Morning sunlight filters into the dining room as the family gathers for breakfast. Rakshit is already seated at the head of the table, engrossed in his phone. Drishti enters, her demeanor icy but composed. She takes a seat beside him, her eyes betraying the storm brewing inside her.

Every time she looked at Rakshit, the image of the knife flashed before her eyes. The casual way he went about his morning, sipping his coffee and checking his emails, made her blood boil. How could he sit there so calmly, knowing what he had hidden away in that safe?

She couldn't confront him in front of everyone, but she couldn't let her anger stay bottled up either. It was like an itch she couldn't scratch-a burning need to let him know that she was onto him.

"Did you slept well, Mrs. Shergill?" Rakshit asked upon noticing Drishti.

"Oh, I slept just fine, Mr. Shergill. But it's funny... some people must sleep like a baby when they have everything they want hidden safely away, out of sight, out of mind." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Rakshit frowned slightly, her tone catching him off guard. He studied her face, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words, but she kept her expression neutral.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" He glanced at her with a hint of curiosity.

"Why? Is there something you're worried I might bring up?" She took a sip of her tea.

Her words were like daggers, and Rakshit felt a strange sense of unease settle over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed in Drishti overnight, but he had no idea what it was.

"Mrs. Shergill, if something's bothering you, just say it. Don't dance around the issue."

"You think I'm dancing around the issue? No, Mr. Shergill, I'm just waiting for the right moment to... unwrap it." Drishti spoke, smirking coldly.

Her choice of words was deliberate, a nod to the knife she had found wrapped in the cloth. Rakshit's confusion deepened, but before he could probe further, Divya entered the room, breaking the tension.

"Good morning, everyone! I hope everyone slept well!" Divya spoke cheerfully, sliding on the seat beside Akshit and taking chapatis in her plate.

Drishti's gaze lingered on Rakshit for a moment longer before she turned her attention to Divya, her smile forced but convincing. The conversation shifted to mundane topics, but Rakshit couldn't shake the feeling that something was brewing beneath the surface.

━━༻❁༺━━

Later that day, in the living room. Rakshit is working on his laptop, while Drishti is organizing some papers nearby. The atmosphere is thick with unspoken words.

"You know, Mr. Shergill, I've been thinking... Secrets are funny, aren't they? The longer you keep them hidden, the heavier they get. It must be exhausting, carrying such a burden." she spoke casually, her gaze still on the papers.

Rakshit's fingers paused over the keyboard. He looked up at her, trying to read her expression, but she kept her focus on the papers in front of her.

"What are you getting at?" he asked

"Oh, nothing really. Just making an observation. It's just... I wonder how long someone can keep a secret before it eats them alive." She shrugged, her tone light but with an edge.

The insinuation in her words was clear, but Rakshit still couldn't grasp what had triggered this change in her. He closed his laptop, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at her.

"Mrs. Shergill, if you have something to say, just say it. What's going on?"

"You want to know what's going on, Rakshit? Fine. I'll tell you... but not here, not now. I'll make sure I figure out the right time." her gaze finally met his, her voice cold and challenging.

Rakshit's heart skipped a beat at her words. There was no mistaking the seriousness in her tone, the darkness in her eyes. But before he could respond, she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving him with more questions than answers.

━━༻❁༺━━

Akshit sat on the bed, casually leaning back against the headboard. His abdomen still wrapped with a fresh bandage. Despite his injury, his spirits were high, especially with Divya by his side. She was right beside him, checking her papers.

"My morning is finally beautiful, now that I've seen you." Akshit spoke, his voice soft yet a teasing smirk lingered on his face.

"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes and playfully swatted his hand, but the moment her fingers made contact, Akshit winced slightly, playing up his injury.

"Ouch! Did you forgot I'm injured?"

Her gaze immediately softened, and concern flickered in her eyes. She turned to face him fully, her fingers gently touching the bandage, checking if she had caused any harm.

"Oh my god, I forgot, I'm so sorry. I didn't hurt you, did I? I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention." She spoke, her voice guilty.

Akshit's heart warmed at her reaction, but he couldn't resist teasing her. Her sudden shift from playful to concerned was too endearing to ignore.

"Damn, Ms. Divya. Worried about me, aren't you?" He smiled teasingly.

Divya realized she had been tricked, and her concern morphed back into playful irritation. She straightened up, grabbing a pen by a nearby table and leaned closer to him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Shut up before I stab this pen in your nerves and kill you. You need a knife to kill me, but all I need to kill you is a pen, because I know the right trick, and the right nerve." She winked at him, her tone light and playful.

Akshit chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as she backed away, the pen still twirling in her fingers.

"I think I'll keep my mouth shut before I give you any more ideas." He grinned, his eyes soft.

They both laughed, the morning filled with their playful exchanges, a momentary escape from the seriousness of the world outside.

━━༻❁༺━━

LATE EVENING

The day had been long, filled with tension that hung heavy in the air like an impending storm. Rakshit's patience was wearing thin; he could feel it fraying at the edges as he moved through the house. He couldn't escape the weight of Drishti's coldness, her pointed taunts, and the way her eyes seemed to pierce through him with a mix of hatred and sorrow. Something was off, and it was driving him to the brink.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the mansion bathed in a dusky twilight. Rakshit found Drishti in their shared room, her back to him as she stared out the large window. The sight of her standing there, tense and distant, made something in him snap. He had had enough.

"Drishti, enough. I'm tired of this. What's going on with you? Why are you doing this?" He asked, his voice strained and exhausted.

Drishti's shoulders tensed further at his words. She had been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, the anger, confusion, and pain she'd been holding back all day surged forward, threatening to consume her. She turned to face him, her eyes blazing with unspoken accusations.

"You really want to know? You're tired, Mr Shergill? You're tired of what? Me? My existence? My presence in your life?" She chuckled bitterly.

Her words dripped with venom, and Rakshit could feel his frustration rising, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He took a step closer, his voice rising in response to her tone.

"Yes, I want to know! I can't take your silence, your taunts, your hatred! What did I do that's so unforgivable? What is it that's eating you up inside?" he spoke, his tone demanding.

That was it-the final push that broke her. The dam of emotions she'd been holding back burst open, and her voice shook with the force of her fury.

"What did you do? You're a monster, Rakshit Shergill! A cold, heartless monster who destroys everything in his path! You think you can just play with people's lives, manipulate them, and get away with it? You're disgusting! You're nothing but a killer-a heartless, soulless killer!" She yelled, her chest heaving up and down as tears filled her eyes.

Rakshit froze, her words hitting him like a physical blow. The raw pain and rage in her voice shocked him, leaving him momentarily speechless. He searched her face, looking for answers, trying to understand what had driven her to this breaking point.

The tension in the room was suffocating. Drishti's chest heaved as she struggled to control the storm of emotions raging inside her.

"You're a killer!" she shouted, her words slicing through the air like a blade.

He instinctively took a step closer to her. His hand reached out, trying to hold hers, his intent to pull her into his arms and calm her down.

"Mrs. Shergill, listen to me-" he began, his voice low and soothing, but she recoiled from him.

"Don't!" she snapped, pushing him away with all her might. Her eyes were blazing with fury as she took a step back, creating a distance between them. "Don't try to come close to me! I don't want to hear anything you have to say."

"Mrs. Shergill... what are you talking about? I'm not a killer. I've never hurt you... I've never-"

"Don't lie to me! Don't you dare stand there and pretend to be innocent! I see through you, Rakshit! You've hidden things from me, kept secrets, and for what? To ruin my life? To shatter everything I believed in?" She cut him off, her voice trembling with anger.

Rakshit's chest tightened with a mix of anger and hurt. He had no idea where all of this was coming from, but her words were tearing him apart. His voice hardened, his patience completely spent.

His hands balled into fists at his sides as he fought to keep his emotions in check. The accusation hung heavy between them, and he felt like he was drowning in a sea of guilt and confusion. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but the frustration was too much to bear.

"Enough!" he finally shouted, his voice echoing in the room. "I'm innocent! I don't know what you think you've found, but it's not what you believe!"

Drishti shook her head, her tears now streaming down her face. She wanted to believe him, wanted to find a way out of this nightmare, but the pain was too fresh, too raw.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Drishti, but I'm not standing here to be accused of things I haven't done. If you can't see who I really am, then there's no point in continuing this conversation." He spoke coldly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

With that, he stormed out of the room, grabbing his car keys from the side table. The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house, leaving Drishti standing there, her body trembling with the force of her emotions. She felt a wave of guilt and confusion crash over her as his words lingered in the air.

She stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, her mind reeling from the confrontation. The sound of the car engine starting and driving away pulled her back to reality. She took a shaky breath, feeling a hollow ache in her chest where her anger had once been. She needed to calm down, to think.

She made her way to their room, each step heavy with regret. The confrontation replayed in her mind, and for the first time, doubt crept in. Was she wrong? Had she let her emotions cloud her judgment? But the files, the emails-they couldn't be lies, could they?

Without thinking, she headed toward the bathroom beside the closet area, hoping that some cold water might clear her head. As she entered the closet, her eyes caught something unusual-a small, almost hidden door behind the clothes. Her heart skipped a beat.

It was as if she was being drawn toward it, as if some invisible force was guiding her. She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and pushed the door open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. Her breath caught in her throat.

The walls were covered in photographs-her mother's photographs. The shock of seeing her mother's face, frozen in time, staring back at her from every corner of the room, made her knees go weak. She stumbled forward, her eyes wide with disbelief.

There, on a small table in the center of the room, lay letters. Drishti's hands trembled as she picked one up. The handwriting was her mother's, the familiar script pulling at her heartstrings. She scanned the letters, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing.

And then, she noticed it-some of the letters were attached to notes, the same type she had seen with Rakshit's files. But these notes were different. They looked old, as if hidden there for long.

She ran outside towards his study room and brought those files and papers, along with his journal which she discovered. Getting back to the room, she began gazing at everything, her head spinning.

Confusion clouded her mind as she began to notice. The handwriting on both the notes was similar. But... Rakshit's handwriting on the journal was a little different. It was as if someone deliberately tried to copy his handwriting in the notes--- and almost did it. Almost.

She compared the notes with those attached with Rakshit's journal. But, They looked fresh, new, the ink barely smudged. Her eyes darted between the letters and the notes, realization dawning on her like a cold, harsh light.

"These- these notes.. these pictures aren't his... these were added later... as if someone wanted me to doubt him. He had his investigation going on about something--- someone else. But... these files I got from the secret room... the notes attached... its handwriting matched with Mr. Shergill's journal's notes."

She could hardly breathe as the pieces fell into place.

"That means... even he didn't knew someone had added notes to his journal and my mother's photos to his files.... He... he had no idea about all this... he.. he is... innocent. He isn't the killer..."

Someone had been manipulating her, planting these notes, leading her to believe that Rakshit was behind everything. But it wasn't him-it couldn't be.

Her heart pounded in her chest as the guilt overwhelmed her. She had accused Rakshit of being a monster, of being a killer, but he was innocent. She had let her anger blind her, and now it was too late.

Drishti stood in the dimly lit room, her hands trembling as she clutched the evidence of Rakshit's innocence. The weight of the truth pressed heavily on her chest, the realization crashing over her with a force that left her breathless. She stared at the papers and photographs before her, her mind struggling to process the shocking clarity of the situation. Rakshit had been innocent all along, and she had been chasing shadows, blind to the real truth.

The shock quickly morphed into a suffocating guilt. Every harsh word she had ever directed at him, every moment of doubt and suspicion she had harbored, now felt like a brutal assault on her own conscience. She had accused him, berated him, and allowed her grief to cloud her judgment. The thought that her relentless pursuit of what she believed to be justice had led her to torment an innocent man twisted her insides with remorse.

Anger flared up next. Not at Rakshit, but at herself for being so easily deceived, and at the manipulative killer who had orchestrated this cruel charade. She was furious at how her own pain had been used against her, and at the cruel irony that she had been part of the mechanism that nearly destroyed the very person who had tried to protect her.

As she stood there, her emotions boiled over into an anguished confrontation. Her voice cracked with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. "I did all this," she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls, "and for what? For nothing!" Her tears streamed down her face, each one a testament to her regret and despair. Her accusations, once so sharp, were now replaced with a raw, aching vulnerability. She had been so sure of her stance, and now that certainty felt like a cruel joke played by fate.

Drishti's anger and guilt intertwined in a complex dance, leaving her both devastated and desperate. She longed for Rakshit to understand that her actions had been driven by a misguided pursuit of truth, not by any inherent malice towards him. She wanted him to see past her mistakes, to grasp the depth of her regret and the sincerity of her newfound understanding.

She was battling not just the external conflict but also the profound internal realization of her own flaws and the pain she had caused. Her emotional outburst was not just an apology but a plea for redemption, a desperate attempt to reconcile the truth with the damage she had wrought.

She got up and placed everything on its place. Getting out of the room, she closed the door behind her, hiding it perfectly behind the closet. She dashed into her bedroom, her feet glued to the ground.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she fumbled with her phone, her fingers slick with sweat as she dialed Rakshit's number. The weight of her realization pressed down on her, each ring of the phone echoing her mounting anxiety.

"Come on, Mr. Shergill... pick up. Please." She pleaded, her voice trembling.

The call went to voicemail.

Desperation clawed at her as she tried again, her anxiety rising with each unanswered ring.

"Mr. Shergill, it's me. I need to talk to you. Please, just pick up. I... I made a mistake." She pleaded to herself.

Her voice broke with the final words, the gravity of her realization heavy in her tone. She hung up and tried calling once more, but the pattern was the same. No answer.

"Why aren't you picking up? I need to explain. I need you to know... I was wrong. I-I am sorry. J-just come back to me... please... " she yelled at first but her tone went down with each word.

As the calls continued to go unanswered, a sinking dread filled her. She sank to the floor, clutching her phone, tears streaming down her face as she whispered into the silence.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Shergill. I was wrong about everything. Please... just come back. I need you to know the truth." her voice choked with emotions.

The reality of his unavailability was a heavy blow, the silence on the other end of the line amplifying her despair. She looked around, feeling utterly lost, as if the room itself was closing in on her.

Drishti's desperate cries into the void seemed to echo back at her, the silence pressing down like a suffocating blanket. She sat on the floor, the phone clutched tightly in her trembling hands, her mind racing with guilt and fear. Each unanswered call felt like a nail in the coffin of her hopes to make things right.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed, breaking the oppressive silence. Her heart leapt as she saw Rakshit's name on the screen. But as she answered the call, her relief was short-lived, replaced by an icy dread.

"Mr. Shergill, where are you? Please, get back fast, I need to talk-"

But the voice that came through the phone was not Rakshit's. It was a somber, unfamiliar voice, carrying news that would shatter Drishti's world.

"This is Inspector Sharma. I'm afraid I have some distressing news. There's been an accident involving Mr. Rakshit Shergill. He's in critical condition." The person on the other side spoke, his voice soft yet firm.

Drishti's world spun as the words sank in. She felt as though the ground had given way beneath her. Her vision blurred with tears as she tried to process the weight of the information.

"No... this can't be happening. What... what happened? Where is Rakshit?" She spoke in disbelief, her voice barely above a whisper.

"He was involved in a car crash. We're at the hospital now. If you want to come, it would be best to hurry. We're at the city hospital right now."

The finality of the words hit Drishti like a punch to the gut. She felt numb, her entire body frozen in place. The reality of her actions, her misunderstandings, and the loss she might face all collided in a crushing wave of despair. Her phone slipped from her grasp, landing softly on the ground, as she sank back against the wall, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably.

She pushed him away when he was close, and now, in her darkest hour, he's the one she so badly wants to but can't reach.