and regret, broke the silence. "Aaj tumhara janamdin hai na... aur aaj tumne mujhe tohfa de diya jo main nahi de paunga," he said, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. His words carried the pain of a father who had long believed he had nothing left to give, and the relief of a man who realized that his mere presence was enough.

Khushi shook her head vehemently, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Nahi, Dadda. Mera sabse bada tohfa toh aap hai. Agar aap nahi hote toh shayad main bhi nahi hoti," she replied, her voice quivering with sincerity. In her words, Aarav found the love he had thought lost, the love that Maya had tried so hard to sever. His heart ached, yet it was a sweet ache a reminder that he was still her hero, still the man she looked up to.

The tears in Aarav's eyes flowed freely now, as he struggled to speak through the tightness in his throat. "Khushi, main..."

But before he could continue, Khushi interrupted, her voice firm yet filled with reverence. "Dadda, aap humesha mere hero rahenge. You are a very strong man! Main aapko promise karti hun, aaj se main aapko woh pyaar dungi jo aapne mujhe diya." Her words were a vow, a promise to fill the void that had grown between them with the love they both deserved.

Aarav looked at his daughter, his gaze heavy with disbelief and profound gratitude. Without a word, he pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly against his chest, as if afraid she might slip away again. In that embrace, time seemed to stand still. The years of pain, anger, and misunderstandings melted away, leaving behind only the pure, unadulterated love of a father and daughter who had found their way back to each other.

As Khushi rested her head against her father's chest, she whispered, "Aap jaldi se thik ho jao, phir hum party karenge sirf aap aur main." Aarav smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and gently kissed her forehead. 

For the first time in years, he felt a sense of peace wash over him a peace that came from knowing that his love for his daughter had triumphed over the years of control and manipulation by Maya.

In the corner of the room, the doctor and nurse watched the scene unfold with quiet reverence. They exchanged a knowing glance, silently acknowledging that healing wasn't just about medicine. It was about mending the broken pieces of the heart, about rekindling the flames of love and forgiveness that had long been extinguished.

In that quiet ICU, amidst the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft glow of medical equipment, something extraordinary was happening. The room, which had once been a place of fear and uncertainty, had transformed into a sanctuary of hope and renewal. It was here, in this unlikely place, that a father and daughter found their way back to each other, their hearts stitching together the wounds of the past, and in doing so, discovering the true meaning of healing.

❤️❤️ Happy Birthday armanshi_16 🎂 this is the best I could give you today. The reunion of father daughter which was most awaited. Love you 😍