The lavish Raghuvanshi mansion glittered under the soft evening lights. The scent of freshly cut roses filled the air, but Aarohi Raghuvanshi, the lady of the house, couldn’t feel the warmth. She sat by the window, gazing out into the garden where her three sons were playing. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she watched them, their laughter a stark contrast to the cold silence that enveloped her marriage.
Aarohi sighed, clutching her shawl tightly around her shoulders. She had been married to Rudransh Raghuvanshi for 12 years. On the surface, it was the perfect life—three beautiful sons, a respected family, and financial stability beyond her imagination. But deep inside, her heart ached for something she had never received from her husband: love.
They barely spoke except in front of their children. When they did, it was formal, distant—like two strangers living under the same roof.
As Aarohi’s thoughts wandered, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Rudransh.
"I’ll be late tonight. Don’t wait up."
The words were sharp, cold, and familiar. Aarohi’s heart clenched. She didn’t expect anything different from him, but it still hurt. They had been living like this for so long that the distance felt like a permanent barrier between them. She typed a quick response.
"Okay. Be safe."
Her fingers hesitated before she hit send. For 12 years, she had been the same—patient, forgiving, and hopeful. Every day, she wished for just a little warmth, a sign that Rudransh might see her beyond the role of a wife and mother. But that hope had begun to fade.
She closed her eyes, whispering to herself, “Maybe… maybe it's time to stop trying.”
Aarohi was jolted back to reality by the sound of the front door opening. Her sons burst into the living room, their faces flushed with excitement.
“Mom! Look what we found!” exclaimed Ayaan, her eldest, holding up a colorful butterfly net. His brothers, Aryan and Avyan, followed closely behind, their eyes sparkling with joy.
“What is it, sweethearts?” Aarohi asked, forcing a smile as she knelt to their level.
“A butterfly! A really big one!” Aryan said, bouncing on his heels. “Can we keep it, please?”
Aarohi’s heart swelled with affection for her children. “Of course, but we have to be gentle with it. Butterflies need to be treated with care.”
As they chatted about the butterfly, the atmosphere brightened momentarily, pushing aside the shadows of her loneliness. But as quickly as it had come, the light began to fade when she heard the unmistakable sound of Rudransh’s car pulling into the driveway.
“Dad’s home!” Avyan shouted, his face lighting up.
Aarohi straightened and smoothed her hair, preparing herself for the usual encounter. She watched as Rudransh stepped into the house, his tailored suit immaculate, his expression unreadable. He didn’t seem to notice the lively scene around him.
“Hi, Dad!” Ayaan ran up to him, holding out the butterfly net.
Rudransh barely glanced at it. “Not now, Ayaan. I’ve had a long day,” he replied curtly, brushing past the boys as if they were mere obstacles in his path.
The disappointment on her sons’ faces pierced Aarohi’s heart. “Rudransh,” she said, her voice steady yet filled with unspoken emotion. “Maybe you could spend a few minutes with the boys? They were excited to show you what they found.”
