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The sun had slipped beyond the hills, bathed the haveli in gold-tinged shadow.
The walls, once alive with laughter and footsteps, now stood still—as if holding their breath, afraid to echo the morning’s ruin.

Meenal sat beside Arun’s bed, her hand resting lightly on his chest, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air.
He had finally fallen asleep, his breath soft and uneven—a rhythm that both calmed and hurt her.

Every few moments, she brushed his hair away from his forehead, as if touch alone could erase the burn that still throbbed faintly beneath the salve.

Rajveer stood by the window, staring at the horizon dimming to brass. Arms crossed, eyes dark and restless, Rajveer’s calm was only an act.

“Has he stopped shivering?” he asked without turning.

“Yes,” Meenal said softly. “The fever’s down.”

Silence stretched—thick, lingering, like smoke that refused to settle.

The burn was minor, but the fever that followed still clung, a memory that wouldn’t cool.

Rajveer finally turned to face her. “You should’ve called the vaid, Meenal.”

Her fingers froze mid-motion. “I told you, it would have scared him—”

“It’s not about him." He turns, steps forward, and lowers his voice. “It’s about your health, Meenal. You’re pregnant—and only weeks ago you fell down the stairs. Yet here you are, caring for Arun instead of yourself.”

Her eyes widened; her hand flew instinctively to her stomach.

"He’s my son—nothing matters more," she said, her voice wavering slightly.

"He is my son too…," Rajveer's expression softened; he reached to touch her hand. "I understand, Meenal. But you need to take care of yourself too, for both of your sakes. And Rita, I will forbid her from being near you or Arun."

Meenal looked up.

The lamp’s glow caught the sheen of tears she refused to let fall.
“She made a mistake, Thakur Shahab. She didn’t mean to hurt him.”

He laughed, short and sharp—not cruel, but disbelieving. “You always say that. About everyone.”

“Because I know what guilt feels like,” she whispered. “And I know what it does to people.”

He exhaled hard, running a hand over his face. “Guilt doesn’t heal burns, Meenal.”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling, “but kindness might.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other—two people bound by love, divided by fear. “You’re still clinging to the baby in your belly," he said softly, his eyes searching hers.

"I am scared, Thakur Shahab," she admitted, tears finally spilling over. "Until I know the full truth, everything seems so uncertain." Rajveer reached out and gently took her hand in his. "I was told this is our baby…"

Meenal sighed, staring at Arun. "I know you mean what you said, but these past few days, my life has felt like a whirlwind of confusion and doubt."

Rajveer squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“I sometimes think it was better when you ignored me,” Meenal murmured.

"So you want me back to ignoring you again?" Rajveer chuckled softly.

“No, for once I want peace and clarity. But my life has never known peace—not after Didi died…” Meenal trailed off, her voice breaking slightly.

Rajveer pulled her into a comforting embrace, knowing that sometimes words were not enough to heal the pain she carried. "Megha was perfect in her own way, but she wouldn't want you to live in constant turmoil."

"I took everything that once belonged to her, even her husband, her son, and her life, and in the end, I lost everything." Meenal thought back to the memories of her sister, the pregnancy, the guilt, and the uncertainty, all weighing heavily on her heart.

It was the burden she carried every day—the pain of losing Megha, the guilt that refused to fade, the void that would never fill.

"Perhaps it’s my sins," Rajveer whispered, his voice heavy from guilt. "I failed Megha—I never gave her the love she deserved. Maybe this is my punishment.”

Rajveer’s eyes glistened as he confessed, feeling the full weight of his sins. "But none of this was your fault, Meenal. You were always there for Megha, supporting her and loving her unconditionally. Don't blame yourself for my choices and actions."

A soft knock broke the silence.
Meenal wiped her tears and straightened her sari. Rajveer opened the door.

Rita stood there, a tray of fruit trembling in her hands.

Her sari creased, eyes rimmed red.

The tray in her hand rattled as she tried to compose herself.

She looked smaller than usual, as though the weight of her own mistake had pressed her inward.

“I… I came to see the Chhote Thakur,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Meenal glanced at Rajveer.
He gave a curt nod but said nothing.

Rita stepped inside—each movement measured, like she was walking across glass. Her gaze fell on Arun’s bandaged arm, and the air in the room seemed to tilt.

“I didn’t mean—” she began, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, Thakurain. I was only trying to help. I swear on—”

“Swearing won’t change what happened,” Rajveer said, his voice flat, metallic.

Rita’s breath caught.
Tears slipped down her cheeks unchecked. “No… but I can change what comes next. Just don’t send me away.”

Something in Meenal cracked at the desperation in her voice.
“Rita,” she said softly, standing. “Look at me.”

The maid obeyed, trembling.

“What happened this morning—was it truly an accident?”

Rita’s lips parted, but no sound came. For a heartbeat, it looked as if she might lie.

Then her shoulders sagged.

“It was,” she whispered. “But… I froze. I was scared.”

She stopped, shaking her head, eyes darting toward Rajveer.
Meenal frowned. “Rita, what are you afraid of? Did someone say something to you?”

Rita’s hands twisted in her sari. “Please… can I—I need to speak to you alone, Thakurain.”

Rajveer looked between them, uneasy.

Meenal met his gaze and nodded. “It’s all right. I’ll talk to her.”
After a tense pause, he turned and left the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Meenal moved closer.
“Tell me, Rita. What is it that’s scaring you?”

Rita’s body shook.

Her fingers clutched the edge of the tray until the metal rattled.
“I… I don’t know how to say it,” she murmured, her voice thinning. “It’s complicated.”

Meenal’s tone softened. “Then start anywhere.”

Rita’s eyes filled with tears. “Thakurain… I committed a sin I can never undo.”

She drew in a shuddering breath, her next words barely audible.

“I thought I was helping, but…"

Ah, dearest sinners…

Well, well—Rita’s sins are catching up at last, and the truth is clawing its way to the surface. I’ll admit it—I’ve toyed with you longer than planned, weaving the tension tighter with every chapter. But I swear, next time… the truth will bite.

The real question is—how will Meenal react? Will she forgive, or will the flames of guilt consume whatever love remains? I wouldn’t blame her if rage took over—but then again, the heart rarely obeys logic, does it?

The haveli is on the brink, ready to explode with secrets, guilt, and the echoes of old sins. The end is near, my loves—but don’t think for a second that means peace. Oh no… there’s still plenty of spice, sorrow, and sin left to taste.

So hold your breath—Rita’s confession is coming. But it’s Friday, and devils do love their delays…
The truth waits until Monday.

Until then, stay restless, stay sinful, and stay tuned.

— Shaar Shree 💋