Har Har Mahadev

पल-भर ठहर जाओ, दिल ये सँभल जाए

कैसे तुम्हें रोका करूँ?

मेरी तरफ़ आता हर ग़म फिसल जाए

आँखों में तुम को भरूँ

बिन बोले बातें तुम से करूँ

अगर तुम साथ हो.........

My name is Anurag Bhowmik.

CEO of Bhowmik Industries.

Though “CEO” feels like such a sanitized word for what this empire truly is—a legacy carved through bloodlines, reputation, and relentless ambition.

Yes, I inherited this seat.

But inheritance alone does not keep a throne warm.

You have to bleed for it, even if quietly.

This empire—this towering six-story structure in the heart of Kolkata—bears my family’s name. And though our branches stretch across the globe, it is here… in this very city… that everything began.

Tonight, I was alone in my office.

Again

The desk light glowed dimly over a pile of untouched reports. But I wasn’t reading them. My eyes were open, yes—but my mind was somewhere far from numbers and forecasts.

Maybe that’s why the knock startled me more than it should have.

Knock. Knock.

“Yes, come in,” I said, almost mechanically.

The door creaked open, and one of the security guards stepped inside, his tone hesitant, respectful.

“Sir… it’s already past 10:30. It’s time to close the office.”

I looked at him blankly for a second.

Time.

That damn clock again. Always moving. Always reminding.

I turned my gaze to the clock on the wall.

10:34 PM.

Another day gone.

Another night I would have to return to that house.

I raised my hand in a silent gesture, dismissing him gently—telling him he could lock up. The guard nodded, offered a polite salute, and left as quietly as he had entered.

The cabin door shut with a soft click. And in that moment, the silence felt heavier than before.

I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling.

Why was I still here?

Maybe because the office was easier than home.

Maybe because spreadsheets didn’t ask questions.

Maybe because these walls didn’t look at me with cold, unreadable eyes.

Or maybe… because I wasn’t ready to face her tonight.

But the office was closing. And duty had a clock, even if guilt did not.

I rose from my chair, buttoned my coat, and stepped out.

My car waited below, sleek and black, engine humming faintly. My driver opened the door wordlessly, as he always did.

Of course I wasn’t driving.

People like me are driven—by men in uniform and burdens in silence.

As I slid into the back seat, I didn’t say a word. The city outside passed in a blur of streetlights and shadows. My thoughts remained fixed on the mansion I was headed toward…

That house.

That name.

That silence.

Bhowmik Mansion.

And the woman who lived inside it.

.

.

.

.

A gleaming black BMW slid to a stop at the entrance of the Bhowmik Mansion. The iron gates, flanked by stone lions with solemn faces, opened without delay—as though the car’s presence alone commanded obedience.

The mansion loomed beyond the archway, every brick steeped in old pride and older sorrow. It stood like a monument—grand, immovable, and heavy with the silence of something left unsaid.

“Bade Malik, hum ghar pahunch gaye hain.”

“We have arrived home, Bade Malik.”

The driver’s voice was soft, almost reverent.

The man in the backseat stirred.

.

.

.

.

.

I opened my eyes slowly—not from sleep, but from the fog I had wrapped around myself. On purpose. It wasn’t rest. It was retreat. From memory. From duty. From this growing hollowness I wear like a second skin.

I glanced at my watch.

11:00 PM.

My heart stuttered. Just slightly.

It’s late.

But something had brought me here. Something I hadn’t been able to shake off all evening. As if this house had called me back.

The main door stood ahead, cloaked in silence.

The gatekeeper was already there, waiting—as if he knew I’d return. He opened the car door and raised a black umbrella over me without a word.

I stepped out. Rain hit sideways in thin, angry sheets.

A gust of wind curled under my collar—cold. Sharp. Almost like guilt.

I paused beneath the umbrella. Tried to breathe.

But the breath didn’t feel whole.

Why does this place still feel unfamiliar?

Why does she?

The storm above was loud.

But inside—inside was worse. The silence in that house wasn’t emptiness.

It was waiting.

I hadn’t even raised my hand to ring the bell... and the door opened.

Seemantika.

Quiet. Watchful. Loyal.

Like always.

She only nodded. Then stepped aside.

I stepped in.

And there, at the heart of the room—

I saw her.

.

.

.

.

Ashwini.

The new bride of the Bhowmik household.

Eight months into the marriage, and yet her presence felt like a guest overstaying an invitation. She sat on the staircase—not on a sofa, not in the warmth of the living room, but on the cold stone steps—wrapped in a soft pink shawl, the very one Anurag had once gifted her.

Her gaze was fixed on the storm beyond the glass window, as though trying to read the fury of the rain—to see in its chaos the mirror of her own.

She didn’t turn when he entered.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t smile.

She had noticed him, he was sure.

But she gave him nothing.

Anurag cleared his throat. A small, tentative sound, meant to fill the distance between them.

Still, she didn’t move.

Her silence was a fortress. And he had no key.

.

.

.

.

The old hall of the Bhowmik Mansion seemed unusually quiet that night.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet—but the kind that comes right before something breaking.

Outside, the storm was beginning to lose its fury, but inside, another kind of storm was just beginning to settle. Not loud. Not violent. Just… cold.

Anurag stepped into the hall, his coat damp, his hair slightly disheveled, the silence of the night pressing into his ears. His shoes tapped softly against the marble as he entered, yet every sound felt louder than it should have.

And then, his eyes caught her.

Ashwini.

She was sitting halfway up the stairs, wrapped in that faded pink shawl. The one he’d gifted her on their second month together. Back then, she had laughed when she wore it, twirling in front of him in the mirror.

Now, she simply sat still. That same shawl wrapped around her like a shield.

She didn’t look at him. But she knew.

He was there.

And he knew she knew.

“Itni raat ko yahaan kya kar rahi hain?”

His voice wasn’t sharp. It was low, uncertain. Like someone trying to touch a flame without getting burned.

"What are you doing here at this hour?"

Ashwini didn’t answer right away.

Her gaze remained fixed on the glass window near the stair landing, watching the last drops of rain trail down. When she finally did speak, her voice was steady—but empty.

“Aapko kya farak padta hai?”

"Why do you care?"

The words didn't tremble. But they cut deep.

Anurag’s throat went dry. He took a slow step forward, eyes flickering from her face to her hands—her fingers curled tightly around the shawl, like she was holding herself together.

“Apne dinner kiya? Medicines li?”

"Did you eat? Did you take your medicines?"

The space between them felt larger than the room itself.

Ashwini turned to look at him, finally—her eyes dark and unreadable.

“Itni raat ko aap ye poochhne aaye hain?” she asked quietly.

"You came this late just to ask that?"

Then, after a long pause, her voice dropped lower—colder.

“Mujhe kya khilaya, kya pilaya—ye aapko ab jaanne ki zarurat nahi hai.”

"What I eat, what I take... that no longer concerns you."

Anurag froze.

She didn’t shout. She didn’t cry. That was what made it worse.

The walls of the house had once heard laughter from this very spot. The echo of soft footsteps chasing one another. Now, the only sound was of two people—distant, careful, broken—trying not to say what they truly felt.

Ashwini’s face remained blank. But her stillness screamed.

Anurag looked at her—really looked at her.

Not the surface.

Not the words.

But the weight beneath them.

The months of silence. The nights she had waited. The mornings he hadn’t noticed. The small pieces of her she had quietly buried, until all that remained was a version of herself he wouldn’t recognize.

She looked away first. Not because she was done—but because she had nothing left to give.

Anurag’s lips parted—perhaps to say sorry, or maybe stay. But the moment had already closed itself like a door.

The space between them stayed filled—not with noise, but with everything that should’ve been said long ago.

And in that vast, golden room filled with chandeliers and chandni floors, they stood—two people who once shared a life, now barely sharing breath.

.

.

.

.

I took a step forward.

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

My voice came out low. Careful. Carrying concern… and something heavier beneath it.

Guilt.

She didn’t look at me. Didn’t flinch.

But her voice sliced clean through the room.

“Why do you care?”

It didn’t just push me back.

It erased me.

I tried again. “Did you eat dinner? Did you take your medicine?”

But Ashwini didn’t let me hide in softness.

“You came this late to ask if I’ve eaten? Whether I’ve taken my meds?”

She paused. Just long enough for the weight to land.

“You don’t need to know that anymore.”

Every word was a door closing. Not angry. Just... final.

I said nothing. Couldn’t.

Once, the space between us had been a bridge.

Now it was a drop. A silence too wide to cross.

My toes shifted on the cold marble. Small movement. Barely there.

But I felt it—restlessness without direction.

Why does her silence speak louder than anything she’s ever said?

And why does it hurt more?

.

.

.

.

.

I felt him the moment he stepped inside.

The air shifted. The scent of rain—and something heavier. Regret, maybe.

But I didn’t turn.

I couldn’t.

My eyes stayed on the storm outside.

It was easier than looking at him.

I heard it in his voice—the hesitation, the weight behind his words. The careful way he tried to reach across a distance he had created.

Too late, Anurag.

“Why do you care?” I asked.

Not for an answer. But because I needed to remind him.

And maybe… remind myself.

Then came the questions—dinner, medicine.

And for a second, I almost laughed.

Where was that voice when the silence between us became louder than the storm?

Where was this concern when I lay awake night after night, trying to understand who I was to you… or if I still was anything at all?

Now?

Now it was just noise. Too little. Too late.

My place in his world had become an echo—still present, but never truly heard.

The shawl around my shoulders felt heavier than it should have.

It wasn’t warmth.

It was memory.

And still, I wore it.

Why?

Maybe to remember what love had once looked like.

Before it dissolved behind status, silence, and a surname.

I felt the sting in my throat, but I swallowed it back.

He stood there. Silent.

Just like he had that night I cried quietly into the pillow—only a few feet away from him. And yet, miles.

This wasn’t anger.

No.

This… was what came after.

This was detachment.

.

.

.

.

.

Eight Months Ago – BNB BANK, 2:57 PM

The hum of computers. The clicking of keys. And the air-conditioned chill of corporate air.

Ashwini sat at her desk, focused on the screen, entering data with robotic speed.

Then—

“Madam, did you call for me?”

She flinched slightly.

.

.

.

.

It was Mr. Basu—My senior. Kindly, polite, and far too insistent on formalities.

Without looking up, I said sharply, “Sir, how many times must I say, don’t call me ‘Madam.’ I’m your daughter’s age.”

His chuckle was familiar. “Some relationships don’t care about age, Madam.”

I sighed and looked at him with mock irritation.

“So you're never going to stop calling me that, are you?”

“Not at all. Here, Madam—take this.”

He handed me a file. I took it gratefully.

“Thank you, sir. I really needed this. You did it with just one request!”

“It’s my duty, Madam. No need to thank me.”

And just like that, he walked away.

I glanced at the clock.

2:59 PM.

No, I can’t delay anymore.

I quickly packed her bag. My heart felt like it was chasing time.

Just then, my phone buzzed..

.

.

.

.

.

A single message lit the screen.

“I am waiting……”

No name.

But no need for one either.

Because the weight of those three words…

Was heavier than any goodbye.

To be continued........

Ruhi🌷

You can follow me on Instagram for spoilers.

Guys your one like means alot to me, it motivates me so please don't forget to do comment on every chapter and make me happy.

Har Har Mahadev

How was the chapter guys???