The dimly lit room resonated with tension, the atmosphere thick and suffocating. Vineet's heart raced, the pulse of anger coursing through his veins akin to a wildfire raging out of control. He trapped Nitya against the cold, unforgiving wall with a grip around her neck that felt like an iron vice. Her wide eyes, brimming with confusion, darted as if searching for answers in a world that had suddenly turned malevolent.

"Bhai nahi hun main tumhara! Aur is galatafehemi mein bhi mat rehna!" His voice echoed with fury, each syllable dripping with venom. Rage contorted his features, twisting them into something unrecognizable. Beneath that anger, a deep-seated hate bubbled, centered unfathomably on Nitya, the girl who now struggled against his grasp.

The pressure around her throat made every breath a desperate battle. As he tightened his hold, his fierce gaze pierced through her, igniting a maelstrom of questions that crashed against the walls of her mind. Did I really deserve this? What sin had I committed to be met with such wrath?

Nitya gasped and gasped again, each inhalation a small slice of agonizing effort. His grip had not only bound her physically, but its psychological weight pressed on her spirit, a relentless reminder of her vulnerability. Desperately, she tried to pry his fingers from her neck, the world blurring at the edges as she fought for air.

"Dobara mujhe apna bhai samajhne ki galti mat karna samjhi tum!" he yelled, a declaration that sent a chill down her spine. Vineet's eyes glowed with a wild intensity, an abyss of fury threatening to swallow them both whole. The very notion of brotherhood twisted grotesquely in their shared reality.

As suddenly as he had seized her, he released her, but not before her body crumpled in relief against the wall. She coughed violently, sputtering air into her lungs, trying to reclaim what he had almost stolen away. Yet, the reprieve was fleeting. With a sharp motion, Vineet grabbed her by the arm again and thrust her back against the wall, an indignant snarl echoing on his lips.

"Court ne tumhein mere nazron ke saamne rakhne ka order deke thik nahi kiya," he hissed, his dark rage a palpable thing that saturated the air.

Nitya's heart raced not from the physical threat but from the kaleidoscope of confusion whirling in her mind.

"Tumne kya socha, meri zindagi narak banake..." His words crashed over her like waves, drowning her in despair. "...mujhe mere maa baap se alag karke tum khushi khushi mere saamne rahogi?" At that moment, Nitya shook her head, the entirety of her being screaming for clarity.

"Meri kya galti hai..." Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper, the innocence woven into her plea hanging thick in the charged air.

But Vineet was unmoved; his rage smothered the flickering flame of her hope. "Ek ek din tumhara narak bana dunga... aur shaadi vo tumhari hone se rahi... just wait and watch," he spat, leaving her with a final dismissive glance that was more terrifying than the act itself. As he turned and stormed away, Nitya felt her heart sink, shadows clawing at the edges of her psyche.

With an agonized breath, Nitya slid down the wall, collapsing onto the ground, helplessly small in the wake of the storm that had just engulfed her. She probed the depths of her memory, desperate to find the thread of her "fault," only to find nothing but an echoing void. The court's ruling, their forced proximity—none of it was her desire. She felt like an unwilling pawn in a game set up by fates beyond her comprehension.

Vineet stormed into his room, the door slamming behind him with a deafening thud. The tension in his chest constricted like a vice, anger boiling over, relentless. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out every other sound as memories from his childhood flooded his mind, uninvited and brutal.

He collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his fists clenched, his jaw tight as images of his father, Ranjeet, and that night flashed before his eyes. He had been young—too young to fully understand, yet old enough to feel the weight of betrayal.

The dim light in the hallway had barely illuminated his father as he spoke in a hushed but determined voice to Jyoti, Nitya's mother. "Main tumse pyaar karta hoon, Jyoti," Ranjeet had said, his voice carrying the kind of tenderness that Vineet had never seen him use with his own mother, Prabha. The tenderness that had been absent in their home, where Prabha lived like a ghost, her silent suffering unnoticed by anyone but Vineet.

"Main kabhi Prabha ke saath khush nahi tha," Ranjeet had confessed to Jyoti. "Tum meri zindagi ka sach ho."

Vineet's breath caught in his throat. He could still hear his father's words, echoing in the dark corners of his mind. His father had loved Jyoti, not Prabha. And when Jyoti became pregnant with Nitya, Ranjeet had married her, while still being married to Prabha. The shame and disgust Vineet felt toward his father resurfaced like a dormant beast awakened by his rage.

Every day after that, Vineet had watched Prabha silently fade into the background, overshadowed by the presence of Jyoti and her unborn child. Ranjeet had lavished love and attention on Jyoti, making it clear where his heart truly lay. Vineet had grown up in the shadow of that fractured love, watching his father smile for Jyoti and scowl in indifference for Prabha.

The anger coursed through him, bitter and unforgiving. His mother had endured it all without a word. She had stayed, watched, and suffered in silence, loving Vineet with whatever remained of her broken heart.

And now, Nitya—the child of the woman his father had loved—stood before him, a constant reminder of everything Vineet had lost. She was the embodiment of the life his father had chosen, the life that had ripped his own mother apart. She was the proof that his father had always cared more for Jyoti than he ever did for Prabha.

He gritted his teeth, standing up abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. His mind reeled, flashes of that broken family dynamic tearing through him. Ranjeet's affection for Jyoti had never wavered, and that had only made Prabha's pain more unbearable. Vineet remembered the nights he'd seen his mother cry alone, the anguish written across her face, a silent testimony to Ranjeet's betrayal.

Ranjeet hadn't just cheated on his mother; he'd destroyed her spirit. And Vineet had been forced to watch, powerless, as his mother withered away under the weight of his father's lies.

"Why did he choose her?" Vineet spat, his voice thick with resentment. "Why did he ruin everything for her?" His fists pounded against the wall, the pain barely registering as he wrestled with his memories.

He stopped, his chest heaving with the intensity of his emotions, staring blankly at the cracked mirror. His own reflection seemed to mock him—an older version of the boy who had been forced to grow up too quickly, burdened with the knowledge of his father's betrayal and his mother's suffering.

And now, the daughter of that woman—Jyoti's daughter—was here, forced into his life, unwillingly tied to him by fate. Nitya had been born from the very affair that had shattered his family. She wasn't just a reminder; she was the living embodiment of everything Vineet had lost.

"Tumne meri maa se sab kuch chheen liya," he muttered under his breath, hatred seeping through his words. "Aur ab tum mere saath jeene chali ho?" His chest tightened with every thought, every memory of how his father had chosen love for Jyoti, while Prabha had been left with nothing but the burden of duty.

Vineet couldn't look at Nitya without seeing Jyoti. He couldn't separate them in his mind. Jyoti, who had stolen Ranjeet's heart and left Prabha with nothing but pain. Jyoti, who had taken his father's love and left his mother to wither away in silence. And now Nitya stood as a reminder of that theft, that betrayal, that lifelong wound.

But deep inside, beneath the layers of anger, Vineet knew—this wasn't Nitya's fault. It wasn't her doing, yet the hurt, the memories, the anguish—they were all tied to her in his mind. She was the product of the life his father had chosen over his own, and no matter how much he wanted to separate it, he couldn't.

He punched the wall again, harder this time, feeling the sting in his knuckles. But the pain didn't calm him. It only reminded him that some scars never heal.