Eklavya sat in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of the night pressing down on him like an unseen force. The scent of roses still lingered in his senses-Ruhani's scent-wrapped around his thoughts, refusing to let go. The events at the brothel played in his mind like a vivid nightmare, except it wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

Tonight, he had seen something he couldn't unsee.

Not the violence-no, he had seen plenty of that before. The world was an ugly place, and men like the one Ruhani had handled weren't rare. No, what had shaken him was the power that had coursed through that room, not from the man, but from the women.

He had underestimated them.

Not in the way society did-not in the way men thought women were weak, fragile things meant to be protected. He had never been foolish enough to believe that. But tonight, he had seen strength in its rawest form. The kind that wasn't loud or showy. The kind that came from survival. The kind that came from knowing that the world was built to crush you, and still daring to stand tall.

His mind kept circling back to Ruhani.

The way she had moved. The way she had handled the situation without hesitation. The way she had spoken about her husband-about Samarth-with such deep love and grief intertwined. He had never met Samarth, never even known he existed until tonight, but in those few words Ruhani had spoken, Eklavya had seen the kind of man he was. A man willing to sacrifice everything for the woman he loved.

And yet, fate had been unkind to him.

Eklavya sighed, rubbing his fingers over his face.

Strength.

It came in so many forms.

He thought back to Ruhani, standing over that man, her voice low and lethal. He had never felt fear from a woman before-not like that. It wasn't because she was violent. It was because she was capable. Capable of destruction. Capable of ending something if she had to. And that kind of strength was the most terrifying of all.

The image of Ruhani, standing over that violent man, her fingers digging into his skin like she was gripping his very soul, sent shivers down his spine. The way she had moved-graceful, lethal, completely in control-was something he had never seen before. She wasn't just strong; she was powerful. Not in the way some men flexed their muscles and threw their weight around, but in the way she didn't need to prove anything. She simply was.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, running a hand down his face. The silence of his home was deafening after the storm he had just witnessed. The brothel, with its loud laughter, teasing voices, and unapologetic boldness, felt like a whole different world compared to the empty stillness of his apartment.

And then there was her story.

A girl, full of dreams, dreams of the man who loved her like she was his entire world.

Her voice echoed in his head, soft and distant, filled with something he couldn't quite name. Nostalgia? Pain? Love? Maybe all three. She spoke of Samarth with a tenderness that was almost foreign to him now. He had seen women admire men, but never had he seen a woman look up to a man the way she spoke of her husband. There was admiration in every word, a respect so deep that it made Eklavya feel something strange in his chest.

And then... he had died.

The world had taken that love, twisted it, destroyed it, and left this version of Ruhani behind-the one who no longer dreamed, who no longer trusted, who fought battles with her own hands because no one else would fight them for her.

Why does the world destroy the softest things?

Eklavya clenched his fists. He had never truly considered what women endured, how they survived. He had always known, in a vague sense, that life was unfair to them, but tonight, he had seen it firsthand.

The women in the brothel... they weren't weak. They weren't helpless. They laughed at pain, flirted with danger, and wielded their wit like a weapon sharper than any knife. And when one of them was in danger, they didn't wait for a savior.

They had Ruhani.

The thought of her made something uneasy twist inside him. There was something about her presence-how she commanded a room without speaking, how people looked at her like she was both a Queen and a storm about to strike. She was a paradox-soft but unbreakable, kind yet ruthless, untouchable yet... deeply human.

And she had built this world for herself.

Not out of choice, but because life had forced her to.

Eklavya sighed, rubbing his temples. Strength came in many forms, and tonight, he had seen the kind of strength men feared.

The kind that didn't come from physical power alone. The kind that, when revealed, was nothing short of destruction.

His thoughts drifted-to another woman, to another time.

To Samaira.

His late wife had never raised her voice. Never tried to dominate a room the way Ruhani did. But she was strong in a way that he hadn't understood back then.

It was a different kind of strength.

One night, years ago-when he had been drowning in his work, neglecting everything else-he had come home late. The house had been dark except for a single dim lamp in the living room. He had expected Samaira to be asleep, but instead, she had been sitting on the couch, holding Siya close to her chest.

His daughter had been silent, her little face buried against her mother's shoulder.

Eklavya had frowned, exhausted and irritable. "Why are you both still awake?"

Samaira had looked at him then-not with anger, not with frustration, but with something deeper. Something that made him stop in his tracks.

"You didn't come home again," she had said softly, stroking Siya's back.

Eklavya had sighed. "I was working, Samaira. You know that."

Siya had shifted in her mother's arms, turning her small face towards him. Her big, innocent eyes had blinked at him, confusion and sadness flickering within them.

Samaira had kissed their daughter's forehead and whispered, "Do you know what she asked me today?"

He had shaken his head, exhaustion making him impatient.

"She asked me if her Papa still loves her," Samaira had said, her voice heartbreakingly gentle.

Eklavya had felt something deep inside him crack.

His four-year-old daughter had asked if he still loved her.

Because he had been too busy. Because he had forgotten that love is something you show, not something you assume people just know.

He had taken a step forward then, reaching out to touch Siya's cheek, but she had turned away, burrowing herself deeper into Samaira's warmth.

And that had hurt more than any wound ever could.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, unsure of what else to say.

Samaira had smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was patient. Understanding. A smile that said she had already accepted that he would never change.

That silent patience-that ability to bear pain without lashing out, to love without demanding anything in return-that was her strength.

And he had been blind to it.

Eklavya exhaled shakily, rubbing his hands over his face.

Strength.

It came in many forms.

Some, like Ruhani's, were loud, sharp, unyielding-a blade slicing through the world.

Some, like Samaira's, were quiet, soft, enduring-a shield that bore every blow without breaking.

And then there was Siya.

His daughter, who had been too young to understand why her father was never home. Who had learned, in her own small way, that love wasn't about words-it was about being there.

How many nights had she silently waited for him to come home?

How many times had she fallen asleep in Samaira's arms, whispering, "Maybe tomorrow Papa will come home early."

He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as his vision blurred.

Women-they had always been stronger than him.

And he...

He had failed the ones who mattered the most.

He had failed Samaira. He had failed Siya.

And yet...

Tonight, in a world so far removed from his own, he had seen something extraordinary.

Women who weren't waiting for men to change.

Women who weren't waiting to be saved.

Women who weren't waiting at all.

They were choosing themselves.

Ruhani...

She was the embodiment of that.

Eklavya didn't feel superior to women.

He felt humbled.

Because if strength was measured not by how much power you had, but by how much pain you could endure without letting it break you-

Then he was the weakest person in the world.

And they...

They were Gods in disguise.

He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. His heart was heavy, his mind tangled with memories, regrets, and newfound respect.

He had gone to the brothel tonight expecting lust, sin, and temptation.

Instead, he had found strength, resilience, and power.

His thoughts drifted back to Ruhani.

She had survived something just as cruel-maybe worse. She had lost the man who had loved her more than life itself. She had built herself back up, piece by piece, into someone unbreakable.

And yet... she wasn't unfeeling.

The way she had spoken about Samarth-it had been filled with so much love. So much grief. It had reminded him of Samaira.

Ruhani, too, had once been a girl full of dreams. Dreams of love. Dreams of a life filled with laughter and warmth. And yet, like Samaira, she had been forced to become something else.

Something stronger.

Eklavya exhaled deeply, his mind still spinning.

Tonight, he had seen the raw, destructive power of a woman who had nothing to lose. And it had shaken him to his core.

Because for the first time in his life... he understood.

Strength didn't always come in the form of fists or weapons.

Sometimes, it came in the form of a woman accepting her fate.

Sometimes, it came in the form of a woman standing tall after losing everything.

And sometimes, it came in the form of a little girl quietly accepting that her father would never have time for her.

Eklavya ran a hand through his hair, his chest aching with emotions he had buried for too long.

He had spent years searching for redemption in all the wrong places.

But now, for the first time, he wondered...

Had he been looking for it in Ruhani all along?