She’s standing tall, spine straight, chin lifted, her hands relaxed at her sides even though I know they’re shaking. Her eyes are fixed on him, dark and unwavering, burning with a fury that has nothing to do with fear. There’s no fragility in her expression. No doubt.
She looks finished.
“You are a loser,” she says, her voice calm in a way that makes it land harder. Each word is measured, deliberate, chosen. “And thank God for that.”
Ayush goes still. His smirk falters, confidence cracking just enough to show what’s underneath. For the first time since he walked into this room, he looks unsure.
Sitara doesn’t blink.
She holds his gaze without flinching, without shrinking, and in that moment, I realize something shifts—not just in the room, but in him. Whatever power he thought he had over her dissolves right there, right then.
“I am so grateful,” she says, stepping forward, her voice steady in a way that makes my chest ache, “that you tucked your tail between your legs and ran. Because if you hadn’t, you would have hurt me.”
Her fingers curl at her sides, not trembling, not hesitant. Strong. “And I have three brothers.”
Her eyes flick—just for a heartbeat—to Devraj. Then they come to me. And in that glance, there is trust. Quiet. Absolute. It lands heavier than any blow ever could.
“And I don’t like violence,” she continues, softer now, almost conversational, “but I wouldn’t mind it against you.” Her mouth twists. Not cruel, just tired. “Because you’re not really a man. You’re just a coward who doesn’t know how to respect a woman.”
The color drains from Ayush’s face so fast it’s almost frightening. For a second, he looks smaller. Cornered. And then something ugly flashes in his eyes.
He moves.
It’s sudden—too sudden. A sharp step forward, his shoulder dipping as his hand comes up, anger spilling out of him in one reckless motion.
I don’t think.
My body reacts before my mind catches up.
My hand snaps around his wrist, fingers digging in hard enough to feel bone beneath skin. The impact jolts up my arm. He snarls, twists, tries to rip free, his breath hot and ragged as he struggles.
I don’t let go.
Not an inch.
He laughs then, harsh and broken, the sound scraping against my nerves. “What?” he spits, yanking uselessly against my grip. “Stopping me from slapping this bitch now?”
The word explodes in the room.
It doesn’t echo—it detonates.
Everything inside me goes cold and burning at the same time. My grip tightens without permission, rage flooding my veins so fast it makes me dizzy. For a split second, I can’t hear anything but my own heartbeat, loud and violent in my ears.
And all I can think is: he will never say that word about her again. Not while I’m breathing.
“Why?” he sneers, leaning closer even though his wrist is still trapped, pain clearly rippling through him. His breath is hot, laced with malice. “Your father didn’t teach you right?” His mouth twists cruelly. “Must be so disappointed, looking down at his son—so weak. So neatly wrapped around a woman’s finger.”
Something inside me slips.
The room doesn’t spin dramatically. It tilts, just enough to throw me off balance, just enough to make the present feel thin and unreliable. The walls blur at the edges as memories surge up without permission.
My mother’s voice—hoarse, desperate—shouting. The sharp crack of glass shattering against stone.
The way I learned, very young, to stay quiet. To count breaths. To pretend the noise was thunder and not rage tearing through our home.
I remember hiding my hands under my pillow so they wouldn’t shake. I remember staring at the ceiling and wishing I could disappear. I remember Yagini, two years old, crying while I did everything in my power to shut her up. I remember the shame most of all—how it settled into my bones, heavy and permanent, long before I understood it didn’t belong to me.
Ayush rips his hand free with a violent jerk and laughs, the sound ugly, unrestrained. “You think people don’t know?” he spits, taking a step back only to loom forward again. “How your father was a woman-beater? How he slept around like loyalty was a joke?”
