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Author’s POV – Sharma Residence, A Few Days Later

The air inside the Sharma home felt… lighter.

After the chaos, after the shouting, after the moment Ahaan nearly raised his hand in a blind fit of rage — things had shifted.

Ahaan had apologized.

Not just a soft sorry. Not the kind you whisper just to move on. It was heavy. Honest. Messy.

> “I don’t know what got into me… I swear I didn’t mean to… I was just— I don’t know what I was doing… I’m so sorry, Samaira.”

He had broken down in front of her and Ritika, even resting his head on Rohit’s shoulder after. And Samaira — with the same softness she always had — had nodded, hugged him tight, even though her body was still trembling from what had almost happened.

And for the first time in weeks, they had all shared a quiet dinner. Small jokes. A few smiles.

Ritika had made aloo tikki — Samaira’s favourite — and Ahaan had passed her the chutney without being asked.

Rohit had even chuckled once at something Ahaan said, and Samaira had giggled, eyes wide with relief.

It was fragile, this peace.

Like carefully walking on a tightrope. But they were walking… together.

It felt like maybe — just maybe — they’d made it through the storm.

Until one evening, just when the house was warm with laughter and soft music, Samaira walked into the living room and asked the question that had haunted her for years.

---

Samaira stood in front of her parents — fists clenched, eyes uncertain but firm.

> “Can I ask something?”

Ritika, halfway through folding a towel, looked up. Rohit muted the television instantly.

Samaira’s voice was calm. Too calm.

> “Why… why was I given away?”

The words landed like a knife.

Ritika’s lips parted, but no sound came. Rohit blinked, shoulders tensing.

> “I mean,” she continued, looking between them, “I’m your daughter. I’m not adopted. You’re my real parents. Right?”

They nodded. Slowly. Heavily.

> “Then why didn’t you keep me?”

Ritika sat down.

> “Beta… it’s a long story. A painful one.”

> “I can take pain,” Samaira whispered. “I’ve lived with it.”

Rohit’s throat tightened.

> “You deserve to know,” he said finally. “You deserve to know everything.”

---

Flashback – The Year 2011

India. World Cup Final.

Rohit Sharma — the name on every headline, the heart of every hope. He had carried India to the finals with five centuries.

People had started calling him the next god of Indian cricket.

But that final match… it changed everything.

First ball.

Clean bowled.

Rohit didn’t get a second chance. Neither did the country.

And the blame came crashing down like a tidal wave.

His Instagram was flooded.

> “You ruined it all.”

> “You should retire.”

> “Hope your kid dies.”

> “We’ll finish your family like you finished our dreams.”

One morning, Ritika — six months pregnant — opened the door to find a bloodied doll lying on the doormat.

> “Consider this a warning,” the note read. “Next will be your baby.”

Even Ahaan, just 4, became a target. Someone leaked a picture of him at a park — the next day, there were men in bikes circling their building. They tried to force their maid to give information about the school.

Ritika had started sleeping with her arms curled around her belly every night — crying silently.

Rohit was spiraling.

The authorities advised a public apology. He gave it. But the anger didn’t stop.

> “I can’t keep her safe,” he told Ritika one night, staring blankly at the nursery they had just painted. “We can’t keep her safe.”

> “But she’s our baby,” Ritika sobbed.

> “And she will die if she stays.”

So they made the worst decision a parent could make. They gave her away.

To a trusted family in Bikaner. A quiet place. A kind home. Away from threats. Away from media. Away from blood-hungry trolls.

It was supposed to be temporary. Just till things settled.

But things didn’t.

And years passed.

The family got attached. The paperwork got complicated. Legally, they adopted her.

And Rohit and Ritika — they lived each day with a hollow in their chest.

Every birthday without her. Every festival. Every moment Ahaan asked for a sibling. Every night they looked at the untouched baby clothes. The memories.

Ritika once tried to go visit in secret — the foster parents refused.

And so they watched… from afar… while their daughter grew up believing she was abandoned.

---

Back to Present – Sharma Home

Samaira was silent, but her body had started shaking.

Ritika came to her, gently cupping her cheeks.

> “We didn’t leave you because we didn’t want you, beta. We left because the world left us no choice.”

Rohit stepped forward, falling to his knees in front of her.

> “You are — and will always be — our daughter. We gave you life. And when it came to protecting that life… we gave away our own happiness.”

Tears spilled down Samaira’s cheeks. She tried to speak — but all that came out was a whisper.

> “I just… I thought I wasn’t enough.”

Ritika pulled her in.

> “You were too much. Too precious. Too pure for the hate the world threw at us. We didn’t want you to grow up fearing shadows.”

Rohit kissed her head softly.

> “And I swear, now that you’re home… nothing in this world will ever come between us again.”

Samaira buried herself into their arms — sobbing, releasing years of confusion, rejection, and loneliness.

Ahaan stood at the edge of the room — guilt swimming in his eyes, lips trembling.

He had always resented her arrival. But now he saw what she had survived.

And suddenly, everything changed.