A Web of Love and Deceit

In His Eyes, Her Forever

Shivada POV

It's been eight months since she last spoke to Aadhi.

Her 24th birthday passed like any other day—silent, uncelebrated, unnoticed even by her. The candles stayed unlit, the cake never came. Somewhere along the way, the mirror began to reflect someone else. She was losing weight, not by choice, not by effort, but by forgetting—forgetting to eat, to sleep, to feel.

Gone were the days she dressed in her favorite colors.  Now, clothes felt heavy, like memories she could no longer bear. Her eyes bore dark shadows, not just from sleepless nights but from the burden of holding back tears for far too long.

She had told her parents she needed time—time to prepare for her NET exams, time to gear up for PhD entrance tests. They nodded, understanding. But the truth? She hadn't studied a single line. The books remained unopened, collecting dust just like her dreams.

She barely spoke to her parents these days. Their worry hung thick in the air, an unspoken weight in every conversation. Her mother, desperate to pull her daughter back from this quiet spiral, once gently suggested that maybe—just maybe—she should talk to Aadhi and make things right.

But she had refused.

Somewhere deep inside, she felt guilty for letting him go. Aadhi, who had loved her so wholly, so silently, for years. But then the voice in her head would remind her of Shiva. Of all the things he'd done. Of Ram's tears. And the chain of silence that led to their ruin.

And on darker days, another cruel thought clung to her—maybe Aadhi deserved someone better. Someone slimmer, more composed, less dramatic. Someone prettier, someone who didn't bring pain wrapped in impulsiveness.

Padma aunty had come to see her once. It was just a few days after Aadhi left for Bangalore. The woman's eyes had held oceans of regret. She had apologized over and over, folding her hands and bowing her head—not as a family friend, but as a woman who had failed those she loved.

And Shivada had hugged her tightly in response. She didn't need to say the words; her warmth was enough.

"I deserved that day," Padma had whispered, recalling the moment when Shivada, disheveled and furious, had barged into their home with blood on her clothes and rage in her voice.

"Thank you for the understanding," Shivada had replied softly, and they both smiled through misty eyes—two women bound by love for the same boy, and by the ache of watching him walk away.

Seven Days Later

Shivada's phone buzzed on the bedside table, dragging her out of her numb stupor. She glanced at the screen.

Lilly: "Check Instagram. Shiva's going live."

She sighed. "I don't care anymore, Lilly."
Lilly: "You will. Just watch."
The call ended.

With mechanical fingers, Shivada opened Instagram and tapped into the live video, already halfway through. Shiva's face appeared—no longer polished, no longer the face of the suave businessman. He looked wrecked. Dark circles. Unshaved. Eyes swollen.

He exhaled before speaking.

Shiva's POV – Live Stream

"Hi... I'm Shiva.

Most of you know me as the co-partner of Krishna Industries, Aadhi's brother, Padma's son, that so-called 'golden boy.' Some of you recognize me as the guy whose wedding was cancelled. But none of those labels ever defined who I really am.