Chapter Seventeen: Questions That Had No Answers

The palace in stood as it always did—grand, unyielding, and suffocating in ways no one outside could ever understand.

Poornima stepped inside, her expression calm, her posture straight.

She had learned long ago—

In this house, emotions were not protection.
They were weapons… used against her.

She had barely taken a few steps when the voice came.

Sharp. Waiting.

“So, you finally decided to show up?”

Her stepmother stood in the center of the hall, her gaze already filled with accusation.

Poornima didn’t respond immediately.

Because she knew—

This wasn’t a conversation.

It was an attack.

“I heard everything,” her stepmother continued, her lips curling slightly. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Poornima’s fingers tightened around her bag, but her face remained composed.

“I don’t understand what you’re referring to,” she said quietly.

A soft laugh followed. Mocking.

“Oh, don’t pretend.”

She stepped closer.

“You snatched Veeresh Rathore from my daughter.”

The words hit—but Poornima didn’t flinch.

Not outwardly.

“Priyanka was supposed to marry him,” she added, her tone sharper now. “And you—”

A pause.

“You took that away.”

Poornima’s breath slowed.

Not because she agreed.
Not because she accepted it.

But because she was tired.

Tired of being blamed.
Tired of being the reason for everything that went wrong.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said simply.

Her voice wasn’t loud.

But it carried truth.

Her stepmother scoffed.

“Of course you didn’t. Things just happen to you, don’t they?”

Another step closer.

“You always manage to take what doesn’t belong to you.”

That line—

It pierced deeper than the rest.

Because it wasn’t just about Veeresh.

It was about her existence.

Her birth.

Her place in this house.

Poornima’s eyes flickered for a brief second—but she held herself together.

“I didn’t take anything,” she replied, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

But her stepmother wasn’t listening.

“She would have had a proper life,” she continued bitterly. “A proper marriage. A respected place.”

Her gaze hardened.

“And now… it’s you.”

The way she said it—

Like it was something unfortunate.
Unwanted.

Poornima swallowed the lump in her throat.

Because she had heard it all before.

Different words.
Same meaning.

“You don’t deserve this,” her stepmother said finally.

Silence followed.

Heavy.

But Poornima didn’t argue anymore.

Because there was no point.

There never had been.

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

Step by step.

Calm. Controlled.

Until she reached her room.

The moment the door closed—

Everything she had held in… loosened.

Not into loud sobs.

But into something quieter.

Heavier.

She walked slowly to her bed and sat down, her hands falling lifelessly into her lap.

Her gaze drifted to nothing in particular.

And then—

A thought surfaced.

Soft.

Painful.

“Mom…”

Her voice was barely a whisper.

She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes glistening.

“Why did you love him?”

The question came out raw.

Unfiltered.

“Why… did you choose someone who never accepted me?”

Her throat tightened.

Her fingers curled into her dress.

“What did you see in him?”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

She wiped it away quickly—but another followed.

“Was it love?” she asked, her voice trembling now. “Or was it just… hope?”

Hope that he would change.
Hope that he would accept.
Hope that things would become better.

Her lips pressed together tightly.

“Because if it was love…”

She paused.

Her breath shook slightly.

“…then why does it feel like I’m the one paying for it?”

The room felt smaller suddenly.

The air heavier.

She stood up abruptly, pacing slowly, her emotions building with every step.

“I didn’t ask to be born like this,” she whispered again, her voice breaking.

“I didn’t ask to be a mistake.”

Her hands trembled as she wrapped them around herself.

All her life—

She had tried to understand.

Tried to make sense of something that never made sense.

Why she wasn’t enough.
Why she wasn’t chosen.
Why she was always the one left out.

Her gaze shifted to the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her.

Strong. Composed. Successful.

And yet—

Inside…

Still that same little girl.

Asking the same question.

“Why not me?”

Her lips parted slightly, her voice softening into something almost fragile.

“I would have loved him too…”

That confession slipped out before she could stop it.

“I would have been a good daughter…”

Her eyes closed, the tears falling freely now.

“I would have tried harder… if he just gave me a chance.”

But he never did.

And now—

She was here.

Standing at the edge of another relationship.

Another unknown.

Another man who said he didn’t love her.

Her fingers slowly moved to the ring again.

“But at least…” she whispered faintly,

“He’s honest.”

That thought didn’t comfort her.

But it grounded her.

Because for the first time—

She wasn’t chasing love blindly.

She was stepping into something knowing exactly what it was.

And maybe…

That mattered.

Poornima sat back down, her tears slowly calming, her breathing evening out.

The pain didn’t disappear.

It never did.

But she had learned to live with it.

To carry it.

Quietly.

And tonight…

She held onto one fragile thought—

Maybe this time…

She wouldn’t have to beg to be chosen.