Chapter 8: The Truth Behind Her Eyes

The hum of post-dinner chatter faded into quiet.Inside the small drawing room, Maholi sat stiffly between her mother and brothers. Arko and Arin tried their best to distract her with silly cartoon impressions and exaggerated voices. Her mother kept refilling her glass of water, pretending all was normal. But Maholi's eyes flicked constantly toward the balcony—where Abir stood in silence, facing her father under the amber light.

It shouldn't have felt like this.Tense. Wordless.Like a storm gathering behind a curtain.

On the Balcony...

The city lights blinked distantly, unaware of the fragile truth unfolding in their shadow.

Her father leaned against the railing, arms folded. There was something heavier in his posture tonight — not just age, but the weight of memory.Across from him stood Abir, unusually still. No sunglasses. No defenses. Just... waiting.

"Why are you really here?" the older man asked, his voice low and steady. "You didn't drive across the city just to offer her a job."

A pause.Then Abir met his eyes. "I think... I know her. From long ago."

The man's brows didn't move, but something in his expression flickered.

"There was an accident," Abir said, voice rough with memory. "Ten years ago. A woman... she died protecting two children. I was one of them. So was the girl. I think—"His breath hitched."I think that girl was Maholi."

A sharp exhale.The older man turned his face away. Closed his eyes.

"So… you do remember."

Abir's body tensed. "Then it's true?"

"Yes."The word left him slowly. Like a secret released after years of suffocation."That woman… she was her biological mother."

Abir's chest twisted. "Then... what happened to her after that?"

"She was taken to a public hospital. Separated from you. Her mother's dying words were to keep her safe — raise her away from that night. So... we did."

"We?" Abir asked, already knowing.

"My wife and I. Her mother was my sister. Maholi grew up believing we were her parents. We gave her a new name. A new life. And we kept the past... buried."

Abir was silent.The night buzzed faintly with distant traffic.

"She doesn't remember," the older man continued. "And that's a mercy. When she finally smiled again, when she stopped waking up screaming... we promised ourselves we'd never let her relive that day."

"I should tell her," Abir said, almost to himself.

"No."The word was firm. A gate slamming shut.

"She's happy. She's healing in her own way. You'll only shake her world again."

"But it's her truth—"

"Her truth," he interrupted, "belongs to her. And when the time comes, if she needs it — she'll hear it from us. Not from some star who walked back into her life with guilt in his hands."

Abir's jaw clenched.

"You want to protect her?" her father asked, eyes like steel now. "Then do it right. Don't break her in the name of healing."

A pause.

"Take her with you, if that's your plan. Give her a safer space. Let her grow, let her write, let her shine in a world she never chose. But remember—"He looked at Abir directly."She is my daughter in every way that matters. She is my heart. Don't forget that."

Abir nodded once, his throat tight. The weight of a promise curling in his gut.

Without another word, the man stepped back inside.

Moments Later...

"Maholi," her father said softly from the doorway, "Go pack your bag."

She looked up from the sofa, blinking. "What? Why?"

"You'll be staying with Mr. Sen for a few days."

She stood abruptly. "Excuse me?! Why would I go with him?"

Her father didn't meet her gaze. "It's settled."

Maholi stared. "What do you mean settled? Just an hour ago you didn't even trust him near the gate. Now suddenly I'm moving in?"

Her mother looked away. Her brothers fell quiet.

"Please," her father said again, gently but firmly. "Just listen."

But he wouldn't explain.

And Abir—He just stood there. Silent. Watching her. His expression unreadable again, as if he'd built his walls back up in seconds.

Something in Maholi snapped.

"So this is it?" she hissed. "I get passed around like I'm some problem to be solved?"

Her father's silence said too much.

She turned to Abir. "And you? What's next? Want me to wear a ribbon so the cameras know which property I am?"

He didn't flinch. He just... took it.Like he deserved it.

She stormed to her room, each movement sharp and deliberate. Her fingers trembled as she zipped her bag — each fold, each stuffed corner an act of defiance. A refusal to cry.

Outside...

They walked down the stairs without speaking.Abir opened the car door for her.

Maholi slid in, her jaw clenched. Her eyes staring straight ahead, like he wasn't even real.

He sat beside her, not daring to touch the silence between them.

She didn't ask questions.Didn't make demands.But her silence was louder than anger.

And Abir —He wanted to protect her.But he didn't know how to stop hurting her first.