The car came to a slow halt, its tires crunching against the gravel road. Srinija gripped the strap of her bag tightly as she stared at the house in front of her.
Smritivan.
She had seen this house only in an old photograph-the one her father had shown her countless times, his eyes filled with nostalgia. But standing here now, she realized that no photograph could ever capture the overwhelming presence of the place.
The three-story mansion stood tall, its red-bricked walls weathered by time but still strong. Massive pillars lined the entrance, holding up a wide balcony that stretched across the front. Arched windows with wooden shutters stood like silent witnesses to the past, and the old iron gates, though slightly rusted, still carried the elegance of a home that once thrived with life.
Srinija let out a slow breath, her father's words echoing in her mind.
"This isn't just a house, Srinija. It's our home, our roots."
But as she stood there, all she could feel was silence. The courtyard, once filled with laughter and movement, was now quiet. The house, once warm and alive, seemed to be waiting-waiting for someone to bring it back to life.
Lost in thought, she didn't hear the approaching footsteps until-
"Srinija di!"
Before she could react, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, squeezing her tightly. The sudden warmth pulled her out of her daze, and she instantly recognized the voice.
Gargi.
Srinija turned, only to be met with her younger cousin's beaming face. Gargi's eyes sparkled with excitement, and her grip tightened.
"You finally came! I still can't believe it!" Gargi exclaimed, pulling away just enough to look at her. "Was the journey too tiring? It must have been such a long ride."
Srinija smiled. "It was long, but I'm fine. The roads were smooth for the most part, and I got some time to think."
"You should have called! We were waiting since morning, wondering if you needed anything."
Before Srinija could reply, a deep, familiar voice interrupted them.
"Let her breathe, Gargi."
She turned to see her uncle, Rajat, walking toward them, his expression filled with warmth. His presence, strong yet gentle, reminded her of her father.
Her aunt, Soma, followed closely behind, wiping her hands on the edge of her saree before extending them out for a hug.
"Come here, child," Soma said, cupping Srinija's face in her hands. "You look so much like your mother."
A lump formed in Srinija's throat, but she managed to smile.
Rajat patted her shoulder. "Was the journey too difficult? Five to six hours is no small thing. You must be exhausted."
"It wasn't too bad," Srinija assured him. "I was more anxious than tired, thinking about everything."
Rajat nodded. "That's natural. Coming back for the first time... It must feel overwhelming."
Without a second thought, Srinija bent down to touch their feet. Soma gently placed a hand on her head, while Rajat gave her an affectionate pat.
"Ah, finally," Rajat said with a teasing smile. "Now the real malkin has come home."
Srinija looked up, confused. "Malkin?"
"Of course," he chuckled. "This house has been waiting for you. It's been empty for too long. But now, it will be filled with life again."
Srinija swallowed the sudden emotion that rose in her throat. She had never thought of herself that way-never considered that her presence could change anything.
Gargi clapped her hands. "Come inside! You've seen the house in pictures, but now it's time to see it for real."
Srinija let them lead her toward the entrance, stepping onto the stone-paved path that had once echoed with her ancestors' footsteps.
Maybe, just maybe, Smritivan wasn't as empty as it seemed.
------------------------------------------------------------
In Akshaj house:
The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich scent of flour. Akshaj stood by the counter, rolling out a roti with practiced ease while another cooked on the heated tawa. The rhythmic motion was second nature to him, his fingers expertly kneading and shaping the dough.
Just as he reached for the ghee container, a sudden voice rang out-
"Dada!"
Akshara came rushing inside, nearly slipping on the smooth floor in her haste.
"Did you hear?" she asked, slightly out of breath.
Akshaj raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "If I heard, would you still be running here like a messenger pigeon? If you're here to eat, then wait."
Akshara shot him a glare, still catching her breath. "Who cares about food? Big news!"
Akshaj calmly flipped the roti with the flat spatula. "You always have big news. Half of it is useless. Unless someone set the village pond on fire, I doubt it's that important."
Akshara huffed. "This one isn't. Srikanta Kaku's daughter is back."
Akshaj stilled for a second, then turned down the gas flame slightly. "Is she back, or are you just cooking up rumors?"
Akshara shrugged. "People are saying she's back. Who knows if it's true? But wouldn't it be interesting if she was? They say she's got a modern city look but still has that old charm. Elegant, graceful, all that poetic nonsense," Akshara said dramatically, flipping her hair. "Poor thing must be lost here after living abroad for so long."
Akshaj gave her a flat look. "And you've seen her?"
Akshara scoffed. "Do I look jobless enough to stand at people's doorsteps for a grand welcome?"
Before Akshaj could reply, Keshab Kaka entered the courtyard, dusting his dhoti. The old caretaker was a man of few words, but today, even he had something to say.
Keshab Kaka chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, even I heard some people talking near the market. They said a woman arrived at Smritivan today, wearing some kind of long frock-like dress, hair neatly tied back, looking every bit like she belongs and yet... not quite." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Tall, graceful, but with city polish. Someone even said her eyes remind them of Neerja Boudi."
Akshaj smirked slightly. "You all sound like old ladies gossiping in the afternoon."
Akshara scoffed. "And yet, you're listening just as intently."
Akshaj shook his head, flipping the last roti onto a plate. He didn't know why, but something about the description made a memory flicker at the back of his mind.
A woman, standing by her car, frustration evident in her sharp eyes. Hair pinned back neatly. A dress that looked out of place on the dusty village road but somehow suited her.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Interesting, is it she?" he murmured.
Akshara paced back and forth, her expression shifting from shock to worry. "This is bad, Dada. Very bad. If she throws us out of the house, where will we go? Huh? Where?!"
Akshaj, still calm, tore a piece of roti and dipped it into the dal. "Akshara, you're overreacting."
"I am not overreacting!" Akshara shot back. "Baba took a loan from her father. What if she decides to settle the accounts by kicking us out? This isn't a joke, Dada!"
Akshaj sighed, setting his plate aside. "You're thinking too much."
"Thinking too much?" Akshara let out a dramatic gasp. "You won't say that when we're standing on the road with our bags!"
Akshaj smirked. "Akshara-"
"And what if she's not nice? What if she's one of those rich city girls who look down on people like us? I bet she wears expensive sarees and talks in that polished, clipped tone-"
"Srinija."
Akshara blinked, thrown off by Akshaj's sudden interruption. "What?"
Akshaj leaned back, his smirk deepening. "Srinija. That's her name."
Akshara frowned. "How do you know?"
Akshaj's gaze flickered with amusement, but he simply shrugged. "Remember, I am the older one. Go and do your work."
Akshara groaned. "Ugh! You're impossible!" and left the place.
After preparing the meal, Akshaj stepped out of the kitchen, his expression unreadable. Akshara was still rambling about worst-case scenarios in the background, but he barely registered her words. Instead, his feet carried him to store room-a quiet, dimly lit space that smelled faintly of old wood and the lingering traces of incense.
Near the corner of the room, tucked beneath an old wooden shelf, sat a middle-sized wooden box. It was worn but sturdy, its edges smooth from years of handling. Akshaj crouched down, fingers tracing the faint carvings on the lid before he unlatched it. The hinges creaked softly as he lifted it open.
Inside, a handful of carefully kept belongings lay undisturbed-old letters, a few trinkets, and at the very top, a slightly faded photograph.
He picked it up with careful fingers, his gaze settling on the image. A small smile tugged at his lips.
For a brief moment, nostalgia wrapped around him like a warm embrace, pulling him back to a time when things were simpler, But then, like a sharp gust of wind shattering a moment of peace, reality set in.
"If she throws us out of the house, where will we go?!"
Akshara's words from earlier echoed in his mind, slicing through the momentary softness.
The smile faded from his face.
His fingers tightened around the edges of the photo as the weight of the situation truly settled in. She was back now, but not as a familiar presence from the past. She was the daughter of the man who had given them shelter, the one who held the power to decide their future. And if she chose to settle old accounts...
Akshaj exhaled slowly, placing the photo back inside the box.
The past had no place in the reality he was facing now.
With a quiet click, he shut the box, the sound oddly final in the stillness of the room.
It was time to stop reminiscing.
And start preparing.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Rishabh's house :
The soft clinking of plates and the occasional rustle of fabric were the only sounds filling the dining hall. The dim glow of the chandelier cast long shadows across the table, where three figures sat, each lost in their own thoughts-yet completely aware of the conversation brewing between them.
Meera served another spoonful of rice onto Rishabh's plate, her fingers lingering as if she was trying to make up for two years of lost time. "Eat properly, beta," she murmured. "You've become too thin."
Rishabh gave her a small nod, eating slowly, his posture relaxed, but his mind far from the meal in front of him. Across the table, Shekhar Sen leaned back in his chair, watching him with an expression that was unreadable yet sharp, as though measuring every move.
"So," Shekhar finally spoke, swirling the water in his glass lazily. "Four years in the city without coming home must have taught you quite a lot."
Rishabh wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin before responding, "It did."
Shekhar smirked. "Good. A man should always return home with something valuable."
Rishab glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And what exactly do you expect me to bring, Baba?"
Shekhar leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering just a fraction. "Commitment."
Meera, who had been quietly observing, stiffened. "Shekhar-"
But Shekhar ignored her, his gaze never leaving Rishab's. "One year," he continued. "And then, marriage."
Meera's spoon paused mid-air, her heart sinking.
Rishab, however, didn't react the way she had expected. He didn't flinch, didn't protest. Instead, he carefully placed his spoon down and leaned back, meeting his father's gaze with something that resembled amusement. "Srinija?"
Shekhar's smirk deepened. "You always were quick to understand."
Rishab exhaled softly, tapping his fingers against the table. "A year is a long time, Baba. Anything can happen."
Shekhar chuckled. "True. But it's just enough time to ensure that things happen the way we want them to."
Rishabh hummed, as if weighing his father's words. "And if I achive that?"
Meera's breath caught, but she remained silent, watching.
Shekhar placed his glass down with a soft thud. "Then, you prove that you understand how power works." His voice was calm, but there was something dangerously expectant about it.
Rishabh's lips curved into a slow smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "And if I not only agree... but also make sure that Srinija does?"
For the first time that evening, Shekhar truly looked pleased. His son wasn't just accepting-he was thinking ahead.
"You've learned well," Shekhar murmured, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
Meera, who had been gripping the edge of her saree, finally spoke. "Rishab, beta... this isn't-"
Rishab turned to her, his tone soft but firm. "Maa, sometimes, we must play the game to win it."
Meera felt a chill run down her spine.
Something had changed.
And as she looked between father and son, she realized-Rishab wasn't just walking into his father's plan.
He was becoming a part of it.
------------------------------------------------------------
Srinija's parent room:
The wooden door let out a soft creak as Srinija pushed it open. The room was quiet, untouched by time, yet not abandoned to it. Unlike the rest of the house, there was no thick layer of dust, no forgotten air of neglect. Everything was in place-clean, organized. The bedsheet neatly tucked in, the furniture polished, the floor free of even the faintest trace of dust.
She stepped inside, her fingers brushing against the wooden desk near the window. It wasn't just clean-it was cared for.
Her father's presence lingered, not in the form of an old scent, but in the way the room had been maintained. She had heard from her pisimoni how, despite his sickness, Baba had come back every year on their wedding anniversary and cleaned this space himself. Even this year, when his health had been failing, he had made the journey from Kolkata, refusing to let anyone else do it alone. With soma's help, he had dusted the furniture, wiped the windows, and carefully folded Ma's sarees in the wardrobe.
A lump formed in her throat.
She walked to the wardrobe and pulled it open. The scent of old fabric mixed with the faintest trace of mothballs. The sarees inside were neatly stacked-some faded, some still holding their colors. Her father's kurta hung beside them, carefully placed, as if waiting for the next time he would wear it.
She traced her fingers over the fabric, over the careful folds. He had done this. Even in his last days, he had made sure this room wasn't forgotten.
Her gaze drifted to the bed. The sheets were fresh, smooth-changed recently, perhaps when he had last visited. She sat down slowly, her hands pressing into the mattress. It wasn't nostalgia that filled her chest, but something heavier.
She had never been here before. Not once in 27 years.
And yet, it was the only place in this house that felt whole.
Srinija closed her eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the weight pressing against her ribs. This wasn't just a room. It was her father's love, his last act of care, left behind for no one in particular-maybe for himself, maybe for a daughter who had never stepped into this house before.
And now, she had chosen to live here.
Her fingers curled into the bedsheet. She had come back to claim what was hers. But standing in this room, surrounded by everything her father had held on to, she wondered-had she come too late?
As Srinija sat there, lost in thought, a soft knock at the door pulled her back to the present.
"Srinija?"
She turned to see Soma standing at the doorway, her expression gentle but firm. "You should come to the dining room. You haven't eaten all day."
Srinija hesitated before nodding. She wasn't particularly hungry, but she knew refusing wasn't an option. Soma Pisimoni had the quiet authority of someone who had managed this household for years, and ignoring her wasn't wise.
As she walked toward the dining room, she saw Gardi and Rajat Piso already seated at the table.
"Finally, the guest of honor arrives," Rajat said, his voice warm but teasing. "We thought we'd have to send a search party."
Srinija gave a small smile and took a seat. The familiar aroma of home-cooked food filled the air. Luchi, golden and puffed up, sat on brass plates, alongside steaming bowls of alur dom, rich with spices. There was chana paneer, soft and coated in a thick gravy, and a small katori of payesh,a plate of mishti-rosogollas and chomchoms-rested in the center.
Soma handed her a glass of water. "Eat properly, no excuses."
Srinija tore a piece of luchi and dipped it into the alur dom, the warmth spreading through her fingertips. The taste was... nostalgic.
Rajat watched her, then said, "Your baba used to boast about your mother's cooking, but when it came to luchis, he always said your Soma Pisi made them best."
Soma smiled. "And your ma would pretend to be offended, but the moment he wasn't looking, she'd steal luchis off his plate."
Srinija looked down at her plate. These stories felt so distant-like echoes from a life she had never lived.
Srinija swallowed, something tight forming in her throat. Her father had been here just months ago, making sure everything was in order. For her.
Just as she reached for the payesh, her phone rang. The sound cut through the quiet.
She glanced at the screen. Rishabh.
She wiped her hands and picked up the call. "Hello?"
"Srinija," Rishabh's voice was calm but firm. "How are you?"
She glanced at the people around her-the family she had never known. "I'm fine."
A pause. Then, "We'll meet tomorrow morning."
Srinija exhaled slowly. "Okay."
"Take care," Rishabh said before disconnecting.
She placed the phone down, suddenly feeling the weight of everything.
Soma, ever observant, spoke as she refilled Srinija's bowl of payesh. "Eat first. Whatever tomorrow brings, it can wait."
Rajat nodded. "And if you're worried about anything, remember-your family is here for you "
Srinija looked at them-three people who had always been there in some way, through occasional visits and phone calls. Yet tonight, sitting beside them in this house, it felt different-like stepping into a bond she had never fully been a part of.
She picked up her spoon and took a bite of the payesh. It was warm, sweet, and familiar.
For now, she would focus on tonight.
#####
The soft morning breeze carried the scent of damp earth as Srinija welcomed Sekhar and Rishab into the living room. A quiet familiarity settled between them before Sekhar broke the silence.
"So, what's next, Srinija?" His voice was measured, though his eyes studied her carefully.
She met his gaze, unwavering. "I've resigned. Baba wanted me to be here, and I want to honor that. I'll look after Neerja Annadata Farm."
Sekhar leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. "That's a big decision. The Kolkata office is always an option if you need time to adjust. You could oversee things from there and still be part of the farm's future."
Srinija shook her head. "No, Baba wanted me here. Rishab can handle Kolkata. I want to stay."
Rishab, who had been quietly observing, leaned forward with a smile. "And I'll stand by you, Srinija. This farm meant everything to Kaku, and I want to make sure his vision thrives-together."
Sekhar sighed, nodding after a moment. "Alright. I'll take care of the main office in Kolkata."
A quiet understanding settled in. The path was set.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The river stretched lazily under the sunlight. A cool breeze carried the scent of wet earth and wildflowers, rustling the tall grass along the bank. Under the shade of a lone tree, Akshaj sat, a fishing rod propped up beside him, his gaze fixed on the water.
It wasn’t about catching fish. It never had been. Fishing was an excuse—to sit still, to let his thoughts drift without anyone demanding answers from him.
The moment of quiet was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps crunching over gravel. Akshaj didn’t look up immediately, expecting a passerby. But something in the air shifted—a pause too deliberate, a presence too familiar.
Srinija stopped a few feet away, her breath catching in her throat.
Him.
Of all places, of all moments—here?
For a beat, she just stared. The last time she had seen him, she was arguing with him over a car tyre, throwing back sharp words as fast as he delivered them. And now? He looked different. Relaxed. At peace in a way she hadn’t imagined possible for someone with his sharp tongue.
The contrast threw her off.
Akshaj finally glanced over his shoulder, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You again.”
Srinija blinked, still slightly caught off guard. “What the—” she exhaled sharply, folding her arms. “Are you following me?”
Akshaj raised an eyebrow. “That’s funny. I was going to ask you the same thing.”
She narrowed her eyes, recovering quickly. “As if. I don’t have time to stalk fishermen with terrible luck.”
His smirk deepened. “Harsh.”
The river gurgled between them, filling the brief silence. Srinija’s gaze flickered to the fishing rod, its line slack in the water. “Catching anything?”
“Patience is part of the process,” he replied easily.
“Or maybe you’re just bad at it.”
He gave her a sideways glance, amused. “Do you always insult strangers' fishing skills, or am I just special?”
Srinija tilted her head slightly, considering him. Then, in a rare moment of sincerity, she sighed. “Actually…” She hesitated. “Thanks. For the other day. With the tyre.”
Akshaj blinked, as if surprised by the sudden shift in tone. He didn’t respond immediately, watching her instead.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” she added quickly. “I’m still convinced you enjoyed watching me struggle first.”
His lips quirked upward. “Guilty as charged.”
Srinija huffed, rolling her eyes, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she walked closer and settled onto a nearby rock, not asking permission, not needing it.
Akshaj returned his attention to the water, his fingers adjusting the fishing rod absentmindedly. “So, do you always talk this much to strangers?”
Srinija smirked. “Only the ones who don’t catch fish.”
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
Her eyes landed on the fishing rod. “Catching anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Not surprising.”
His smirk widened. “You sound very confident for someone who probably doesn't know the first thing about fishing.”
She raised a brow. “And you sound very confident for someone who clearly isn't catching any fish.”
Akshaj exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head slightly. “You always this sharp, Srinija?”
The name slipped out so casually, but the effect was immediate.
Srinija froze. Her eyes widened, and before she could react properly, her foot twisted on a loose stone and she stumbled.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she lost her balance. Her arms flailed instinctively, but before she could hit the ground, a firm hand grabbed her wrist.
Akshaj.
He caught her in time, steadying her effortlessly.
Srinija blinked up at him, still thrown off by the sudden fall—and by the fact that he had just called her by her name.
Her voice was breathless. “How do you—”
But Akshaj wasn’t listening. He was staring at her, something flickering in his eyes.
Because suddenly, he wasn’t here. He was somewhere else.
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