Tujhko Jo Paaya.

Chapter 8 Whispers of Trithi

.Samira's POV

As I stepped into our new flat, the sheer size and luxury of it took my breath away. This wasn’t just a home—it felt like a palace. The living room alone was bigger than my entire childhood house. High ceilings, grand chandeliers, and expansive windows flooded the space with natural light, making it feel airy yet opulent.

The décor was sophisticated and modern—cream-colored walls offset by sleek, dark wood furniture and touches of gold. Every corner of the room exuded wealth and elegance. I could see Ahan’s taste all over this place—minimal, refined, but with an understated grandeur that only someone with old money could pull off so effortlessly. Soft Persian rugs underfoot, abstract art pieces on the walls, and designer furnishings in every room—the richness was overwhelming, but not in a garish way.

As I wandered through the flat, each room seemed more extravagant than the last. Ten bedrooms—each one immaculately designed, with plush bedding and enormous wardrobes. The bathrooms were like something out of a five-star hotel—marble floors, deep soaking tubs, and rain showers. It was almost too much to take in. How had I ended up here, in this kind of life, after everything?

But it wasn’t until I stepped outside into the garden that I truly felt the magnitude of Ahan’s world. The garden was nothing short of magical—beautifully manicured, with rich tulips blooming in vibrant shades of pink, purple, and red. Their petals swayed gently in the breeze as if welcoming me to this new chapter of my life. The pool sparkled under the evening light, a serene oasis surrounded by lush greenery. It was peaceful here, an escape from the bustling city beyond these walls.

As I admired the view, the old gardener approached, his weathered face breaking into a warm smile.

"Ah, you must be the new Mrs. Chaudhury. Ahan saab is a lucky man."

I smiled politely. "Thank you. The garden is beautiful. You’ve done an amazing job with it."

He chuckled softly. "Ahan saab loves this place. He always came here... with her." His voice trailed off, and I noticed a flicker of sadness in his eyes.

"With her?" I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew.

The gardener seemed to catch himself, his eyes widening slightly. "Oh, never mind, madam. I talk too much. Enjoy your evening," he said quickly, bowing his head before retreating to tend to the flowers.

I stood there, the warmth of the setting sun on my skin, but inside, a chill crept up my spine. It wasn’t hard to guess who the gardener had been referring to. Trithi. She was everywhere in this house, in the unspoken memories that lingered in Ahan’s silence. I felt a knot tighten in my chest.

Later that evening, after dinner, I wandered through the flat again, trying to shake off the unease that had settled over me. I came across a door at the far end of the hallway. It was locked. I tried the handle again, but it wouldn’t budge.

Curiosity gnawed at me. What was behind that door? Why was it locked? I decided not to push further—for now.

Instead, I found myself drawn to another room—a large, cozy space filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books. The house library. It was beautiful, with soft leather chairs, a grand oak desk, and a fireplace in the corner. I walked slowly along the shelves, running my fingers over the spines of the books. There was something so intimate about a person's library—the stories they chose to keep, the knowledge they valued. It felt like I was stepping into Ahan’s mind, seeing a part of him he rarely shared.

As I approached the desk, I noticed a stack of papers. Letters. I wasn’t sure if I should look, but something drew me in. I picked up the top letter, my heart pounding as I unfolded it. The handwriting was unmistakably Ahan’s—neat and deliberate.