Around them, the family glowed with joy, as if Diwali had come to the house once more. Smiles bloomed openly; a festival of relief was being celebrated. And indeed, this time the real Diwali had felt dim. There had been lamps and light, yet the heart remained untouched by brightness. Firecrackers had sounded, but within, a profound silence had lingered.
Today, the victory of justice had lent colour to that fadedness. Kavya knew that every happiness is shared, but every sorrow is deeply personal. The family could feel relief, society could rejoice, yet Arjun, he was perhaps still wrestling with himself.A faint ache stirred in Kavya's heart. Arjun had been set free, but had he also escaped the prison within?
And if he was truly free, was there any place left in his life for her?
She understood then that some people enter our lives not by right, nor by duty, but through a deep and wordless bond. No insistence on togetherness, no clamour in parting. Arjun was free now, and perhaps in that very freedom, Kavya had found her answer.Arjun's detachment that day was even more pronounced. The courtyard brimmed with celebration.
Ranjana's eyes sparkled, Sudhanshu's face wore the calm of deep satisfaction, and in their mother's smile shone a serenity that had returned after many years. The entire family was marking the moment like a festival; after so long, laughter and neighbourly greetings had once again filled the house with life.
Arjun stood among them with a faint, artificial smile, fulfilling the formalities, joining in their happiness, but only on the surface. Deep within, his mind was engulfed by a tidal wave of emotions. He stood at the edge between two shores: one of his loved ones' joy, the other of his own unvoiced questions, unfinished grief, and a heart heavy with some unnamed burden.
In the festive light, his face too appeared radiant, yet in a hidden corner of his soul, silence reigned. He knew it was wrong to feel sad at such a time, yet he could not reason with his heart. Thus, Arjun remained part of the celebration and yet strangely apart—alone in the crowd, hidden behind a smile, brimming with feeling and steeped in silence.
Sudhanshu glanced at him, laughing, and teased, "Why the long face?
Everything's sorted out now, and here you are wandering around like Devdas's ghost has taken possession. Come on, fix that expression, brother!"
There was affection in his words, along with a touch of mischief. Then he burst into loud laughter and added, "Your name has now been respectfully entered in our list of Most Wanted Bachelors. Understand?
No more excuses for melancholy."
Sudhanshu's banter was an earnest attempt to lighten the atmosphere. He wanted Arjun to step fully into the happiness, to laugh, to return to life. The words were playful, yet behind them lay clear concern and brotherly warmth—as if he were trying to pull Arjun out of the darkness in which he still quietly drowned.
Arjun began to speak, his voice low yet firm. "The letter given by the grandmother from Lalkothi was written by Rani herself."He paused for a moment, as though the weight of the words pressed heavily upon his chest. Then he raised his eyes and looked at them all. "And Shreya… Shreya was no one else. She was our beloved Rani.
She lived in this house for so many months, and we failed to recognise her."
A sudden hush fell over the room. The echoes of celebration died in an instant. Arjun's voice grew even deeper. "The one we thought we had lost, the one we mourned… she was never lost. Shreya and Naman—both are alive. They never died."
These words scattered the dust that had settled over years. The bitter truth was startling, unbelievable, and soul-shaking. On Arjun's face there was no longer mere sadness, but a strange stillness filled with pain, relief, and self-reproach.
This was not merely a revelation; it was a moment that peeled back the layers of the past, where misunderstandings, separation, and the cruelty of time stood naked before them.The moment the words left Arjun's mouth, everyone was stunned. The joy of celebration turned to silence in a single breath.
Ranjana sat motionless for a long moment, the silence around her growing heavier with every passing second. Her mind churned with unanswered questions, a storm of confusion and hurt swirling inside her chest. Finally, she could bear it no longer.
The weight in her heart rose like a tide, threatening to drown her. In a voice that trembled like a leaf caught in an autumn breeze, she asked, "If she was truly Rani… then why did she hide the truth from us all these years?
Why did she keep such a painful distance?" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as memories flooded back. "She always spoke in such measured words, wrapped in careful reserve, as though every sentence was weighed and guarded. Who behaves like that with childhood friends?
With people who once knew her better than anyone else?"
Arjun looked at her gently, his expression softened by understanding and a touch of sorrow. He paused, choosing his words with care, as if aware of how fragile the moment felt.
"Perhaps she did not want to appear weak before us," he said quietly.
"Maybe she found safety in remaining a stranger—hidden behind that quiet mask where no one could truly reach her pain."
He sighed softly. "Or perhaps revealing her identity as Rani would have placed her in some unknown danger. So she chose silence. Limited conversations. Greater distance. A wall built not out of coldness, but out of fear… or protection."
His words lingered in the air between them, heavy with the ache of lost years and unspoken truths.
Ranjana walked up to Arjun, disappointment evident in her eyes."Brother, why does she still treat her childhood friends this way?" she asked softly.
"Were we really so insignificant to her that she could never spare a few kind words for us? We grew up together, yet she always kept us at a distance, as if we were strangers."
There was hurt in Ranjana's voice. The memories of their childhood friendship made her silence and indifference even more painful to accept.
Copyright Pushpa Chaturvedi
All publication rights reserved.