Aarav sat in his painting room, surrounded by the familiar scent of oils and canvas. The room was a sanctuary, its walls adorned with the vibrant and textured remnants of his imagination—a place where he could lose himself in the world of colors and forms. But today, his brush faltered. The usually comforting space felt cold and suffocating. The incident in Switzerland loomed large in his mind, a shadow that dulled his creativity and left him feeling vulnerable.

His hand trembled slightly, and the paintbrush slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the floor. The sound echoed in the quiet room, a small but jarring reminder of his shaken state. Aarav sighed, his sightless eyes turned toward the floor where he knew his brush lay, out of reach both physically and emotionally.

The door creaked open, and Anirudh entered. He had been keeping a close eye on his brother, aware of the turmoil that still gripped him. Without a word, Anirudh bent down and picked up the brush, his movements slow and deliberate. He placed it back into Aarav's hand, wrapping his own fingers around his brother's to steady the grip.

"Aaru..." Anirudh's voice was gentle, filled with the unspoken promise of support and protection. "Tera yeh bhai hamesha tere saath hai."

Aarav's lips curved into a small, grateful smile. The warmth of his brother's hand, the unwavering presence of Anirudh, brought a flicker of comfort to the coldness within him. "Janta hun," Aarav replied softly, his voice carrying a note of reassurance, not just for himself, but for Anirudh as well.

Anirudh squeezed his shoulder lightly, his gaze fixed on Aarav's expression, trying to gauge the depth of his brother's emotions. "Toh phir bina kisi darr ke apni painting karo," he encouraged, his tone steady and calming. He knew that painting was more than a hobby for Aarav it was his way of expressing what he couldn't see, of bringing his inner world to life.

Aarav nodded, his fingers tightening around the brush. He took a deep breath and dipped the brush into the paint, feeling the texture of the bristles as they soaked up the color. Slowly, he brought the brush to the canvas, each stroke hesitant at first, but gradually gaining confidence. With each movement, he began to let go of the fear that had gripped him, channeling his emotions into the painting.

The room seemed to breathe with him as he painted each stroke a release of the tension that had held him captive. Anirudh watched quietly from the side, his heart swelling with pride and relief. In that moment, Aarav's painting room was no longer just a room; it was a place of healing, where the darkness of recent events was slowly being replaced by the colors of resilience and hope.

Anirudh was pacing his room, the phone pressed to his ear. His eyes were fixed on the floor, each step echoing his frustration. "Haan! Nahi, file ghar pe bhej do. Main Aarav se sign karwa lunga," he said, his voice carrying the weight of routine. This was just another day, another document that needed his brother's signature to move forward. He ended the call with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, when he heard her voice.

"Ani," Myra called, her tone holding an unusual mix of curiosity and urgency.

Anirudh turned towards the doorway, finding her standing there. Her eyes were intense, analyzing him in a way that made him uneasy. "Haan," he responded, his voice guarded, trying to gauge what was on her mind.

She stepped further into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The room felt smaller suddenly, the air between them charged with an unspoken tension. Myra moved closer, her gaze never leaving his face. Her eyes held a glimmer of something—was it concern, or was it something darker?

"Ani," she began, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, her touch light but deliberate. "Tum itne saal se business sambhal rahe ho, har decision tum lete ho. Lekin har baar, tumhe Aarav ki sign ki zaroorat hoti hai." Her words flowed smoothly, each one dropping like a stone into a calm pond, creating ripples in his mind.

Anirudh stiffened slightly, sensing where this was going. He opened his mouth to respond, but she continued, cutting him off gently, yet firmly. "Tumhe nahi lagta, Ani, ki ab waqt aa gaya hai ki tum us authority ko apne haath mein lo?"

The room seemed to grow quieter, the silence between them stretching. Anirudh felt a strange heaviness settle in his chest. His eyes flickered away from hers, looking at the papers scattered on his desk, each one a testament to the work he did tirelessly for Aarav Industries. He had been the driving force, the one managing everything behind the scenes, while Aarav remained the face of the company.

"Myra," he said, his voice tense, "yeh baat nahi hai. Tumhara aur mera rishta pyaar ka hai. Business ki responsibilities, yeh sab mere liye... secondary hain." He paused, his eyes now locking with hers, searching for understanding. "Mr. Alok aur unki wife mujhe pasand nahi karte hai, mujhe din raat taane dete hai. Lekin iska matlab yeh nahi ki main apne bhai se nafrat karta hun."

She listened, her expression unreadable, her eyes narrowing slightly. There was a pause, a charged moment where her next words could change everything. "Ani," she said softly, her voice wrapping around his hesitations like a velvet glove. "Main toh bas tumhare haq ki baat kar rahi thi."

Anirudh felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The room felt colder, the warmth that had been between them moments ago replaced by something icy, something calculating. Myra's hand was still on his arm, a gentle weight that belied the impact of her words. "Myra," he replied, his tone firmer now, laced with a mixture of frustration and determination, "Mujhe yeh property, office nahi chahiye. Mujhe ijjat chahiye iss ghar mein."

Myra's eyes flickered, a brief flash of something almost predatory crossing her features before she masked it with a soft smile. "Aur jabtak Aarav ke haath mein signing authority hai," she continued, her voice a whisper that felt like a sharp blade, "Wo tumhe nahi milegi kabhi."

Anirudh stood frozen, her words cutting into him. She was right, in a way that made his skin crawl. It was true that as long as Aarav held the signing authority, Anirudh would always be in the shadows, always the executor of someone else's decisions. Myra's statement was a harsh truth dressed as a suggestion, one that he wasn't prepared to face. Yet, there it was, hanging in the air between them, undeniable and unrelenting.

His mind raced, torn between his loyalty to his brother and the nagging desire for recognition. Myra stepped closer, her proximity intoxicating, her presence a dangerous temptation. She tilted her head, looking up at him through her lashes. "Ani," she murmured, "Tumhare sapne bhi toh honge na? Tumne kabhi socha hai ki tum khud kya chahte ho?"

Anirudh felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice. Below him lay a chasm filled with desires he had buried long ago, desires for respect, authority, and a life where he was more than just the caretaker of his brother's legacy. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His throat felt dry, constricted by the weight of Myra's gaze.

She let go of his arm, taking a step back, her eyes still locked onto his. "Socho, Ani," she whispered, her voice leaving a lingering echo in his mind. "Kya tum yeh zindagi aise hi guzaarna chahte ho?"

With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Anirudh standing there, rooted in place. The door closed behind her, the sound reverberating through the room. Anirudh remained still, staring at the space she had occupied. Inside him, a battle raged, the pull of his desires clashing violently with his loyalty. Myra's words continued to echo in his mind, a haunting reminder of a choice he never thought he would have to make.

Myra entered the dimly lit bedroom, her steps slow and measured as she approached the doorway. Aarav was sitting on the bed, his fingers gently tracing the embossed words of a special book designed for the visually impaired. His lips curved into a soft smile as he read, his face illuminated by a warm, serene contentment that seemed so at odds with the turmoil swirling inside Myra.

She paused, watching him from a distance, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. In the silence, only the rustle of his fingers across the textured page could be heard. Aarav had everything—respect, power, and the family's undivided affection. Yet, it was Anirudh who labored tirelessly behind the scenes, making it all possible. Myra's jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides as her thoughts spiraled. Najayas hai mera Ani har baar yahi sunta hai... She seethed inwardly. Tumhe sab mila hai, Aarav. Mehmat mera Ani karta hai. Wo haq uska hai, aur main usey dungi.

Aarav suddenly stilled, his head lifting slightly as if sensing the change in the room. Though his eyes could not see her, he could feel her presence like a faint warmth at the edge of his awareness. "Myra," he called softly, his voice breaking the quiet. There was a hopeful lilt in his tone, a desire to share his world with her. "Yeh book bahut interesting hai. Sunogi kahani?"

His innocence cut through the tension in the room, a stark contrast to the shadows in Myra's mind. For a moment, she was caught off guard, her expression softening slightly as she watched him, his fingers poised on the page, waiting for her reply.

But then, like a shutter closing, the softness faded from her eyes. "Aarav," she said flatly, her voice devoid of the warmth he might have been expecting. "Abhi nahi. Baad mein."

Aarav's hopeful expression faltered, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he nodded. "Theek hai," he replied quietly, his fingers resuming their slow glide over the page. The room grew silent once more, the momentary connection between them severed by the invisible wall Myra had erected.

Myra turned away, her heart a cauldron of conflicted emotions. As she left the room, her mind was already drifting back to Anirudh, to the life she believed he deserved. Aarav was oblivious to the storm brewing within her, his mind still lost in the words beneath his fingertips, in a story that brought him comfort in his isolated world. But Myra's eyes, sharp and unyielding, were fixed on a future where the balance of power shifted, where Anirudh no longer lived in the shadow of his blind brother.

Aarav set the book aside, its braille pages no longer holding his attention. His attempts to connect with Myra had become a daily exercise in futility. Each effort met with indifference, every attempt to bridge the gap between them brushed off as if it were an inconvenience. In the silence of his own thoughts, a question lingered—Kya Myra ne yeh shaadi apne maa baap ke dabaav mein ki hai? He sighed, feeling the weight of unspoken words press heavily against his chest.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Myra walked in, a glass of milk in her hand. She placed it on the bedside table beside him. "Yeh lo," she said curtly, her tone neutral, as though fulfilling a duty rather than extending a gesture of care. Aarav reached out, his fingers grazing the cool glass before he wrapped his hand around it.

"Thank you," he murmured, offering her a tentative smile. She nodded, her face unreadable. For a moment, they stood there in silence—Aarav searching for the right words, Myra poised to leave as quickly as she had come.

"Myra," he began hesitantly, "ek baat tumse puchu?"

She paused, folding her arms across her chest. "Pucho," she replied, her voice lacking curiosity, more like a formality to hear him out.

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. It was a question that had gnawed at him for some time, but voicing it felt like stepping into a minefield. "Kya tumne mujhse shaadi apne maa baap ke dabaav mein aake ki thi?" he asked, his voice soft yet laden with the vulnerability of his doubts.

The question hit Myra like a sudden gust of wind, leaving her momentarily stunned. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, her composure slipping before she quickly recovered. Anirudh's words echoed in her mind—he had made her swear to never reveal the truth. The truth that they had been in love long before her marriage to Aarav, and that it was Anirudh who had convinced her to marry his brother for sake of Aarav's happiness and the family's reputation. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep her gaze steady.

"Nahi Aarav, aisa nahi hai," she lied smoothly, the practiced ease of her words concealing the storm beneath. "Maine yeh shaadi apne khud ki marzi se ki thi," she added, her voice unwavering, even as her heart pounded with the weight of deception.

Aarav's face softened, a flicker of relief passing over his features. "Thik hai," he said simply, taking her words at face value. His grip tightened slightly on the glass of milk, using it as an anchor against the uncertainty swirling in his mind. He took a sip, his face still bearing traces of the unease that her detached demeanor often left in him.

Myra watched him, her expression carefully neutral. Inside, her emotions were a twisted mess. There was no guilt for the lie, only frustration. Why does he have to ask questions like this? she thought irritably. But she reminded herself of her resolve. The life she envisioned with Anirudh required her to play her part convincingly, at least until the time was right.

Aarav set the glass back down, his eyes, though unseeing, seemed to search the air around him for something he could not name. He wanted to reach out to her, to close the chasm that had formed between them since their marriage, but every attempt felt like grasping at shadows.

Myra turned to leave, pausing briefly at the door. She glanced back at him, her face a mask that betrayed nothing of the thoughts running through her mind. "Soh jao, Aarav. Tumhe aaram ki zaroorat hai," she said, her voice steady, almost mechanical.

He nodded, turning away as she exited the room. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing him in his solitude. Aarav lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind a whirl of questions and doubts. Myra's words echoed in his ears, but they brought him no comfort. He wanted to believe her, to trust in the love they were supposed to have. Yet, the distance he felt was palpable, as real as the darkness that surrounded him every moment of his life.