Author's POV
The dining hall of Rathore Mansion was always lively in the mornings.
The aroma of freshly prepared breakfast filled the air.
Servants moved around quietly, placing dishes on the long dining table.
Everyone had gathered except Akshara.
Five minutes later...
She walked downstairs after getting ready for the day.
A simple lavender cotton kurta.
White palazzos.
Her hair tied into a neat braid.
A black watch on her wrist.
No makeup.
No jewellery.
Just simplicity.
She greeted everyone politely.
"Good morning."
Dada Sa and Dadi Sa smiled warmly.
"Good morning, beta."
Meera smiled proudly at her daughter.
Vikram also nodded with a gentle smile.
The five brothers simply continued eating.
Nitya rolled her eyes.
Akshara's POV
Akshara quietly took her seat beside Meera.
She served herself a small portion of poha and fruits.
Just as she picked up her spoon...
A loud crash echoed through the hall.
CRASH!
Everyone turned.
An expensive crystal vase lay shattered on the marble floor.
The servants froze.
Silence spread across the room.
Before anyone could speak—
Nitya stood up dramatically.
She pointed straight at Akshara.
"Maine dekha tha! Akshara ne hi vase ko touch kiya tha."
Translation: I saw it! Akshara was the one who touched the vase.
Every eye shifted towards Akshara.
She slowly looked at Nitya.
Her face remained expressionless.
But inside...
Something stirred.
Author's POV
One of the elderly servants hesitated.
"Ma'am... I..."
Before he could continue...
Nitya interrupted him.
"Jhooth mat bolna!"
Translation: Don't lie!
The poor servant lowered his head.
No one wanted to argue with Reema Bua's daughter.
Dev sighed.
"First week mein hi..."
Translation: Already in her first week...
Kabir looked disappointed.
Aryan didn't say anything.
He simply observed Akshara.
She hadn't defended herself.
Not yet.
Vikram's POV
Vikram frowned.
He had seen Akshara enter only moments ago.
She hadn't even walked near the vase.
Something didn't add up.
He looked at Akshara.
She sat perfectly still.
Not trying to explain herself.
Not trying to prove her innocence.
That silence worried him.
"Akshara."
She looked at him.
"Did you touch the vase?"
Before she could answer—
Nitya spoke again.
"Papa, obviously woh mana karegi."
Translation: Uncle, obviously she'll deny it.
Meera clenched her fists.
She knew her daughter.
Akshara could be many things...
But she would never lie.
Akshara's POV
Akshara slowly placed her spoon on the table.
She looked at Nitya.
Then at everyone else.
Finally...
She spoke.
"I didn't touch it."
Her voice was calm.
Steady.
Without fear.
Nitya laughed sarcastically.
"Aur hum maan le?"
Translation: And we're supposed to believe you?
Something snapped.
Akshara slowly stood up.
Her fingers curled into fists.
The veins on her hands became visible.
Her breathing grew heavier.
Meera immediately noticed.
She knew these signs.
Too well.
Akshara wasn't just angry.
She was struggling to control herself.
Meera's POV
Meera quickly stood beside her daughter.
She gently held Akshara's wrist.
A silent gesture.
One she had used since Akshara was a child.
No words.
Just reassurance.
Akshara closed her eyes for a brief second.
She inhaled deeply.
Then slowly unclenched her fists.
The anger didn't disappear.
It simply returned behind the walls she had built around herself.
She looked at Meera.
"I'm okay."
Meera knew she wasn't.
But she trusted her daughter.
Author's POV
Just then...
The elderly servant gathered enough courage to speak.
"Sir..."
Everyone looked at him.
"I was cleaning the table."
"My hand accidentally hit the vase."
"It fell because of me."
The dining hall fell silent.
Nitya's face turned pale.
Vikram looked at her sternly.
"You accused Akshara without knowing the truth."
Nitya lowered her gaze.
"I... I thought..."
Before she could finish...
Dada Sa spoke firmly.
"Thinking and accusing someone are two different things."
For the first time...
Someone had openly taken Akshara's side.
Akshara quietly picked up her spoon again.
She continued eating.
As if nothing had happened.
That calmness unsettled everyone.
Especially Aryan.
He had expected arguments.
Tears.
At least some reaction.
Instead...
She had controlled her anger and chosen silence.
He couldn't understand her.
And that bothered him.
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