The fluorescent lights of the memorial hall cast harsh shadows across Sana's unconscious form as Sidharth gently patted her cheeks, his voice barely a whisper. "Bhabhi..." The tremor in his voice betrayed the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

"Sana, my child, wake up," Mr. Agarwal called softly, sprinkling water on his daughter's face. Relief washed over him as her eyes fluttered open, though the emptiness in them sent a chill down his spine.

Before he could fully embrace her, Sana's voice cut through the air, devoid of any emotion. "You were supposed to pay tribute. Please continue." She rose to her feet with mechanical precision, as if discussing a business transaction rather than her husband's final rites. "Let's get done with this."

"Baby, come here," she called to Aarav, who had buried his face in Sidharth's chest. As Sidharth handed over the child, he stepped back, suddenly feeling like an intruder in their private grief. Sana clutched her son tightly as they approached the flag-draped coffin bearing her husband's name. The Prime Minister offered a white flower and a silent prayer, while Sana stood still as stone, her face an impenetrable mask.

"Mom, why is there a garland on Dad's photo?" Aarav's innocent question shattered the heavy silence. Sana's composure cracked slightly as she turned to Sidharth. "Sidharth... please explain to him. I can't..." Her pleading whisper carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

The funeral ceremony concluded amid a cacophony of grief-stricken wails. During the drive home, Mr. Agarwal's worried gaze never left his daughter's motionless form by the window. She hadn't shed a single tear, hadn't released her pain, and it was eating him alive with worry. "What will become of my child?" he whispered to himself, his heart heavy with concern.

"Have faith," Mr. Hooda responded, though his own voice was weak with grief. Jamshed Hooda, the village sarpanch known for his strength and authority, sat broken in the backseat. The image of his son's garlanded photograph had shattered his carefully maintained facade of strength.

"Are you alright?" Mr. Agarwal's gentle inquiry was all it took for Mr. Hooda to break down completely.

"Papa," Sidharth murmured, placing a steadying hand on his father's shoulder as the older man wept like a child.

"Our Pradeep is gone, Sidharth... my child is gone," Mr. Hooda sobbed.

"We need to be strong, Papa. Who else will take care of Bhabhi and Aaru?" Sidharth's words seemed to help his father regain some composure.

"I know, son, but it feels like my heart will burst. Pradeep has left us to join his mother... we're alone now," Mr. Hooda took a deep breath, struggling to steady himself.

"Our pain cannot overshadow theirs, Papa. We need to focus on them now," Sidharth spoke with wisdom beyond his years.

"I'm worried about Bhabhi," Sidharth admitted.

"So am I," both fathers responded in unison.

"We need to take care of them," Sidharth declared, and the others nodded in solemn agreement.

When they reached their village home, they found the veranda filled with mourners, some crying openly, others maintaining a respectful silence. Mr. Hooda approached his daughter-in-law, placing a blessing hand on her head. "Sana..." he began, but words failed him.

The cruelty of fate struck him anew. In one moment, his entire family had crumbled to ashes. He, the powerful sarpanch who mediated village disputes, couldn't find words to comfort his own daughter-in-law, whom he loved like his own child. Remembering Sidharth's words, he gathered himself and spoke, "Sana, child, take Aaru and rest in your room. We'll handle things here." She nodded silently and walked away, leaving her son behind.

She made her way to the room where she had spent her first night as a bride. The walls were adorned with photographs chronicling their life together – their wedding day, her pregnancy, the first time she held their baby while he joined via video call. Her fingers traced a particular photograph where he smiled broadly in his uniform, striking a playful pose.

"They're lying, aren't they? I know you haven't gone anywhere," she whispered to his image, her voice taking on an unsettling edge. "You know, I haven't even cried because I know this is just another of your pranks." She laughed, a hollow, haunting sound that echoed through the empty room. "And everyone has fallen for this fake drama of yours."

Sidharth, who had been searching for her to bring Aaru, froze at the sound of her hysterical laughter. After quickly settling Aaru in another room, he returned to find her still conversing with the photograph.

"Bhabhi," he called cautiously.

"Sidharth, look how well he's pranked everyone this time. He's even fooled you!" she exclaimed, her laughter growing more manic.

"Bhabhi, please don't do this," he pleaded.

"Why not?" she frowned.

"Bhabhi, brother is... please," he sighed, closing his eyes against the pain.

"Yes, your brother will come. He promised we'd celebrate our anniversary together. Just one more month to wait," she smiled, a terrible brightness in her eyes.

"Brother is dead, Bhabhi. He's gone," Sidharth's voice broke as tears streamed down his face. He felt her hands suddenly grip his collar.

"How dare you say that?" she screamed, shaking him furiously.

"Please don't do this. This is already too difficult for you," he begged.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" she yelled.

"Brother has left us, Bhabhi. He's gone," he said helplessly, and something in his voice seemed to finally reach her. Her grip loosened as reality began to sink in.

"He... he really left?" she asked, her voice small and broken.

"I'm so sorry," he wept.

"This can't be happening. How could he do this to me, Sidharth? How could he?" she cried, shaking him again, but this time in desperation rather than anger.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he repeated as he finally pulled her into his arms.

She let out a gut-wrenching shriek that made him shudder before completely breaking down. The tears he had been holding back for his brother finally flowed freely, while she sobbed for her lost love, her husband, her child's father – her everything.

"Today... when we spoke on the phone... he promised he'd come home," she sobbed against his chest. "He promised we'd celebrate our anniversary together this time. He said he'd bring me jasmine flowers and take me for kulfi... Why did he break his promise, Sidharth? Why didn't he keep his word? Why did he leave me to die while still breathing?"

In that moment, all Sidharth could feel was complete helplessness as he held his brother's widow, their shared grief echoing through the empty halls of their ancestral home.

Don't forget to send a heart. Stay tuned for more updates.

Next update: Tonight, if you hit 10 likes ❤️