Chapter 5: A New Strength

When I woke, I was back at the Sharma residence.

The familiar tick-tock of the old wall clock, the faraway clang of a vegetable hawker’s bell, told me I was home. The world outside my window glowed golden with the late afternoon sun.

My father, face clouded with anger, urged me to take my medicine.

He hovered at my bedside, his thick moustache twitching with concern, muttering under his breath about “injustice” and “political influence.” I drank the bitter kadha he handed me, wincing at the taste. A WhatsApp message pinged on my phone, ignored as I watched the steam rise from my chai.

I soothed him, telling him not to worry.

After all, Priya had already been punished.

My father had never remarried, for fear I’d be bullied by others in the household.

Yet, unexpectedly, in just a moment of carelessness, I was bullied by Priya herself.

He knelt in the main hall, demanding justice for me.

The Chief Minister’s face was dark as thunder.

But no matter how much he doted on his youngest daughter, he could not ignore such a scandal.

Priya was punished to write lines and ordered to come to my house to apologise in person.

But though I’d been awake for several days, she still hadn’t come.

Given her proud nature, she probably never would.

I didn’t care.

But someone unexpected sent a visiting card.

I was curious—why would Rohan, who had always avoided me, come to visit now? So I let him in.

Rohan stood in the courtyard, gazing at me from afar, never stepping inside my room.

His noble bearing blended with the gulmohar blossoms—a true portrait of spring.

He spoke formally: "Miss Ananya, I am here today to apologise on behalf of Priya."

"She is still young and a bit spoiled, but she meant no harm."

"All the maids on the side that day could swim; there was no real danger…"

Priya had just turned sixteen, five years younger than Rohan and me.

But his words rang hollow.

Before he finished, I started coughing.

He avoided my eyes, focusing instead on a fallen gulmohar petal by his shoe. For a moment, his expression faltered.

He quickly added, "Priya asked me to invite two doctors. They will arrive today."

Rohan was born into poverty, yet almost became Cabinet Secretary or an MP. Though my father supported him, most of his success was due to his own abilities.

He was always steady and reserved, careful with every word so no one could find fault.

If I argued, I’d seem petty and unreasonable.

See? Now he was using this skill on me.

I merely smiled. "It’s fine. Luckily, someone came to save me."

"It’s just, I never learned who he was. Could Mr. Rohan tell me?"

That shadow who saved me left immediately—only those present knew who it was.

For some reason, Rohan’s expression darkened, and when he spoke again, his tone grew cold:

"I didn’t save Miss Ananya right away that day for the sake of your reputation."

"To be frank, I am already engaged to Priya."

So, not saving me was to avoid suspicion.

It seemed he had resolved not to give me any chance at all.

My fingers trembled slightly. Though I had prepared myself, hearing it from his own mouth still made my heart ache.

But only for a moment.

"Miss Ananya is still unmarried. That chivalrous person likely didn’t wish to leave his name for the same reason."

He spoke as if, whoever saved me, I would cling to them.

He himself feared marrying me, so he thought others would fear it too.

Rohan seemed unaware that I, too, had been reborn.

Everything I did before was only because I admired him.

Seeing my silence, Rohan paused, his tone softening:

"Miss Ananya, I wish you a swift recovery and a good marriage."

His gaze lingered, his words heavy with meaning.

I understood.

He was telling me—

In this life, do not trouble him again.

I let out a quiet laugh. "Shukriya, Rohan ji, for your kind wishes. In fact, I have already found someone."

As soon as I finished, a crack appeared in Rohan’s always-calm expression.

For a heartbeat, his mask slipped—eyebrows arching ever so slightly, lips tightening. The silence in the courtyard grew heavy, broken only by the rustle of gulmohar petals swirling on the breeze. For the first time, I saw Rohan falter, even if only for a moment—and in that pause, I found my own strength.