Katha woke up that morning with a calm she hadn't felt in years.

Kashi's sky was washed in soft gold, the temple bells in the distance echoed gently, and the ghats breathed with slow, sacred life.

She wore her favorite dupatta and held Vedika tightly around her arms as they stepped out into the city that raised her.

They walked by the Ganga, wide and endless, women lighting diyas near the steps, old priests chanting mantras with weathered voices.

The smell of incense, flowers, and wet stone wrapped around her like a memory. It was beautiful. Familiar. Home.

They bought jalebis from the old shop near Dashashwamedh Ghat.

Vedika squealed in delight as the vendor gave her an extra piece for free from love for Vedika.

Because she squealed seeing jalebi and the shopkeeper's heart melted from her cuteness.

Katha laughed. She hadn't laughed like that in so long it felt foreign in her mouth.

She clutched Vedika's hand tighter as they crossed the narrow alley and reached the old wooden bench near the small Hanuman temple.

She sat down slowly, holding Vedika on her lap. Her daughter giggled as pigeons danced around her feet.

It should have been a perfect moment. And it almost was.

Everyone was happy since she returned.

Her papa had tears in his eyes when she arrived. Her mother didn't let go of her hand for hours.

Her brother was light-hearted, constantly teasing her, calling Vedika her 'photocopy'.

But one person wasn't happy.

Her bhabhi.

(Sister in law)

She remembered it clearly... the second day after she arrived, when she walked into the kitchen. Her bhabhi was frying puris, the oil crackling sharply.

"Bhabhi, should I help with anything?" Katha had asked softly.

Her bhabhi didn't look at her. She just kept flipping puris and said in a neutral voice laced with bitterness:

"No Katha, you should go and sit. How can I let you help? You're our guest after all."

Guest.

That word hit harder than she expected.

And she was right, wasn't she?

This wasn't Katha's home anymore. Not since the day she got married.

Not since the day she walked out wearing red and gold and the weight of a hundred expectations.

But then... what was her home?

She remembered that moment in Vedant's house, when she had once tried to change something simple in the kitchen.

Move a something. Shift a shelf. Suggest something.

Her mother-in-law had smiled and said it with sweetness that can rot teeth...

"Beta, par yeh aapka ghar nahi na hai?"

(Dear, but this isn't your home, is it?)

She had smiled back then. But something had broken quietly.

And now, here she was. Back in her childhood home... but still not home.

What is a woman's home, really?

Her maayka ends the day she gets married.

Her sasuraal never truly becomes hers....

Where, then, does a woman belong?

She looked at Vedika curled in her lap, eyes bright, cheeks stained with jalebi sugar. Her tiny arms wrapped around Katha's waist.

The soft golden light of Kashi's afternoon wrapped around everything, making the ghats shimmer and the narrow alleys hum with life.

(Katha point of view)

Vedika licked sticky jalebi syrup from her tiny fingers. She giggled at the mess she made, her small legs swinging in joy.

For a moment, it was just us, the city, the river, and the laughter of my daughter.

Vedika squirmed out of my lap and toddled toward the public tap nearby to wash her hands.

I smiled, adjusting my dupatta and letting my tired body relax against the bench.

And then...

"Katha?"

I heard it.

Soft.

Rough.

Unmistakable.

I froze.

I know this voice.

I turned slowly, heart thudding painfully against my ribs.

And there he was.

Rudraksh.

Time had touched him, but hadn't dimmed him.

He stood there, taller than I remembered, broader.

His black t shirt clung to his frame like a second skin. His hair was short, a little hiding under the his black cap m

But it was his eyes that stole my breath.

It wa so dark and heavy..

As if he had memorized every regret and was still carrying the weight of them.

For a second, neither of us moved.

The world around us faded... the buzzing streets, the bells, the scent of marigolds... and it was just me, the daughter I loved, and the man I once thought I would spend my whole life with.

The man who made me hate him so much.

My lips parted, but no words came out.

He stepped closer, slow, almost afraid that if he moved too fast, I might disappear like smoke.

"It's really you," Rudraksh said, his voice rough like he hadn't spoken my name out loud in years.

"Rudraksh"

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