Chpter 1: The Girl Who Smiled too Quietly

“Do you know what silence sounds like?”

“It sounds like her footsteps down the hall… every morning… for ten years.”

It was a beautiful morning.

Birds chirped in the distance, their songs floating through a forest of tall green trees. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze—blue, violet, and a dash of pink. In the middle of it all, under the soft shade of the trees, sat three figures.

A man in his early thirties, laughter lines creasing his face.

A woman in her late twenties, radiant, kind-eyed.

And a little girl—no more than six or seven—giggling as she reached for another piece of sweet bread from the woman’s hand.

She was talking, laughing, chattering as if the whole world were made of joy.

It was, truly, a perfect morning.

Until—

A golden sun ray slipped past the curtain and landed gently on her face.

The little girl squinted, eyes squeezing shut. And when she opened them again…

The trees were gone.

The flowers vanished.

No gentle voices. No soft hands.

Just the same old white ceiling above her—flat, silent, and cold. A ceiling she'd stared at for more than nine years now.

Saanvi sat up slowly in bed.

Her hair, once thick and wild, now combed neatly in a braid that never loosened in her sleep. Her room was quiet, sparsely decorated. A folded shawl. A single photo frame turned face-down.

Another Saturday had begun. And with it, her ritual.

Get up.

Open the windows.

Prepare breakfast.

Serve. Smile. Repeat.

But today was not an ordinary Saturday.

Today… he was coming back.

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The morning sun spilled golden light across the Mehta estate. Maids fluttered through the halls. Breakfast was being laid. The scent of sandalwood and saffron tea drifted in the air.

At the center of it all, she sat.

Draped in a pale peach saree, hair pinned in a loose bun, her fingers moved gently across a silver tray. Placing cups, folding napkins. Her movements were graceful, habitual—almost invisible.

“Saanvi beta,” came a warm voice. Meena Mehta, her mother-in-law, stepped in, her pearl necklace gleaming. “You’ve arranged everything again before I even got up! You’ll spoil me.”

Saanvi smiled. “It’s my habit now.”

Meena looked at her—always so poised, so quiet. Ten years in this house, and not once had she raised her voice, not once had she complained.

Today, though… her hands trembled ever so slightly as she poured the tea.

Because today—he was coming back.

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Twelve hours later, the front gate clanged open. Staff lined up. The Mehtas were gathered in the foyer.

And then, he stepped out of the car.

Dev Mehta.

Older. Taller. Sharper jaw. Dressed in foreign brands, sunglasses pushed into his hair.

And beside him…

A girl.

Big doe eyes. Simple floral dress. Clinging to his arm like a child holding onto a balloon.