❝𝐓𝐖𝐎❞

Sonali's eyes found Tizmat at once.

That gaze was forever soft, motherly, too knowing... it skimmed over Tizmat's face until it caught on the faint flush on her cheek.

Tizmat's hand twitched and almost instinctively, she raised it, brushing back hair that didn't need fixing, angling her face away from the light.

"It's been months," Sonali said gently. "Come, beta, let me see you properly." 

She took a step forward, her arm half-lifting as if to draw Tizmat close.

But before she could reach, Taiji's voice cut through, briskly... almost commanding.

"Go to the kitchen, Tizmat. Clean up the mess you've made, then bring tea for everyone. There's plenty of time later for greetings."

The dismissal was sharp.

Tizmat lowered her eyes and nodded, the dupatta slipping slightly forward as she turned away. Her feet knew the way to the kitchen without looking.

Behind her, the living room filled with polite chatter. Anand asked after Tauji's health. His wife commented on the curtains, how light they made the room. Sonali's voice carried warmth, her laughter was the softest.

The steam from the teacups curled against her face as she carried the tray back into the living room. Her wrists trembled with the weight, though she tried to steady them, the cups clinked softly against their saucers.

The voices reached her before she stepped in.

"...and still no sign of them returning," Anand was saying. "It's been what? More than 15 years now? They've made their life there. Why would they come back?"

"They've abandoned everything here," her Taiji sighed, almost theatrically. "Left her on our heads. We've done more than enough raising another man's child."

Tizmat's throat tightened. The weight of the tray nearly tipped.

"They didn't abandon her," Sonali's voice interjected, calmly. "She is their daughter. And they send enough for her."

But her Taiji only sniffed.

"Abroad has a way of making people forget their roots. It makes them selfish. I've seen it myself."

Aslan's remark did not glance once at Tizmat.

The words landed heavier than they should have.

She set the tray down on the table with careful hands, keeping her gaze on it. One by one, she passed the cups... to Sonali, to Anand, to his wife, to Aslan.

He, unlike others, didn't move to help her, not even to shift his hand an inch closer.

She had to place it precisely before him, the porcelain clinking faintly against the glass table. His fingers brushed the handle with deliberate slowness, dark eyes flicking up once... not at her, but through her. As if she were transparent to him.

The chill of it raised gooseflesh along her arms.

She turned quickly away, only for her thoughts to betray her.

For a moment she remembered how different it had been, years ago. When Sharvari, his wife, was alive and they would come together.

She had watched from the corners of rooms, from the staircases, as his stern face softened when his wife spoke, as his silence cracked into laughter now and then.

The memory twisted against the man seated before her now.

Because whatever had been there then had died with her.

"Two months in America this time, was it?" Devendra asked.

"Three." Aslan's correction was clipped. 

"And now you're back," Anand chuckled, "the whole estate must breathe again."

A faint smirk tugged at Aslan's mouth, though it carried no joy. 

"Breathing is not optional. It is more of a discipline."

The others laughed politely.

"Fifteen years," 

Taiji repeated with a sigh, stirring sugar into her tea though her eyes never left Tizmat.

"They've built their lives abroad. They won't come back. And we—" she gestured broadly, "we've done our duty long enough."

The words slid under Tizmat's skin, barbed and heavy. Her hand trembled against the tray, porcelain rattling.

"She's not a duty," Sonali said quietly, but firmly. 

Her fingers rested over her cup, though her eyes were fixed on Taiji. 

"She's their daughter. And she is still young. Let her finish her studies."

"Studies?" 

Taiji scoffed, her laughter sharp. 

"And what will that achieve? To fill her head with nonsense? To make her think she can stand on her own feet?" She waved a hand dismissively. "This fragile girl? She can't even manage a kitchen without burning it down."

Heat rose up Tizmat's throat. She bent her head low, as though the dupatta could swallow her whole.

"Better to think of her future," Taiji went on, her voice gathering momentum. "She's of age. It is time we find her a house of her own. Why drag this on?"

Silence dropped, the kind that pressed against the walls.

"Her future," Aslan said after a while, his voice low. 

He hadn't looked at Tizmat once. His gaze was fixed on the rim of his cup, thumb resting lightly against the handle. 

"Whatever it may be, studies won't change her nature."

The words were quiet. But they cut like steel.

Tizmat's lungs stuttered. The tray in her hands suddenly felt unbearably heavy, her grip slipping against the polished wood.

"She is not without worth," Sonali countered quickly, her tone still gentle but sharper now. "Every child deserves a chance."

"Chance?" Taiji laughed again, almost gleeful in her cruelty. "And what if she takes that chance to run away? Or to speak against us? Better to settle her quickly than to wait for disgrace."

Sonali's son's wife murmured agreement. Anand looked uncomfortable but said nothing, his eyes dropping to his tea.

Aslan didn't answer. He leaned back in his seat, hands clasped neatly before him, his profile sharp as a blade. The smirk from before had vanished, replaced by an expression carved from stone.

Tizmat stood rooted.

"Enough of this," Sonali said softly, but her voice trembled. "Let's not speak of a girl's life like this, as though she isn't even here."

But the truth was crueler.

She was there.

And yet, to every voice in that room, except Sonali's, it was as if she wasn't.

"If you're thinking of her future, Rukmini, why not within our own ties? We've been bound like family for years. If she must be married, why not into my house?"

Sonali's words rippled through the room like a stone cast in still water.

Anand shifted in his seat. His wife glanced quickly at Aslan. Even Devendra raised his brows, smirking faintly at the sudden tension.

Taiji's laugh cut sharp.

"Sonali! Your son is a widower. And this girl"—her hand snapped toward Tizmat—"she can't even lift her eyes"

But Sonali's gaze remained steady, her voice tender but edged.

"Better a man who has lived and known grief than some stranger who would treat her worse. My Aslan would at least keep her safe."

The name dropped like daggers.

All eyes turned to him.

Aslan sat rigid, his posture was yet unyielding, his hands clasped loosely. 

His jaw flexed once, dark eyes lowering... not toward Sonali but squarely onto the trembling girl still clutching the empty tray.

For the first time, his gaze held her.

It was not merely a glance.

"She?" He asked. "She can't even walk through a corridor without shaking. She can't serve a cup of tea without spilling. You think she could bear my name?"

The air cracked with the weight of his words.

Tizmat's face burned.

The sting on her cheek from earlier flared anew. Her throat closed, but no sound came. Her eyes snapped down, staring desperately at the carpet, where the threads blurred through a film of tears.

"Enough, Aslan," Sonali said sharply, though her tone was lined with sorrow rather than command. "You speak too cruelly—"

"I speak truth," he cut across her, voice cold, eyes still fixed on Tizmat. "And truth needs no softening."

His dismissal was merciless.

The room was silent again, filled only by the faint ticking of the old brass clock. Taiji leaned back, a thin smile tugging her lips as if vindicated. Devendra hid his smirk behind his teacup. Anand shifted uncomfortably. His wife studied her own hands.

Tizmat's knees shook beneath her salwar, her strands slipping further down her shoulder.

Ashamed, she placed the tray on the table and turned, walking toward the staircase. Her steps were quicker than usual, a desperate attempt to reach the shadows before her tears betrayed her.

Halfway up, the voices blurred into one indistinct hum.

At the landing, she paused just long enough to wipe her cheek with the back of her hand, hiding her face from the room below.

Aslan's eyes followed her to the staircase, cold and unreadable. They lingered on the shadow of her figure as it slipped out of sight.

Only then did he turn back, his expression carved back into stone, as though it had never broken at all.

To be continued....