Five Women at Gate 27

Rain poured incessantly, turning the city into a blur of silver and sound. Inside the airport, chaos reigned voices rose, tempers flared, and passengers shouted as if their delayed flights might respond to their fury.

One woman in her late twenties had reached the peak of her frustration, leaning over the counter and unleashing her anger on the flight attendants. They tried their best to pacify her, but her voice only grew sharper, louder, cutting through the commotion.

Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, she realized she was the only one screaming. The rest of the passengers had fallen silent, staring at her with a mix of irritation and pity. Her face flushed crimson. She stepped back, searching for a place to sit, and spotted four women occupying a row of seats nearby.

She walked over quietly and sat down, still embarrassed. A woman in jeans and a T‑shirt, lazily chewing gum, extended a water bottle toward her.

She accepted it with a small nod, murmuring, “Thank you,” her voice now barely above a whisper.

Her phone rang. Ishani glanced at the four women beside her, then slid her thumb over the green icon.

“Where are you, Ishani? I told you not to step out in this rain. Quit that job tomorrow…,” the voice on the other end barked, the complaints spilling one after another.

Ishani held the phone slightly away from her ear, aware that the women around her were pretending not to listen, eyes fixed elsewhere, posture politely indifferent, yet unmistakably alert.

She answered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Sanjay, if the flight is delayed, what can I do? This meeting was urgent. I’m heading the project, and foreign delegates were involved. I had to be here.”

The call cut off abruptly.

Ishani leaned back in her chair, exhaling as though something inside her had snapped. Tears began rolling down her cheeks, quiet and uncontrollable. The other four women exchanged glances, small, subtle, instinctive.

One of them, stood up, walked over, and knelt in front of Ishani. She placed a gentle hand on Ishani’s knee, her voice soft but firm.

“Take it easy.”

Ishani straightened, trying to hold herself together, but the effort only made her tremble more. Her emotions, already frayed by the storm outside and the storm inside, refused to stay contained.

“My name is Nyra,” she said gently, breaking the silence. “Come on… let’s have something. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

She looked at the other three women. One by one, they rose from their seats, as if her words had given them permission to move, to breathe, to step out of the heaviness that had settled around them.

All five of them settled into a corner at Starbucks, the rain still drumming against the glass like an unending rhythm. Ishani sat quietly, trying to gather herself after the phone call.

Nyra pulled her chair and offered a reassuring smile. “My name is Nyra.”

The others drew their chairs closer, forming a small circle that felt unexpectedly safe.

Ishani cleared her throat softly. “I’m Ishani,” she said, her voice still fragile but steady enough.

One of the women nodded and introduced herself. “I’m Sarika.”

Another leaned forward, her tone warm. “I’m Reeva.”

The last woman adjusted her scarf and offered a gentle smile. “And I’m Diya.”

Five women, strangers until an hour ago, now sat together, bound by a storm, a delay, and a moment none of them had planned for.

Unfold at Starbucks

Diya popped her chewing gum once and grinned. “Nyra, don’t mind… do you actually have a bodyguard?”

Nyra laughed, shaking her head lightly. “Yes. Good catch. I own jewellery outlets, so I end up travelling with security more often than not.”

Sarika chuckled, her eyes flicking toward the towering bodyguard. “We’d better behave then. He looks like the kind who could lift any one of us with one hand… and maybe finally help us achieve our dream of flying.”

The table burst into laughter, even Ishani, who hadn’t smiled in a while, couldn’t hold back.

Nyra turned to her with a curious smile. “What about you, Sarika? What do you do?”

Sarika straightened a little, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m in digital marketing. So, I travel quite a bit too checking whether our strategies are working on the ground and gathering local feedback.”

Reeva adjusted her glasses and joined in. “I’m an architect. I do travel, but mostly because our company handles large construction projects. I need to visit sites, inspect the progress, and visualize how the design will work ergonomically. It’s become extremely important now, especially with the whole ‘Go Green’ concept gaining momentum.”

Ishani turned to Diya with a soft smile. “And you? What do you do? I have to say… your bohemian style really stands out. It suits you beautifully.” Rest all nodded and echoed “Yes.”

“Thank you, Ishani,” Diya replied, her tone easy and self‑assured. “I work with an event management company. The big shows you hear about, like Style Star or Bioscope, we’re the ones who organize them.”

Ishani nodded in clear appreciation.

“What about you, Cry Baby?” Diya teased, lightly holding Ishani’s cheeks. The others burst into laughter.

Ishani smiled despite herself. “I’m sorry… are you all married?”

All four answered together, almost in chorus. “Yes.”

Ishani nodded. “I’m in IT, and I had to come because I head this project. But I must say… you all are such lovely people. It’s rare to find this kind of warmth in an airport where everyone is tired and desperate to get home.”

Diya thought to herself, and the others felt it too, how neatly Ishani had skipped over the real reason she had broken down earlier.

They didn’t even realize two hours had slipped by. The conversations, the laughter, the unexpected comfort of each other’s company had blurred the time. Then, almost at the same moment, all their phones buzzed with a notification , boarding will begin shortly.

Outside, the rain had finally eased, its furious velocity softening into a quiet drizzle, as if the night itself was preparing to move forward.

They realized they genuinely liked each other’s company, so before heading toward the gate, all five exchanged mobile numbers, discovering they lived in the same city and laughing at how fate had brought them together in the most unexpected way.

The Storm Inside Ishani

Ishani had been married to Sanjay for nineteen months. Before that, they had dated for two years, and during those years they had agreed, mutually, that she would continue working after marriage. Nothing was written, nothing formal, just a shared belief between two people who trusted each other.

But a few months into the marriage, things began to shift. Sanjay’s mother slowly slipped into a mother‑in‑law, expecting Ishani to take on household responsibilities, duties without authority, obligations without voice.

Ishani came from a quite different world. Her parents were both working professionals who had raised her to be independent, mentally, emotionally, and most importantly, financially. She had stepped into the kitchen perhaps on holidays, guided by her mother, while living with them, but after marriage she obliged her mother‑in‑law’s wishes. Every evening, after long hours at work, she rushed home to cook for the family.

But expectations kept growing. And with them, the complaints. Her mother‑in‑law began filling Sanjay’s ears, especially whenever Ishani had to travel for work. What started as mild comments slowly turned into pressure, subtle at first, then unmistakable.

What hurt Ishani the most wasn’t the workload, nor the expectations, it was Sanjay’s silence, his lack of support, his sudden shift from the man she had trusted to someone she barely recognized.

What happened at the airport was simply an example of how much personal pressure Ishani carries whenever she travels for work. The moment she steps out for official duties, the tension at home rises, and that day’s breakdown was just a reflection of the weight she has been silently enduring.

Nyra: Born Into Business

Nyra’s marriage had always felt more like a business arrangement than a romantic union. Both families were deeply rooted in commerce, and in their world, money often spoke louder than emotions. She had been given complete freedom to run her jewellery business, and she embraced it wholeheartedly.

Raised in a business environment, Nyra had grown into a sharp, hands‑on entrepreneur. She involved herself in every aspect of her outlets, strategy, planning, marketing, finance, recruitment, people management, cost‑effective operations, productivity, automation , you name it, she was part of it. With only a few outlets currently under her wing, she believed this was the time to build strong, foolproof processes. Later, she knew her role would shift more toward strategy, market trends, and innovation, allowing her to step back from daily operations.

Her husband, Neeraj, had followed a typical father‑to‑son trajectory. From a young age, he had been groomed in his father’s business and had gradually cemented his place in the company. Ambitious and energetic, he was eager to prove himself to employees and stakeholders. He had also completed a Master’s in Family Business Management from a reputed international university, with the objective to carry the baton from his father.

Both of them were busy, driven, and deeply absorbed in their respective professional worlds. Truly speaking, in two years of marriage, Neeraj and Nyra had hardly spent time together. They were connected more through technology, video calls, quick messages, while travelling.

They weren’t in testing times yet; they still needed to spend time together to know each other more.

That night at the airport, while easing Ishani’s tension for a moment, Nyra felt a pang of sadness , how could an equally qualified, competent woman be trapped in such personal turmoil in addition to professional responsibilities?

For a moment, Nyra realized that growing up in a business family had shielded her from certain realities women often face.

Diya: Born to Stand Out

Diya had always lived in the spotlight, right from her school days. Her free‑spirited, extroverted nature often made quieter, introverted classmates hesitate to approach her. Even her teachers knew she wasn’t the strongest academically, but her street‑smart instincts and natural confidence would take her far.

Those traits shaped her life. She believed fiercely in herself, spoke her mind without hesitation, and carried a boldness that matched her bohemian style. It was no surprise she landed in an event management company, a world that fit her personality perfectly.

Somewhere along the way, she fell in love with her immediate boss, Kushal. He wasn’t necessarily the ideal choice, but after having boyfriends through school and college, she felt he understood her better than anyone else. She proposed, he agreed, and they got married.

Kushal’s parents, however, were uneasy from the beginning. Diya’s boisterous, outspoken nature often crossed the invisible lines elders expect to be respected. They reluctantly accepted the marriage, but the coldness between Diya and her in‑laws still lingered. Her straightforward attitude didn’t help , she called black black and white white, never sugar‑coating her opinions. Arguments with her in‑laws were frequent, and sometimes Kushal got pulled into them too.

But Diya never believed she should silence herself to please anyone. She had been this way since childhood, honest, direct, and unwilling to bend her personality for acceptance.

So, when she saw Ishani crying assuming her husband had shouted at her for completely irrational reasons, Diya’s instinct was to tell her, “You should give it back. Don’t let anyone cross the line.” But it was their first meeting, and she held herself back.

Sarika: Raised in Textiles, Thriving in Digital

Sarika had always been a father’s girl. Her father worked in textiles, heading the marketing division of a major multinational. Growing up around models, fashion shows, design discussions, and themed campaigns, she naturally gravitated toward marketing. Times had changed, though, and while her father’s world revolved around traditional marketing, Sarika chose the digital route. The medium was different, but the goal remained the same, to entice customers and influence buying behaviour.

She worked for a leading consumer‑products brand, which required her to travel frequently, especially during new product launches. Understanding the pulse of different cities, gauging consumer reactions, and evaluating how well digital strategies translated on the ground were all part of her job. Her biggest challenge was universal acceptance, how to make digital marketing resonate across a country with diverse tastes, cultures, and expectations. This constant puzzle to solve was her everyday routine.

Sarika’s marriage had been arranged. Since she never had a boyfriend, her parents took up the responsibility of finding a suitable groom through their network. Coming from a well‑to‑do family, they looked for someone whose background matched theirs in lifestyle and financial stability. They eventually chose Prathamesh, a mechanical engineer with a management degree in finance, working in a top MNC and earning a solid six‑figure salary. They married two and a half years ago.

On peer pressure for almost a year and half now, Sarika and Prathamesh had been trying to conceive, but for one reason or another, it hasn’t happened. The pressure from her in‑laws had grown steadily, and emotions are running high in every direction. Tension had become a constant visitor in her home.

So, when Sarika saw Ishani’s helplessness, the weight of expectations crushing her, she felt an uncomfortable familiarity. Their struggles were different, yet the emotional strain felt painfully similar.

Reeva: Between Two Worlds

Reeva had always been an exceptional student. A gifted artist from childhood, she was fascinated by shapes, forms, and especially complex geometries. A trip to Singapore with her parents had left a lasting impression on her, its eco‑futuristic architecture stirred something deep within her.

After completing her M.Arch with outstanding marks, she joined a renowned U.S.-based architecture firm, a perfect fit for her talent and ambition. She had been married for two years to Manav, someone she had dated since her college days. Their family backgrounds, however, were worlds apart. Reeva came from a broad‑minded family that trusted she would adapt easily, while Manav’s family had always been extremely orthodox and were initially sceptical about the alliance.

In Manav’s home, religious rituals were performed with strict discipline, something Reeva’s family never emphasized. Her belief was more internal, personal, and quiet, not something she expressed through elaborate ceremonies. She never opposed their traditions, nor did she impose her own views. But her demanding work schedule often made it impossible for her to attend every ritual, while Manav, running his own start‑up, could be present for all of them. This difference created subtle tensions.

Manav, armed with a PGDM in Entrepreneurship, had always wanted to be independent and never work under anyone. But his start‑up struggled from the beginning , he was naïve, inexperienced, and unaware of the realities of running a business. Despite Reeva’s repeated suggestions to consider a stable job, he refused. His ego and resistance to employment meant there was no steady income, leaving Reeva’s salary as the backbone of the household.

His parents remained completely unaware of the financial instability, and Manav never wanted to tell them. Reeva carried the burden silently, she knew their expectations from her were high, yet they had no idea how much she was contributing to keep the family afloat.

She tried convincing Manav to be honest with them, but he didn’t want his parents to feel pressured. Reeva didn’t tell her own parents either; she had married him knowing he wanted to build something on his own, even if it meant uncertainty.

So, on that day, when Ishani mentioned that her in‑laws, along with her husband, wanted her to quit her job, Reeva felt something unusual. She realized that while Ishani was being pushed to leave her job, she herself was carrying the weight of being the only stable support, without anyone acknowledging it.

Five Hearts

Nyra created a WhatsApp group and named it “Five Hearts.” Each of them felt an unexpected warmth, a businesswoman taking the initiative to bring everyone together with genuine intent made the gesture even more meaningful.

Nyra typed, “Hi! Welcome to Five Hearts. I felt like creating a space for us to share the good, the bad, and even the worst, just between us. Hope you all agree.”

Within minutes, the other four responded with their thumbs‑up, sealing the beginning of a private circle. Five Hearts was now officially born, a group for five beautiful women to speak freely and share their hearts without hesitation.

Sanjay : Corporate Clarity, Domestic Disparity

Sanjay, Ishani’s husband, was the kind of man who drew attention effortlessly, extremely handsome, impeccably groomed, and debonair at thirty. MBA from a reputed foreign university, he had risen quickly in his career on the strength of his competencies. At work, he was admired for his sharp business instincts, his quick decision‑making, and his deep understanding of market realities. He carried the financial acumen needed to steer high‑level discussions with confidence. It was no surprise that, despite his age, he was invited to join the company’s Core Strategy team.

But at home, the reality was quite different. As Sanjay grew in stature professionally, his seemingly main concern became Ishani’s absence during the frequent social gatherings he was expected to attend. Her work schedules often kept her away from office parties and business socials, leaving him to show up alone. Each time, he faced uncomfortable questions about why she wasn’t with him, and the repeated, pointed scrutiny began to bother him deeply.

Caught between this social discomfort and his mother’s rising expectations, Sanjay gradually began urging Ishani to quit her job, insisting her income wasn’t needed. In doing so, he overlooked her passion, her ambition, and her desire to build a career, a complete departure from the understanding they once shared. The tension soon seeped into their daily life, with Sanjay coming home late, sometimes drunk, and at times getting into heated, aggressive arguments with Ishani, loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

The irony was unmistakable: the same man celebrated at work for his rationality and strategic clarity became rigid and unreasonable within the walls of his own home.

Kushal: The Man Caught in the Middle

Kushal and Diya had worked together on several major events, and Diya’s efficiency quickly earned his trust. Her sharp planning, flawless execution, and ability to get work done made Kushal confident enough to let her handle prestigious assignments independently. He disliked reprimanding anyone, and whenever mistakes occurred, he quietly covered them before management noticed, even if it meant overspending. Over time, Diya fell in love with him and proposed. Kushal took his time but eventually felt she would be the ideal partner; their opposite personalities seemed to complement each other perfectly.

At work, he could let her operate freely, but at home he constantly felt the need to shield her. Diya’s straightforward nature often clashed with elders who expected emotional sensitivity rather than practical responses. She never held back, whether it was his parents or relatives. Yet she was adored by his brother’s children, who eagerly waited for her to return home. Even his sister‑in‑law secretly appreciated Diya’s boldness, especially when she spoke up in situations where others stayed silent.

Gradually, the pressure on Kushal increased. While a few relatives admired her, most complained about her behaviour. The breaking point came when his mother saw Diya smoking on the terrace. Diya had never been a teetotaller, and Kushal knew this. But in her deep love for him, she had promised never to drink or smoke at home. That promise, once broken, shook his mother completely.

The situation spiralled into uncontrollable chaos, and Kushal finally realized he had to make a decision, one that would restore peace, even if it came at a painful cost.

Prathamesh: A Son Before a Husband

Prathamesh was well‑educated and worked in a reputed MNC, but Sarika realized within days of their marriage that he was a typical mama’s boy. His mother’s opinions were unquestionable, and her decisions were treated as absolute truth. Whenever Sarika gently tried to point out that something his mother insisted on wasn’t right, especially during their quiet conversations at night, Prathamesh dismissed her immediately. He would remind her that his mother had far more experience and expected Sarika to follow her without question.

Prathamesh did face heavy work pressure and often returned home exhausted, something Sarika fully understood. But under constant influence from his mother, he insisted on frequent intimacy, driven by the family’s single‑minded agenda: Sarika must conceive. The topic was repeated so often that Sarika grew irritated and emotionally drained.

His mother took complete control of the situation. She insisted Sarika undergo every medical test and experiment the doctors suggested, never once considering whether Prathamesh should also be evaluated. What made it even more unsettling was the unspoken truth , Prathamesh had two elder brothers and a sister, and none of them had children. Yet instead of examining this pattern seriously, all scrutiny was directed at Sarika.

The situation escalated when Prathamesh and his mother visited a gynaecologist without informing Sarika, carrying all her reports to “find the reason.” The doctor advised that Sarika needed rest, less stress, and perhaps a lighter job. When Sarika learned what had happened, something inside her finally snapped. She confronted both of them, asking how many tests Prathamesh had undergone, not a single one, why every experiment was on her, and why she was being blamed for everything. She reminded them that for an entire year she had endured pressure, sacrificed personal time, and never even spent a single day alone with her husband because of his mother’s constant interference.

Her words struck hard, and Prathamesh, unable to handle the confrontation, reacted in anger and slapped her. Silence filled the house. Sarika walked away slowly, entered her room, and closed the door, carrying the weight of a year’s pain with her.

Manav: When Desire and Ego Turns Heavy

Manav was clear from a young age that he would build something of his own. He had told Reeva this upfront, and she had agreed without hesitation. Manav had always been a bright student, and his ideas were genuinely impressive, even his friends believed he was destined to succeed. Reeva shared the same confidence.

After completing his studies, he applied for a business loan, pledging family property with his father’s support. His parents had blind faith in him and signed every document without a second thought. Since the bank wouldn’t sanction the full amount for a start‑up, Reeva contributed her share as well. Manav rented an office, purchased infrastructure, and hired a small team to begin his entrepreneurial journey. He started with Financial Consulting & Advisory, but the lack of clients made it impossible to sustain.

When the bank refused a top‑up, he approached another bank for a fresh loan and pivoted to Loan & Funding Consultancy. That too failed. He tried a couple more ventures, each ending in disappointment. Slowly, Manav slipped into deep debt. The pressure on Reeva grew enormously. Though she earned a substantial six‑figure salary, it felt insufficient when combined with household expenses and the mounting EMIs.

Despite the financial strain, Manav refused to take up a job, even when Reeva repeatedly explained how difficult things had become, and how his family’s expectations from her added to the burden. He kept his financial troubles hidden from his parents for their old age, never revealing how critical the situation was or how heavily their pledged assets were at risk.

Reeva carried the weight silently, watching Manav’s dreams turn into debts, and her own income stretch beyond its limits.

When Five Hearts Meet Again

A WhatsApp notification lit up in the Five Hearts group. “Hi, Nyra here. Can I do a group call? Let me know your convenient time.”

Everyone agreed to connect during lunch, and right on time, Nyra initiated the video call. Seeing each other after a month and a half filled all five with instant delight. Once the greetings settled, Nyra shared her news with a bright smile.

“I’m opening another outlet in the city. I’d love it if all four of you could join. I’m sending the invite here. Let’s meet for some chitchat and snacks.”

They agreed immediately.

Before heading to the event, the four decided to meet at a common point, pick up a gift, and then proceed together. When they reached the venue, Nyra was busy attending to guests, but the moment she spotted them, she rushed to the entrance almost running, wrapping each of them in a warm hug. Their collective squeal echoed through the space. To the guests, she introduced them proudly, “They’re like my sisters.”

Then she turned to Neeraj. Diya, quick as ever, teased, “Your husband Neeraj, right?” Nyra giggled, “Yes.”

Neeraj was tall, strikingly handsome, the kind of man who could make any woman’s knees weaken. Even Ishani couldn’t help but think he edged slightly over Sanjay. They all shook hands, and as Ishani extended hers, the pallu of her saree slipped, revealing burn marks on her arm. She quickly adjusted it, murmuring, “Sorry,” before completing the handshake. But the friends noticed. Neeraj noticed. Everyone knew it wasn’t an oil spill as she said to cover it up.

A brief silence hung in the air before Neeraj gently urged them to relax while he arranged snacks.

Ishani silently cursed herself for not being more careful.

Soon the mood lightened. They chatted, laughed, and shared stories. Nyra’s other friends joined in, and as always, Diya stole the spotlight, narrating celebrity tantrums, last‑minute event chaos, and turning every incident into a hilarious moment.

The afternoon felt like a reunion they all needed.

The Night Everything Broke for Ishani

Ishani and her in‑laws waited anxiously for Sanjay. He hadn’t returned home, nor was he answering his phone. All of them had tried calling repeatedly, but there was no response. The house felt heavy, everyone pacing around, worried, and restless.

Around 11:30 p.m., the doorbell finally rang. Ishani rushed to open it. At the door stood a young woman, about her age, along with a male, both supporting Sanjay, who could barely stand. The woman said, “Sanjay drank too much, so we had to drop him.”

When Ishani tried to hold him, Sanjay pushed her hand away. His father quickly guided the two visitors to take him to his room. Ishani remained at the door, stunned, and confused.

As they were leaving, Ishani asked, “Was there a party at the office?”

The woman replied, “Hi, I’m Konika, his personal secretary. You’re Ishani, right? No, there wasn’t any party. We just went out for drinks, and he kept going on. I had to call my colleague to help bring him home.”

Her words left Ishani frozen, the truth hitting harder than the silence around her.

The next morning, Sanjay’s door remained shut. His parents assumed he was simply sleeping off the hangover. But Ishani was already awake, sitting on a chair inside the room, quietly staring at Sanjay as he slept. She had heard Konika’s name far too many times, Sanjay often mentioned that she accompanied him on work trips, and Ishani had witnessed several long, late‑night calls between them.

Now, after last night, her doubts felt sharper than ever. Ishani was determined to understand who Konika truly was beyond the title of “secretary.”

She called her office to say she was unwell and wouldn’t be coming in. Her mother‑in‑law knocked twice, but Ishani chose not to respond.

Around 11 a.m., Sanjay woke up, holding his head and calling out for his mother. Ishani stepped in front of him. Sanjay frowned, “Where is mother?” Ishani asked, “Who is Konika?”

Their voices quickly escalated. His parents could hear the argument rising to a painful pitch, Ishani’s voice breaking in agony. Alarmed, Sanjay’s father ran to the neighbour’s house for help.

The neighbours rushed upstairs. They could hear Ishani screaming and Sanjay shouting, “Get out of my life!” Moments later, they forced the door open.

Inside, they found Ishani clutching her forehead, blood slipping through her fingers, shaken and terrified, while Sanjay stood nearby with a belt still in his hand. The neighbours immediately called for an ambulance. A bloodstain on the wall made them fear he might have slammed her head against it.

Ishani was semi‑conscious as they rushed her to the hospital. She looked around weakly and whispered to Shyamali, her neighbour, and the one closest to her, “Did you take my mobile?” Shyamali nodded, “Yes, I have it.” Shyamali “Do not inform parents anything now please...”

Ishani held Shyamali’s hand tightly, her voice faint but determined. “Please… send a message in the Five Hearts group.”

She paused, gathering her strength, and said, “Write… I’m in the hospital. I need help.”

Even in that fragile state, Ishani’s instinct was to reach out to the only circle where she felt safe, the women who had become her emotional anchor.

The remaining four rushed out of their offices the moment they saw the message and headed straight to the hospital. When they arrived, Shyamali recognized them immediately, Ishani had shown her their photos on WhatsApp earlier. She stood up as they approached. Her dress was soaked in blood.

“She’s inside,” Shyamali said, her voice trembling. “They’ve taken her in for stitches. She has a cut on her forehead. She asked me to message all of you.”

The four looked at each other, shaken, realizing how desperate Ishani must have been to reach them even in that condition.

The doctor stepped out and addressed them calmly. “We need to put eight stitches. Fortunately, there are no foreign particles inside the cut. If her condition stays stable, we can discharge her soon, but she will need at least two weeks of complete rest to recover from the trauma. If you want to see her, keep it brief , she’s very weak.”

He paused, then added in a more serious tone: “While cleaning the wound, we noticed several red marks on her arms, not rashes, but pressure‑type marks. Some of them appear recent. Those will need treatment as well.”

The doctor looked at them carefully. “I hope this is not a case of physical assault. If it is, you may need to consider informing the authorities.”

His words hung heavily in the corridor, the implication unmistakable.

The Four Hearts looked at Shyamali and immediately understood , she had given a different explanation to the doctor to avoid any investigation or unnecessary complications. Diya gently placed her hand on Shyamali’s shoulder, silently acknowledging that she had done the right thing under the circumstances.

Doctor added, “Please inform the front office about the type of room you want and check the payment to be done.”

Before any of them could respond, a familiar voice came from behind. “Please put her in the suite.”

They all turned. It was Neeraj Nyra’s husband.

He looked at them and said firmly, “You see her. I’ll handle the payment.”

In that moment, his presence felt like an anchor, steady, decisive, and exactly what the shaken group needed.

Reeva Shocked : Manav Surrenders

Reeva received a call from the reception. “Madam, there’s someone here asking to meet you. He says it’s urgent and related to the bank.”

A tight knot formed instantly in her stomach. She asked the receptionist to check for an empty cabin where she could speak privately.

For the first time, Reeva met a bank recovery agent. He was polite and began with an apology. “I’m sorry to disturb you during office hours. Your husband is Mr. Manav, correct?”

Reeva nodded. “Yes.”

The agent continued, “The loan taken by your husband has been in default for eight months. Even earlier, the payments were irregular. We’ve tried contacting him, visiting his office and home, but we haven’t been able to reach him. I had no option but to meet you personally to discuss the overdue amount and the penalties.”

Reeva felt herself draining from within. Where had Manav spent the money, she had given him to clear the EMIs? She steadied her voice and said, “There must be some confusion. He’s very much with me, and he’s not avoiding anyone. Please give me some time to check and arrange the payment.”

The agent replied gently, “Madam, on good faith, I can give you one week. Please speak to the bank directly. Otherwise… you know what the next steps will be.”

His words lingered heavily, leaving Reeva shaken and painfully aware of how deep the crisis had become.

Reeva left the office the moment the recovery agent stepped out. As soon as she entered, she asked her in‑laws to sit down. With a voice that kept breaking, she told them everything , how Manav had pledged all the properties despite her resistance, how every venture had failed, how the house was being run only on her income, and now, how even the EMIs she had been giving him were never deposited. Her in‑laws sat frozen, the truth hitting them like a blow. Reeva looked at them helplessly. “I’m sorry… but I can’t carry this alone anymore. I have to tell you what your son has done.”

Just then, Manav walked in. Reeva stood up immediately. “What have you done with the EMIs? Why haven’t you deposited them? And the other two banks you took loans from, what’s their status? Are they going to come after me too?”

Manav’s face changed. He could see his parents had heard everything. Their fear was unmistakable. Reeva added, her voice shaking, “The bank has given me one week to clear the default with penalties. If we don’t… we lose all the properties.”

The seriousness of the situation filled the room like suffocating smoke. Reeva collapsed into the chair when Manav finally spoke. “I planned to accumulate the money for eight months from all three banks… and try one more venture. I thought if it succeeded, I could repay everything at once.”

He broke down, tears streaming. “I’m sorry… I’ve put all of you into trouble. Please forgive me.”

For the first time, Reeva’s mother‑in‑law got up, walked to her, and gently held Reeva’s head against her stomach. Reeva clung to her and cried loudly, “Mother… what will we do now?”

The room felt heavy, fragile , a family shaken and a woman finally breaking after carrying too much for too long.

Reeva typed into the Five Hearts group with trembling fingers: “I am finished.”

Within seconds, the group connected on a video call. Reeva was crying uncontrollably as she narrated everything , the loans, the defaults, the pledged properties, and the crushing weight she had been carrying alone. The four listened in stunned silence, their hearts breaking with hers.

An hour later, they were at her doorstep.

The doorbell rang just as they were settling her down. When Reeva’s father‑in‑law opened it, a calm voice spoke from outside.

“Hi, Uncle, I’m Neeraj. Is Manav at home?”

Neeraj stepped into the room like a quiet miracle, carrying that million‑dollar smile. He looked at Reeva and Manav with a calm that softened every trembling nerve in the room. “Don’t worry… we’re here now. We’ll fix this. Can I know what’s the problem?” The words weren’t loud, but they landed with the weight of a promise. The Four Hearts felt something melt inside them, relief, gratitude, and a sudden sense of safety. Reeva’s eyes filled again, not with fear this time, but with the feeling that someone strong had finally stepped in to hold the pieces she could no longer carry.

Nyra’s Fiery Discovery

As Nyra and Neeraj drove back from Reeva’s house, she rested her head briefly on his shoulder, pride flickering in her eyes. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “Helping Ishani… and now Reeva’s husband. I didn’t know you had that side.”

Neeraj smiled. “They’re your best friends. It’s my duty.”

Nyra studied him. “But how did you reach there at the exact moment? I never told you anything.”

Neeraj coughed theatrically. Nyra’s eyes narrowed. “Stop the drama and answer properly.”

He hesitated. Nyra’s mind raced and then she guessed it. “It’s the bodyguard, isn’t it?” Her voice sharpened. “He told you I was rushing somewhere.”

Neeraj admitted. “Okay… yes. But listen, I wasn’t checking on you. I only asked him to buzz me if he ever felt you were worried, rushing, or needed help. Nothing else.”

Nyra’s anger rose instantly. “Who is he to decide anything about me, how the hell he will know what is going through me, why I am rushing?” Her tone was cutting. “And how come you think I won’t tell you when I need you the most? This is ridiculous, Neeraj. Do you trust a bodyguard’s judgement over mine? Over us?”

Neeraj swallowed, hands still raised. “I’m sorry… truly. I didn’t mean it that way. I won’t repeat it.”

Nyra exhaled sharply. “I pardon you this time, Neeraj. But don’t dare think of involving a third‑party ever.”

Neeraj nodded quickly, lifting his hands. “Promise. Won’t happen again.”

Nyra snapped, still fuming, “Now hold the steering, damn it. I don’t intend to die because of your surrendering act.”

Neeraj grabbed the wheel instantly, and the car fell into a tense silence, Nyra staring ahead, furious, and Neeraj quietly absorbing the lesson.

Kushal Magnanimity

Kushal’s voice carried an urgency Diya hadn’t heard in years. “Diya, the moment you reach the airport, don’t go home. Drive to the address I’m sending you.”

She stared at her phone, confused. What was going on? Why this sudden seriousness? Still, she followed his instructions. When she reached the location, she called him.

Kushal’s voice was firm but gentle. “Diya, ask the security for C‑Wing. Take the lift and press 12. I’m waiting.”

For the first time in her life, Diya felt like she was moving on autopilot, no questions, no arguments, just following his voice. When the lift doors opened on the 12th floor, Kushal was right there. He took her hand and led her to Flat 1206.

“This is the place we’ll stay,” he said quietly.

Diya froze, speechless. Kushal requested the broker to give them a few minutes, then gently pulled her down to sit on the floor beside him.

“Diya… I’ve been thinking for a long time,” he began. “I know the tensions we’re going through, your way of speaking, your lifestyle, your thoughts… they don’t sit well with my parents or uncles. I don’t want them to change, and I don’t want you to change either.”

His voice softened. “Our work is stressful enough. Every event is a battle. I want peace for us. I don’t want my wife living under mental pressure. People may think you’re tough, but I know you have a heart of gold.”

He looked straight into her eyes. “If they accept us, good. If they don’t, I’m still fine. I won’t force you to visit a house where there’s confusion about you. I’ll go; they’re my parents. And one day, if they understand, they’re welcome to visit us.”

Diya’s head dropped, tears falling silently onto the floor. She couldn’t believe Kushal would go to this extent just to protect her happiness. Overwhelmed, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight, sitting hug.

“I will change, darling… I promise.”

Kushal smiled gently. “Let’s not lie to each other, dear.”

Diya began hitting him playfully through her tears, and just then the broker stepped in. “Excuse me, Sir… shall we complete the formalities?”

Kushal stood up, still holding Diya’s hand. “Yes, let’s do it.”

The moment felt like a new beginning, one built on love, clarity, and courage, perhaps at the cost of some pain as well.

Prathamesh’s Love Redemption

When Prathamesh finally received his medical reports, the truth hit him harder than he expected. For the first time, he saw clearly how unfair his family had been to Sarika, how she had been pushed, tested, blamed, and emotionally cornered while he stood silent behind his mother’s shadow. The guilt was overwhelming.

He called Sarika, who had been staying with her parents ever since the painful showdown. His voice was low, almost trembling.

“Sarika… I need to talk to you.”

She didn’t speak, but he continued.

“I’ve done all the tests. The reports are with me. The problem… it’s with me. Not you. You were never at fault.”

Sarika closed her eyes, her breath catching. He went on, his tone filled with remorse.

“You will not go through any more agony because of me or my family. I promise you that.”

Then came the line that shattered her completely, a line Sarika never imagined she would hear from him.

“Sarika… if you feel you deserve a different life, a different partner, I won’t stop you.” He paused, his breath trembling. “But… if you choose to stay… can we adopt a girl child?”

Sarika’s hand flew to her mouth as tears spilled uncontrollably. She couldn’t form a single word.

Prathamesh continued, his voice soft, almost pleading.

“My parents are prepared to support whatever decision you make.”

He hesitated, the weight of his guilt and hope pressing through every syllable.

“What do you want, Sarika?”

Her voice trembled through her tears, barely above a whisper.

“Pick me up.”

In that moment, something shiftednot just between them, but deep within Sarika. For the first time, she felt Prathamesh choosing her, standing beside her, stepping out of the shadows that had ruled their marriage. It was the beginning of a different kind of love, one born from truth, humility, and a promise to heal.

Five Hearts on a vacation

Six months passed. The Five Hearts finally planned a short vacation. They waited near the boarding gate, chatting and teasing each other. Anaya, Sarika’s little daughter, sat with them, smiling, already familiar with their madness.

Then they noticed a young woman in her mid‑twenties lying on her back on an airport bench. Tears rolled down her face after a phone call.

Ishani walked over and gently tapped her shoulder, continued without a pause “Husband problem? Don’t worry… we have solutions for everything , divorce, living separately, starting a business, even adopting a child.” She extended a bottle of water with a reassuring smile.

The woman looked up, completely puzzled, and whispered through her tears, “My Cleo has run away… my dog.”

The Five Hearts bemused, stared at each other for a second.

Diya broke the silence with a dramatic sigh. “Oh! Sorry… we’re Men Specialists, not Dog Specialists.”

They all burst into laughter, and even the woman managed a small smile through her tears. In that moment, the Five Hearts felt something simple yet beautiful — that their madness, their warmth, and their ridiculous ability to make someone smile could light up even the dullest corner. It wasn’t just humour; it was the kind of comfort that arrives uninvited, stays briefly, and somehow makes everything feel a little lighter.

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