Silences Between Hearts ~ A Rumya SS [Completed]

Written on the lines of the film Punjabi House, this story follows a young man burdened by debt who fakes his death and hides in a Punjabi household under disguise. Silent and unrecognizable, he faces guilt, comedy, and danger, while fate reunites him with his mourning love, testing loyalty, identity, and the strength of love.

Chapter 1 (Drowning in Shadows)

The Weight of the World

The Oberoi Mansion had always been the symbol of wealth, power, and prestige. Its white marble pillars stood tall, the chandeliers glittered with arrogance, and the gardens bloomed in perfect order. To the world, it was paradise—a fortress of privilege where every dream could be bought with money.

But in his room, behind the heavy teak doors, Rudra Singh Oberoi sat at his desk, drowning in bills, loans, and unpaid dues. For everyone else, he was the youngest Oberoi—the spoilt, happy-go-lucky, fitness-obsessed charmer. But the truth was that Rudra was collapsing under the weight of responsibilities he had never learned to carry.

He slammed another bill onto the pile.

“Damn it… how much more can I take?” he muttered under his breath, fingers pulling at his hair. “On one side, the debts… on the other, the Oberoi name. I can’t handle either.”

His chest burned with shame. The sting of failure was worse than the sting of any enemy’s insult.

The Roots of Debt

It hadn’t started overnight. Rudra had always wanted to be more than “the youngest Oberoi brother.” Shivaay had the business empire in his grip. Omkara had his art and calm wisdom. Rudra? He was the entertainer, the muscle, the one everyone laughed with but never really took seriously.

And so, when the fitness craze swept the country, Rudra saw his chance.
“I’ll make Oberoi Fitness the biggest chain in India,” he had told his father Tej proudly. “Not just gyms, but lifestyle centers. Training, weight loss, confidence-building. People will remember the name Rudra Singh Oberoi for more than my abs.”

At first, it worked. His gyms attracted crowds. His social media influence grew. The youngest Oberoi was finally making something of himself.

But Rudra had always lived fast, trusted too easily, and believed success would never betray him. He hired flashy trainers, rented expensive spaces in prime locations, and invested in gimmicky equipment. Money poured out faster than it came in.

A crooked partner swindled him. Equipment suppliers demanded payments he couldn’t cover. Then, as fate would have it, a rival chain opened next door to two of his prime gyms. Within months, the shine wore off. His once-crowded gyms turned into empty halls echoing with failure.

Loans piled up. Banks called. Suppliers threatened. And Rudra, too proud to admit his mistakes, too stubborn to ask his brothers for help, began sinking in quicksand.

The Burden of Being Tej’s Son

Tej Singh Oberoi was a man of ruthless ambition. He had once looked at Rudra with a glint of pride, but now, every word he spoke carried disappointment.

“Shivaay handles the empire. Omkara has his art. And you, Rudra? You were supposed to prove yourself in your own way. Instead, you’ve turned into a liability!”

Rudra had stood silently as Tej’s words lashed him. Inside, he wanted to scream: I’m trying, Dad. I wanted to make you proud, not ashamed. But the words never left his lips.

His mother, Jhanvi, was kinder. She placed her hand on his shoulder when Tej wasn’t looking. “You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders, Rudra. You’re still my child. You’ll figure this out.”

But even her love couldn’t quiet the gnawing sense of inadequacy inside him.

The Brothers He Couldn’t Face

Shivaay and Omkara were more than cousins; they were his pillars. The “Oberoi Brothers”—a trio unbreakable to the world. But in Rudra’s eyes, his brothers were shining stars he could never touch.

Shivaay, with his business acumen and icy confidence, could negotiate with the devil himself and win. Omkara, with his artistic soul and moral compass, drew respect from everyone he met.

And him? Rudra was the clown who made jokes to hide that he was terrified of becoming invisible.

“How could I face them?” Rudra whispered to himself. “How do I tell Shivaay that the brother who mocked balance sheets now drowns in them? How do I tell Om that I’m not strong, not wise, just… empty?”

Soumya—His Anchor

When everything else fell apart, there was still Soumya.

She wasn’t dazzled by his surname or his six-pack abs. She had seen the boy behind the mask—the Rudra who feared failure, who hated loneliness, who desperately wanted to be loved for who he was, not what he looked like.

It was Soumya who had first encouraged him to start his fitness chain. “You’re not just muscles, Rudra. You know how to motivate people. You make them believe in themselves. That’s your real strength.”

And it was Soumya who stayed even when it all collapsed.

That evening, as the bills blurred in front of his eyes, Rudra’s phone buzzed. The screen lit up with the name that still had the power to soften his heart—Soumya.

He picked up, his voice trembling.
“Hey, Sumo…”

“Rudra, are you crying?” she asked immediately, her voice laced with concern.

He wiped his tears, though she couldn’t see them. “No… just a little tired, that’s all.”

“I know you,” Soumya said softly. “You always smile in front of everyone, but inside you’re breaking. Don’t hide it from me, Rudra.”

Her words pierced through the walls he built around himself. His throat tightened. “Soumya… if it weren’t for you, I would’ve ended it all long ago. You’re the only reason I’m alive.”

The silence on the other end was heavy but comforting. She didn’t need explanations—she understood him in a way no one else ever had.

Finally, she whispered, “I’m with you, Rudra. Always.”

Those words—simple, unshaken, loyal—were Rudra’s lifeline. He clung to them as though they were oxygen.

Flashback: The Almost Kiss

As he sat in the darkness of his room, Rudra’s mind drifted back to a memory—a night that had started sweet but ended in humiliation.

It had been at Soumya’s house, during one of those evenings when their families had gathered. Soumya’s father, Mr. Kapoor, was a respected businessman and an old ally of the Oberois. To him, Rudra was the reckless Oberoi boy who had no real direction.

But that evening, Rudra hadn’t cared. He had sneaked away with Soumya into the library, their laughter hushed, their shoulders brushing as they teased each other.

“You know,” Soumya had said, lowering her voice, “for someone who claims to be a ladies’ man, you blush way too easily.”

Rudra leaned closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “Only with you, Sumo. Others don’t matter.”

Their laughter died into silence as their faces drew nearer. His hand found hers. For a moment, the world held its breath—the distance between them was a heartbeat away from dissolving.

And then—

“Soumya!” her father’s voice thundered as the door burst open.

They sprang apart, guilt painted on their faces. Mr. Kapoor’s furious eyes landed on Rudra.

“You! In my house, with my daughter? How dare you?”

“Uncle—” Rudra began, but his voice cracked.

“Get out!” Mr. Kapoor roared. “You may be an Oberoi, but you’re good for nothing. You think I’d ever let my daughter waste her life on a boy who can’t even handle his own?”

The words sliced through Rudra. For once, he didn’t fight back. With humiliation burning in his chest, he turned and walked out, leaving Soumya calling after him, her eyes filled with tears.

That night, Rudra had stood outside, fists clenched, shame searing his veins. He had sworn he’d prove himself—not just to Soumya’s father, but to the world.

Yet here he was now, years later, drowning in debts, his father ashamed, Soumya’s father proven right.

The Shadow of Despair

Night deepened. Rudra walked to the window and stared at the endless sky. The stars glittered, mocking his insignificance.

He whispered into the darkness, his voice breaking, “Sumo… you’re my life. If you’re not there… I won’t be either.”

He imagined a world without Soumya, and the thought hollowed him out completely.

As the mansion slept in silence, Rudra clenched his fists. The weight of the world crushed him. He had failed his father, failed his family, failed himself. Only Soumya kept him alive—but for how long?

His mind wandered to a dangerous thought: Maybe if I disappear… their burdens will disappear too.

The Silent Escape

The night was heavy. The city’s lights blurred in Rudra’s vision as he walked along the deserted pier. The ocean whispered promises of release, the waves lapping against the rocks like the pulse of some dark heartbeat. Each step felt heavier than the last, each breath tighter.

He had tried to smile, to joke, to lift the crushing weight of debts off his shoulders, but nothing had worked. Every lender’s call, every unpaid bill, every disappointed glance from Tej Singh Oberoi had piled upon him like stones. And now, standing on the edge, the thought that had haunted him for months felt almost logical: one final step, and the world’s burdens could vanish along with him.

Yet even in the darkest corner of his mind, one memory flickered like a fragile candle—Soumya’s smile, soft and unwavering, her voice like a whisper of hope.

“I’m with you, Rudra. Always.”

Her words were the only lifeline holding him from plunging completely. He closed his eyes, imagining her gaze, steady and gentle, reminding him he wasn’t truly alone. He could not—would not—disappear with Soumya’s hope tethering him.

But even that fragile hope was not enough to lift the suffocating despair. Rudra’s body shook, the world spinning around him, the waves calling out like sirens.

“Sumo…” he whispered into the dark, “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on…”

Before he could take the final step, a firm hand grabbed his shoulder. The sudden grip made him stumble.

“Rudra!” A voice cut through the roar of the ocean—stern, commanding, impossibly familiar.

Rudra turned to see Shivaay Singh Oberoi, his cousin, eyes blazing, body tense with concern and frustration. Behind him, leaning casually on the railing with a smirk plastered across his face, was Omkara Singh Oberoi, who looked far too amused for the gravity of the situation.

“Shivaay… Om…” Rudra’s voice trembled. “I—I just…”

“You almost just threw your life into the sea,” Shivaay snapped, his tone sharp, but underneath, worry peeked through. “Do you have any idea what kind of idiot would do this?”

“I… I can’t—” Rudra tried to speak, but the words died in his throat.

Omkara, ignoring the drama, leaned closer and whispered theatrically, “Bhai, you really picked a scenic spot for a meltdown. The lighting is perfect for a tragic music video, but could you not have chosen somewhere with a Wi-Fi signal? I might want to stream this later.”

Rudra blinked, half in shock, half in disbelief. And somehow, despite everything, a small, dry laugh escaped him.

Shivaay’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Laugh all you want. I’ll leave you in the water next time.”

“Shivaay!” Omkara gasped, feigning horror. “Threatening him? You’re worse than Tej Tauji!”

Rudra’s knees weakened, and he sank onto the pier, letting the cousins guide him back to solid ground.

-----

To be continued.

Chapter 2 (Shadows of Survival)

The Rescue and the Plan

Back at the Oberoi mansion, Rudra slouched on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at the floor. Shivaay paced, fists clenched. Omkara lounged on the armrest, munching on a granola bar, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You’re insane,” Shivaay said finally. “You can’t keep doing this, Rudra. Debts, shame, humiliation—it’ll crush you.”
“I know…” Rudra whispered. “I don’t… I don’t know what else to do.”
“You do this again,” Omkara chimed in, “and the next time I’m dumping you in the fountain in front of Dadi. Public humiliation, guaranteed.”
“Enough joking, Om,” Shivaay said, his tone softening slightly. “Look, Rudra. There’s a way out of this mess without you… disappearing.”

Rudra looked up, hope flickering. “A way?”

“Yes,” Shivaay continued, “we’ll get you out of the city for a while. You’ll stay with a family of… generous Punjabis who think you’re… different. You’ll play deaf and mute. They’ll believe you can’t speak, and while they take care of you, we figure out how to clear your debts.”

Rudra’s mouth fell open. “You want me to… lie?”
“It’s not just lying,” Shivaay said. “It’s survival. And you need survival right now.”
Omkara leaned forward, grinning. “And honestly, little bro, think about it. You’ll be a mysterious silent hero. Women love silent heroes. Maybe this time Sumo will finally notice you without shouting.”

Rudra’s heart skipped. Soumya… even the thought of her kept him tethered. Maybe this ridiculous plan was the only way to prove himself worthy again.
“I… I’ll do it,” he said finally, voice barely audible. “For… for her.”

Shivaay’s eyes softened, Omkara smirked, and for the first time that night, Rudra felt a sliver of hope.

The Fake-Death Ruse

Before leaving, Shivaay and Omkara added a twist to the plan.

“Here’s the fun part,” Shivaay said, leaning close. “We’ll tell everyone you… didn’t make it. A tragic accident. Your ‘death’ will buy us time to fix everything.”
Rudra froze. “Death? They’ll—”
“They’ll grieve,” Omkara said dramatically, “but think about it—no lenders, no pressure. You get a fresh start. Everyone thinks you’re gone, and we work behind the scenes. Plus, it’ll shock Sumo enough to… motivate her to survive without you.”

Rudra swallowed hard, heart hammering. The plan was cruel, but effective.

The Silent Comedy Begins

The following morning, as they prepared Rudra for the plan, Omkara couldn’t resist poking fun.

“Wear the kurta we bought. Trust me, you’ll look tragic but respectable.”

“I don’t want to look tragic!” Rudra groaned.

“Exactly,” Omkara said, grinning. “You’ll be tragic and stylish. Punjabis won’t know what hit them. And don’t forget the finishing touches—a fake beard and turban. Instant mysterious hero.”

Shivaay rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. Just remember: mute, deaf, humble. No arguing, no explaining. Let them underestimate you. That’s the key.”

Rudra nodded, feeling a mix of dread and determination.

He stared at the mirror as Omkara handed him the fake beard. Carefully, Rudra stuck it on, feeling ridiculous as it slid slightly at the corners. Shivaay leaned over, adjusting it with a precise tug. “There. Now you look… tragic but noble.”

Next came the turban. Rudra struggled to wrap it properly, the fabric too long and unwieldy, looping around his head like a comedy prop. Omkara snickered, “Perfect. You look like a silent Punjabi hero straight out of a movie.”

Rudra sighed, finally seeing his reflection: the kurta, the turban, the beard, all combining into a carefully constructed mask of dignity and mystery. He flexed his fingers nervously, reminding himself that behind this disguise, he had a mission—and a love that awaited him.

If pretending to be helpless meant buying time, he would do it. And through it all, Soumya’s face floated in his mind—a reminder that the man she loved was still very much alive inside him.

Arrival at the Punjabi Household

As the three cousins approached the sprawling courtyard of the Punjabi household, laughter, music, and the aroma of butter-laden dishes greeted them. Rudra’s stomach knotted.

“You ready for this?” Shivaay asked.
Rudra took a deep breath. “I have to be. For her… for Soumya.”

Omkara clapped him on the back. “Now go be mysterious and silent. Let the Punjabis fall in love with your tragic charm. You got this.”

Stepping forward, Rudra was immediately engulfed by the household’s chaos—children running, elders shouting, and the smell of freshly cooked food. For the first time in months, he felt a spark of life, a reason to fight, guided by Soumya’s unwavering belief in him.

First Encounter with Bhavya: The Silent Act

The first person he noticed was Bhavya, carrying a tray of steaming parathas. She stopped mid-step, tilting her head, sharp eyes studying him.

Rudra, sensing her gaze, gave a solemn bow and placed a hand over his chest. Then, to reinforce his deaf act, he exaggerated a confused look, looking around as if trying to hear her words but hearing nothing.

Bhavya frowned, pointing at him and miming speaking with exaggerated gestures. She tapped her own ears, then gestured to his, clearly asking, “Can you hear me?”

Rudra shook his head slowly, maintaining the deaf facade, and nodded solemnly to indicate he understood her gestures—but he was only pretending.

Bhavya’s eyes narrowed playfully, then she tapped the tray, mimicking a warning: “Careful! Hot!” Rudra jumped slightly, pretending to mishear her warning. He flailed his arms dramatically, almost dropping the tray, then caught it with exaggerated relief.

Omkara, watching from the doorway, whispered to Shivaay, “Step one: intrigue. Step two: comedy. Step three: Bhavya is totally hooked on his silent, tragic charm.”
Shivaay muttered, “Step four: survive financially. Don’t get distracted.”

From that moment, a silent camaraderie formed. Every nod, gesture, and exaggerated reaction strengthened their bond—without a single word exchanged. And in the back of his mind, Soumya’s face floated as always, reminding him why he endured this elaborate charade.

Early Silent Bonding

Over the next few days, Rudra and Bhavya’s interactions became a carefully choreographed silent comedy:

· Kitchen Antics: Bhavya flicked water toward Rudra. He pretended not to notice, then slowly reacted with exaggerated gestures, spilling a little for dramatic effect.

· Chore Coordination: Folding clothes or carrying baskets became comic routines, punctuated by exaggerated nods, shrugs, and serious expressions.

· Accidental Touches: Hands brushed while reaching for the same spice. Bhavya gave him a sharp look; Rudra exaggerated his apology silently.

· Children’s Mischief: Kids tugged at his kurta or pranked him. Rudra reacted as if he couldn’t hear, turning each encounter into a silent performance.

Omkara whispered from the balcony, “Step one: he survives. Step two: Bhavya falls silently in love. Step three: comedy gold.”
Shivaay sighed. “Step four: focus on finances, little brother. The romance is… incidental.”

Rudra’s internal struggle never left him. Even as the silent bond with Bhavya grew, his heart remained with Soumya, the anchor he couldn’t abandon—even in the midst of this elaborate charade.

The Oberois’ Heartbreak

Meanwhile, back in the mansion, Shivaay and Omkara executed the fake-death story with precision. News of Rudra’s “death” spread like wildfire.

The Oberois were inconsolable. Tej’s normally stoic face cracked, Jhanvi’s tears flowed freely, and even Omkara pretended to mourn—though secretly, he was suppressing a smirk.

But none were hit harder than Soumya. When she heard the news, she crumpled to the floor, wailing in disbelief. The world had lost Rudra—the boy she had always loved, the anchor of her life.

“No… this can’t be… Rudra…” she whispered over and over, her voice shaking.

Her father, Mr. Kapoor, tried to console her. “Sumo, listen… he’s alive somewhere. It’s a plan, we’ll—”
“No!” she shouted, tears streaming. “You don’t understand! He’s gone! My Rudra… my husband in my heart… gone!”

Tears carved rivers down her cheeks as she dressed in muted colors, a silent tribute to the man who had been her life. Every accessory she removed, every piece of jewelry set aside, every small change in her demeanor reflected her vow: to live as Rudra’s widow, even if he was still breathing somewhere.

Quiet Resolve

That evening, Rudra sat on the veranda of the Punjabi household, the sun dipping low and casting golden light over the courtyard. Children’s laughter echoed around him, the aroma of freshly baked parathas still lingering. He watched Bhavya as she tended to them, her gentle movements and playful smiles painting a picture of normalcy he had longed for.

Yet his thoughts always drifted to Soumya. Her face appeared in his mind, tear-streaked but resolute, mourning him as her husband. A pang of guilt and longing gripped him. He had never imagined that faking his death could hurt her so deeply, but the thought of her love tethered him more firmly than any fear of failure.

He clenched his fists, whispering to himself, “I’ll survive this… for her. I’ll fix everything and come back to her. She deserves the real Rudra, not this shadow she mourns.”

The wind rustled the leaves around him, carrying with it a strange sense of hope. Though he was pretending to be mute and deaf, the silent promise he made to himself and to Soumya resonated loudly in his heart.

Rudra took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and smiled faintly. He was ready to face the days ahead—the laughter, the silent comedy, the challenges, and the lessons. And in that quiet resolve, a spark of the man Soumya loved flickered again, waiting for the moment it could shine fully.

The day ended with Rudra sitting among strangers who would become his unexpected family, while somewhere far away, Soumya’s mourning kept him alive—a bittersweet tether across the distance, binding their hearts in silence and hope.

-----

To be continued.

He is drowning in debt and too proud to ask for help. Would he get help and advice if he asks?

Thankfully, his cousins found him and stopped him from throwing his life away. They seem like good souls who would help.

Thats the plan they came up with? Now there is Bhavya who is likely to form an attachment to him. Then he will have to let her down.

Originally posted by: coderlady

He is drowning in debt and too proud to ask for help. Would he get help and advice if he asks?

Umm...He would get help but since he already failed his father once, he is scared to disappoint him once again.

Chapter 3 (Silent Storms)

Bhavya’s Growing Affection

Weeks passed, and Rudra’s act as a deaf-mute had become second nature. He lived in nods, exaggerated shrugs, and comically tragic bows. What began as survival slowly wove into a strange companionship with Bhavya.

Bhavya, mute since childhood, had sharp eyes. She noticed the smallest details—how he made sure children didn’t fight over sweets, how he silently lifted heavy baskets from elders, how his gaze softened whenever it brushed over her face.

At first, she tested him relentlessly—dropping plates to see if he’d flinch, waving behind his back to test his deafness. But Rudra never slipped. Every time, he answered with helpless confusion or dramatic shrugs that made her laugh until her shoulders shook.

Laughter turned into smiles. Smiles turned into fondness. And fondness… began inching toward affection.

But for Rudra, every playful look from her was a dagger. His heart was not free—it beat only for Soumya. He remembered her tear-streaked face, the quiet mourning she had embraced after hearing the news of his “death.”

I can’t let her replace you, Sumo, he thought, even as he returned Bhavya’s smile with guilt pressed into his chest.

From the balcony, Omkara nudged Shivaay.
“Step one complete: he survives. Step two… Bhavya’s clearly falling.”
Shivaay exhaled through his nose, weary. “Step three: Rudra doesn’t ruin this with his puppy eyes.”

Soumya Arrives

One evening, the courtyard buzzed with chatter. Sikander, Bhavya’s elder brother, strode in proudly, followed by a familiar presence—Soumya.

“She’s here for a business partnership,” Sikander announced. “Mr. Kapoor’s daughter will be managing this joint project.”

The family welcomed her with sweets and chatter. Soumya smiled politely, her warmth wrapping the air, though the chaos around her was overwhelming. Yet, there was something different—her attire. She wore muted colors, a simple sari, her hair tied back, the traditional symbols of widowhood marking her transformation.

For Rudra, time stopped. His heart leapt into his throat. She was here—his Sumo, the anchor of his life—standing in the very house where he hid behind silence. And the sight of her dressed as a widow, sorrow etched into every movement, pierced him like a dagger.

His body jerked forward instinctively, ready to call out her name, when Shivaay’s grip clamped on his arm.

“Not now,” Shivaay hissed. “If Soumya sees you, she’ll realize you’re alive—and the story of your death falls apart.”

Omkara leaned in with a sly grin. “Step five: tension. Let it simmer.”

Rudra swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving her face. The soft sari, the white bangles, the solemn expression—everything made him ache.

The Harsh Eyes of the Household

It didn’t take long for whispers to begin.
“Arrey, look at her… so plump!” one of the women muttered.
“She must eat double,” another snickered, glancing at her rounded arms.

The children caught on instantly, chanting cruelly: “Moti didi! Moti didi!”

Soumya’s smile faltered. She tried to laugh it off, but her chest constricted, her eyes prickled.

Rudra’s heart tore apart. Every word was a blade. He wanted to roar—stop it, she’s perfect!—but Shivaay’s hand pressed hard against his chest.

“Not yet,” Shivaay warned in a low growl.
“Patience,” Omkara teased, “your heroic speech will come. Timing, little brother, timing.”

Rudra clenched his fists, nails biting his palms. I’m here, Sumo. I won’t let them hurt you… just hold on.

Soumya’s Instinct

Though she was focused on the partnership, Soumya felt something strange that evening. Amid the laughter and taunts, her gaze drifted to the silent boy sitting apart—the supposed “deaf-mute.”

For a fleeting moment, their eyes seemed to meet. There was something oddly familiar in the intensity of his gaze, a softness that tugged at a memory deep in her heart. Her chest tightened, a whisper of doubt brushing against her grief.

Why… why does he feel like Rudra?

Her eyes traveled over him—over the neatly wrapped turban and the carefully affixed fake beard that hid the familiar lines of his jaw. The disguise, though clever, did not entirely mask the curve of his lips, the way his eyes crinkled when he glanced at the children, the subtle tilt of his head.

Soumya blinked rapidly, her mind resisting. No… it can’t be him. Rudra is gone. She had seen him “die,” mourned him, and even embraced the solemn widowhood that marked his loss. That was the truth. Wasn’t it?

Still, a pull she couldn’t explain drew her closer, and her breath caught as she studied him. The silent boy’s hands moved gently, almost protectively, as he nudged a fallen basket back toward the children. The familiarity of those movements, the quiet care in his gestures—it was almost Rudra.

Her pulse quickened, a mix of hope and fear twisting inside her. She forced herself to look away, convincing herself it was impossible, that grief had conjured a phantom. And yet… the eyes followed her, soft, observant, impossibly alive, and the fake beard and turban could not hide the warmth that seemed to radiate from him.

Rudra, aware of her gaze, tensed slightly beneath the disguise. Every muscle screamed to reveal himself, to call out her name, to shatter the lie. But he could not. Not yet. A flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes, but he forced a polite, confused tilt of his head, feigning deafness.

Soumya’s hand twitched instinctively toward him, then fell. Her heart thundered in disbelief, the hope that he might somehow still be alive warring with the bitter truth she had forced herself to accept. It’s not… Rudra… it can’t be… she whispered.

And yet, her gaze returned to him, again and again, drawn to the impossible familiarity she could not ignore.

Bhavya’s Jealousy

Bhavya noticed instantly.

The moment Soumya walked in, draped in her muted widow’s attire, the silent boy’s gaze shifted—yearning, gentle, aching. It was a look he had never shown her. The softness in his eyes, the faint tremor in his shoulders as he watched Soumya, made Bhavya’s chest burn with a mix of shock and pain.

For weeks, Bhavya had believed their bond was special. The small smiles, the way he had silently protected her, the playful bows—she thought they belonged to her alone. And now this outsider, this plump widow, had stirred his attention, had awakened the silent devotion Bhavya had treasured as hers.

Her hands clenched around the steel thali she carried. Her muteness felt like a cruel curse; she wanted to demand, to shout, to pull him away from Soumya—but all she could do was tighten her hold on him, silently asserting possession.

From the shadows, Omkara and Shivaay shared a glance.
“Step six,” Omkara whispered, smirking. “Jealousy unlocked.”
“Step seven,” Shivaay muttered. “And Soumya’s starting to suspect.”

The Courtyard Silence

That night, Soumya stepped into the quiet courtyard. The house was finally asleep, only crickets breaking the silence. The children’s taunts—moti didi—still echoed in her head. She hugged her shawl closer, whispering, “Why do I let this bother me? I’m here for business, not to care about strangers’ words.”

Yet her voice cracked.

Then she saw him. The silent boy sat by the well, fiddling with a rope. Moonlight carved his face, and Soumya froze.

Her heart raced. Those eyes… that restless energy.

She took a trembling step forward. Their gazes locked.
Her lips parted. “Rudra…?”

The boy froze. His fingers stilled, panic flickering in his eyes.

Soumya’s breath hitched. It had to be him. “It’s you, isn’t it? Rudra, please… say something.”

His lips parted, as though he would break the silence—but then Bhavya appeared with a lamp.

Rudra instantly covered his ears, shook his head wildly, and gave a foolish, confused smile—miming his deafness.

Soumya’s hope faltered. The boy’s turban and beard obscured his familiar features, and every instinct in her screamed confusion. Maybe my heart is playing tricks… maybe Rudra really is gone, she whispered to herself. With a trembling hand, she brushed at her eyes and turned away, trying to still the ache in her chest.

But Bhavya saw everything—the near-recognition, the panic, the yearning. Her chest burned with jealousy. She marched forward, placed the lamp firmly on the well, and hooked her arm through Rudra’s possessively, tugging him away.

Soumya stood frozen, her heart aching as they disappeared into the shadows.

Rudra’s Silent Agony

Beneath his turban and fake beard, Rudra’s heart throbbed painfully. The sight of Soumya dressed as a widow, mourning for a life she believed he had lost—it was unbearable. Every instinct screamed to reach out, to comfort her, to reveal that he had never left.

Yet, he could not. Bhavya’s trust, the delicate web of survival he had spun, the entire plan—it all depended on silence. And still, seeing Soumya’s sorrow, the ghost of his “death” etched in her expression, tore him apart from within.

He forced himself to bow slightly, feigning the exaggerated confusion of his deaf-mute disguise. His hands, though trembling, remained by his sides, careful not to betray the storm of emotions raging beneath.

Every subtle glance at Soumya—the tilt of her head, the slight tremor in her lips, the weight of her mourning sari—was a knife to his heart. And yet, he could not avert his gaze. He could not stop himself from watching her, silent, helpless, aching.

The Brewing Triangle

That night, three hearts wrestled storms:

• Soumya, torn between logic and longing: It felt like him… but if it was, why hide?
• Rudra, drowning in guilt: I can’t hurt Bhavya… but Sumo, I can’t let you think I’ve abandoned you.
• Bhavya, clutching him tighter: Whoever she is… she won’t take you away from me.

And in the shadows, Shivaay and Omkara exchanged knowing glances.
“Step eight,” Omkara muttered, smirking. “Almost-recognition interrupted.”
“Step nine,” Shivaay sighed. “The love triangle begins.”

The night deepened, but their tangled fates only grew tighter.

----

To be continued.

Chapter 4 (Shadows of Recognition)

The Next Day: Cruel Games

The Punjabi household woke to sounds of laughter, gossip, and the scuffle of children. Soumya, draped in her widow’s sari, moved quietly among them, her pallor and soft demeanor drawing subtle glances.

She tried to focus on the business meeting with Sikander, papers spread before her, but her eyes kept flickering toward the quiet boy in the corner—the supposed deaf-mute, his turban and fake beard hiding the familiar curves of his jaw.

Why do I keep seeing him everywhere? she scolded herself. He’s… he’s gone. Shivaay bhaiya said he won’t be back. Stop imagining things.

But her heart refused to obey reason.

The Children’s Taunts

The courtyard erupted into playful cruelty. Women snickered, the children emboldened by the whispers, circling Soumya.

“Moti didi! Moti didi!” they sang, tugging at her sari-pallu.
“She’ll finish all the ladoos before we get any!” one jeered.
“Careful, she might break the chair if she sits!” another howled.

Soumya’s cheeks burned under the humiliating attention. She tried to smile politely, to shrug it off, but her chest ached, her heart constricted by the reminder of mourning, loss, and the lingering hope she couldn’t fully discard.

Rudra stood frozen nearby, fists trembling. His whole body screamed to protect her. Stop it! She’s perfect. She’s my Sumo!

He stepped forward, every instinct urging him to reveal himself, to call out, to break his silence—but Shivaay’s voice cut sharply from behind.

“Not now, Rudra,” Shivaay hissed, eyes deadly serious.

Omkara leaned against the wall, watching, though his gaze was sharp. “Patience, brother. The hero enters at the right time. Hold it in.”

But Rudra’s body shook with restraint. His silence was no longer survival—it was torture.

Soumya’s Breaking Point

Finally, Soumya could take no more. She stood abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. “Enough!” she said, her voice cracking, shaking with the weight of insult and grief.

The children giggled. The women exchanged amused, knowing looks.

Soumya hugged her shawl tighter, the thin fabric doing little to protect her from the cold sting of humiliation. “You all think this is funny… but you don’t know what words can do,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I came here with respect… and this is how you treat me?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy, silencing even the children for a heartbeat.

Rudra Breaks

Rudra could bear it no longer. With a sharp, decisive motion, he shoved past the children, standing at her side, his body trembling with controlled rage.

He wanted to shout, to roar, to banish the cruelty from her world—but his cover, the deaf-mute disguise, held him back. Instead, he picked up the sweets the children had tossed at her in mockery. Slowly, deliberately, he placed them in her hands with reverence, then turned to the children, eyes blazing, miming a furious scolding—pointing, shaking fists, glaring until they shrank back in shame.

The courtyard went still. Even the women lowered their gazes, embarrassed by their own harshness.

Soumya’s breath caught. The protective, angry, desperate stance—the silent power—wasn’t the act of a stranger. It was him.

Recognition

Her gaze sharpened, tears welling as realization pricked her heart. “It’s… you… isn’t it?” she whispered, voice trembling.

Rudra froze, lips parting slightly, his body trembling with the weight of the truth. For a fleeting moment, his mask faltered—the fake beard, the turban—everything meant to hide him failing to conceal the raw love and anguish in his eyes.

Soumya gasped. She stepped closer, hand trembling, lifting it toward his cheek. “Rudra… it’s you. I knew it. I felt it all along.”

He did not speak—not yet—but his eyes said everything.

Tears spilled over her cheeks, a faint smile breaking through her grief. “You’re here. You didn’t leave me,” she whispered.

For the first time in weeks, Rudra allowed himself a quiet response—not with words, but by clutching her hand tightly against his chest, where his heart thundered beneath her palm.

The Silent Storm

From the balcony, Shivaay and Omkara exchanged glances.

Omkara exhaled a low whistle. “Step ten… recognition.”

Shivaay muttered, grim, rubbing his temples. “And the plan just got infinitely more complicated.”

Down below, Bhavya stood in the shadows, heart breaking. Her silent boy—her budding love—wasn’t hers at all. His soul already belonged to another.

And for Soumya, the torment ended. She had found Rudra again—hidden in plain sight, masked by grief, disguise, and silence—but undeniably, irrevocably hers.

Aftermath and Guilt

That night, Rudra sat alone in the quiet of the Punjabi household, the courtyard now empty and bathed in moonlight. Soumya’s laughter and soft voice still echoed faintly in his mind, a balm to the weeks of pain and silence.

Yet beside that relief, another weight pressed heavily on his chest—Bhavya.

She trusted me… she cared for me… and I’ve already stolen her heart without meaning to, he thought, fingers clenching the edge of the wooden railing. The realization twisted painfully in his gut. Every smile he had shared with Bhavya, every playful gesture, every silent exchange—it had all been for survival. Yet the girl had begun to fall for him, and now he couldn’t give her the love she deserved.

He pressed his face into his hands, whispering into the dark, “I’m sorry, Bhavya… I never meant to hurt you. I can’t… I can’t let you have me… not like this.”

Across the veranda, Bhavya sat with her arms folded, pretending to watch the stars, though her eyes betrayed her inner storm. She sensed the distance, the tension, the quiet guilt radiating from him, but she couldn’t confront him—not while Soumya’s presence loomed so strongly in his heart.

From the balcony, Omkara and Shivaay observed the quiet scene.
“Step eleven,” Omkara murmured, almost to himself. “Guilt and jealousy… it’s deliciously messy.”
Shivaay’s jaw tightened. “Step twelve: don’t let him ruin everything. This triangle’s about to explode if we’re not careful.”

Rudra leaned back, his eyes tracing Soumya’s face in memory, then flicking to Bhavya, who looked at him with unspoken questions. His heart was tethered to two worlds—the love that anchored him and the one he could not betray, even silently.

The night carried on, heavy with unspoken words, silent promises, and the brewing storm of hearts that were about to collide.

That Night: The Courtyard

The Punjabi house had gone quiet. The gossiping women, the rowdy children, even Sikander—all asleep. The air was thick with the scent of mustard oil lamps, the night heavy with silence.

Soumya couldn’t sleep. Her heart still raced with the image of him—Rudra—standing by her side, protecting her without words. She wrapped her shawl tighter and stepped into the moonlit courtyard.

And there he was.

Sitting by the old well, his shoulders hunched, his hands fidgeting with a broken piece of rope. The moonlight carved his face into sharp shadows, but to her, every angle was familiar.

Her steps faltered, but her heart pulled her forward.

The Confrontation

“Rudra…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He froze. The rope slipped from his fingers. Slowly, his head turned toward her. Their eyes met.

She stepped closer, her tears brimming. “It’s you. I know it’s you. Stop pretending… please.”

Rudra’s chest rose and fell heavily. His lips parted, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, biting his lip hard, his fists clenching on his knees.

Soumya knelt in front of him, forcing his eyes back to hers. “Why, Rudra? Why are you hiding here like this? Shivaay bhaiya told me you were away on business… but all this time—you’ve been here?”

Her voice cracked. “Do you have any idea how I’ve searched for you? How many nights I prayed you’d come back?”

Rudra’s eyes shone with tears he couldn’t hold back. His act—his silence—was crumbling in the face of her pain.

The Breakdown

Finally, with a strangled sound, he reached for her hands, clutching them desperately against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Sumo,” he whispered hoarsely—the first words he had dared speak in weeks. His voice broke like glass. “I didn’t want this… I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Soumya gasped, her tears spilling freely now. “It is you…”

He nodded, his head bowing against her hands. “I messed up. I… I tried to end everything, Sumo. I thought I had nothing left. Shivaay and Omkara saved me… but they made this plan. They told me to act like a deaf-mute to survive, to repay the Punjabis by staying here. I thought I could handle it.”

He looked up at her, his eyes swimming with guilt. “But then you came. And every day, watching them hurt you, watching you smile through it—while I had to stay silent—it’s killing me.”

Soumya’s Pain and Love

Soumya’s hands trembled as she cupped his face. “You idiot,” she whispered, her voice breaking with love and fury. “You thought you had nothing left? You had me, Rudra. Always me.”

He shut his eyes, leaning into her palms, his tears spilling freely. “I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t.”

Her thumbs brushed away his tears, though her own kept falling. “Then earn me back. But don’t you ever… ever… try to throw your life away again.”

The Plea for Silence

Their foreheads pressed together, the night wrapping around them in a fragile cocoon.

But then Rudra pulled back slightly, urgency flashing in his eyes. “Sumo… you can’t tell anyone. Not yet. If the Punjabis know, everything collapses. Shivaay and Omkara… they need me to keep this act going for now.”

Soumya’s lips parted in disbelief. “So you want me to stay silent too? To pretend like I don’t know?”

His eyes pleaded with hers. “Just a little longer. Please. I swear, once this is done… I’ll stand in front of everyone and tell them the truth. I’ll tell them you are my truth.”

Soumya searched his face, her chest heavy with conflict. She wanted to scream, to announce to the world that she had found her Rudra again. But looking at his desperation, his brokenness… she couldn’t deny him.

Finally, she nodded, her tears still falling. “Fine. I’ll stay silent. But only because I trust you.”

The Silent Embrace

Rudra exhaled shakily and pulled her into his arms, holding her as if he would never let go again. She clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar warmth she had thought she’d lost forever.

For the first time in weeks, Rudra felt alive again. And for the first time in days, Soumya’s heart felt whole.

But both knew—their silence was only the beginning of a storm.

In the Shadows

And unseen in the courtyard shadows, Bhavya stood frozen. Her breath caught at the sight of the silent boy and Soumya locked in an embrace.

Jealousy surged hot and sharp. She didn’t understand it—why Soumya, why this bond, why she felt as if something precious was slipping away.

She didn’t know his secret. Didn’t know his name.

But one thought burned clear: she couldn’t let Soumya win.

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To be continued.

I find this premise really interesting and Rudra and Saumya make such a wholesome couple.But I have a question.Did Shivaay and Om expect Bhavya to fall for Rudra?