Kawish's pov—

I woke up with a thud, quite literally.

One second I was curled on the tiny couch, and the next, I rolled off it like a confused idiot who forgot he wasn't in his bed.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, rubbing my eyes as reality came crashing back.

I sat up, groaning softly, about to rise when I heard it. The delicate chime of anklets.

Faint, rhythmic, soft.

Her.

She was coming this way.

Panic hit me in the most absurd form. I didn’t want her to see me like this disheveled, half-asleep, curled on a couch like a sulking man-child.

So, like a complete fool, I dove back into the couch and pretended to sleep. Smooth.

Click.

The door creaked open gently. No rush. No harshness. Just a soft presence entering the room like the calm before the storm, or in her case, the calm that is the storm.

Her anklets echoed against the quiet walls. She didn’t say a word.

Then a scent followed her.

Fragrant, soothing… nostalgic.

My eyes fluttered shut again, this time not to pretend, but to feel.

That fragrance, sandalwood and jasmine, maybe?

My mother used to spread it around our home every morning.

A lump formed in my throat.

For the first time after all chaos, I felt like I was home.

Not the house.

Not the walls.

But something about her.

She moved around silently, letting that warm scent fill the air, wrap around me like a comfort I didn’t know I craved.

She stopped beside me. My breath caught, but I didn’t move. She gently adjusted the blanket over me. Not rushed. Not distant. Just… careful.

Then, without a word, she turned to leave. Her anklets chimed again. And just like that… the room didn’t feel so cold anymore.

After a few moments, I slowly sat up again.

Something pulled at me, I don’t know what. Curiosity? Guilt? That lingering scent? I got up and opened the door just a little. Just enough to peek.

And then… I froze.

There she was.

Draped in a white saree with a soft golden border, simple yet so stunning that it knocked the air out of my lungs.

Her hair was still damp, cascading down her back, dark and wild. She stood in the hallway with her eyes closed, lips moving in a silent prayer.

In her hand was the same incense, its soft smoke curling through the air, trailing behind her like some sacred rhythm. She moved gently, spreading the fragrance like peace—like hope.

I couldn’t breathe.

I just stared.

….. What the hell am I doing?

I blinked, shook my head hard, and quickly closed the door before I could lose my mind completely.

What was that? Why the hell was I staring at her like that?

I grabbed my clothes with more aggression than necessary and marched toward the bathroom, trying to shut down the chaos inside my chest.

No.

This can’t happen.

Not again.

I stepped out of my room, dressed in my office clothes, reaching for my jacket—

CLANG!

A loud crash echoed through the house.

What the hell now? Without a second thought, I marched downstairs, the sound of metal still ringing in my ears.

And she was.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen like a guilty child caught stealing cookies surrounded by a mess of bowls and utensils scattered across the floor.

She turned to me slowly, hands behind her back, giving me the most awkward little smile like—

"Oops?"

I exhaled sharply, one brow raised. What am I going to do with this woman?

"What are you doing?”/" I asked, stepping into the kitchen, already bending down to pick up the fallen bowls.

"Hum khana bana rahe the… sab aa rahe hain toh…”l" she mumbled, looking everywhere but at me.

I stopped.

And looked at her properly.

Is she serious? Hair still damp, clinging to her pale skin. The burn marks—red, raw, clearly visible now.

And still… she was in the kitchen, trying to cook, dragging utensils from high shelves like she wasn’t just discharged from the hospital a few days ago.

This woman. She never stops. Never stops landing herself into trouble. And for what?

To cook for everyone. To make others feel at home. Even when she's still hurting.

"Workers will be here. You don’t need to—"

I didn’t even finish when she cut me off.

"I want to."

That quick. Sharp. Certain.

"No."

My voice went harsher than I intended.

"Yes."

She shot back with the same fire.

Damn it.

She’s playing with me at this point. And the worst part? I’m not even denying her. Not her words, not her stubbornness—nothing.

"At least take help," I said, sighing in defeat. "They’ll be here soon."

She nodded, thankfully, this time without arguing.

No more defiance—just a soft thank-you in her eyes.

And for a moment, I didn’t know who was losing control anymore her, or me.

I walked out and sat on the living room couch, the lingering scent of jasmine still hanging in the air.

But I felt… Just that same old restlessness again . The kind that’s haunted me since the day I lost Fay. A weight that never leaves—just shifts.

The sudden screech of car tires outside broke through the silence. Chaos had arrived.

The workers entered first. I stood, gave them instructions with mechanical precision. Then came them—the rest. Laughter, greetings, familiar voices… but my eyes?

My eyes found only one.

Ayra.

She was giggling in Seher’s arms, tiny gums flashing, her little fingers waving in the air.

My princess.

My peace.

The only reason I’m still breathing.

Without thinking, I walked to her. My hands moved on their own, reaching.

Seher smiled and handed her over. I pulled her close, pressing a kiss on her tiny forehead.

"Pa…" she gasped in that sweet little voice.

"Yes, baby… Papa is here," I whispered, brushing her hair back and kissing her again.

She giggled, soft and free.

But then, Her eyes shifted. Peeking behind my shoulder.

And in the blink of an eye, those giggles turned into restless wriggling.

She squirmed in my arms, whimpering, hands reaching outward.

I turned.

Taranya.

She was already walking toward us. And the moment Ayra saw her, My daughter, my very own traitor, Forgot me completely.

Without a word, I handed her over. I wonder how God made her heart?

So full of love… so impossibly soft.

She gives it away so freely—to people, to moments, to every broken thing that most of us ignore.

And what baffles me the most?

Because of her Step-parents, She’s never even known what love feels like. No parents. No soft lullabies. No arms to run into as a child?

Still, whenever she holds my daughter in her arms, her entire face lights up like she was meant to be her mother.

It’s like she was born for it.

Born for Ayra.

I watch as Ayra melts in her arms—no tantrums, no fuss, no tears. Just quiet giggles and tiny hands clinging to her like she’s home.

And maybe… she is.

"Ahem."

A throat-clearing sound snapped me from my thoughts. I turned to my right and of course.

The devil herself.

Ahvi.

God, someone please save me. She was smirking like she’d just uncovered the secret to the universe.

"Bhaiya, nazar mat lagao meri bhabhi aur bhanji ko ese ghur ke."

Her tone was pure mischief. I internally rolled my eyes so hard I could practically see my brain.

But outside? Stone face. Zero expression. I didn’t even grace her with a reply. Just moved to escape this circus.

Big mistake.

Ruaan my so-called friend, dragged me right back like some prisoner of war, pushed me onto the couch, and sat beside me like a bouncer guarding an exit.

Within seconds, everyone gathered around like it was the freaking G20 summit.

All eyes on me.

God help me.

"What do you all want?" I asked lazily, stretching my eyes across the whole chaotic bunch lounging in my living room like they owned the place.

"Naya ghar liya hai, no treat?"

Sameer yelled like this was some festival celebration.

I stared at him. Seriously?

My house literally burned down and this clown wants a treat for the ‘new home’?

"Yes bhai, come on!" Ahvi chimed in, bouncing with her usual mischief.

"New home, new beginning."

Beginning… That word struck something sharp in my chest.

Beginnings are for people who left something behind.

I didn’t.

I died the day she took her last breath.

Since then, there’s been no restart, no light just this constant ache in my bones, this shadow in my chest.

A darkness that never leaves.

And even in that darkness, I still find myself searching , For the woman who haunts both my dreams and my waking hours.

My Fay.

Before the silence settled too long, her voice cut through it like light through a crack in the wall.

"Of course, I was preparing a delicious meal for you all,"

her voice chimed through the air soft, bright, almost like it didn’t just drag me out of my gloom.

Everyone turned to her.

She was smiling.

That smile.

"Oh my god, yesss!"

Ahvi and Sameer practically bounced in excitement like overgrown kids hearing the word pizza.

Then he opened his mouth. Of course, he did.

"Ahn, Tara… I forgot to tell you—you’re looking beautiful today."

Ruaan leaned back with that signature cocky smirk, like he thought he just dropped poetry.

Bastard.

Isn’t he done with flirting around like it’s his full-time job? Every time he’s here, it’s the same thing grin, compliment, charm. And now her? Really?

It’s not like I care. I don’t.

But the way her smile widened at his compliment?

The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked down shyly?

That? That didn’t sit right.

Nope. Not calling that moron to my house again.

He can go charm someone else’s wife.

Though, let’s be honest, that clown never needed an invitation to crash in and make himself comfortable.

My own inner voice mocked me like it was having fun now.

I clenched my jaw and looked away before someone noticed the volcano rising under my calm face.

It’s nothing. Just irritation.

Normal. Rational.

Totally not jealousy. Definitely it's not. Ridiculous whatever he's doing.

"It’s my home, not Arwan’s restaurant," I said flatly, watching their expressions freeze mid-laughter.

Silence.

Mouths shut. Eyes on me. Exactly.

"Now you’re just being mean," Arwan said, dramatically like I’d personally betrayed him.

"Haan bhai! Kya hum wapas chale jaayein?"Ahvi chimed in with equal theatrics, her voice full of exaggerated guilt, like she was genuinely wounded.

"Yes, please do,"I replied dryly, not missing a beat.

"Haww! Bhabhi dekho! Chalein jaaye hum?"

She ran to Taranya’s side, faking a cry and burying her face in her shoulder like she was heartbroken.

Taranya, poor soul, tried to console her, gently patting her back, clearly not used to Ahvi’s antics.

" It’s okay… he doesn’t mean it," she said softly, trying to mediate like the peace-loving human she is.

Really? I glared fake, obviously at the brat who just turned my wife into her partner in crime.

She didn’t even spare me a glance back.

Amazing.

I’m outnumbered in my own house.

My wife?

Did I just call her my wife?

No. Of course not. Maybe it just… slipped. From my mouth. From my mind. Whatever.

I was about to get up when my phone buzzed.

Thank God for the distraction. Whoever it is you're my saviour. But the number flashing on the screen was… unknown.

I frowned and hit the green button. Held it to my ear.

"Hello, love."

The voice smooth, laced with amusement echoed on the other end. What the—?

Frustration flared instantly. "Who the f*ck is this?"I snapped, jaw tightening.

" You forgot me that easily? I didn’t expect that," she said.

Her voice, irritating as hell. Distorted. Like it had been run through some kind of modifier. Twisted just enough to stay unrecognizable.

I clenched my jaw.

"Come to the point." My voice was flat, cold.

She chuckled. That sickening kind of laugh you’d only hear from someone who enjoys watching pain.

'I just missed you,"she said mockingly.

"Was worried you might’ve gotten yourself hurt in the fire. Just wanted to check if you’re doing well."

And that was it.

That one line was enough. I didn’t need a name. Didn’t need anything else.

This call?

This voice?

She was the one.

The one behind the fire. The one who tried to kill us.

"Who the f*ck are you?!"I roared, blood boiling, fists clenched so tight I thought my phone would shatter.

"You tried to hurt my daughter. My family."

"I swear—"my breath heaved, fury clouding my vision,

"I’ll find you. And when I do, you’ll pray the fire got to you before I could."

She laughed again—slow, deliberate, spine-chilling.

"Aren’t you getting a little too desperate to see me?" she mocked.

"But you’ll have to wait, love. When you’re all alone… I’ll come. I’ll come to make you mine."

And just like that—

The line went dead.

I stood there frozen, phone still to my ear, heart thudding like a war drum.

Fcking btch.

Whoever she was, she dared to touch what was mine. Dared to threaten my daughter. My family. My home.

No. This wasn’t just one person. It couldn’t be. No one walks in and tampers with house wires alone. This was bigger.

Planned. Trained. Cowardly.

There were more.

And I swear. I’ll tear them apart. One. F*cking. Piece. At a time. Burn their world down the way they tried to burn mine.

They want a war?

Good.

They just knocked on the devil’s door. They think I'm the same man?

The one who once walked away from battles just to protect the little peace I had?

Fools.

Because this time, They're not threatening some grieving man. They're poking a wounded lion, thinking he's weak. And that’s their biggest mistake.

They’ve invited their own death.

Not just revenge. Ruin. I won't just find them.

I’ll make them regret breathing.