FOREVER TOGETHER ❤️

Part - 50

So let’s begin,

Early Morning — Mahir’s Bedroom

Mahir tossed and turned the entire night on the bed, barely getting any sleep.
Between anger, worry, and a strange ache in his chest, his mind kept drifting back to Bela.

Around 4:30 AM, exhaustion finally took over.

Bela was standing in front of him, that soft light glow over her face…
Her hair tied in a messy bun, uniform slightly creased, eyes tired but still fierce.

Mahir (dreaming, voice low):
“Bela… tum aa gayi…”

In the dream, she turned. No anger, no distance — just that calm, familiar look that always made his heartbeat slow down.

She reached out, gently touched his wrist and whispered,
“Mai aapse dur gayi hi kab thi Mahir ji.. Mai yahi hoon humesha aapke pass..”

And suddenly, the distant sound of a phone ringing cut through everything…

⏰ Reality

KNOCK. KNOCK.
A sharp rap on the door jolted him awake.

Mahir sat upright, breath heavy, eyes burning from lack of sleep.
For a second, he looked around, half-expecting Bela to be there.

Instead—

Riddhi’s voice from outside the door, sugary sweet but irritatingly loud:
“Mahir? Good morning! Are you awake babe? Come down for breakfast.. And also, bring that file jo humne discuss ki thi…”

Mahir’s jaw tightened.
Dream gone.
Reality back.

He rubbed his face, annoyed, frustrated, and suddenly very, very aware that Bela hadn’t come home.

Her phone still switched off. No text. Nothing.

Mahir (under his breath):
“Perfect. Subah bhi shuru hogayi Riddhi se…”

He swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and stared at Bela’s empty side of the bed — untouched, cold.

A wave of something heavy and unfamiliar hit him.

Worry?

Regret?

Maybe both.

Riddhi knocked again.
“Mahir? Are you up?”

Mahir (raising his voice, clipped and cold):
“Riddhi. I heard you. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Her footsteps retreated.

He exhaled, long and tired, and without thinking, his eyes went again to Bela’s contact on his phone.
Still unreachable.

He wanted to throw the phone, wanted to forget everything, but that dream kept replaying.

Her eyes.
Her voice.
That touch on his wrist.

And somewhere in the middle of chaos, jealousy, frustration, and misunderstandings…

For the first time, he admitted something he would never say out loud:

He missed her.
And he was scared something might be wrong.
The first light of morning was a dull grey, like the city hadn’t woken up yet.
--
MAHILA POLICE THANA – 7:00 AM
The first light of dawn crept through the grilled windows, painting long, pale streaks across the dusty floor. The station was unnaturally quiet—only the low hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional shuffle of a constable’s step filled the silence.
Bela sat at her desk, shoulders stiff, eyes burning from hours of pouring over reports. Files were scattered around her like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t yet solved—CCTV timestamps, missing children reports, witness statements, patrol notes. She flipped the last page, closed the final file with a dull thud, and rested her palm over her eyes for a moment.
Her mind felt numb, but her heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
She stood up slowly, every muscle in her body protesting from the long sleepless night. Picking up the thana keys, she walked to the night-duty constable who instantly straightened upon seeing her.
The constable’s eyes brimmed with concern—Bela looked exhausted, edges frayed, yet her expression was carved from stone.
Bela muttered under her breath, almost as if thinking aloud:
Bela (muttering to herself):
"Kisi bhi haalat mein… aaj is case ke liye proper proof dhoondhna hi padega. Kaun hai in sab ke peeche? Kaun sa darinda in masoom bachchon ko target kar raha hai…"
Her jaw tightened. The exhaustion couldn’t dull the fire in her—if anything, it sharpened it.
She handed the keys over.
Bela (quietly):
"Sab kuch lock kar dena… aur theek se dhyaan rakhna yahan ka. Main duty hours tak wapas aaungi."
Her voice carried no force—just a hollow tiredness, the kind that came after wrestling with darkness the whole night.
The constable nodded quickly, almost hesitating.
"Madam, aap thoda—"
Bela cut him off with a faint, weary wave of her hand.
Bela:
"Bas… main handle kar lungi. Tum log apna kaam theek se karo."
She stepped out of the station, the early morning air brushing her face, cool yet far from refreshing. Her stomach twisted—a reminder she hadn’t eaten anything substantial in over twenty-four hours. Her head throbbed, her mind replaying the same haunting images of missing children whose smiles were now frozen only in photographs.
She walked down the steps, determination simmering beneath her fatigue.
No matter what it cost her—sleep, food, her own peace—
today she would find something.
A clue.
A lead.
A crack in the darkness swallowing those innocent lives.
And she wasn’t going to stop until she did.
---
At Sehgal House

The house had already begun its daily rhythm.

Pushpa ji’s voice floated from the kitchen, giving instructions to the maids about breakfast:

“Mirchi thodi kam daalna… aur parathe acche se sekna.”

Haseena and Arjun leaned over the dining table looking at something — maybe discussing the missing children case, maybe just starting their normal banter. Karishma, Santu and Rajat Anurag’s doors were still shut upstairs. And somewhere in the hallway, Riddhi’s face mask smell — lavender and something expensive — hung in the air.

The doorbell rang.

Pushpa ji hurried to open it.

Bela stood there, uniform wrinkled, hair messy, eyes red with fatigue. There was a quick moment — Pushpa ji’s face softened, concern flickering.

Pushpa ji:
“Aa gayi beta… chai bana du?”

Bela only nodded once. She didn’t have energy for words.

As she stepped inside, she glanced automatically at the living room… searching for him.
Mahir wasn’t there.

Something in her chest tightened — annoyance, relief, longing — she couldn’t tell.

She walked toward their room on autopilot, but paused just outside the door. For a second, she stood there, staring at the wood, thinking whether she should knock… or just walk away to the other room.

But exhaustion made the decision for her. She twisted the knob and entered.


---

Inside the Room

Mahir was already awake, sitting on the bed with his laptop open and a cup of coffee untouched by his side. He wasn’t working; he was trying to.

The moment she entered, he looked up sharply.

Their eyes met.

In one heartbeat — the world stopped.

Despite everything — the late night, the fight, the anger, the misunderstandings — their first instinct was to cross that space and just hold each other. It was a raw, magnetic pull.

But neither moved.

Reality stepped between them like a wall.

Bela tore her gaze away first. Wordlessly, she walked to the wardrobe, pulled out fresh clothes, and headed toward the bathroom.

Mahir’s jaw clenched.

He had waited the whole night — calling her, thinking about her, spiraling between fear and jealousy — and now she was just… ignoring him?

Mahir (sharp, disconnected tone):
“Itni busy ho gayi thi ki ek phone ya message bhi nahi kar paayi?”

Bela froze mid-step, back still facing him.

He continued, bitterness creeping into his voice.

Mahir:
“Aaj se pehle toh kabhi nahi hua aisa. Ya phir jaan-bujh ke ignore kar rahi thi”

That word — ignore — hit her like a slap.

She turned slightly, voice flat from exhaustion — not anger.

Bela:
“Phone dead ho gaya tha…”

Mahir let out a cold laugh — not amused, just wounded.

Mahir (mocking, low chuckle):
“Haan, aur thane ka landline bhi dead ho gaya hoga, hai na?”

Bela’s fingers tightened around her clothes.

Mahir:
“Sahi hai. Ignore hi karna tha toh pehle bol deti.”

There it was — not just frustration, but hurt. Jealousy. The kind of tone that hides fear behind accusations.

Bela looked at him then — properly looked — and for a second, he saw the tremble in her eyelids, the exhaustion pulling at her skin, the way her shoulders slumped as if someone had stacked mountains on them all night.

But she didn’t defend herself.
She didn’t argue.

She just swallowed once, turned away, and walked into the bathroom without another word, quietly closing the door behind her.

The sound of that door closing was louder than any yelling could’ve been.

The moment Bela locked the door behind her, her breath hitched.

Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her — tired eyes, faint dark circles, uniform slightly creased, hair messy. She looked like someone who carried the weight of a city on her shoulders.

A single tear broke free…
Then another.

She quickly cupped water in her palms and splashed it on her face, as if trying to drown the ache.

Bela (whispering to herself, voice trembling):
“Aisa kya badal gaya h humare beech, Mahir ji…? Jo ab aap mujhe samajh hi nhi pa rahe h.. Wo pyaar jo aapko meri aankhon mi dikhta tha ab wo sabit karna padta h…?
Kaise sab kuch itna complicated ho gaya…? Pehle aap mere gusse ko bhi samajh jaate the aur ab.. Mai hurt hoon aapse baat karke bas situation aur bigadna nhi chahti is liye chup hoon.”

Her lips quivered as more tears spilled. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape.

Bela (frustrated, hurting):
“Aap toh mere bina kahe sab samajh jaate the… toh phir aaj? Aaj kyu nahi? Aapne kaise maan liya mai aapko ignore kar rahi hoon? Mujhe ab aapko explanation dena padega? ”

She steadied herself on the sink, breathing deeply, forcing her shoulders not to shake.

This wasn’t the time to break.
Not when a 6-year-old girl was missing.
Not when dozens of children’s faces stared at her from the case files.

Duty tugged her back to reality like a reminder of who she was.

Her tears dried on her cheeks as she straightened, wiped her face, and after a comforting bath walked out more determined to get those kids back.



⭐ [Downstairs – Dining Hall / Living Room]

The smell of ghee and parathas filled the air. Morning sunlight slanted into the hall, painting lines on the marble floor.

Pushpa ji came out of the kitchen, concern immediately clouding her face as she saw Bela descending the stairs.

Pushpa ji (softly):
“Beta… thoda aaram kar le. Thoda so jaa. Phir case dekh lena.”

Bela didn’t even stop walking.
Her tone was polite, but distant — her mind already back at work.

Bela:
“Ammi… abhi time nahi h. Baccho ko zaroorat h.”

Pushpa ji’s eyes softened but she didn’t push further.

Bela moved toward the dining table where Haseena and Arjun were already laying out files, clearly continuing yesterday’s discussion.

She sat down between them, immediately diving into the details.

Bela (to Arjun):
“Kal ke CCTV ka kya update? Koi unusual pattern mila?”

Arjun:
“Ek junction ka footage missing h, bhabhi. Either corruption… ya deliberately erase kiya gaya h. Puch taach se khabar mili h ki station ke bahar se bohot bacche gayab hue h.. Jinki complaints bhi register nhi hui h kyuki unke Maa-Baap ke pass itne resources ya paise nhi ki wo police aur court tak Jaa sake.. procedure follow kar sake.. Aur.. ”

Bela:
“Aur?”

His voice trailed, as if what he was going to say next was nothing but a harsh reality.. Bela noticed this flicker and pause instantly sensing something serious. He said it once looking at Haseena who gave her an encouraging nod.

Arjun:
“Unhe lagta h police in sab mai kuch nhi kar payegi aur unke bacche unhe kabhi wapas nhi milenge. Kuch logo ko lagta h yeh police department aur kuch political parties ki saazish h votes paane ke liye.. Jisse log dar ke unhe vote kare.”

Bela’s jaw tightened. Her body screamed for rest, but her mind was racing ahead.

Just then—

“Didi!”

Two whirlwinds crashed into her from both sides.

Karishma hugged her from the left, Santu from the right — tight, warm, and emotionally messy.

Karishma (voice trembling a little):
“Didi… kahan thi aap kal? Aap theek toh ho? Kitna miss kiya humne!”

Santu (dramatically, arms around Bela’s waist):
“Haan! Aap aise mat gayab hua karo na… accha nahi lagta bilkul bhi! Aur pata h aapko? Rajat ne kal kitna pareshaan kiya mujhe!”

Bela blinked — their hug loosening the heaviness settled on her chest since last night.

Santu (animatedly continuing):
“Chipkali, bandariya… pata nahi kya kya bol raha tha mujhe! Aap usse daantna, kaan kheechna bhi!”

Right on cue, Rajat walked in, rubbing his eyes, hair messy from sleep.

Rajat (offended, pointing at Santu):
“Bhabhi, ek number ki jhoothi h yeh! Aapke pampering ke liye natak kar rahi h. Touch bhi nahi kiya tha maine isko!”

Santu:
“Didi.. Jhootha h yeh ek number ka.. Mere favourite chocolates bhi kha gaya tha yeh kal..bhukkad kahi ka.”

Bela finally smiled.
A real smile — the first since yesterday.

Bela (soft, fond, shaking her head):
“Tum log subah-subah shuru ho gaye, haan?”

Santu tightened her hug.
Karishma rested her head briefly on Bela’s shoulder.
Arjun looked relieved that Bela smiled.
Even Haseena’s eyes softened — the concern easing just a little.

For a moment, surrounded by her younger siblings, Bela felt something warm and anchoring.

She wasn’t alone.
She wasn’t broken.
She wasn’t weak.

She was their Didi.
Their strength.
Their protector.

And they were hers.

Bela sat amidst Karishma, Santu, Haseena, and Arjun and Rajat, all bickering around her eating breakfast smiling, teasing and giggling with their stories.. the familiar comfort of their presence slowly untangling the knots in her chest. Just then—

Anurag came in freshly woken up, glasses slightly crooked, as usual.

He froze when he saw the scene.

All five siblings glued to Bela.

Anurag (dramatic, hand to heart):
“Bas! Yahi dekhna baaki reh gaya tha.. Mere bina gang meeting shuru kaise ho gayi? Yeh discrimination h!”

Arjun: “Oyee nautanki.. Tu late h samjha na.. Ab aaja.”

Rajat snorted.
Arjun pulled Anurag’s sleeve until he squeezed himself into the circle.

Now all six of them surrounded Bela like a human fortress.
Arjun on one side, Haseena on the other, Karishma clutching Bela’s arm, Santu half-sitting on her lap, Rajat standing close, and Anurag filling the last empty gap.

For the first time in hours, Bela actually laughed—annoyed, touched, overwhelmed—all at once.

Bela (play-glare, elder sister tone):
“Tum sabko koi kaam nahi h kya? Subah-subah circus laga rakha h?”

Karishma (leaning her head on Bela’s shoulder):
“Humein bas apni didi chahiye. Aur kuch nahi.”

Santu (tightening her hug around Bela’s waist):
“Haan! Didi ke bina saans bhi nahi aati h.”

Rajat (rolling his eyes, arms crossed):
“Drama queen. Saans aati hai isko—bas nautanki karni hoti h na.. Chipkali kahi ki..”

Santu instantly slapped Rajat’s arm.

Santu:
“Tu chup! Didi ka best pyara bachcha main hoon.”

Arjun:
“Haan haan… aur sabse zyada shaitaan bhi tu hi hai.”

Santu:
“Bhaiya.. Yeh galat h..”

Anurag (teasing, nudging Bela lightly):
“Waise bhabhi… aaj aap itni cute lag rahi ho. Issi wajah se toh hum sabko aapki yaad aa rahi thi kal raat.”

Bela’s glare snapped to Anurag — one of those don’t-test-me looks.

Anurag:
“Sorry sorry—compliment dena bhi gunaah h kya?”

Haseena, though smiling, had an emotional softness in her eyes, watching Bela between the siblings.

She placed her hand on Bela’s head gently.

Haseena (softly):
“Aap aise hi acchi lagti ho.. Didi. Nothing else matters.”

Bela’s eyes softened.
She tried hiding her relief, but it showed.

Pushpa ji emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on her kurta.

Pushpa ji (fake frustration, real fondness):
“Arre arre arre! Yeh kya sab use gher ke baithe hue ho..  saans toh lene do! Upar chadh gaye sab ke sab!”

All six siblings turned simultaneously with innocent faces.

Rajat:
“Amma, main toh bas side pe khada tha!”

Santu:
“Main toh bas didi ko hug kar rahi thi!”

Karishma:
“Main toh bas pooch rahi thi ki wo theek hai ya nahi!”

Anurag:
“Main toh bas—”

Pushpa ji cut him with a glare.

Pushpa ji:
“Bas karo! Tum logon ko main ek ek kar ke belan se seedha kar sakti hoon. Use dekhte hi tum sabki nautanki shuru ho jaati h na.”

Bela leaned back, teasing:

Bela:
“Kya baat hai, lagta hai kisi ko bada pyaar aa raha hai mujhpe. Maa ka dil hai na… aisa hi hota hai.”

Pushpa ji narrowed her eyes.

Pushpa ji:
“Haan, tumhe toh pyaar hazam hi nahi hota. Taane sunne ki aadat lag gayi hai tumhe!”

Bela chuckled, shoulders relaxing completely now.

Bela:
“Ammi ko mat chhedo tum sab. Ek second mein sabki baj jayegi.”

The siblings groaned in unison.

Haseena (arms crossed, teasing):
“Haan haan…didi ka gussa alag hi level ka hota hai. Ammi toh usse bhi upar. Wo seedha taano se attack karti h.”

Arjun leaned toward Rajat, whispering loudly on purpose.

Arjun:
“Aaj bhabhi ka glare wapas aa gaya. Ab hum khatre mein hain. Lag raha hai ghar ki raunak wapas aa gayi.”

Bela:
“Arjun!”

He straightened instantly.

Arjun:
“Ji. Sorry bhabhi.”

Everyone burst into laughter again.

Bela (shaking her head):
“Tum sab na… bilkul pagal ho.”

Santu cupped Bela’s cheeks and planted a loud kiss.

Santu (mushy):
“Jaise bhi hain… aapke hi hain didi. Seriously—ek din bhi aapke bina ghar ajeeb lagta hai.”

Anurag chimed in with a smirk.

Anurag:
“Haan, jab tak aapke chillane ki awaaz na aaye… humari subah hi nahi hoti!”

Bela’s hand shot up, pinching his ear.

Bela:
“Isiliye aaj late uthe ho na? Office ke liye late ho gaye? Phir mat kehna—‘Bhabhi aapne uthaya nahi!’ Mahir ji ke saamne class lagegi tumhari.”

Anurag (squirming):
“Aah bhabhi! Chhodiye na! Waise bhi bhaiya toh aajkal Riddhi di ke saath hi busy hote hain… unhe nahi dhyaan rehta. Main toh safe hoon ab—chhodiye please!”

The moment the name Riddhi dropped, the air shifted.

Teasing laughter died.
Expressive faces fell still.
Even Bela’s expression changed—calm, guarded, unreadable.

Anurag realised instantly what he had blurted out.

He opened his mouth to apologise—

But at that exact moment, Riddhi walked in, radiant after a long beauty sleep, her skin glowing, her energy annoyingly fresh compared to Bela  trapped between her siblings.

And the room stilled.

Riddhi walked in with the effortless confidence of someone who had slept a full nine hours, done her skincare, and felt absolutely zero guilt about it.
Her hair was brushed to perfection, her oversized T-shirt tucked casually, aura glowing like she’d just stepped out of a lifestyle vlog.

But the moment she crossed the threshold, she noticed it—
The sudden stillness.

Six siblings, who were laughing a second ago, now frozen around Bela.

And Bela…
Her face unreadable, composed, the kind of calm that came from years of controlling her reactions.

Riddhi smiled politely.

Riddhi:
“Good morning, everyone. Itna chup kyun ho gaye sab?”

Silence.
Just shifting glances and awkward throat-clearing.

Pushpa ji came to the rescue.

Pushpa ji:
“Arre beta, aa jao. Nashta lo. Tumhara hi wait ho raha tha.. Yeh toh inlog ka roz ka h.. Bela se baat kiye bina inki subah shuru nhi hoti na.. Tum baitho.”

Riddhi laughed softly and pulled out a chair.
But her eyes flicked briefly toward Bela—hesitant, searching.

Bela didn’t respond.
Her head dipped slightly, focusing on her tea as if it suddenly demanded her entire attention.

Haseena noticed instantly.
She shot a warning glance at Anurag.

Anurag mouthed:
“Sorry… galti ho gayi.”

Arjun nudged him under the table so hard Anurag almost yelped.

Riddhi, trying to keep the atmosphere light, reached for the serving bowl.

Riddhi (cheerfully):
“Bela, aloo paratha du?”

Bela lifted her eyes—slowly—meeting Riddhi’s gaze for the briefest second.

Bela (polite, distant):
“Hmm. Ek de do.”

Not cold.
Not warm.
Just… formal.

Too formal for someone who lived under the same roof.
Too formal for someone Anurag just hinted was “close” to Mahir these days.

Riddhi blinked, slightly taken aback, but masked it with a smile.
She placed a paratha on Bela’s plate with extra care.

Karishma leaned into Santu’s shoulder, whispering:

Karishma (whispering):
“Mood off ho gaya didi ka…”

Santu:
“Haan. Ab tak toh sab theek chal raha tha…”

Rajat nudged them both sharply.

Rajat:
“Chup raho dono. Bhabhi sun lengi.”

But Bela heard nothing.
Or pretended to.

Her mind had already drifted somewhere else—
To Anurag’s accidental sentence,
To Mahir’s name,
To the woman now sitting across the table smiling with practiced sweetness.

Pushpa ji clapped her hands suddenly.

Pushpa ji:
“Aree khana kha rahe ho ya padh rahe jo itni shanti banake rakhi h.. Khana humesha haste muskurate hue khana chahiye jisse shareer mai lage.. Aur Bela yeh kya tum itna itna sa kha rahi ho.. Din bhar khane ka thikana nhi rehta h tumhara thane mai.. khao acche se.. Aur Santu tum bhi yeh dieting ke chakkar mai sehat mat kharab karo apni..”

Bela forced a small nod.

Bela:
“Ji Ammi…”

Riddhi’s smile softened, genuinely this time.

Riddhi:
“If you need help… or anything… please bolo. Hum sab hain yahan.”

Bela finally looked up—this time with a clear, direct gaze.

Not hostile.
Not welcoming.
Just… unreadable.

Bela (quiet, controlled):
“Main handle kar lungi.”

A pregnant pause.

Haseena quickly stepped in to break the thickening tension.

Haseena (brightly):
“Waise, hum log bas didi ka mood bas thoda thik kar rahe  the. Aur Anurag… well… wannabe comedian mode mein chala gaya tha.”

Anurag puffed his chest dramatically.

Anurag:
“Haan! Lekin mera joke ka timing thoda bigad gaya. Main kal se rehearse karunga.”

Arjun smacked the back of his head.

Arjun:
“Tu wohi kar jo kar sakta hai—late mat uth.”

Laughter returned.
A little forced, a little shaky—but it returned.

Bela let a small, almost invisible smile tug at her lips.

But Riddhi…
She kept watching Bela.

Quietly.
Curiously.
As if trying to understand a puzzle only she wasn’t given all the pieces to.

And Bela?
She continued eating, shoulders relaxed in a way that fooled everyone except the ones who loved her enough to know—

Something inside her had tightened again.

Riddhi had barely settled into her seat, pouring herself chai, when the familiar sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

Not rushed.
Not sleepy.
Just steady… controlled.

Mahir.

He walked in wearing his crisp shirt, sleeves rolled twice, hair slightly wet from a quick shower. His expression was unreadable—calm on the outside, but his eyes… sharp, guarded, scanning the room the moment he stepped inside.

The siblings quietened again.

Bela stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Mahir’s gaze swept across the table—
Over Arjun’s grin,
Over Anurag’s half-guilty face,
Over Haseena’s soft smile,
Pausing for half a second on Bela—
And then moved past her without acknowledging.

He didn’t greet anyone.

He didn’t smile.

He simply walked to the empty chair right beside Riddhi and sat down.

Bela’s fingers curled around her glass.

Riddhi brightened instantly at his arrival.

Riddhi (cheerfully):
“Good morning, Mahir! Tumhara breakfast ready hai, wait—main serve kar deti hoon.”

She reached for the serving spoons without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mahir didn’t protest.
Didn’t say a word to anyone else.
He just watched her quietly, his earlier coldness melting a fraction when she touched his plate.

Riddhi (smiling up at him):
“Aloo paratha, thoda sa dahi… aur yeh achar jo tumhe pasand hai. Try karna, aaj bohot accha bana hai.”

For the first time that morning, Mahir’s expression shifted—just a small smile, quick and fleeting, but real.

Mahir (soft):
“Thanks.”

Bela’s heart dropped.

She tried not to look—
Tried to focus on her tea,
On the chatter around her,
On breathing properly—

But her eyes betrayed her.

Mahir leaning slightly toward Riddhi.
Riddhi laughing softly as she served him.
Mahir’s coldness evaporating only for her.

It was small.
Subtle.
Domestic.

And it hit Bela like a punch.

Karishma noticed the shift in Bela’s posture.

She nudged Santu gently.

Santu’s face fell.
“Didi…”

But Bela didn’t react.
Her face remained perfectly composed, perfectly neutral—
The way a police officer hides emotion
When something hurts more than it should.

Meanwhile, Mahir finally spoke again—
Not to the group,
Not to his siblings,
Not to Bela.

Mahir (to Riddhi):
“Tum itni morning person kaise ho yaar? Subah-subah itni energy…”

Riddhi laughed, flipping her hair.

Riddhi:
“Skincare aur 9 ghante ki neend ka kamaal.”

He chuckled.
Actually chuckled.

The sound clawed at Bela’s chest.

Arjun shot Anurag a look: “Abey yeh theek nahi lag raha.”
Haseena’s jaw tightened—she watched Bela carefully.
Rajat muttered under his breath:
“Phir se wahi cold war…”

But Bela said nothing.

She simply picked up her glass, took a sip, and lowered her gaze—
Because meeting Mahir’s eyes right now felt dangerous.
Vulnerable.

She didn’t want him to see what slipped through her mask.

And Mahir…
Maybe he sensed the tension.
Maybe he didn’t.

Because he stayed exactly where he was—
Beside Riddhi,
Humoring her conversation,
Letting her fill his plate,
Letting her make him smile.

All while Bela sat across the table,
A perfectly still storm
Waiting behind steady eyes.


MAHIR’S POV

The moment Bela pushed her chair back, something inside Mahir snapped to attention.

He didn’t know why.

He didn’t know how.

But the scrape of that chair felt louder than anything else in the room.

He’d been smiling at something Riddhi said—
Or pretending to smile, if he was honest with himself.
Half his attention had been drifting anyway, unable to settle.

And then he saw Bela stand up.

Cap and stick in hand.
Shoulders slightly tense.
Face blank… too blank.

He knew that look.
He’d seen it a thousand times.

Bela only went expressionless when she was hurting.

Why is she leaving like that?
Why isn’t she eating properly?
Why does she look… disappointed?

A strange coil twisted in his chest.

He told himself not to react.
Not to interfere.
Not to make it worse.

But when she turned away—
Something raw and instinctive tugged hard.

He heard himself say her name before he even realized he’d spoken.

“Bela… rukko.”

She didn’t turn.

The tiny stab of panic he felt?
He hated that it existed.
Hated that it had power over him.

Everyone was staring now.
He didn’t care.

He tried again—firmer.

“I’m talking to you.”

When she finally faced him, her eyes were calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm she used when she didn’t want anyone to see past her.

His stomach dropped.

Raat bhar jagi hogi.
Kuch khaya bhi nahi thikse.
Aur ab bina kuch bole jaa rahi hai?

Why?

Because of him?

Because of Riddhi?

Because he’d been stupid enough to walk in and sit next to the wrong person without thinking?

He tried reasoning—

“Tumne thik se khaaya bhi nhi h aur jaa rahi ho.”

Her reply was soft but distant.

“Bhook nahi hai.”

A lie.
He knew her better than that.

He stepped closer before he could stop himself.

Her eyes flickered away for a second—
And that brief moment hurt more than anything else.

When did she stop looking at him properly?

He tried again.

“At least baith jao. Do minute.”

He didn’t mean it the way it sounded.
He didn’t want to command her.
He just… didn’t want her to walk away like that.

Not from him.

Not with that expression.

But she forced a smile that went straight through him.

“Kaha na, urgent kaam hai.”

Mahir felt something inside him clench tight.

She turned again.

He moved instinctively—
A small step forward,
A half-formed intention to hold her hand,
To stop her gently,
To ask her what was wrong—

But he stopped himself.

His fingers curled into a fist.

He had no right.

Not after the distance he had created.
Not after the misunderstandings.
Not after the way he had been acting these days… especially around Riddhi.

Bela didn’t even look back as she walked away.

Every step she took felt like a punch he couldn’t block.

Mahir’s jaw tightened.

Why did it feel like he had done something wrong
When he hadn’t even spoken to her yet?

Why did it hurt more than it should
When she refused to stay?

Why did his gaze stay locked on her until she disappeared?

And why…
Why the hell did it bother him
That she hadn’t looked at him properly even once?

Riddhi’s voice tugged at his sleeve.

Riddhi:
“Mahir? Are you okay? Tum itne serious kyun ho gaye?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes remained fixed on the empty doorway Bela had just walked through—
The space she’d left behind feeling far colder
Than it should have.



BELA’S POV

Bela didn’t know how she managed to place each step so steadily.
Her legs felt heavy…
But her throat felt even heavier.

She didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

The front door came closer with every step, but her heartbeat felt farther and farther away—lost somewhere in that dining room… somewhere between Mahir’s smile at Riddhi and the moment he called her name.

Her fingers tightened around her bag strap.

Why did he have to call her?

Why did he have to say her name in that voice?

Why did it affect her—after everything?

She paused near the shoe rack, breathing in quietly.

She wasn’t angry.
Not really.

But there was a dull, twisting ache under her ribs—
The kind that came from caring too much
And pretending she didn’t.

Why did he smile like that at her?
Why did Riddhi serve him so effortlessly?
Why did it look so… normal?
Why did it hurt?

She blinked hard.

Her throat burned.

“Focus, Bela,” she whispered to herself.
“Case. Missing kids. Duty. That’s all that matters.”

It was a lie she’d repeated so many times,
She almost believed it.

Almost.

But the truth sat in her chest like a weight:

She hadn’t slept the entire night.
She hadn’t eaten properly.
She had spent hours staring at missing children’s files.

And the one person whose voice had always grounded her…
Whose presence once steadied her…
Today couldn’t look at her the way he used to.

And when he finally did—

When Mahir asked her to stay…

She had to walk away before her voice cracked in front of him.

Bela closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.

Behind her eyelids replayed the scene—
Mahir’s gaze snapping to her when she stood up,
His chair scraping back,
The raw concern in his voice—

“Bela… rukko.”

Her breath hitched.

She clenched her jaw.

No. Not again. Not today.
She couldn’t afford to feel.
Not when people needed her.
Not when emotions made her weak.

She reached for the door handle.

Her hand trembled slightly.

Just slightly.

And that was enough for the frustration to bubble up inside her.

Why am I like this?
Why does he still affect me this much?
Why can’t I switch it off?

A single tear formed—
Uninvited, unwanted, infuriating.

She wiped it away quickly with the back of her hand, as if erasing evidence.

No one should see her cry.
Especially not him.

She straightened her posture, set her jaw, and pushed the door open.

Cold morning air rushed against her face—
Sharp, biting, grounding.

Good.
She needed cold.
Cold made her stronger.

As she stepped outside, her phone buzzed—a case update.
A reminder of the world that actually counted.
A world where she wasn’t fragile.
Where she wasn’t second choice.
Where emotions didn’t make her bleed.

She exhaled, steadying herself.

Bela didn’t break.
Not in front of people.
Not for anyone.

Not even for the man whose voice still echoed in her ears.

She walked away from the house—

Stronger on the outside,
Shattered a little more on the inside.


---
MAHILA POLICE THANA – MID MORNING

By the time Bela reached the thana, her emotional storm was buried under layers of discipline and duty.

The station smelled of files, ink, and stress.

She tied her hair tighter, picked up the case folder, and dove straight back into work—
Checking timestamps, matching patterns, noting similarities in the missing kids, cross-verifying the CCTV angles she had memorized.

Her voice cold.
Her mind sharp.
Her heart locked away.

After a while, she heard footsteps—familiar ones.

Arjun.
Haseena.
Pushpa ji.

They walked in without knocking, their eyes immediately scanning her face.

Pushpa ji (worried):
“Jai Hind Madam… yeh sar dard ki dawa laaye the kha lo pehle phir kaam kar lena—”

Bela (without looking up):
“Pushpa ji, abhi nahi. Case tight ho raha hai.”

Haseena stepped forward, placing a water bottle beside her.

Haseena:
“Madam paani toh pi lijiye atleast.”

Bela didn’t reply, but she took one sip—only because she knew they wouldn’t leave otherwise.

Arjun leaned against a desk, hands in pockets.

Arjun:
“Mai aur Haseena thoda paperwork dekh lenge. Aap zyada stress mat lo.”

Bela shot him a look.

Bela:
“Be serious, Arjun.”

Arjun smirked.
Haseena rolled her eyes softly.
Pushpa ji shook her head—the usual dynamic.

They were working in a tense, focused silence when—

A SUDDEN NOISE ERUPTED OUTSIDE.

Loud.
Chaotic.
Panicked.

Shouting.
Crying.
Screams mixing into a mess of fear.

Arjun straightened immediately.

Arjun:
“Kya ho raha hai bahar?”

Haseena moved toward the door.

Haseena:
“Crowd lag raha hai… kaafi zyada.”

Bela put down her file, her body instinctively alert.

Bela:
“Chalo.”

The four of them rushed outside.

THE SCENE OUTSIDE THE THANA WAS EXPLOSIVE.

A huge crowd had formed—
Mothers crying, fathers yelling, people pushing, some banging on the thana gate.

A woman screamed,
“Mera beta do din se missing hai!”

Another father shouted,
“Please report likh lijiye! Police ko kuch pata hi nahi chal raha!”

Then a group of men stormed forward—patients, wearing hospital bands.

Man 1 (angry, frustrated):
“Yeh hospital waale humko fraud medicine de rahe hain! Poisoned hai sab!”

Woman (terrified):
“Humari bachchi ko injection diya aur usse chakkar aa gaya! Yeh asli dawa hi nahi lagti!”

People kept shoving forward, panic spreading like fire.

Arjun raised his voice immediately.

Arjun (commanding):
“STOP! Sab log peeche hatiye!”

Haseena joined him, arms out.

Haseena:
“Barricades lagao! Crowd control karo! Ek line banao sab!”

Constables rushed to pull metal barricades in place, pushing the crowd back.

The noise was deafening people shouting at once.

Someone threw a stone in the air—
A missing child’s photo drifting down.

Another person collapsed crying on the ground.

Bela walked forward finally.

Calm.
Straight-backed.
A presence that cut through chaos.

Her voice was loud but steady.

Bela:
“Shaant ho jaiye sab! PLEASE! Order maintain kijiye!”

The crowd kept screaming.

She stepped onto the thana’s small platform, raising her voice sharper.

Bela (authoritative):
“Koi bhi case tabhi solve hoga jab aap log shaant rahenge!
Please line banaiye! Ek ek karke sabki report likhi jaayegi!”

A woman sobbed,
“Madam mera beta—”

Bela’s expression softened only for a moment.

Bela:
“Main hoon yahan. Jab tak main hoon, koi bhi baccha akela nahi padega.
Line mai rahiye please. Hum sabki baat sunenge.”

Her authority clicked.

People slowly fell into queues.
Constables guided them.
Arjun and Haseena formed a human shield, pushing the crowd back carefully.

Pushpa ji also helped calming the crowd taking control, with her experience and patience.
“Aap line mai aaiye please… fikr mat kijiye.. Aap sabki baat suni jayegi.”

Bela signaled to the medical complainants.

Bela (firm):
“Hospital fraud ki reports alag likhi jaayengi.
Koi dhakka-mukki nahi.
Hum investigate kar rahe hain.”

One of the patients tried stepping forward again.

Patient:
“Par Madam—”

Bela (sharply):
“LINE MEIN. Abhi ke abhi.”

He froze and joined the queue.

The chaos began settling.

After calming the crowd and organizing queues, Bela signaled Arjun and Haseena.

Bela:
“Hospital wale jo complaints leke aaye hain… unhe andar le aao.
Ek ek karke statement lenge.”

Arjun nodded and ushered the group into the separate desk—
A mix of frightened patients, attendants, and a few hospital staff members who looked equally shaken.

Bela sat opposite to them, FIR resgiter  in hand, expression tight, eyes sharp.

Pushpa ji stood at the door, managing the queue with a constable to maintain law and order .

Haseena arranged chairs in a semi-circle.

Arjun handed Bela a list of the complainants.

Arjun:
“Yeh sab wo log hain jinhone bola ki hospital ki dawa fake hai.”

Bela nodded once—then turned to the first patient.

A frail, elderly man stood up with help from his daughter.

Bela (gentle but firm):
“Aapka Naam?”

Old Man:
“Raghunath…”

Bela:
“Kya problem hui?”

Old Man:
“Mujhe diabetes aur BP ka medicine diya… par lene ke ek ghante baad chakkar, aankhon ke saamne andhera… beta hospital le gaya toh unhone bola ‘normal reaction.’”

The daughter cut in angrily.

Daughter:
“Normal reaction?! Papa ki raat bhar puri body kaanp rahi thi. Medicine ka colour bhi alag tha!”

Bela’s eyes narrowed.

Bela:
“Aapke paas strip hoga?”

The girl opened her bag and handed over the medicine strip.

Bela examined it.

Something was wrong.
The print was slightly crooked.
The expiry date—blurred.
The QR code—faded.

Her heartbeat picked up.

NEXT —

A woman stepped forward, holding prescription slips tightly.

Eyes red from crying.

Woman:
“Madam … meri 7 saal ki beti ko injection diya… doctor ne bola tha mild fever hai. Par injection ke baad uske haath neela ho gaya… swelling itni ki wo ro rahi thi poori raat.”

Her voice cracked.

Woman:
“Maine jab nurse se poocha ki injection ka naam kya hai… wo ghabra gayi. Bolne lagi ‘hum check karke batate hain’… phir kisi ne jawab hi nahi diya.”

Bela felt her stomach twist.

She exchanged a glance with Haseena—both knew what this meant.

Bela (slow, controlled):
“Injection ka vial h ya prescription h aapke pass?”

The woman hesitated—then took out a small plastic pouch.
Inside was an empty vial.

Bela lifted it.

The batch number was scratched.

Scratched.
Deliberately.

Bela’s blood turned cold.

NEXT ––

A young ward boy, trembling, stepped forward.

He kept wringing his hands—guilt written all over his face.

Ward Boy:
“Madam… humko pata hai hospital
mai kuch galat ho raha hai.”

Everyone turned to stare at him.

Bela’s voice dropped to a deadly calm.

Bela:
“Detail mein batao.”

The ward boy swallowed hard.

Ward Boy:
“Kuch boxes raat ko aate hain… bina entry.
Unpar manufacturer ka naam bhi nahi hota properly.
Nurses ko bola jaata hai ki wo injections use karo…
Aur haal hi mai abhi bohot si dawaiyan aayi thi hospital mai un bade bade box mai.”

Arjun stiffened.
Haseena’s hands curled into fists.

Bela’s stare sharpened.

Bela:
“Kisne kaha yeh sab? Kaun order deta hai?”

The ward boy looked terrified.

Ward Boy:
“Hum… hum bol nahi sakte madam… agar pata chala toh humari naukri—”

Bela (voice hardening):
“Naukri se zyada important logon ki jaan hoti hai.
Naam bolo.”

He hesitated—voice shaking.

Ward Boy:
“Madam…
Jo boxes raat ko deliver karta hai…
Wo ek NGO ki gaadi hoti hai.”

A hush fell over the room.

Arjun blinked.

Arjun:
“NGO?? Kaunsa?”

The ward boy whispered—

Ward Boy:
“‘Bachon Ki Muskaan’…
Sirf naam hi achha hai madam.
Baaki sab… andhera hai.”

Bela’s entire body went still.

Her missing children case…

Fake medicines…

Night deliveries…

A shadow organization masked as charity.

Her mind connected the threads rapidly.

Bela (whisper, fierce):
“Yeh sab… ek hi chain ka hissa ho sakta hai.”

Haseena stepped forward.

Haseena:
“Madam… kya aap bhi wahi soch rahi h jo mai soch rahi hoon?”

Bela shut her notebook with a snap.

Her voice steady, low, dangerous.

Bela:
“Haan.
Missing kids.
Fake medicines.
Unregistered supplies.
Same NGO.
Same network.”

She turned to Arjun.

Bela:
“Arjun. Immediately ‘Bachon Ki Muskaan’ ke documents pull karo.
Registration number, trustees, donation sources—sab.”

Arjun:
“Done.”

She looked at the crowd of patients and then at Pushpa ji again.

Bela:
“Pushp ji sabki complaints likhiye detail mi jo bhi saboot mile, kuch bhi doubtful lage sab note kariye.. Koi bhi detail chutni nhi chahiye.
Yeh case bohot bada hone wala hai.”

Pushpa ji, nodded watching the crowd of tensed people and all these sudden chaos, she  whispered:

Pushpa ji:
“Hey shivji… yeh sab kuch bohot bada hone wala h un baccho ki raksha karna.”

Bela didn’t flinch.

Her jaw set.

Eyes blazing.

A storm awakening.

Because this time—

She wasn’t just solving a case.
She was about to uncover a syndicate.

___________________________________________

To be continued in the next part, till then like, comment and share your views on how excited you are about the next part. Your comments are valuable for me. Thank you 😊