The Rathore's Family

Why did you cried

He walked straight to the room, and as he opened the door, he saw Drishti standing in front of the mirror, adjusting her earrings.

When she noticed him, she smiled and turned to face him. “You haven’t left yet? I thought you’d gone to the office.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, silently observing her. How could she move on so easily? How could she forget everything? Was her love for this family really so deep?

Drishti took a step closer to him, puzzled by his expression. “What happened? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He continued to look at her intently but ignored her question. Instead, he said in a firm tone, “Don’t go anywhere. Stay here. I need to talk to you.” Without waiting for her response, he walked into the bathroom.

Drishti sat down on the sofa, her thoughts racing. Why had he stopped her? Did someone tell him about yesterday’s incident? No, Ma wouldn’t have said anything. Then what could it be?

As she mulled over the possibilities, Advait emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed in a sharp three-piece suit. He looked every bit the composed businessman, but his eyes betrayed a storm within. He walked directly toward her, and she instinctively stood up.

In a slow, dangerous voice, he asked, “What did I ask you yesterday?”

She blinked, confused. “What… what do you mean?” she stammered.

“I asked if someone said something to you, didn’t I?” His tone sharpened. “And you didn’t tell me, did you?”

Drishti tried to deflect. “I didn’t think it was important,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze.

Advait clicked his tongue in frustration. Stretching out his hand, he grabbed her arm just above the elbow, and with one swift pull, she collided with him. His intense gaze bore into hers, and she instinctively looked down.

“Look up,” he commanded, his voice calm yet piercing. “When you lie, when you hide things, when you cry over the words of people who mean nothing to me—why do you fear meeting my eyes?”

She still didn’t look up.

“I said, look at me,” he repeated, his voice lowering to a whisper but firm enough to send shivers down her spine. “And answer me honestly.”

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his, fear evident in their depths.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his breath warm against her face.

“I… I didn’t want to cause unnecessary fights in the house,” she replied hesitantly. “And anyway, I already know where I stand in your life. What others think or say doesn’t matter to me.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then why did you cry?” he asked, his voice softening but his gaze unwavering.

Her lashes fluttered, and she looked away momentarily. “I just felt bad… the way he treated me… it hurt. I thought…”

“You thought he was a good person?” he finished her sentence, his tone bitter.

She nodded slightly.

Letting go of her arm, Advait guided her to the sofa. He sat down, pulling her down beside him. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he made her lean against him. She arched slightly at his touch, her cheeks flushed.

“I know how much you care for everyone,” he began, his voice gentler now, “but that doesn’t mean you let anyone insult you. Especially not without speaking up.”

“But… he’s older,” she said softly, trying to reason.

Advait pinched her cheek lightly, a faint smile on his lips. “Such a traditional wife I’ve gotten. But listen carefully—if anyone disrespects you without reason, you don’t have to tolerate it. And as for him calling you a maid—how dare he? From now on, I don’t want you near his work or his matters. I told you this before, didn’t I?”