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The scene shifts to Aashwit's house. A man is waking up, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he slowly opens them. His eyes are black, the same color as his hair. His muscular build is evident, even through the T-shirt he's wearing.
This man is none other than Udhav, Mohini's older brother. Not much older, though—he's 19, just two years older than his sister and one year older than Aashwit.
As Udhav stretches, gaining his balance, he looks around the room, searching for the light switch. But, unsurprisingly, there's no electricity. He's used to it by now. Aashwit has always struggled with money, and after the death of his grandmother, Udhav can't help but feel pity for him.
However, things are different now. Udhav knows Aashwit possesses some kind of supernatural power, something that could make him the richest person in the world whenever he chooses. Udhav has many questions to ask him, but all those thoughts disappear the moment he looks at the floor.
There, Aashwit and Mohini are sleeping, wrapped in each other's arms. But it's not just an innocent embrace. Mohini is clinging to Aashwit like a cobra coiled around a branch, in both a relaxed and protective pose. Udhav knows better than to wake her up. If he does, he might not live to see another morning.
Despite his cold and calm demeanor, Udhav has one weakness—his younger sister, Mohini. To the world, she appears shy, but to him, she's a little devil who enjoys bullying him. And he lets her, because nothing brings him more joy than seeing her mischievous smile when she does.
You might wonder why Udhav isn't reacting to seeing his sister in another man's arms. The answer is simple—he has always known that Mohini has loved Aashwit, ever since they were kids.
He clearly remembers the day it all started. One day, their family was talking about their parents' arranged marriage. During the conversation, little Mohini stood up from her mother's lap, looked straight at her parents, and declared, "Mummy, Daddy, please arrange my marriage to Aashwit when I grow up, just like you."
Everyone burst out laughing, and her mother teased her gently, saying, "Oh, it seems our little princess has grown up and is ready to get married!"
A blush spread across Mohini's cheeks, and she quickly added, "Mother, don't tease me! I'm serious. Please arrange my marriage to Aashwit!"
This only made them laugh harder, and Mohini, frustrated, began to cry. Her father, seeing this, knelt beside her and asked softly, "So, my little fairy wants to marry Aashwit Bidyut?"
Mohini nodded shyly.
"Well, it's settled then. We'll arrange your marriage to Aashwit when you grow up and are as tall as your mother."
"Really?" Mohini asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Her father smiled, lifted her onto his shoulders, and said, "Who's ready for some jalebis? Who wants jalebis?"
Udhav, who had been pretending to sleep beside his mother, jumped up and raised his hand. "I want some!" he exclaimed, making little Mohini laugh—a laugh Udhav still cherishes to this day. But as much as he enjoyed that moment, one thought gnawed at him: *So, this boy wants to take my baby sister away? I'll have to give him a beating.*
The next day, Udhav called Aashwit to meet him at the park. When Aashwit arrived, Udhav didn't waste any time and started beating him up. Udhav believed that with enough strength, any problem could be solved.
While Udhav was pounding on Aashwit, Mohini was playing with other girls nearby. One of them rushed up to her and said, "Mohini, your brother is beating up Aashwit! I don't know why. I was playing with my sister when I saw it."
"Kyaa!" Mohini screamed, dashing toward the park.
When she arrived, she saw Aashwit lying on the ground, with Udhav on top of him, throwing punch after punch.
"Stop!" she screamed. "Brother, why are you fighting Aashwit? What did he do?"
"He's trying to steal you," Udhav replied between punches.
"He's not stealing me! Just stop!"
At that moment, some parents and Aashwit's grandmother arrived. The parents pulled Udhav off Aashwit, and his grandmother hurried over, picking him up and gently helping him stand. Her frail hands trembled as she tried to dust him off, her movements slow and uncertain, as though the weight of the world had finally taken its toll on her. It wasn't just physical exhaustion that weighed her down—it was the knowledge that she could do nothing to protect her grandson from this cruelty.
Mohini, feeling guilty, ran toward them. "Granny, I'm so sorry! Please don't hate me. Mohini is really sorry," she cried, tears streaming down her face.
Aashwit's grandmother looked at the little girl, her own heart aching, but her face softened. She wanted to scold her, wanted to shout at the unfairness of it all, but what good would it do? She was powerless in this town, in this moment. Her grandson was all she had, and even he had been beaten down—literally and metaphorically. Her tired, tear-filled eyes met Mohini's, and despite everything, she mustered a weak smile.
"Oh, dear," she whispered in a trembling voice, stroking Mohini's head with shaky fingers. "Why would Granny hate you? You're a sweet child. You can always come and play with Aashwit, whenever you want…"
Her words were kind, but her voice was hollow, as if trying to hold back the flood of sadness she felt inside. A single tear escaped, rolling down her wrinkled cheek, but she quickly brushed it away with her sleeve. She couldn't afford to break down, not now. Her shoulders slumped further, and with quiet dignity, she started walking away, her pace slow and unsteady, her fragile figure almost disappearing in the growing distance.
The adults who had watched the scene with indifference felt no sympathy. Many of them resented Aashwit's family. Back when his parents were alive and their business thrived, they were known for standing up for the weak, siding with employees and the poor during disputes, which had caused some of these families financial losses. They weren't about to offer any kindness now.
As she walked away, Mohini's heart clenched, and she broke into loud sobs, feeling the weight of her guilt. The adults rushed to her, asking if she was hurt or if the old woman had said something cruel. Mohini shook her head, crying, "Mohini is sad because brother bullied Aash…"
Some of the adults clicked their tongues in annoyance and walked away, clearly uninterested in the little girl's feelings.
Mohini's mother arrived shortly afterward and, seeing her daughter crying, embraced her, asking what had happened. After hearing the story, she scolded Udhav, insisting he apologize to Aashwit.
They all went to Aashwit's grandmother's house, where they found Aashwit lying on the floor, his shirt off, revealing bruises on his pale chest and stomach. His face was swollen, but the most striking thing was his eyes—there were no tears, just anger and hurt. Not at Udhav, but at the friends who had abandoned him.
Mohini's mother apologized to Aashwit's grandmother, bowing slightly. Udhav, too, offered an apology, though it was more out of obedience than sincerity.
Aashwit's grandmother sat silently, her head bowed low, as if the weight of life's hardships had finally crushed her. She knew this apology would do little to mend her grandson's wounds—physical or emotional—but what could she do? She had no power in this town, no one to turn to for help. The people around her saw her as nothing more than an old woman clinging to the scraps of a once-proud family. And now, even her grandson was slipping away.
Mohini tried to approach Aashwit, but when she got close, he stood up, dressed himself, and walked right past her without a word.
Mohini's mother watched, surprised by Aashwit's cold indifference. She knew how close Aashwit and Mohini had been since childhood. Aashwit had shared his secrets with Mohini—things like how he had been working part-time in a store, saving up to buy his grandmother a new saree. Half the money had already been collected, and he had even told Mohini where he had hidden it. He had always been kind to her daughter, even risking his life to protect her once when a stray dog had tried to attack her.
As Aashwit walked past without even acknowledging Mohini, her mother's surprise turned to realization when she noticed the tear marks on the front of his shirt. His own eyes were dry, filled only with anger and hurt. Those tears weren't his—they belonged to his grandmother.
Seeing this, a deep guilt settled in Mohini's mother's heart. She had allowed her son to become a bully, and now the bond between these once became separable.
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