Rathore Palace – Late Night

The grand chamber was dimly lit, the golden glow of the chandelier barely touching the deep corners of the room. Abhay stood by the massive window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey. The storm outside had quieted, but inside him, it still raged.

Aryan leaned casually against the doorframe, watching his best friend with quiet amusement.

Abhay’s voice broke the silence, low and intense.

“Mujhe samajh nahi aa raha Aryan… main kyun usse dekh kar apna control kho deta hoon…”

Aryan chuckled and walked in, grabbing a drink for himself.

“Because you’re in love, bhai.” He smirked.

The glass in Abhay’s hand tightened.

“Shut up! Bekaar ki cheezein mat bol!” he snapped, his eyes sharp.

Aryan didn’t flinch.

“Arrey seriously! Tu khud ko kya samajhta hai? Superman? Jo feelings se pare hai?”

Abhay turned, eyes burning with frustration.

“Yeh pyaar, mohobbat kuch nahi hota! Sirf time waste hai. Aur kuch nahi. Tu nahi samjhega Aryan.”

Aryan walked up to him, holding his gaze.

“Nahi bhai, tu hi nahi samjhta. Tujhe lagta hai tu uss rani se nafrat karta hai, par teri aankhein sab kuch keh deti hain. Har baar jab tu usse dekhta hai, tu wahi sab kuch mehsoos karta hai jisko tu naam dene se darta hai.”

Abhay turned back toward the window, taking a sip, avoiding eye contact. Silence stretched for a few moments before he muttered bitterly—

“Sirf in do parivaron ke contract ki wajah se hum dono bandhe hue hain. Meri maa ki aakhri wish thi yeh… aur main yeh wish zaroor poora karunga.”

Aryan’s expression softened. He knew how much Abhay respected his late mother. But he also knew—this was more than just duty.

“Par maa ki wish sirf contract nahi thi bhai… shayad unhone tera sukoon pehchaan liya tha Sitara mein. Shayad woh jaanti thi ki tujhe uski zarurat hai...”

Abhay didn’t reply. He just stared at the moonlit sky in silence, the name Sitara echoing somewhere deep in his heart.