Chapter 54: Chapter 51- The Princess Who Fell

Siara's pov-

After the madness in the living room, I walked into our room, Mahir following right behind. This man has done a full 360° transformation from his former self. Mr. I-Am-The- Definition -Of-Perfection now do things that make absolutely no sense.

Honestly, I should start charging him rent for living in delusions.

He was about to step into the washroom when, without thinking, I stopped him.

“Wait.”

He turned, one brow raised, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes. “Hmm?”

I hesitated for a second, then crossed my arms. “Take off your shirt.”

Wow, Siara. Just wow.

Of all the ways I could have phrased that, this was what I went with?

Because the man standing in front of me—Mahir Sehgal, my ultimate problem—had stopped breathing.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—his lips curved into a slow, teasing smirk. “Biwi, if you wanted me shirtless, you could’ve just said so at the restaurant. Why waste all that time throwing spoons?"

“But I don’t mind, you know,” he continued, stepping closer, voice dripping with smug, sinful amusement. “Girls in the gym die over my physique. I don’t even glance at them. The one woman I want to glance at? Doesn’t throw me a single look.”

I sighed, folding my arms tighter. “Yeah, the same one you just kidnapped for a meal.”

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to summon patience from a non-existent reservoir.“And about the gym,” I added, opening my eyes again, “Go to your personal one. No women. No pain. Only gain.”

His lips ghosted near my ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you by any chance jealous?"

I should’ve rolled my eyes. Should’ve scoffed. But my body betrayed me before my brain could catch up.

Because Mahir was close. Too close.

His body pressed against mine, his warmth seeping into my skin. The room suddenly felt hot. Too hot. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly—too tightly—as his cheek brushed against my neck, his stubble scraping lightly against my skin.

He suddenly moved, taking a few fast, deliberate steps forward, backing me against the wall before I could react. My back hit the cool surface, but it did nothing to cool the fire spreading beneath my skin.

One arm came up beside my head, his palm pressed flat against the wall, effectively caging me in. His other hand—warm, rough, possessive—brushed the hem of my sleeve, tracing slow, lazy circles over my wrist.

I clenched my jaw. "Are you gonna remove your shirt or do I need to choose violence?”

“You’re impatient tonight,” he mused, dragging his hand up my arm again, this time slower, rougher, more deliberate. “Are you sure you don’t want to help?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want a broken nose?”

He chuckled and undid the top button, pausing just enough to let the tension stretch. Then the second, dragging it out like some badly written romance movie.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he murmured, fingers lazily working through the remaining buttons, “I’d think you’re just looking for an excuse to admire your man’s physique.

Then—without warning—he shrugged out of the shirt completely. The fabric slipped off broad shoulders, revealing every sculpted inch of his toned chest, muscles flexing like he was auditioning for a cologne commercial.

And of course, this had to be done theatrically.

Slow. Effortless. Like he was expecting a standing ovation.

I folded my arms, unimpressed. “I told you to remove your shirt, Mr. Sehgal, not to give me a damn strip show.”

Mahir smirked, tossing the shirt aside like he was some kind of runway model. “Can’t help it, baby” he drawled. “It’s called presentation.”

I stepped away, my gaze shifting to his back. The nail scratches I had left earlier ran down his skin, stark against the smooth expanse of muscle. But that wasn’t what caught my attention.

It was the bullet mark. A deep, healed wound just below his shoulder blade.

I reached out instinctively, my fingers ghosting over the scar. His muscles tightened beneath my touch, a sharp exhale leaving his lips.

He turned around, his dark eyes meeting mine. Then—he chuckled.  "Your brother did that."

The air in the room shifted. My mind instantly went back to my brothers—the ones I had told to forget they ever had a sister, just days ago. "Rey bhai?" My voice was calm, but my pulse hammered in my throat.

Mahir shook his head and caught my hand in his, his grip firm. Unshakable.

"Not him." His voice dropped lower, quieter. "The one whose words still claw in your mind.. did that."

My breath hitched. Aryan Malhotra.

I blinked, trying to process.

"By the way, Reyansh was no less," he added nonchalantly, "He broke my ribs. But for clarity, I didn’t make it easy for them."

"When?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

Mahir’s expression remained unreadable. “A few weeks after I left you on our wedding night.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Like the coward I was.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then, softer, almost hesitant, he said, “I don’t know if I have the right to say this or not… but your brothers do love you.” His thumb brushed against my palm, grounding me. “But of course, what they did…” His jaw clenched slightly. “Is not something a person can forgive.”

His words felt like a quiet storm.

I wanted to scoff. To deny it. But the ache in my chest made it hard to breathe, let alone argue. Because deep down, I already knew. I had always known that they would have done something like this after Mahir left me.

I just… never gave it a second thought.

He continued, eyes dark with memory. “I was working in my cabin when your brothers barged inside, demanding answers I didn’t have.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his face before he scoffed, shaking his head.

“The whole family,” he muttered, almost to himself, “has violence in their veins.”

I snapped out of my thoughts immediately, my head jerking up. "Excuse me?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender, though amusement flickered in his eyes. “I mean, let’s look at the facts, Mrs Sehgal” he mused. “All your brothers have beaten me up by now—including Avi.”

He added with a knowing look. “Let’s not forget your contributions, Sweetheart."

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my past lives. Ignoring him, I turned, grabbed the medical kit, and yanked it open. If I had to listen to one more word of his nonsense, I might just pour antiseptic straight into his mouth instead of on his wounds.

The moment I dabbed the cotton onto his back, he flinched dramatically, sucking in a sharp breath."Ouch! Siara, that's hurting!" he whined like I was actively trying to set him on fire.

I narrowed my eyes. "Really? This hurts, but getting shot was what? A minor inconvenience?"

He turned his head slightly, throwing me a pitiful look. "That was different. That was manly pain."

I stared at him blankly. "And this is what? Womanly pain? Mahir, it's disinfectant, not acid. Stop being dramatic."

For a moment, he stopped his so-called act. The room fell into an unusual silence, the air between us shifting—no teasing, no sarcasm. Just something unspoken settling in the space he rarely allowed it to.

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the cotton in my hand. Then, barely above a whisper, I muttered, "I’m sorry for slapping you."

Now this doctor is apologising too. There is definitely something wrong in this house. Maybe the air was contaminated with Sehgal-level delusion.

Mahir stilled. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable before he let out a soft breath, shaking his head. "I didn’t mind." His voice was low, steady. “Also, I knew it was coming.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he turned to face me fully, his gaze locking onto mine. There was no humor in his expression now—just quiet intensity “I would let you break me if it meant I could still hold onto you. I’d take a thousand slaps without complaint.” His lips tilted into a smirk, but his eyes remained serious. "But maybe next time, at least try to be gentler with your affections. My handsome face has admirers, you know."

I scoffed, pushing his chest lightly, but he barely moved. Shameless creature.

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Next day-

I had an important surgery today—one that demanded all my focus, precision, and skill. Hours later, as I finally finished, exhaustion weighed on me. Yet, there was also relief. Another life saved.

I entered my cabin, peeling off my gloves and tossing them into the bin, stretching my sore fingers. But something felt… off. Different. It took me a moment to realize why.

My usually sterile, unbothered space wasn’t the same.

A lavish, obnoxiously big bouquet of exotic blue roses sat on my desk, vibrant and impossible to ignore.

So, naturally, I ignored it.

I went about my business—flipping through patient files, checking my schedule, doing everything except acknowledging the ridiculously extravagant display of floral desperation sitting right there.

One day, red roses. Next day, yellow roses. And today—blue roses, because apparently, I am some rare mystical ice queen who needs to be tamed with exotic flowers.

At this rate, what’s next? A full-fledged botanical garden?

I can guarantee, if this man starts sending sunflowers next, I’m filing for environmental harassment.

But then—my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen, expecting a nurse, a colleague, maybe even an emergency. Instead, my brain short-circuited for a second.

Because there it was. Husband—with a heart emoji sitting beside it, balancing like some unnecessary emotional baggage.

I blinked.

I stared.

I considered throwing the phone out the window.

I picked up the call, my voice devoid of the warmth that ridiculous heart symbol suggested."You touched my phone Mahir?"

His voice was smug. "A husband should be in his wife's heart. Since you refuse to acknowledge me there, I did the next best thing—your contact list."

"Leave it," he continued, completely unfazed. "Let’s talk about something more important. The flowers. Accepted?"

I didn’t even blink. "Rejected."

He sighed, "I knew it wouldn’t work. Achaa, tell me—did you eat?"

I leaned back. "Of course. Because you’ve somehow brainwashed my assistant into your cult. He practically forced me to eat."

Mahir chuckled, completely unapologetic. "Smart man. He deserves a raise."

I cut the call without hesitation.

I left the hospital, my mind unusually quiet. Normally, I would drive straight home—home.

Funny how things changed. There was a time I used to call it Mahir’s home, like I was just a temporary guest, an outsider in their world. But now… now it felt like mine, too. The walls, the air, the warmth—it no longer felt unfamiliar.

But today, instead of heading there, my hands turned the wheel elsewhere. I stopped near the park. My park. Because my father had bought it for me.

The place where my childhood still lingered in the air, where echoes of laughter and tiny footsteps remained frozen in time. It had been years since I last came here.

I stepped inside. The swings still creaked, the old slide was still a little too high for a child’s bravery, and the tiny merry-go-round still stood, waiting for another round of giggles.

I remembered every corner, every memory attached to this place. How I used to run barefoot, chasing fireflies. How I cried every time I fell, blaming my brothers for my clumsiness. How Papa scolded them as they stood there, guilty but protective.

A chuckle escaped me. Time had moved forward, but the past remained here, untouched.

I sat down on a bench, surrounded by silence. There was no one else—just me, the whispers of old laughter, and the ghosts of the little girl I used to be.

The night held its breath.

I felt them before I saw them. A presence so familiar, so deeply carved into my soul that I didn’t need to turn around to know—they were here.

Then, a voice. Soft, hesitant. Like a secret only the wind should hear.

A poem. The one I used to recite as a child, the one they all taught me. The one that was supposed to be a promise.

"Papa’s doll is strong,

For she is never wrong.

Pigtails high, heart so bright,

She fears no dark, she owns the light."

Rey bhai. His voice cracked at the edges. Then another voices joined in.

"Papa’s doll does not cry,

She stands tall, she touches sky.

She is brave, she is free,

She is everything she dreams to be."

Their voices wavered, barely holding up, yet they kept going. A desperate attempt to grasp something that had long slipped through their fingers.

"Papa’s doll will n-never break,

She is fire, she is quake.

She won’t bow, she won’t bend,

She fights till the very end.”

"Bhai’s princess, soft and sweet,

Tiny footsteps, chasing fleet.

A giggle, a twirl, hands held tight,

Safe in their arms, wrapped in light."

I swallowed hard, the ache in my throat unbearable. After all these years, after all the silence, after all the broken pieces—we were here again.

"Bhai’s princess, never alone,

Five shields, flesh and bone.

S-sworn to guard, sworn to stay,

To chase every fear away."

The words faded into the empty air, swallowed by the night. The weight of memories pressed down on my chest, heavy and suffocating. A bitter smile curled on my lips—because fairytales were just that. Promises, once bright and golden, had turned to ash.

And so, I finished it. Not with the innocence of a child, but with the truth that life had carved into my bones.

"But the princess fell, and they stepped back,

Her kingdom turned quiet, her world went b-black.

The hands that swore to never let go,

Left her to fight battles alone.

Papa’s doll, Bhai’s pride,

Once so loved, now cast aside.

Yet she stands, yet she tries,

With empty hands and silent cries.

She built castles out of pain,

Wore her wounds like a royal chain.

Spun her scars into golden thread,

A crown of thorns upon her head.

The throne was cold, the halls were bare,

No laughter left, just empty air.

No shields remained, no hands to hold,

Only echoes of the love once told.

So she stands, though battles bled,

With aching heart and words unsaid.

No longer waiting, no longer weak,

A storm of silence, strong and sleek.

Papa’s doll, Bhai’s pride,

Lost in darkness, still survived.

Not a princess, not a queen,

Just a girl who learned to breathe.

Just a girl who learned to breathe.

Each word choked me from the inside out, but I kept going. I just stared ahead, my throat burning, my heart a mess of scars and silence.

A few moments passed in quiet. Then, out of nowhere, Vivek bhai held out a box of chocolates. His hand was shaking slightly. "Papa made it for you... but he couldn't give it to you." His voice cracked, but he forced a smile, trying—desperately—to lighten the moment but his tears betrayed him."I swear I didn’t take even one out of it."

I took the chocolates from his hands. My fingers brushed against his, and for a split second, I felt the warmth of the brother I had once adored—the one who used to chase me around the house just to steal one extra bite.

I opened one and ate quietly.

Rey bhai spoke next. His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it—a desperation hidden beneath the surface. "Siara... give us any punishment, do whatever you want. But what you said about us forgetting you?" He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "That’s not possible. It never was. How can a brother forget he has a sister?"

I chuckled too. A bitter, broken sound. "Just like you forgot years ago?"

Silence.

Ekansh bhai inhaled sharply before speaking. "You really think that?" His voice was raw, thick with emotion. "Ask your heart, Siara. Can we forget you? Can any of us ever forget you?"

He took a deep breath, as if steadying himself. "You told Dadu you’d kill yourself if we tried to reach you." His fists clenched, his entire body tense as if the weight of those words still crushed him.. "So we never did....But what we didn’t know was that you had already t-tried to k-kill yourself."

Aryan bhai let out a choked sob, his breath ragged, and before I could react, he dropped to his knees in front of me. His hands folded together in desperation, trembling as he whispered, "Our apologies can never alter your life. They can never undo the damage. But Siara... you are our star doll. You always have been."

His voice cracked, the grief in his eyes something I had never seen before. "I regret every second of telling you those words. I regret every moment I let you believe you were alone. I regret not fighting for you when I should have." His shoulders shook, his head bowing down. "Please... f-forgive me."

I didn’t shatter. I didn’t crumble the way I once would have. Instead, I bent down to his level, wrapping my fingers around his trembling hands, forcing them down.

"Answer me," I whispered, my tone laced with a quiet devastation that cut sharper than a scream. "Answer me why you didn’t try to find me for a whole year when I was in a coma... and I’ll forgive you."

Silence. A silence so heavy it felt suffocating. I let out a hollow chuckle, shaking my head. "Your silence says it all."

I turned my gaze to Rey bhai, my voice steady but cold. "A woman destroyed you. She left you. That doesn't mean you'll drown yourself in alcohol and forget your have a family waiting for you home."

His fingers twitched. A broken chuckle escaped him. "Does that family... include my sister too?"

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