The cameras stopped panning. Faajal could only hear her rush of breaths. The spirit ebbed away, leaving the sting of her soles and the tang of metal in her nose. The ground beneath was moist with crimson. With the music gone, the reality of her injuries knocked her down. But, she cherished every second of the dance. It felt as if a mountain was lifted from her shoulders.

Her toes curled in pain. Her ghungroo chimed—a lone bell. Footsteps resounded. A blurred figure was rushing towards her. He cut through the dazed quietude, glass crunching under his steps. His deliberate hands didn't grab her; they gathered her. Faajal's knees buckled. She let her feet slide away. Her hips thumped on the cold floor. Her body, drained of all undauntedness, surrendered to his touch. The searing ail in her feet was a feeble sensation against his chest. "Your feet." He whispered, his tone deep with unsaid emotions. His heart thudded against her cheek. Comfort splayed through her—a reprieve she had longed for. "The camera is still on. Let them see. I can do this." She purred at the still-running camera, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but alive with victory.

The fans at the throne's both sides dropped on the floor and shattered. Suleiman arose from his throne, tromping his foot on the floor. Mahtab wore a dignified smile on his face. "Yeh tareeb-e-khwab mohabbat, yeh raqs, yeh bandaaz-e-bayam...Yeh akeen hamare inaam me mustaq hain." [This intoxicating dream of love, this dance, this graceful manner of expression...This certainty is destined for my reward.]

Mahtab snickered, taunting confidence radiated from him. "Zahe naseeb hain shehzadi ka. Zil-e-ilahi ke farah kali yeh hi ummeed thi." [What an honour for the princess. This joy of the Shadow of God was the very hope I cherished.]

Mahtab stood up and countered Suleiman with his daring gaze. Suleiman barked, "Darogah! Iss bebah khanooni ko le jao aur qaid khane ke andhere mein daafa kardo!" [Guard! Take this lawless traitor away and cast him into the darkness of the dungeon!]

Mahtab looked at Nurjahan, content tears filling his eyelids. A guard marched and tugged his arm. He shrugged it off and gave Suleiman a salam. Then, with a towering spine, he returned to the gloom of the dungeons.

Yusuf gazed at her one last time before walking away. An edge of his lips was mildly quirked up. 

Courtesians quietly walked away from the darbar hall. Nurjahan rumbled, "Mahtab qaid khane mein chala gaya, aur main dekhti rahi." [Mahtab was taken to the dungeon, and I could only watch.]

"Aur tum kar bhi kya sakte the?" [What could you have done?]

"Aaj, zil-e-ilahi ko apne zulm aur mere jigar ki qadr karni hogi." [Today, the Shadow of God must recognize both his tyranny and the worth of my heart.]

"Khuda ne humko apke paas bheja hain har shaqs ke rehmati keliye. Agar hum saasein hain toh aap hain dadhkan-e-dil." [God has sent me to you for the protection of every soul. If I am the breath, then you are the heartbeat.]

"Meri zindagi aapke duaon ka karsa hain jo abh mujhe apni ansoon se aada karne paregi." [My life is the result of your prayers, which now I must repay with my own tears.]

Suleiman roared, "Nujahan! Mahtab tumahare kabil nahi!" [Nurjahan! Mahtab is not capable of you!]

Nurjahan crawled to Suleiman's feet. "Ekbaar mujhe apna ladli beti samjhke meri yeh arzoon ki hisab kijiye! Sochiye main Hindustan ki shehzadi nahi, appki beti hu!" [Once, consider me your beloved daughter and reckon with the desires of my heart! Imagine that I am not the  princess of Hindustan, but your own child!]

"Nurjahan! Main apne usulein ke gulam hoon! Hindustan keliye, tujhe badalna hoga!" [Nurjahan! I am a servant of my principles! For the sake of Hindustan, you must change!]

Suleiman stormed away from the darbar hall. Nurjahan was left alone in the disarray of glass and blood.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Faajal shoved her teeth into her knuckles as Gurbani changed her bandages. She wanted to cry out, but her dignity forbade her. The deed she bled for was for the sake of her love—the love she could withstand hell for.

Gurbani grabbed a roll of gauze. She pressed balls of cotton on the gashes and wrapped gauze around them. "How will you shoot tomorrow?"

"If I can endure separations, can't I do this mere thing?" Faajal said. Her mind replayed the memories of his embrace. The tenderness of his arms, the warmth of his breath, the tune of his heart—these still lingered to her, loosening the tangle of her miseries.

The way he looked at her during the dance, the unmasked wonder in his expression, the glints of unreadable sentiment—she could sell her soul for them.

Gurbani left. Ravinder's growls hit the room. He was bickering with Deshmukh again. To Faajal's pity, Deshmukh's situation was rueful. He should not have taken Ravinder's side when the evidence was against them.

Faajal limped to the balcony. Tiny moans rumbled from her throat. The moon was mirrored on the white tiles. She sat on the cool floor. Dim clouds crossed the distant orb. Her lashes hooded over her eyes. She kept her chin on the hollow between her knees. "O moon," She whispered at the sky. "Go to him, and tell him how much I love him. Tell him how much I miss him."

Stars gleamed. People said, 'Our loved ones become stars after passing.' Their baby must be among them, watching and blinking over the universe.

I will love Faajal until I die.

"I know, I know, I still have a place in your heart," Faajal told the empty air. "And, we will reunite. We will have our old times back." He would sprinkle her with his radiant smiles again, and she would hold him like there was no tomorrow.

Night stroked her hair with its soothing gales. The heavenly pearl was now in Faajal's irises, reciting a lulling nostalgia.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The moon finished its full cycle of waxing and waning for a month. Each night, it accompanied Faajal's loneliness. Her wounds had become scars, her pain a dull ache, and the days had settled into a new, quiet rhythm.

The familiar distance between her and Yusuf had returned. He seldom spoke with anyone in the studio, let alone Faajal. Each day she attended the shooting, his frame grew wearier and wanner as if some unknown enemy was eating away his life. Often, painful coughs raked through him—every time louder than before.

One day, Faajal had caught a thin line of blood on the grooves of his lips. The moment she had laid her eyes on him, he had instantly spun back and wiped his lips. Those iron chains had done enough damage to him.

Today was the final day of the hearing. Ravinder hadn't slept for a second last night. He and Deshmukh spent hours gathering false papers. Film magazines had been brimming with hyped questions and assumptions that tacitly suggested Karan Mishra's win.

Ravinder sat in the front seat, his head low. Faajal bounced her feet constantly, biting her inner cheek. Whatever might come, she was prepared for it. She would not flinch even the slightest bit. Mild sighs escaped her mouth.

The car screeched to a halt before the court. Today, Ravinder didn't urge her to disembark. Instead, he nibbled on a hangnail.

Faajal summoned the courage and opened the car door, ready to face the curious world. Flashes and questions rained over her. She buried her bitterness with a smile at the journalists, saying, "Let's see today."

Justice Rao struck the gavel. "The counsel may proceed."

Deshmukh stood up. "My Lord," He began with a weary breath. Purple puffs hung below his eyes. "I have gathered verbal admissions of actors and actresses who have worked with Mr Mishra previously. I would like to present them to you."

"Proceed." Justice Rao took the papers from Deshmukh. His keen eyes assessed the papers under his gold-rimmed glasses.

"As you can see, Mishra's excessive strictness has earned him a not-so-good reputation among artistes. He has been accused of rudeness by some. A record shows that he sued Filmistan for a trifling matter of budget. Now, My Lord, how do you expect Mishra to be blameless in this issue?" Deshmukh sulked at Karan Mishra's lawyer. "No one can clap with one hand."

"Even if Faajal Kaur seems to breach the regulations, Mishra has no less a hand in crossing protocols." Deshmukh stepped forward, facing Justice Rao. "Respect is a man's greatest jewellery. And, Karan Mishra didn't show it even a bit to my client."

Karan Mishra's lawyer snickered. "I wonder how many bills were given to those celebrities who claim such."

"Silence, please!" Justice Rao asserted. "Advocate Deshmukh, proceed."

"Yes, My Lord, now, I would like to–"

Karan Mishra's lawyer pitched up. "I would like to call someone experienced in the film industry who can provide us with clear implications. I would like to summon Ashok Kumar!"

Silence rippled through the hall. Faajal looked at the benches around Karan Mishra. Her throat tightened. Ashok Kumar had not been present in the previous hearings. With him being on Karan Mishra's side, their state would be far from worse.

Deshmukh wove his fingers together. Ashok Kumar arose, his face stoic. He strode to the witness stand and uttered his vows.

Karan Mishra's lawyer smiled, clapping his palms together. "Mr Ashok Kumar, what do you know about Karan Mishra?"

Ashok Kumar glanced at Karan Mishra, his jaw set sharp. "I have worked with Karan." His voice carried more weight than any paper evidence. "He is strict, yes. Ruthless at times. But never unjust. He is a man who never compromises with money. All he wants from his artists is rendition. The monetary transactions he makes are purely out of his passion for cinema."

Deshmukh charged, "You have met Faajal Kaur and her father before. You have witnessed their attitude. Do you find any falsehood in their conduct?"

Faajal and Ashok Kumar had always been on good terms. She seldom knew about Ravinder's impression, though. If Ashok Kumar chose to go against, it would be clearly for Ravinder.

Ashok Kumar curled his mouth, staring down. His fingers tapped the wooden railing. "Faajal Kaur is a dedicated artist, for sure." His gaze landed on Faajal. "She behaves well with each crew member. Treats everyone with respect. And, she takes her craft seriously." He scrunched a brow. "As for her father, I don't know much about him except that he is dour with executives sometimes."

"Thank you, Mr Kumar." Karan Mishra's lawyer inclined his head.

Deshmukh slumped on his chair; his features sagged. Ravinder fisted his fingers on his knee, sweating profusely. Even Mehboob Khan went expressionless.

Justice Rao clicked his pen. "Do you have any further evidence before we conclude the case?"

"My Lord, here is the evidence of the malice this case was built on." Karan Mishra's lawyer pointed at the reel-to-reel tape recorder brought to his bench. Justice Rao scrunched his brows, stark incredulity evident on his face. "A phone call?"

Karan Mishra's lawyer nodded. "Yes. Dated 12th June."

"Play it aloud." Justice Rao mentioned.

Karan Mishra's lawyer flashed a wide smile. "Here is the phone call from Ravinder Singh to my client." He ended with a dramatic note.

Ravinder was trembling. His neckbones visibly floated now.

"Let me play it aloud!" The lawyer switched on the recorder. "Listen, Mishra! If you don't withdraw the accusations, you will have your reputation tarnished! I will make sure you rot in the streets and beg under my feet!" Ravinder's recorded voice boomed.

Karan Mishra's lawyer lifted his hand in a victorious wave. "My Lord! I hope it speaks more than enough!"

Chill seeped into Faajal's skin. The hairs on her nape electrified. Her teeth crashed into each other.

Justice Rao wrote on the paper laid before him, his countenance pensive as if scaling each word and evidence.

Deshmukh sprang to his feet, voice edged with scorn. "My Lord, this proves nothing! A voice can be imitated. Could it not have been schemed by some assistant, perhaps even under duress?" He paced a step closer to the bench, hand slicing the air. "I caution the court against accepting this at face value." He darted a finger at Karan Mishra's lawyer.

"Behave yourself, advocate Deshmukh!" The judge announced. Deshmukh gritted his teeth in panic. The impending doom robbed him of his esteem.

"My Lord, people can lie for selfish needs, but recorders would not. Not everything can be manipulated by money. This recording is the proof!" Karan Mishra's lawyer hollered, patting the recorder.

Hushed murmurs and acknowledging looks were exchanged throughout the court. Ravinder had nearly collapsed in his seat if not for Mehboob Khan's anchor. Faajal didn't dare look up. Shame coloured her cheeks. The case was close to its conclusion, just as she had wanted. But, it was ending with her reputation blemished. Her name was permanently tied to scandal.

For a span of a beat, no one moved. Only the scratching of Justice Rao's pen wandered the chamber. Silence leaned on like a curtain.

The gavel fell with a resounding thump. "Having considered all testimony and documentary evidence, this court finds that Ravinder Singh and Miss Faajal Kaur breached the contractual terms regarding the advance payment. Consequently, Miss Faajal Kaur is ordered to pay a monetary penalty of 50 thousand rupees to Mr Karan Mishra. In addition, the court requires a public apology to be delivered in writing and read in all relevant film industry circles, acknowledging the breach and any reputational damage caused. If not followed accordingly, both Faajal Kaur and Ravinder Singh will be sentenced to civil incarceration."

Justice Rao pivoted his gaze to Faajal. "Miss Kaur, how do you plead?"

Faajal parted her mouth, but no sound formed. How would she respond if she didn't feel anything about the case? Neither had she won nor had she been defeated. But sending a public apology letter churned her nerves. To admit guilt for something she had not done meant stripping away the reputation she had fought so hard to build.

Everyone set their focus on her, on her answer. Karan Mishra was stuck between triumph and pity, his conceited smile faltering.

"My Lord," A deep voice punctured the quietness. Heads tilted at once.

Yusuf stood, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture unwavering. "As we got to know, Faajal Kaur's father was responsible, not Faajal Kaur herself. This case sought justice, and justice has been served." His cool tone carried through the gallery, every word deliberate.

"The monetary penalty is fine. But a public apology—" he paused, letting the words rebound in the room, "It would only repeat the reputational harm already inflicted upon her. Her reputation is hard-won, and justice should not stain it for another's fault."

Faajal's breath caught. She had braced herself to bow her head, to relinquish to the court's will. Heat swelled behind her eyes. She lowered her lashes to veil the mix of fear and relief coursing through her. Her nails shoved into her kameez.

Yusuf's words still lingered in the air, banishing her shame. He might have stopped speaking to her, but it was his voice that shielded her today.

The gavel dropped with finality. "Very well. In that case, Miss Kaur will be spared the public apology. The monetary penalty must be honoured. The court accepts this arrangement."

Justice Rao's expression softened. "Case concluded."

For a heartbeat, hollow silence fled court room no.3, flustered glances only scouring around. Ravinder went slack, his body drained of colour. Mehboob Khan placed a reassuring hand on his back, but in vain.

Truth won. Bollywood's most famed legal drama ended. But the drama didn't matter to Faajal as much as her rangrez's utterances.

She trailed out from Bombay Presidential Court with a numb mind and a quiet conviction. Some columnists questioned Yusuf and her embittered relationship, some probed about their future. She moved past them and zoomed to the comfort of home. Mehboob Khan's car followed after.

Ravinder kicked open the door and stormed inside. "LIES! ALL LIES! IT'S...ALL...OVER!" He flung away a flower vase from a side table.

Faajal and Mehboob Khan entered together. Mehboob Khan was perplexed, fret wiggling his brows. A vexed sigh emerged from his nose.

Faajal gritted her teeth to restrain the scorn forming in her throat for Ravinder. She walked past her so-called father and made her way upstairs.

"YOU! YOU TOLD ME DESHMUKH COULD TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING!" Ravinder darted a finger at Mehboob Khan, his yells thundering through the bungalow.

Faajal stalled her tread and peeked downstairs. Ravinder was fuming at Mehboob Khan's stubby face. "Look at Mishra, now! I should have looked for a lawyer myself!" He tugged the roots of his hair.

Mehboob Khan's countenance creased into a spiteful look. His lips bent downwards. "You commit crimes, you become reckless, you file a case, and now you blame me? Can a person get any more ungrateful?!" Contempt sprang from his mouth. He stretched his eyes wide. "I should not have supported you in the first place, such a man you are!"

"I didn't get my hands on you first!" Ravinder spat, bolting forward.

Faajal strode down the stairs and stopped between them. Ravinder's instincts could not be trusted.

"That boy, that Yusuf, would not have testified against me if you weren't there!" Ravinder bit out, balling his fingers into fists.

Mehboob Khan stepped forward, his eyes bloodshot. Faajal held back Ravinder before anything regrettable surfaced. "Mr Khan, please, leave. He is just distraught. Please, leave now!"

"Your downfall is certain if you live with this man! I tell you!" Mehbbob Khan cried, crossing the threshold. "This man will destroy himself one day!"

"You watch your own business, Mehboob Khan!" Ravinder roared, punching the air. "The court case! The damn court case!" He stomped the floor.

"Baba, stop!" Faajal dared shout. Ravinder stared at her, as if the earth beneath him was hauled away.

"For once in life, please stop! How can you blame it on Mehboob Khan when the whole idea was yours? I warned you before. Money can't do everything for you!"

"Deshmukh–" Ravinder's mouth drew apart.

Faajal scrunched her nose in resentment. "Don't you blame him, too! How could he present the evidence against Mishra when everything was against us? What would have happened if you had returned the money? At least, I would not have gotten this stain on my image!"

Ravinder slammed the side table. "I told you not to put your nose–"

"Then, get ready to live in garages again!" Faajal said sharply and drifted to her room. The air downstairs still tasted of her bitter truth.

She shut her bedroom door and flopped on her bed. The softness of her mattress welcomed her dearly. Her chiffon dupatta fanned over her middle.

Her thumb stroked the silver churi on her wrist—the testament of their engagement. The rubies and sapphires still glimmered like when this bangle had slid into her hand.

She rested her lips on the metal piece, her throat burning. The way Yusuf's health was declining, if something terrible took over, she would forgive neither Yusuf nor herself. His breathing in shallow puffs, his anaemic face, his purple lips—these screamed an alarm he was either willingly ignoring or was afraid to confront. Yusuf was too good at making excuses, at hiding important matters.

He had a hole in his heart—the very heart that once beaconed hers. She could not let time slip by until an irreversible consequence occurred, something she would not want to repent for.

But, how would she approach him? Simple eye contact was an effort now. They rarely shared gazes, let alone talked. It seemed as if her old days had reawakened. The once-dispelled shadows had enveloped her world again.

Her eyes moistened. The sight of the ceiling softened in her eyes. The last letter he had sent her was almost 2 months ago. Should she try to rekindle the old ritual? The chances of his response were slim. But, she could not forgo so easily.

She tiptoed to the backyard of the bungalow. Lush green leaves were limned with silver light, as the plant stems bobbed. Faajal plucked a handful of chamelis and poured them in her dupatta.

Reaching the bedroom, she fetched a paper and a fountain pen. She kept the fresh chamelis on the table and grasped the pen between her fingertips. Ice soaked into her bones. But, she had to do this. She had to mend the connection once again.

The nib of the pen sank into the paper, but words didn't ensue. She squeezed her eyes shut to hear her own pulse, to translate her heartbeats onto the paper.

The nib nearly pierced a hole in the paper, ink leaking from it. Breaths passed. Faajal unlatched her eyelids and made the first streak.

I don't know if it has reached you or not. I don't know if my words even bear a value to you. I don't know if I mean anything to you after that nigh I am living or not. Within these days and nights, only the flesh pounding inside my ribs reminds me of life. How a single event can alter fates and lives!

I don't know how to win over you again. I don't have the words to soothe your pain when I am drowning in them myself. I grope for that smile everyday that had been my nectar once. But, what I find is hazy memories, memories I have bottled in my soul, Yusuf. Remember the promises we made? The vows of forever and together. I am living on them.

The silence, the despair, the distance—what are we doing these for? For a stubborn pain that has become a past or for our future to perish in regret? Can a journey of 16 years die within a single night? If either of us don't open our eyes tomorrow, the world will move on. But, the loss of a future together would sting unbearably.

If you still wear the ring, I await your answer. Answer about the love we have created over the years.

Faajal dropped the pen and folded the letter with jolting hands. She tucked the letter in an envelope and placed it aside. Rummaging in her cupboards, she grabbed a needle and thread, and switched on the lamp by the table.

A circle of amber light shaded the table. Faajal picked a young bud of chameli and pulled the needle through its centre. One by one, the small flowers were strung into a band. The sweet scent of chameli coated the air.

She ran her fingertips over the fragile petals and gently kept the band inside the envelope. Her hands brought the envelope to her heart. It can't end like this.

She imagined the flower band on his wrist, him toying with it while reading her letter. Tears flowing down his cheeks while a starlit smile blazed on his lips. Him coming back to her and holding her hand one more time.

Her gaze soared to the sky. Stars of different sizes danced millions of miles afar. "Hey little one, thank you for the hope." She lifted a corner of her lip. The next day, she sent the letter through a staff member in the studio.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

When Faajal was revising her lines, Feroz emerged. "Have you seen the news today?" He stood in front of her, expressionless.

Faajal stared at him, setting her script on her lap. "No. Is something wrong?"

Feroz handed her a magazine. Faajal laid her eyes on the first article.

With the release of 'Half Ticket', Rajan Saxena smashes the milestone of completing a total of 60 movies—the second star to accomplish such after Ashok Kumar. Although his star power can rival Hollywood's Reuben Wallace, the box office of his new release seems oddly slim. Our beloved dreamboat appears pale and weary most of the time now. According to noted producer Mehboob Khan, Rajan is said to have a rare heart condition called 'VSD'. This issue led 2 production companies to cancel their deals with him.

Will India's Haley's Comet be able to win over this disease and reclaim his crown?

Faajal drew in a low gasp. Her eyes bulged in realization. "Mehboob Khan?"

Feroz nodded, chewing his lip. "Yusuf hasn't spoken a single word to me this morning."

"Why is Mehboob Khan behind Yusuf? He has countless other famous actors under his grasp." Faajal exclaimed, tossing the magazine.

"I don't know, Faajal. I don't know. These people want to kill Yusuf." Feroz shut his eyes. "Mehboob wants to seek revenge."

"On a man whose life is much more uncertain than his career?"

Feroz dragged a chair across her and sat. "How I tell him to slow down! He is signing contracts after contracts. His doctor warned me personally about his condition. Just last Thursday, he vomited blood and fainted in his garden." Feroz massaged his temple.

Ice washed over Faajal. She cracked her knuckles, her tone dour. "The contract termination. I had told him not to do it." In case Feroz would mind, she quickly added, "Not yet. Sunset is still hinging on this film."

"Yes." Feroz shook his head with fierce resolve, his jaw tight. "And, I will prove to Mehboob Khan that this isn't my folly. This is art. For me, for Yusuf, for you, for everyone working with us. Imagine Yusuf's reaction once people remove the typecast tag from him?" Feroz's look sparked with conviction.

Faajal half-smiled, amazed at the director's ambition. "Feroz,"

The middle-aged man turned to her. He had beheld their rise and fall. He had partaken in the greatest scandals surrounding them. He had become more than a director. He had become a friend Faajal had not expected.

"You will make it."

Feroz blushed, hesitating. "But, I have also caused pain to–"

"We willingly took it."

Amused mirth fled Feroz's expression. "Thank you. A big star like you is saying this to a rising filmmaker."

Faajal shrugged with lighthearted indifference. "I am a human above all."

"And, a powerful lady." Feroz hissed in awe. "Anyways, have you finished packing for Jodhpur?" He stood up, making his way out.

"Almost." Faajal took back her script.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

For 2 weeks, Faajal awaited Yusuf's response while completing her other shootings. She checked the mail box every day. No letter greeted her save for Chanchal's mail. She was expecting once again and was 7 months along. Pran presumably pined for a little girl now, having 2 naughty boys he called 'rascals.'

Faajal felt joy for the younger sister who had once aided in her relationship. But a thread of sorrow haunted her, too. She would have been almost 5 months pregnant by now.

Faajal checked the luggage she was carrying to Jodhpur. 4 days later, her flight would sail to the city of forts. She would have to spend an entire month there to film the battle scenes of Deewar-e-ishq, and Ravinder was going, of course.

"Hey, di." Meher bounced through Faajal's room and slumped beside her sister. "I heard it's hot in Jodhpur. Over 45 degrees!"

Faajal patted her luggage. "Yeah, I will have to wear metal armour all day long. Do you know we are having 8 thousand real soldiers involved in this scene?" Meher's jaw gaped as she straightened up.

"Take care of ma, okay? Faajal flashed a sad smile.

Meher gave a sincere nod. "Don't you worry, Faajal di."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"You can go on with the middle scenes. It will take me 3 weeks to return. You can get a double for the long shots, if you are in a hurry." Faajal suggested to the producer of one of her other projects. "And, for any further inquiries, my agent Kumar is always ready."

"No, Madhu. No one other than you. We will manage." The producer said.

Faajal bade farewell and left the producer's office, praying her other 2 projects didn't raise perils in her absence.

She boarded her car. "Shankar dada, let's go." She surveyed her watch. "Oh no, it's half past eight. Sorry for the delay, dada."

"No problem, mam sahab." The driver ignited the engine. "By the way, your elder sister has come home."

"Who? Saira di or Harleen di?"

"Saira, mam sahab. Your mother suddenly called me to pick your sister from her in-laws' house." Shankar dada turned to the left.

Faajal slightly leaned forward. "Has baba come yet?"

"No, your baba said he would not reach home before eleven."

"Oh. Dada, can you drive fast?" Saira's sudden appearance spawned suspicion in Faajal. 

Shankar dada boosted the gear. The car zoomed through the asphalt roads.

"Ma? Meher?" Faajal paced into the bungalow. Silence answered her. "Ma!" She strode upstairs.

"He killed my baby!" Saira's scream pitched from Meher's room. Faajal barged through the door to find Gurbani huddling Saira while Saira heaved painful sobs. Meher stood a few steps away with a glass of water in her hand.

Faajal bolted past Meher, dropping her purse on the floor. No matter what Saira had done to her, they were still bound by blood. "Saira di? Look at me." She gathered Saira into an embrace, kneeling before her. "Are you okay?"

Saira shot her a fierce glare, her chin steeling. "Faajal, never listen to our damn father!" Her command cut through the sniffs, low yet strong. Her eyes were red and swollen. "My child...Faajal, my child!"

"What? What happened to Veer?"

Saira's breath stilled. Her pupils grew wide. "Veer is dead."

The 3 words plunged like stones into the hush of the room. Faajal slowly retracted her arms, her mind frozen to form a coherent reply. The heat of her body suddenly disappeared, as if heaps of snow were on her shoulders. Veer, her 5-year-old nephew.

"How?" Faajal choked out a rough whisper, thumping on the floor.

Saira curled her knees to her chest, her voice dangerously flat. "Last evening, that drunkard left the back door open. My son was playing by the door. Suddenly..." Saira drew a shuddering breath. "I heard a-a-crash and...Veer's cry-cry." Red scorched her nose tip. "And, then, I saw, my son ble-bleeding...He was gone..." Her words trailed away. She melted into tears again.

Faajal sat in front of her, motionless. Horror engulfed her senses until she could not twitch a single limb. Her lungs felt like iron, closing her breath. She kept staring at Saira's devastated state.

"If Ravinder didn't force me to marry that drunkard! My son!" Saira panted on Gurbani's shoulder. "My father only saw the wealth my drunkard husband had...not his deeds. He used to beat me every night. I accepted it. His parents used to work me to death. I accepted it. But, my precious little child–" Saira's nails raked through Gurbani's skin as she tried to stifle another bawl.

Faajal cast her gaze on Meher, who shed silent tears. "Saira di left that house after Veer's cremation." She managed to murmur a second after.

"Ravinder," Saira fought for breath. "He will come. I am sure my in-laws have twisted the thing and filled his ears. He will compel me to return to that shithole!" She clutched Faajal's wrist. "Faajal, promise one thing! Marry the man you love. Marry Yusuf before time slips! He is the best man you will ever find!" 

Faajal did nothing but give a single nod.

The clock faintly ticked. Gurbani caressed her back. "No, no. You calm down, Saira. Eat something."

"How can I eat? How do you tell me to eat when my son is–" Saira shook her head. "You won't understand, ma. You haven't lost a child!"

"You have to live, Saira!" Gurbani begged.

"I don't want to!" Saira shrugged off Gurbani's hand.

Faajal recovered her mind. "Do not leave her side, Meher." She commanded Meher, rigid with cold fury and hatred.

The grandfather clock in the living room knelled thrice. It sounded akin to an inkling of doom. 11 pm had struck the clock.

Gurbani flinched at the sound and looked at Faajal. Terror imbued her expression. "He is here, Faajal." She hissed urgently.

Faajal walked in front of Meher's room. "Act normal."

The mild rumble of a car came their way. A minute passed. The main gate screeched open. "Why is it so dark? Is everyone dead here?" Ravinder's icy voice broke the quietness.

Faajal felt her heart twinge. But, she calmly descended the stairs and stopped when 3 steps were left.

"There you are." Ravinder hissed, his eyes dark. "Where's that bitch?"

"She is your daughter, baba," Faajal replied with equal coldness, her face bland.

Ravinder marched up the stairs, ignoring Faajal. "I don't give a damn!" He smouldered with sick disgust.

"Baba, you won't say a single word to her! She has no fault in this!" Faajal followed him on her toes.

He kicked the door of Meher's room. Saira and Meher shot up. Saira fixed Ravinder with a venomous glower, her eyes bloodshot and puffed. Meher shivered beside her, slowly reeling away.

Ravinder beckoned her with a crooked finger. "Pack your bags. You are going back."

"No!"

Ravinder took seconds to register it. "What did you say?"

Saira moved an inch forward. "No."

Ravinder's palm pounced on her elbow and wrung it. "I am not taking your responsibility again. You're just a burden!" He grunted through his teeth. "Come on, pack your bags."

"I am not going back." Saira threw off his hand, her spine tall. "My son was killed by that drunkard. I am not going back to him."

"Your mouth works too much, bitch. I had to get ashamed for your deeds in that house! Your mother-in-law has told me everything!"

"Please, we shall discuss later. Let Saira be stable for now." Gurbani clasped her hands together.

Saira spurted, "What? Has she told you how her son beat me every day? Has she told you how I worked day and night with a child in my womb? Has she told you the mental and physical abuse I went through?

Ravinder grabbed her arm and began dragging her out. "Every marriage has its ups and downs, you idiot! I don't care about your complaints! I don't give a damn if you want to stay or not. Out of the house!"

"Baba, don't!" Faajal blocked his path, her body jolting with anger. "Not this time! You have done enough. And, the house runs on my money. So, don't you dare call her a burden!" Saira might have been embittered towards Faajal, but she was a sufferer too.

Ravinder's breath hitched. "Don't you bring yourself into this! Didn't this fool try to ruin your relationship with that dying boy?

"I forgot nothing." Faajal asserted, standing like a righteous wall. "But, I have morals. She is my sister." She tilted her gaze to Saira. "My own blood."

Ravinder filled his chest with a large breath. Red simmered on his face. "Move aside."

"Please, don't do this to my daughter." Gurbani wept, holding Ravinder's shoulder. "I would do anything for you. Just let her stay here!"

"You shut up." Ravinder scrunched his nose at Gurbani and continued hauling Saira until they reached the staircase. Saira fought back; her nails nicked his forearm. She tried to keep her feet rooted to the ground, but Ravinder's vigour was invincible. "All you ever think of is money and power, Ravinder Singh! You are a monster! You don't care about life!" Saira thrashed against his hold. "YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR SINS!"

"Baba, for Waheguru's sake, listen for once—" Faajal roared, pacing behind Ravinder. 

Ravinder seized a massive candlestick from a nearby corner and, in a split second, he hurled it at Saira's head. The metal piece crashed on the back of her head with a sickening crunch.

The world suspended. Faajal lunged forward to catch Saira. But, she had no chance.

Saira pitched backwards. Her frame rolled down the flight of stairs. Her head roughly thudded against each step.

At the foot of the stairway, a body rested, utterly still. A pool of crimson gleamed below its head.

Faajal first looked at her father, then at Saira. Then again, she looked at the monster who was no longer her father.

Saira could not wait for dawn. In the cruel night, her life was stolen away and she followed her son's path. Faajal mourned for the sister who had once conspired against her.