"Maah, give me Pari's files." I addressed Tejaswi Maah, sitting in the office of the orphanage.

Yesterday, we rescued a six-year-old girl. She was found crying on a deserted street. When we inquired about her family, we realized she couldn’t speak. The police were informed immediately, and the investigation into her parents’ whereabouts is still ongoing. However, whenever I mentioned her parents, the girl would shake her head vigorously.

My chain of thoughts broke as Maah entered and remarked, "That child threw quite a few tantrums. She didn’t even allow the doctor to examine her, but after hours of struggle, we finally managed to complete the check-up."

I hummed absentmindedly, recalling how I, too, had reacted similarly eleven years ago.

Taking the files from her hands, I began to read through them.

My heart shattered.

Springing up from my seat, I rushed towards the room where she was staying.

I vaguely heard Tejaswi Maah calling after me, but I ignored it, locking the door behind me. There she was, sitting quietly in the corner, wearing the white frock we had provided.

She looked up at me, and I saw the tears glistening in her hazel eyes.

I approached her slowly, though every step tore at my heart. I needed to be strong for girls like her.

Lowering myself to my knees in front of her, I gently called her name, "Pari."

She stared at me, mute, and my heart ached for the words she couldn’t say. What a cruel irony. She lacked the voice to say a simple 'no.' But even when girls like her manage to say it, does anyone listen? Does that small, significant word ever stop the monsters?

Swallowing my pain, I smiled at her, brushing a tear from her cheek before speaking through sign language. "Pari, do you know those people?" I had learned sign language during my college years, always fascinated by this silent, powerful way of communication.

Her brow furrowed as she watched my fingers move.

Of course. She probably hadn’t learned it yet.

Rising to my feet, I grabbed a pen and paper, jotting down a question:

"Who gave you those scars? Are they from your family?"

She read it silently, then looked up at me and nodded her head innocently.

I struggled to hold back my tears. She then gestured to her back, making signs I couldn’t understand. She began to loosen the knot of her frock, and I finally realized—she wanted to show me.

My hands trembled as I gently pulled down the zipper at her back.

And there they were—an array of scars marring her small, delicate frame. Nail marks. Belt lashes.

My breath hitched painfully. I zipped up her frock again, tears flowing freely from my eyes as I pulled her into my arms.

She was so small. So heartbreakingly beautiful. How could anyone inflict so much pain on a child?

But Kritika, you were at this age once, too. You endured the same agony. My own mind mocked me.

I whispered, struggling to control my sobs, "Do you know why I named you Angel? Because you are one. You’re the most beautiful creation on this earth. The bravest girl."

She looked up at me, and instead of breaking down like I did, she reached up to wipe my tears away and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. I was stunned, feeling as though I were staring at my own childhood self.

Then, with unexpected resolve, she rose from my lap, picked up the pen and paper, and wrote something.

"I don’t want to go home." The simple words shattered my heart further.

It echoed my own silent prayers.

I pulled her back into my embrace. "I’ll never let you go anywhere. You’ll stay here. I’ll provide you with the best education and ensure your safety. I’ll introduce you to the world of sign language, where you can communicate with everyone. I won’t let you leave until you become successful and find someone who truly loves you."

She extended her pinky finger to me.

I entwined mine around hers, smiling softly. "Pinky promise."

She hugged me again, resting her small head on my shoulder.

Yes, she had been assaulted. The police wouldn’t do much, I was certain. Only one man could extract the truth within minutes.

My husband. But it’s been a week since he even acknowledged my presence. He’s been avoiding me as though I don’t exist.

But I want justice for her—not like me, still running from my own truth.

Her breathing steadied, and I realized she’d fallen asleep.

Gently, I laid her down on the bed, kissing her chubby cheeks.

Leaving the room, I returned to the office and instructed Maah, "Take special care of Pari."

She nodded. By the time I stepped outside, the evening sun was already setting. I noticed three royal cars parked in the driveway.

Finally, the media frenzy ended, and they stopped disrupting my children’s peace.

I walked towards the car and sat inside.

Uday, my driver, silently waited. He rarely spoke, but his presence didn’t make me uncomfortable. I often wondered what sort of training they underwent to become so silent and stoic.

When we arrived at the palace, I saw several guards surrounding an elderly woman who was weeping, hands folded in a desperate plea.

"Stop the car," I commanded, and Uday obeyed instantly.

Stepping out, I walked towards the main gates.

All the guards bowed and stepped aside.

"What’s going on here?"

"Rani sa, she wants to meet Raja sa. But he’s not here right now. We informed her, but she refuses to leave," one guard explained.

The woman’s eyes landed on me, and fresh tears streamed down her face. She fell to her knees, bowing at my feet before I could react.

I took a step back in surprise. "Yeh kya kar rahi hai aap?"

She looked up at me, her head still bowed. "Bhagwan ki patni ke saamne, kaun nahi jhukega, Rani sa."

I didn’t understand her words.

Lowering myself to my knees as well, I gently asked, "Can you tell me what happened? Aap Raja Sa se kyun milna chahti hai?"

Before I could grasp the situation, one of the royal guards spoke up, "Yeh kya kar rahi hai aap, Rani sa?"

I ignored him, focusing on the woman.

"Rani sa, I have been trying for days to meet him, to thank him. He saved my daughter from being raped. He’s a god for all of us—our protector. Rani sa, how many girls has he saved from the cruelty of this world in our city alone? I just want to thank him by touching his feet. After so many years, we finally have a king like him. Log kehte hain adalat mein der hai, andher nahi, but in our Raja Sa’s darbar, there is neither delay nor darkness. He provides justice without fail."

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

My heartbeat quickened. I’d always known people revered him, but hearing it like this...

"But I saw you today, Ranisa. So please, thank him on my behalf. Our blessings are always with you. Bhagwan kare aapki zindagi mein dher saara pyaar aur mushkilon se ladne ki shakti ho."

I took a deep breath, then stood and helped her to her feet.

Smiling softly, I assured her, "If you ever need anything, you can visit the orphanage. I’ll be glad to help you or your daughters. And I promise, I’ll pass on your gratitude to Raja Sa."

She offered me a tearful smile and slowly walked away.

Turning to the guards, I reprimanded them sternly, "You should have informed someone inside the palace. Never prevent anyone from meeting us. They are our people."

With that, I turned and walked into the palace.

"How is the information getting out?" I snapped, throwing the file at Dhruv’s face.

"We don’t know," he replied, his voice strained.

"Then what do you know?" I retorted, frustration rising.

"Who are these Cipher people? How are they finding out about our deals? Dhruv, the elections are approaching, and I need Rajendra Scindia to win at any cost. The opposition will ruin this state. Schedule a meeting with Lakshya Scindia and Rajendra Scindia," I instructed.

Dhruv muttered, "Yes, Raja sa," before quickly leaving.

I sank into the chair, rubbing my forehead. The workload had been relentless over the past week, yet not a moment went by when I didn't think of her. Most often, I found myself watching her sleep. She looked so serene in those moments, and it brought me a strange sense of peace.

And as thoughts of her filled my mind, my heart fluttered. The way she draped her saree, with such effortless grace, as if she were born to be a queen. Her voice, sweet and soothing, had the power to brighten anyone's day. Her delicate eyebrows, the way she scrunched her nose when confused or irritated, and that shining nose pin—every little detail mesmerized me. Her large, light brown eyes held mysteries I was desperate to unravel, and her graceful walk was so captivating.

I couldn’t even think of her in any improper way. She was too graceful, too childlike in her innocence. And yet, as I smiled at the thought of her, I realized it was the first time in years that I had smiled.

The last time was ten years ago, when I last met her.

For the past week, we’ve been having dinner without him. Abhinav mentioned that he had important work at the office. Mother had already eaten and left the table, retreating to her chamber to chant her prayers. She was deeply spiritual.

But then Abhinav spoke, “What was going on outside?”

I explained the situation.

He smiled proudly. “My Bhaisa never turns away those who seek help. You know, he’s the best king this state has seen.”

I nodded with a small smile. This was the perfect moment to ask what had been on my mind since that man mentioned Abhijeet’s sister at the reception.

“Abhinav, do you have a sister?” I asked tentatively.

He stopped eating, his spoon paused mid-air as a sad smile crossed his face.

“We did. A beautiful princess named Niharika. A soulful girl. But she made one mistake,” he said quietly.

“What mistake?” I asked softly.

“Love. Love is forbidden in our family, and she committed that grave mistake. It cost her her life, and it gave rise to Bhaisa’s new persona,” he explained, his eyes glistening with tears.

“I see,” I said, though the words felt inadequate. I had learned at the reception that she died from a heart attack, so I hadn’t pressed the issue then. But how could love lead to that? I decided to change the topic—it was best to steer clear of their personal matters.

“Hm, tell me about your Bhaisa,” I said abruptly, then immediately regretted it, my eyes widening at my own words.

Abhinav smirked, clearly amused. “Ah, so, first of all, he’s a great ruler. But as a person, he’s broken inside. He doesn’t show it, but I’ve known him since childhood. He’s not a bad person, but his greatest enemy is his anger. It wasn’t always like this—the world around him shaped the man you see today. He’s capable of anything when it comes to protecting his family. He once loved someone deeply and purely, but circumstances changed him so much that he never even searched for her. As for the rest, that’s not my story to tell. You should ask your lovely husband,” he added with a teasing wink.

My heart clenched when I learned that he had loved someone in the past. In my case, I wasn’t sure if I knew what love was yet, but he had always been my protector. A strange jealousy crept in, but I pushed it aside.

“At least tell me her name,” I asked, almost pleadingly.

Abhinav raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to avoid eating? You eat so little, Bhabhisa.”

I made a puppy face. “I’ll eat, but please, just tell me her name.”

He sighed, ready to speak, but just then, Abhijeet entered the hall. His gaze found ours, and for a brief moment, our eyes met. His dark eyes, deep with untold stories, lingered on me before narrowing as he made his way to our room.

I quickly rose from my seat, determined to speak with him about the old woman.

I entered the room just as he emerged from the wardrobe, holding a fresh set of clothes.

"Raja sa—"

He ignored me, brushing past on his way to the washroom.

“Raja sa, I have something important to tell you—” He shut the door on my face.

Frustrated, I turned to leave, but he opened the door once more. “I told you before, it’s Abhijeet for you. ‘Raja sa’ is for others,” he emphasized, stressing the word ‘others.’

And with that, the door closed again. I stood there, my subconscious mocking me: He’s telling you to call him by his name, Kritika.

I sat on the couch as he reappeared from the bathroom, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, causing my breath to hitch. I quickly looked away. He moved to the bed and pulled the curtains closed, cutting off my view. Why would he do that? Am I that unattractive?

But I needed to talk to him.

“Abhijeet,” I called softly.

He raised his head, acknowledging me.

“Well? Are you going to say anything else?” he asked, his gaze steady.

I nodded and recounted the day’s events at the palace gate. He simply nodded and hummed in response.

“It's good that now there's another person to help manage my people,” he finally remarked, eyes back on his laptop.

Then I remembered the Pari, and knew I had to tell him. Perhaps he could help.

“I wanted to share something else,” I continued, my voice trembling. “Yesterday, we rescued a girl from the streets. She’s six years old. But today, the doctors examined her, and we found out she can’t speak... and she’s been as-saulted.” The words barely left my mouth before the tears fell.

Abhijeet’s expression darkened. He left the bed and sat beside me.

“Give me all her information. The people responsible will be brought to you in less than 24 hours,” he vowed.

I nodded, but the memories overwhelmed me. The voices rang in my head.

"Please, no, I’m uncomfortable."
"Mom, he touched me."
"Shameless girl."
"Seducing men at this age."
"She deserves to be sold."

My vision blurred as my breathing quickened. My toes curled, nails digging into my palms. I was slipping back into the darkness from which only he had saved me.

I loved it when she called me by my name. She had handled today’s situation like a queen, but the story of that little girl stuck with me. More than that, though, I saw her. She was trembling, tears in her eyes. I moved closer, trying to comfort her, but she was staring ahead, lost.

“Kritika,” I said softly, touching her shoulder, but she didn’t respond.

I saw her fists clenched tight, her toes curled. Without thinking, I pulled her into my arms. She rested her head on my chest, trembling.

“Breathe, just breathe, daff—” I stopped. That name wasn’t meant for her.

I hugged her tighter, unclenching her fists, noticing the blood on her palms. I stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know what happened to you, but if you ever tell me who hurt you, I’ll make sure they see hell,” I vowed.

After a while, her breathing slowed, and she fell asleep in my arms. She always calmed down in my embrace. I couldn’t bear to see her in pain.

Carefully, I laid her on the couch and covered her with a quilt. I stood, about to leave, but instead, I found myself drawn to her. I was tempted to kiss her forehead but stopped, remembering she hadn’t consented to anything.

Do I really like her? Or is this... love? She’s a mystery I desperately want to solve.