The road stretched endlessly ahead as Archana drove, the familiar path leading her back to her ancestral village. The village where she had been born, where her parents had shared their most beautiful memories together.
Some part of her last conversation with her father echoed in her mind, as though the words were still suspended in the sterile air of the hospital room.
Yes, their last conversation...
Her father—her hero—had left her alone. His body, already weak, hadn’t been able to bear the strain of the surgery.
######
Flashback:
"Beta, I know you've been fighting every step of the way. But sometimes, you have to pause, even if just for a moment, to truly understand the essence of life."
Srikanta’s voice had been frail, yet his eyes still held the wisdom of a lifetime. Lying on the hospital bed, he had looked at her with a gaze that carried both pride and sorrow.
"You’ve spent so many years proving your strength, your capabilities to the world. But in doing that, you’ve forgotten that you have a life beyond this battle."
Srinija had stood beside him, gripping his hand tightly as if holding on to him would keep him from slipping away. The anxiety gnawed at her, an unbearable weight in her chest. She wasn’t ready for this conversation. Not now. Not when he was still fighting for his life.
"I know, Baba. Just a little more time… I promise, I’ll listen to you. I’ll do everything you say."
He had smiled—a tired, knowing smile.
"No, beta. Let’s be honest. We don’t know if I’ll make it through this surgery or not. That’s why I want to talk to you now, heart to heart."
He had paused, coughing weakly before continuing.
"After your mother passed away, I left our village and moved to Kolkata—for you. I wanted to give you a better future, a safer life. You always asked me why we never went back, and I always made some excuse. But the truth is... I wanted to protect you. In doing that, I unknowingly distanced you from her—from the memories of your mother."
Srinija had opened her mouth to speak, but her father had stopped her with a look, his tired eyes pleading for her to listen.
"Today, when I see you, I feel proud of the woman you’ve become. But… are you happy, beta?"
The question had pierced through her.
"You work day and night, running after success, after proving yourself. Your channel uses you for its TRPs, squeezing every ounce of your energy—and you let them. When was the last time you took a break? When was the last time you lived for yourself?"
She had no answer.
Her father had sighed.
"I don’t want my daughter to live like this. I want her to smile, to breathe, to feel the joy of life again."
He had taken a shaky breath before continuing.
"Go back to our village, Srinija. Live there for a while. That place… it’s a part of you. Your mother’s warmth still lingers in its air. And if I die tomorrow I will die without any guilt .Maybe, when you’re there, you’ll finally understand what I mean when I say—life is more than just a battle to win."
His words had hit her like a storm.
She had never wanted to return to that place. It was a land filled with memories—some beautiful, some too painful to bear. It was where her mother had died bringing her into the world. The place her father had left behind to shield her from the whispers, from the past.
Yet, in that moment, as his voice trembled with unspoken emotions, something inside her shifted.
Maybe he was right. Maybe, just maybe, the answers she had been searching for weren’t in the fast-paced life she had built in Kolkata.
Maybe, they were waiting for her… in the soil of that village.
Flashback ends..
#####
Suddenly, Srinija’s thoughts came to a halt at the sharp, jarring sound of air escaping the tyre, followed by an unsettling skid. The car wobbled slightly before slowing to a stop in the middle of the deserted road.
Her hands instinctively gripped the steering wheel as she let out a frustrated sigh. "Just perfect."
Stepping out, she walked around to check, and sure enough, the front tyre was completely flat.
Srinija crouched beside it, pressing her fingers against the rubber as if that would somehow fix the problem. Of course, it didn’t. She stood up, brushing her hair back in irritation, and pulled out her phone. If there was one thing she had never bothered to learn, it was changing a flat tyre.
Quickly, she searched for a tutorial on YouTube.
--------------------------------------------
One the other side,
The narrow village road was quiet, bathed in the sunlight. Akshara walked steadily, clutching a stack of books, her mind occupied with lesson plans and upcoming exams.
Then, out of nowhere—
A sharp, blaring honk cut through the silence, followed by the screeching halt of a black Jeep. Dust swirled around as the tires skidded against the uneven road.
Akshara took a step back, coughing as the dust cloud enveloped her. Annoyed, she waved a hand in front of her face and glared at the vehicle.
“Arre yaar! Gaon ki sadak hai ya F1 racing track?” she muttered under her breath.
("Oh God! Is this a village road or an F1 racing track?")
The Jeep door swung open with force, and a tall man stepped out.
He wasn’t just confident—there was an air of dominance around him, the kind that made people either step aside or challenge him. His sharp, chiseled features were set in a scowl, and his dark eyes held a piercing intensity, as if he was used to people answering him without question. Dressed in an all-black outfit that matched the rugged edge in his demeanor, he exuded an aura of control, impatience, and quiet arrogance.
Rishab shut the door behind him, his movements sharp, and crossed his arms as he looked at Akshara with a hard stare.
“Tum sadak par hamesha aise hi chalti ho, ya aaj koi khaas din hai?” His tone was clipped, unimpressed, as if she was wasting his time.
("Do you always walk in the middle of the road, or is today a special occasion?")
Akshara narrowed her eyes, her irritation doubling. His tone—so entitled, so demanding—rubbed her the wrong way instantly.
“Aur tum gaadi hamesha hawa mein udaate ho, ya aaj speed ka devta banne ka mann kiya?” Her voice was just as sharp, refusing to be intimidated.
("And do you always drive like you're flying a plane, or did you feel like becoming the God of speed today?")
His jaw tightened. He took a slow step forward, closing some of the space between them.
“Zyada over-smart banne ki zaroorat nahi hai,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
("No need to act over-smart.")
Akshara let out a mock gasp. “Oh wow, and here I thought I was just being logical.” She tilted her head. “Speed limit ka naam suna hai?”
("Have you heard of speed limits?")
Rishab’s lips curved into a smirk, though there was no warmth behind it. "Do you enjoy showing off your attitude?"
Akshara shot him a bored look. “Nahi, bas bewakoofon ko unki aukaat dikhane ka shauk hai.”
("No, I just enjoy showing fools their place.")
There was a flash of amusement in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with his usual arrogance.
“Rishab.” He said his name like it held weight, like she was supposed to recognize it. “Naam yaad rakhna.”
("Rishab. Remember the name.")
Akshara crossed her arms. “Kyun? Tum koi political candidate ho jo vote maang rahe ho? Ya phir tumhara naam yaad rakhke Nobel prize jeetungi kya?”
("Why? Are you some political candidate asking for votes? Or by remembering your name, will I win a Nobel prize?")
His smirk vanished in an instant, replaced with a look that could burn through steel. “Mujhe log pehchante hain bina maange.”
("People recognize me without asking.")
Akshara raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Wow. That was such an emotional statement.” Then she scoffed. “Par dukhi mat ho, mujhe pehchaan banaane wale log pasand nahi.”
("But don’t be sad, I don’t like people who live off their reputation.")
His eyes darkened slightly, but instead of getting angry, he just chuckled—a slow, deep sound that somehow felt more dangerous than an outburst.
“You’re interesting,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. Then, eyeing the books in her hands, he smirked again. “You’re a teacher, right? Used to carrying the weight of books, but is your brain just as heavy?”
Akshara didn’t hesitate. “And your ego? Do you carry it with your car, or does it feel heavy separately too?”
For the first time, Rishab fell completely silent, his expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, he let out a slow exhale and shook his head, as if deciding something.
“Don’t try to be too smart,” he said, his voice lower, quieter, yet somehow more intimidating.
Akshara smirked, “Don’t try to be too overconfident.”
They stood there for a few moments, neither backing down. Then, without another word, Rishab turned and walked back to his Jeep. The Jeep roared back to life, dust kicking up once more as Rishab sped off, leaving Akshara standing there with an odd mix of annoyance and intrigue.
--------------------------------------------
Srinija had been struggling in the middle of the road for the past thirty minutes, battling with the stubborn tyre and failing miserably at every attempt.
"First, loosen the lug nuts before lifting the car with the jack."
"Loosen, right." She grabbed the wrench and twisted with all her might. The lug nuts didn’t even budge.
Srinija scowled. "Okay, fine. Step two then."
She moved on to the jack, sliding it under the car and turning the handle. The car barely lifted. After several attempts, her arms started to ache.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," she muttered, stepping back and glaring at the car as if it had personally wronged her.
A shadow stretched beside her.
Srinija turned sharply, her eyes landing on a man standing a few feet away.
He was tall, easily over six feet, with a lean but strong frame. Dressed in a simple off-white kurta-pajama, he had an effortless presence—calm yet striking. His dark, slightly wavy hair was casually ruffled, as though he hadn’t bothered to fix it. Sharp features—high cheekbones, a defined jawline, and a hint of stubble—gave him an air of quiet confidence. But it was his eyes that held her attention the most—dark, observant, and filled with a hint of amusement, as if he had been watching her struggle for a while.
His lips curled into a smirk. "So… how many more creative ways are you planning to try before you give up?"
Srinija crossed her arms, unimpressed. "If you're offering help, just say so. Otherwise, keep walking."
His smirk deepened as he crouched beside the tyre. "Help? What about your YouTube instructor? Wouldn't want to hurt their business, would you?"
She rolled her eyes. "Listen, I can handle this myself."
"Yeah, I can see how well that’s going," he said, shaking his head.
Before she could snap back, he reached for the wrench and, with effortless ease, loosened the lug nuts in a single swift motion. Then, without a word, he adjusted the jack properly and lifted the car like it weighed nothing.
Srinija blinked. "Oh, wow. Might as well give yourself a medal while you’re at it."
He chuckled, replacing the flat tyre with the spare one in record time. After wiping his hands on a cloth, he stood up, brushing off his kurta.
"Done. Turns out I’m more efficient than your online instructor," he said with a cocky tilt of his head.
Srinija crossed her arms. "Yes, yes, very impressive. Now, how much do I owe you?"
His expression shifted slightly, as if her words had caught him off guard. "You think I did this for money?"
"Didn’t you?" she asked, raising a brow.
He studied her for a moment before laughing softly. "No. I just felt bad watching you struggle."
Srinija’s mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"
His smirk returned, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Well, now your car is good to go. If it breaks down again, don’t expect me to show up."
He turned to leave but then paused, glancing at her over his shoulder. His expression, though still amused, softened slightly.
"You know, there’s no harm in accepting help sometimes. Not everything has to be a battle." His gaze lingered for a moment before he added, "And maybe, once in a while, try helping someone without expecting something in return."
Before she could come up with a response, he walked away, his silhouette fading into the evening light.
Srinija stared after him for a long moment before shaking her head. "Weird guy," she muttered, but she couldn’t ignore the faint smile that tugged at her lips as she got back into her car.
-------------------------------------------
The aroma of mustard oil and spices filled the air as Meera Sen stirred the pot of macher jhol, the familiar rhythm of cooking grounding her in the routine she had followed for years. Dressed in a simple cotton saree, her bangles clinked softly as she moved, her every gesture reflecting a quiet grace.
She turned her head slightly and called out, “Madhuri!” Her voice, firm yet gentle, carried through the kitchen.
Within moments, the maid appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on the edge of her saree. “Yes, Boudimoni?”
Meera glanced around the kitchen, scanning the counters, the neatly arranged spice jars, the spotless floor—everything was in place. “Check the rice storage today. I asked you in the morning, is it done?”
Madhuri gave a quick nod. “Yes, Boudimoni, I checked it in the morning.”
Meera hummed in response, wiping her hands on her saree before stepping away from the kitchen. The house was quiet. She adjusted her bangles, a habit she had picked up over the years—perhaps a way to remind herself that time was still moving.
She walked into the hall, her eyes automatically flickering toward the main door, just like they had done countless times over the past two years. But today, she didn’t expect anything. Not anymore.
And then, the door creaked open.
She froze.
At first, she thought she was imagining it. A cruel trick of her heart, which still longed for something she had stopped hoping for. But then she saw him—standing there, framed in the doorway.
Rishab.
Her Rishab.
A strangled breath escaped her lips, her fingers tightening around the edge of her saree. For a moment, she couldn't move. Couldn't blink. The boy she had raised, the son she had nurtured, stood in front of her after two long years. His face had lost its softness, his eyes carried a storm she didn’t recognize, but he was still her Rishab.
"Rishab..." Her voice barely came out.
And before she could say another word, he was there.
Closing the distance in a heartbeat, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, his forehead resting against her shoulder. The warmth of his embrace, the scent of the city clinging to him, the quiet desperation in the way he held her—it all made her chest tighten.
"I'm finally home, Maa," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Meera shut her eyes, her hands shakily covering his. A tear slipped down her cheek as she whispered, "You took too long, beta..." Her voice cracked. "Do you know how much I—"
"I know, Maa," he interrupted softly, tightening his grip. "I wanted to come back sooner... but—"
She pulled away just enough to cup his face, searching his eyes. "But your father didn’t let you," she completed, her voice laced with quiet pain.
Rishab lowered his gaze, the silence answering everything she needed to know.
Her hands trembled as she stroked his cheek. "You look thinner… have you been eating properly? Did you—"
"You still worry about that?" he let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, shaking his head. "Maa, you haven't changed at all."
"And you have," she whispered, her fingers brushing against the sharpness of his jaw. "You've suffered."
Before he could respond, a slow chuckle broke through their moment.
A voice, cold and edged with mockery, drifted from behind them.
"If all this emotional drama is over, maybe someone should remind him that this is still my house."
Meera flinched, her fingers slipping from Rishab’s face. The warmth of the moment shattered as if it had never existed.
Rishab didn’t need to turn around. He knew.
Shekhar Sen had been listening.
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