Saaisha's POV:

I’m sitting alone in the hall, curled up on the far end of the sofa with a soft cushion clutched to my chest. There’s not much to do today. I was supposed to start my defense training at RS Academy, something I had prepared myself for, mentally and emotionally.

But Siya di told me gently this morning that I should wait for two more days. She said she has something important planned with me, something she’ll explain once she returns from work.

I nodded without question. If it’s coming from her, I trust it. I always do.

It’s just me and this silence now. And unlike the silence of that night… this one doesn’t scare me. But still, sometimes, it feels too loud inside my head.

I look around at this house - no, this home. It’s strange how a place can start to feel like it’s always been yours, even when you never thought you’d belong anywhere again.

This family… they didn’t just bring me into their home; they brought me into their hearts. Not once have they made me feel like a guest or someone they’re doing a favor for. There's no pity in their eyes, no heaviness in their care. It’s genuine. It’s love. Pure, raw, and comforting.

Sometimes I wonder how I even ended up here, surrounded by people who treat me like I matter.

I’ve always been cautious with my heart. After what happened… trust doesn’t come easily. Words, even less so. But somehow, around them, I began to feel safe. Bit by bit, they helped me gather the scattered pieces of myself.

And the biggest leap I ever took, the moment that changed everything was when I told them the truth of that night.

I won’t lie… I was terrified.

Terrified they’d look at me differently. That they'd see me as someone broken or weak. That they’d pity me.

But what I saw in their eyes when I finished speaking… it shattered every fear I had.

There was fury - raw and violent fury. There was sadness, yes, but it wasn’t the kind that made me feel small. It was the kind that made me feel protected. There was respect, and something else I couldn’t quite name - maybe pride.

For the first time, someone looked at me not like I was a victim, but like I was a survivor. A fighter.

There was no pity. Not an ounce of it.

And in that moment, I felt free.

Since that day, the panic attacks have faded. The nightmares aren’t as loud anymore. I no longer tremble in the shower, and I don’t scratch my skin like I used to - like I was trying to erase something no one else could see.

That burden I carried for so long… it’s not mine alone anymore. I gave it to them, and they didn’t flinch. They carried it with me.

But even with all this love… sometimes, a quiet voice in my head still whispers:

“You’re a burden.”

I try to silence it, but it lingers.

They’re all so busy. They have their own lives, their own pain, their own missions. And then there’s me, this broken thing they’ve taken in.

I can’t even speak. Every time I want to say something, I have to reach for a pen, write it down, wait for them to read it, understand it… it feels like I’m always disturbing someone.

And that guilt - it settles into my bones like winter.

I hate that I feel this way. Because I know they’ve never once made me feel lesser. But trauma is cruel like that it lies to you in your own voice. It tells you things you know aren’t true, but you still believe them.

I was lost in these thoughts, spiraling in silence, when something caught my eye.

A pink sticky note. Sitting on the side table next to me.

I hadn’t even noticed it there.

Frowning, I reached for it. My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded it.

"You don’t have to say anything. I hear you loud and clear."

I blinked, stunned for a second, before slowly turning toward the hallway. And there he was.

My saviour.

Shaurya Singh Rathore.

Standing quietly at a distance just far enough to give me space, but close enough to remind me I was never alone.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to ground me.

How does he always know?

Every time I’m lost in my thoughts, every time something eats away at me silently, he senses it. Without me saying a word, he understands exactly what I feel,.what I need. A small note. A quiet glance. A gesture. That’s all it takes. Like he listens to the things I don’t even say out loud.

That pink note wasn’t just a few words scribbled on paper.

It was a reminder:
I’m seen. I’m heard. I matter.

And somehow, this man - who carries the weight of an entire state on his shoulders always makes time to notice the weight I carry in silence.

I didn’t smile. I didn’t cry. I just held the note close and looked at him.

And he simply nodded once, like he was saying, “I know.”

Not many people in this world ask what you need without demanding answers.

But he… he just gives.

And somehow, that’s what makes it easier to breathe.

Then he sat beside me  not too close, just enough to share the silence  and asked gently, “How are you?”

I blinked, a little confused. Why was he asking me this out of nowhere?

I gave him a small nod and tried to smile, though I wasn’t sure if it reached my eyes.

He kept his gaze on me for a second longer, then asked again, softer this time, “Feeling bored?”

This time I nodded more honestly. Yes. I was. I was tired of thinking, of being stuck in my own head.

He smiled, a calm, knowing one and said, “Okay. Let’s play something. Bring your notepad.”

I handed him my notepad, curious. “It’s called First Word. I’ll give you a random letter, and you have to write the very first word that comes to your mind. Don’t think too much, okay?”

I nodded, intrigued.

“A?”
I wrote: Art

“D”
Drawing

“Alright… L?”
Lonely.

His smile faltered for a second, but he didn't comment. Just nodded and went on.

“R?”
Rain.

“S?”
Safe.

A faint smile touched my lips.

“G?”
Garden.

“C?”
Canvas.

“F?”
Freedom.

His eyes softened a little at that one. He leaned forward slightly, still holding space between us but enough to feel his presence.

Then he looked into my eyes and said, “Last one. Letter B?”

I didn’t even hesitate this time. My hand moved on its own. One word.
Burden.

There was a pause.

He gently took the notepad from my lap and stared at the word. He didn’t speak for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward… It was heavy. Raw.

“You’re not a burden.”

His tone was quiet but carried the weight of absolute certainty.

“You are family, Saaisha. Ours. Not because we feel sorry for you. Not because we had to… but because we want to. You belong here, not as a guest, not as someone we’re helping  but as someone we care about.”

I couldn’t look at him. My throat tightened.

“Don’t ever question that again,” he said, setting the notepad down. “And if you do… I’ll play this game with you every day until you start writing ‘blessing’ instead.”

And at that moment, for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

Maybe I wasn’t just surviving anymore.

Maybe I was slowly beginning to live.

Suddenly, a loud voice came from the door

“Finally, I’m home! I have so much work to do. Time is flying!”

It was Siya di, arms full of shopping bags, storming in like a mini hurricane. She didn’t even pause, just marched straight toward us.

“Move aside, bhai,” she said with mock seriousness.

He simply rolled his eyes, got up without a word, and shifted to the other couch like a well-trained soldier used to his sister’s drama.

She dumped the bags in my lap and grinned.

“This is for you!”

I blinked, confused, then peeked inside the bags, one had new clothes, another had sandals, the third was filled with paints, and the last… fictional books we both loved.

My heart melted. I looked up at her and smiled, a full, genuine smile that bloomed without hesitation.

Siya di grinned even wider and immediately pulled me into a tight hug.

“Now come on! We’ve got work to do!”

Before I could even process what “work” meant, she dragged me to the kitchen. I followed, still a little confused.

I looked at her with raised brows.

Siya di and kitchen? That combo didn’t even sound real.

She absolutely hated cooking, always found a way to avoid it. So why now?

I tapped her shoulder and raised my hands in question: What are we doing here?

She looked at me casually and said, “We’re going to bake a cake. And you’re helping me, okay?”

I blinked again.

She smirked at my expression and added, “I know, I know.. me, cooking, total shocker. But it’s special… it’s Veer’s birthday tomorrow. I want him to cut this cake at midnight. So, I have to do this. Please help me, Ishu? Pretty please, dove?”

She gave me her most exaggerated puppy eyes.

I chuckled silently and nodded.

That’s Siya di - unpredictable, dramatic, and full of love.

The way she looks at Veer bhai, the way she lights up when it’s about him... it’s something else. She would do anything for him, even step into the kitchen.

I wonder how they met.

How did he propose to her?

What was their story?

Someday, I’ll ask. I want to know everything.

But for now... let’s focus on the cake.

Author’s POV

The kitchen was calm.

Too calm.

Until Siya Kapoor entered like a storm, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, and determination written all over her face.

Saaisha chuckled silently, then nodded in agreement. She picked up the apron and helped Siya wear it, shaking her head when she tied it backward.

“Okay, step one,” Siya announced confidently, grabbing the flour. “Let’s… just eyeball it.”

Saaisha immediately waved her hands, a panicked no-no gesture.

Siya ignored her and poured a dramatic amount into the bowl.

The flour puffed out in a mini explosion, coating both sisters in a fine white layer. Saaisha’s eyes widened. She grabbed the packet and flipped it to show the instructions, pointing at the correct quantity.

Siya leaned in, squinting. “Measuring spoons are for cowards.”

Saaisha gave her a deadpan look and mouthed slowly, "You’re going to poison Veer bhai."

They both burst into silent laughter (well, Siya laughed, Saaisha laughed with her eyes and shoulders shaking).

Then came the eggs.

Siya cracked one beautifully, grinning smugly. But the second?

Crack. Plop. Shell and all  straight into the bowl.

Saaisha's jaw dropped. She pointed at it frantically, then dipped her fingers into the batter to fish it out, only to get completely goo-covered. She gave Siya a dramatic glare.

Siya pouted, wiping some of the batter on Saaisha’s nose.

“Oops. Battle scars.”

Saaisha responded by flicking flour onto Siya’s cheek.

It escalated fast.

Soon, flour was flying like snow, a little milk spilled on the counter, and Siya, being Siya, decided to turn on the hand blender before placing it into the bowl.

The blender spun wildly, flinging batter in all directions  onto the fridge, cabinets, even the ceiling.

Saaisha covered her mouth, silently screaming in horror.

Siya stood still, blinking.

“…Oops.”

They both looked at each other, then fell into a fit of giggles, silent and loud together. Siya laughed until her sides hurt. Saaisha clutched her stomach, her eyes full of joy, the soundless kind of laughter that still filled the room.

Siya slipped slightly on spilled milk, grabbed Saaisha for support, and they both tumbled to the floor breathless, covered in sugar and batter.

And then,

“BAS KAROGI TUM DONO?”

Both froze.

Meera (shaurya's mother) stood at the doorway, hands on hips, eyes scanning the crime scene.

The kitchen was… gone.

The mixer was still running on its side.

The cake batter dripped down the cupboards.

And two girls sat in the middle of the floor, looking like ghosts from a baking horror movie.

Saaisha bit her lip, looking everywhere except at meerq. Siya smiled, trying to charm her way out of it.

“Hi maa. We’re bonding,” she offered sweetly.

“Kitchen jalake bonding mat karo,” their mother replied dryly.

Siya held up her pinky finger. “We swear we’ll clean every inch.”

Their mother muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “pagal ladkiyan” and walked away.

As soon as she was out of sight, both sisters collapsed into silent fits again.

The cake might be a disaster.

The kitchen was definitely ruined.

But the love? The laughter? The memories?

Baked to perfection.

Soon, the battlefield-turned-kitchen looked almost spotless. The girls had cleaned up the flour clouds and wiped down the counters. The chaos had calmed, finally.

Siya turned toward Saaisha with flour still dusting her eyebrows. “Okay, now no more masti. I surrender. From this moment on, I shall follow you, Chef Saaisha and stick to every gram, every measurement, like a loyal student.”

Saaisha raised a hand in mock blessing, and they both smiled.

This time, there were no flour explosions or blender disasters. Just quiet giggles, tiny slip-ups, and a lot of silent teamwork. Saaisha caught Siya almost adding salt instead of sugar, and Siya stopped Saaisha just in time from placing the cake tray without greasing it. They were a mess  but a good mess.

That’s when Meera walked in again. She glanced around the kitchen and raised her brows in surprise.

“Well, now it looks like a kitchen and not a warzone,” she said, shaking her head with a smile.

But before Siya could say anything, Meera added, “Do it fast, Siya. You still have to go and decorate the apartment also, remember?”

“Yes maa, it's baked. I just have to decorate the top now, then I’ll go,” Siya replied, carefully smoothing the frosting.

Saaisha tilted her head, a little confused.

Meera noticed the expression instantly and chuckled. “Oh, your Siya di doesn’t let Veer celebrate his birthday with us. She insists on her own little private celebration in her apartment. No invitations. No guests.”

“Maa!” Siya gasped. “Don’t make it sound so dramatic!”

She turned to Saaisha. “Listen, Ishu. We do have a proper party at home tomorrow. But tonight, at midnight..I just want to be the first to wish him. I know it sounds silly and childish but… that’s who I am when it comes to Veer.”

Saaisha pressed her lips together, eyes warm, her expression somewhere between admiration and awe. Her fingers moved gently as she gave a thumbs-up, her other hand over her heart in support.

Siya caught the gesture and beamed. “See, even Ishu thinks it’s romantic.”

Meera snorted. “Romantic? Possessive, more like. You know how insane she is about Veer? Last year, Ryan wished him before she could and what did this devil do?” She paused dramatically.

“She leaked Ryan’s number publicly. His DMs and calls exploded.”

Saaisha’s eyes widened in shock. She gasped softly, soundless and placed a hand over her open mouth, stunned.

Meera wasn’t finished. “And she’s the one who handles all their social media and PR. She left him to drown in chaos for two days. Didn’t lift a finger. That wasn’t enough. She chopped off his hair.”

Saaisha looked like she’d just heard the plot twist of a thriller. She turned to Siya in horror, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised.

“She did,” Meera confirmed with a serious nod. “That boy worshipped his hair. I thought he was going to cry.”

Siya crossed her arms proudly. “Oh please. He deserved it. That little snake stopped my sugar intake for a week! Salted every dish. Torture was mutual. Besides, possessiveness runs in my blood.”

She leaned toward Saaisha, a playful glint in her eyes, and whispered, “After all, I’m the daughter of Rajveer Singh Rathore.”

She said the name like royalty  chin raised, tone theatrical.

Saaisha blinked and tilted her head again, amused but clearly not understanding the full context. Her hands hovered in the air, silently asking And?

Siya winked. “You know, Ishu, how possessive my dad is about my mom?”

At that exact moment, Meera, who had been calmly sipping her tea turned a bright shade of pink.

“I have work,” she muttered quickly, setting the cup down with a clink and making a hasty exit from the kitchen.

Saaisha’s eyes widened again. She glanced toward the doorway where Meera disappeared, then back at Siya, mouthing silently, What just happened?

Siya was already laughing. “Oh, Ishu. Don’t be confused. It’s a long story. Their marriage? Pure drama. Papa partially forced her. Okay, maybe fully. They’re obsessed with each other now, but it started with chaos. Full details later, I swear.”

She closed the cake box gently and dusted off her hands.

Then, with a sudden softness in her voice, she stepped close to Saaisha and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you. Love you. You’re the best chef-slash-silent-assassin I could ask for.”

Saaisha gave her a bashful smile and waved her fingers in a little bye gesture, watching her go.

Siya grabbed her bag and rushed out, cake in hand, leaving behind the lingering smell of vanilla and strawberries… and a storm of new questions spinning in Saaisha’s mind.

She stood there quietly for a moment, glancing at the half-cleaned counter and the now-empty kitchen. A strange warmth fluttered in her chest, the kind that comes from real friendship, light-hearted chaos, and the subtle realization that she was no longer just surviving… she was living.

And slowly, beautifully...she was starting to belong.

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