The morning sun filtered through the grand windows of Mehta Mansion, casting warm streaks across the silent halls. But inside, Shweta Mehta felt only a hollow ache. Her silk saree hung loosely; her hair was unkempt, and her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for a glass of water on the side table.

For twenty-five long years, she had carried the weight of a missing child in her heart - a fragment of her soul she thought was lost forever. And now, he was back. Yaksh Mehta, alive, somewhere in the world, but not in her arms. She knew he was at Blue Heaven, perhaps unwilling to face the family he had been robbed of, or perhaps needing time to process everything.