The Campus Gardens — Late Afternoon 🌳
Rhea found Prachi sitting alone on a stone bench in the botanical gardens. Her laptop was open beside her, and a half-eaten samosa from Daya's Café was forgotten on a napkin. The afternoon light filtered through the banyan tree canopy, casting dappled shadows across her face.
She looked peaceful. Untroubled. As if the world hadn't just been turned upside down.
Rhea hated her for it.
No—that wasn't true. She didn't know what she felt anymore. The note from Suyash was still folded in her pocket, its simple message burning against her thigh like a brand. "Start by apologizing. Not to me. To her."
She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"Prachi."
Her sister looked up, her expression shifting from calm to guarded in an instant. "What do you want, Rhea?"
"I..." The words stuck in her throat. She had never apologized for anything in her life. Not genuinely. Not without an ulterior motive. "I wanted to say... I'm sorry. For what I said. For everything."
Prachi's eyes narrowed. "You're sorry?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The question caught Rhea off guard. "What do you mean, 'why'? I just said—"
"I mean, why are you apologizing? Is it because you actually feel bad about what you did? Or because Suyash told you to?"
Rhea's jaw tightened. "That's not—"
"I saw the note." Prachi's voice was cold and controlled. "Tanya showed me. She thought it was funny." Start by apologizing. Not to me. To her.'" She quoted the words back with bitter precision. "You didn't come here because you're sorry. You came here because he told you to. You came here because you want his approval."
"That's not true!"
"Then tell me." Prachi stood up, her laptop forgotten, her eyes blazing. "Tell me one thing you're actually sorry for. One thing you regret. Not because he wants you to. Because you want to."
Rhea opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
She searched her mind desperately, trying to find the right words. What was she sorry for? For humiliating Prachi? For spreading rumors? For slapping her in the library? Or was she just sorry she had been caught? Was she sorry that Suyash had seen her cruelty and turned away?
She didn't know. She couldn't tell anymore.
"That's what I thought." Prachi's voice was heavy with disappointment. "You don't even know what you're apologizing for. You just know you lost something and want it back."
"That's not—"
"Save it." Prachi gathered her things, shoving her laptop into her bag. "When you actually mean it—when you understand what you did—then we can talk. Until then, stay away from me."
She walked past Rhea without a backward glance, her footsteps fading into the rustle of leaves.
Rhea stood alone in the garden, the note from Suyash crumpling in her clenched fist. She had tried. She had tried. And it still wasn't enough.
"What's wrong with me?" she wondered. Why can't I do this?
The garden offered no answers. Only silence.
—
The Island's Main Marina — The Next Morning 🌅
The ferry from the mainland arrived precisely at 9:00 a.m., its white hull cutting through the turquoise waters of the Arabian Sea. Among the tourists and returning staff, a woman stepped onto the dock with the careful, measured movements of someone carrying an invisible weight.
Pragya Arora was forty years old, and the years had not been kind to her. She was still beautiful with high cheekbones, warm brown eyes, and full lips, but her face was etched with lines of grief and exhaustion. Her once lustrous dark hair was pulled back in a simple bun and streaked with premature gray. She wore a plain, pale blue cotton sari, practical and unadorned—the clothing of a woman who had long ago stopped trying to impress anyone.
She had come to Suyash Island for one reason: her daughter.
Only a week had passed since Prachi left for college, but her late-night texts and tearful voice notes had already become increasingly distressed. She kept messaging about her hostile roommate and how she felt completely out of place and unable to belong on campus. Pragya was transferring every spare rupee into her savings app, determined to buy a ticket to see her daughter, hold her, and remind her that she was loved.
But it was something else that had driven her here with such urgency:
The rumors.
On the ferry, she overheard two university students talking. "Did you hear about Rhea Mehra? Abhi Mehra's daughter? She's on the island. Apparently, she's a total bitch. She got slapped in the library."
Rhea. The name hit Pragya like a physical blow. Her Rhea. The daughter she had lost. Abhi's family took her from Pragya's arms while she was still weak from childbirth and told her it was "for the best." They told her she would never see her again.
She had spent twenty years believing that lie. Twenty years of mourning a child she thought was lost forever.
But if Rhea was here on this island, Pragya had to know. She had to see for herself. She had to find out if the baby she had cared for those few precious weeks had grown into the young woman the students were gossiping about.
She didn't know how she would approach her. She didn't know if Rhea even knew she existed. Abhi's family must have poisoned Rhea against her birth mother—Pragya was certain of it. But she had to try. She had already lost one daughter to tragedy. She would not lose another to lies.
First, though, she needed information. To get it, she needed to speak to someone who knew the island well.
She had heard the name Suyash Shrivastav whispered with both reverence and fear. The owner. The architect. He had built this paradise from nothing. If anyone could help her navigate this delicate situation, it would be him.
She asked for directions at the marina office. The clerk's eyes widened slightly when she requested to see "Mr. Shrivastav personally," but after a quiet phone call, the clerk informed her that a car would take her to the main mansion.
Pragya nodded, her heart pounding. She didn't know what to expect. She only knew that she had to try.
—
Suyash's Private Study — The Main Mansion 🏘️
Suyash stood by the window, watching the car approach along the winding, palm-lined driveway. JARVIS had informed him of the visitor's identity the moment her ferry ticket was scanned.
"Pragya Arora," the AI intoned. "Age: forty. Mother of Prachi Arora and Rhea Mehra. Widely believed to be the birth mother of the late Kiara Mehra. No criminal record. No outstanding debts. Traveling alone. She requested a meeting with you specifically.
Pragya. The name echoed in Suyash's memory. He had watched her on television in another life—the long-suffering heroine, the devoted mother, the woman who had endured tragedy after tragedy yet still found the strength to persevere. In the show, she had been beautiful in a soft, gentle way. A victim of circumstance. A symbol of endurance.
But he knew the show was a sanitized version of reality.
The woman who stepped out of the car was not the soft, gentle heroine of his memories. She was harder. Weathered. Her beauty was still there, but it was the beauty of a survivor—someone who had been through fire and emerged with scars. Her simple cotton sari did nothing to hide her curves: full breasts, a soft waist, and hips that had borne children. She was a mature woman in her prime, exuding the kind of earthy sensuality that comes from years of living, loving, and losing.
Suyash felt his pulse quicken.
Perfect. A mature MILF, ready to be plucked.
He wanted Rhea's fire and Prachi's resilience. But this was something else entirely. Pragya was the source. The mother. She was the woman who had shaped both daughters, carrying their strength and pain in her bones.
And she was here. Alone. She was asking for his help.
He adjusted his cufflinks and waited.
The door opened and Pragya Arora stepped into his study.
She was smaller than he expected, or perhaps she just carried herself that way, hunched slightly as if expecting a blow. Her eyes, however, were sharp. They swept the room quickly, assessing and cataloging everything. She was a woman who had learned to read danger in every shadow.
"Mrs. Arora." Suyash rose from his chair, his voice warm and welcoming. "Please, come in. Sit down. May I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Or something stronger?"
"Tea would be fine." Her voice was soft but steady. She sat on the edge of the leather chair with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Shrivastav."
"Suyash, please." He smiled as he poured her a cup from the pot JARVIS had prepared. "I'm always happy to help those who come to my island, Especially someone as distinguished as yourself."
Pragya's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, though she kept a guarded expression. "I'm hardly distinguished, Mr. Shrivastav. I'm just a mother looking for her daughters.
"Daughters." Suyash raised an eyebrow, though he already knew the answer. "Plural. I was under the impression that you only had one daughter on the island: Prachi Arora. A scholarship student. Exceptionally bright, from what I've heard."
"Prachi is my daughter, yes." Pragya's voice tightened. "But I recently learned... I have reason to believe my other daughter may be here as well."
"Your other daughter?"
"Rhea." The name came out like a prayer: "Rhea Mehra. I was told she was taken from me at birth. At birth. I was told that I would never see her again. But I heard rumors on the ferry. Students were talking about Abhi Mehra's daughter. About Rhea. "She's here, isn't she?"
Suyash studied her for a long moment. The hope in her eyes was painful to witness—fragile and desperate, as if it could be crushed at any moment. She had spent twenty years believing her daughter was lost. Now, she dared to hope again.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Rhea Mehra is on the island. She's a student at the university. She and Prachi were initially assigned as roommates."
Pragya's hand flew to her mouth. "Roommates? They lived together?"
"For a short time. There were conflicts. They've since been separated."
"Conflicts." Pragya's voice was hollow. "Of course. They don't know. They don't know they're sisters."
"No, they don't."
Pragya closed her eyes and slumped forward. "I need to see them. Both of them. I need to tell them the truth."
"That's a delicate situation," Suyash said carefully. "Rhea has been raised to believe her mother abandoned her. Abhi's family has filled her head with lies. If you approach her directly without preparation, she may reject you outright."
"I know." Pragya's voice was barely a whisper. "I know. But I have to try. I lost Kiara. I can't lose them, too."
Kiara. The name hung in the air like a ghost. The first daughter. The one who had been kidnapped and killed. The tragedy that shattered the Mehra family beyond repair.
Suyash leaned forward, his voice gentle. "Let me help you. I have resources. Information. I can help you approach this carefully, in a way that gives you the best chance of being heard."
Pragya looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why would you help me?"
He smiled—a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Because I believe in family, Mrs. Arora. In healing. In second chances. And because..." He paused, letting the moment stretch on. "I can see how much you love them. How much you've suffered. You deserve a chance to make things right."
The tears finally spilled over. Pragya wiped them away quickly, feeling embarrassed. "Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Shrivastav. I don't know how to repay you."
"Start by letting me introduce you to Prachi," he said. "She's the easier of the two. She's been raised by you. She knows your love. Reuniting with her will be joyful. Once she knows the truth about Rhea, she can help you reach her sister."
Pragya nodded, hope flickering in her eyes. "Yes, that makes sense. When can I see her?"
"Tonight," Suyash promised. "I'll arrange everything. In the meantime, you'll stay in one of the guest villas. Rest. Prepare yourself. This will be emotional for both of you."
He stood and offered his hand. Pragya took it, her grip warm and surprisingly strong.
"Thank you," she said again, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for believing in me."
"I believe in second chances," Suyash said softly. "And I believe in you."
He watched her leave, his eyes tracing the curve of her hips, the elegant line of her neck, and the way her sari draped over her full breasts. She was a woman who had been denied pleasure for too long. She had given everything to her children and received nothing but grief in return. She was starving for someone to see her—not as a mother or a victim, but as a woman.
Soon, he thought. Soon, you'll know what it means to be truly wanted.
He returned to his desk, already planning the next steps: Prachi first. Then, together, they would approach Rhea. Throughout it all, he would be there—the steady anchor, the patient listener, the man who understood.
The Mehra women were falling into his orbit one by one. Pragya Arora, the mother and source of it all, who had endured so much, would be his sweetest conquest of all.
—