### Chapter 4: A Room Frozen in Time
500 Words
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Midnight cloaked the mansion in silence.
Everyone had gone to sleep — or so Anjali hoped. Her heartbeat quickened as she stepped barefoot into the cold hallway. Her silk nightgown brushed softly against the floor, and in her hand was a small flashlight, barely enough to pierce the dark.
She stood before the **forbidden door** once again — the west wing.
Aaryan wasn’t home. He had flown to Singapore earlier that morning, giving her a small window of freedom.
Her fingers trembled as she turned the knob.
**Click.**
The door creaked open slowly.
What she saw inside stole her breath.
The room was untouched. As if time had stopped the moment Rhea Sharma had taken her last breath here.
A dusty piano sat near the window, its keys yellowed. A faded blue scarf hung from the back of a chair. On the dressing table, an old bottle of perfume still rested, half full. The scent lingered in the air — something floral… almost haunting.
But it was the wall that caught her attention.
A gallery of photographs.
Frames filled with Rhea’s smiling face — laughing, dancing, hugging Aaryan. He was different in those pictures. Young, carefree, alive.
One photo was larger than the rest.
A candid moment — Rhea hugging Aaryan from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder. His eyes sparkled with love.
Anjali stared at it for a long time. A pang of something sharp twisted in her chest.
Suddenly, she noticed something behind the photo frame — a small velvet box.
She pulled it out carefully. Inside was a ring — delicate, vintage, with a single sapphire stone. There was a note folded beneath it.
**“To my future wife — Rhea, forever and always.”**
Anjali felt her throat tighten. She had no right to be here. This room… this love… it didn’t belong to her. It belonged to a woman who was no longer breathing — and a man who had stopped living the day she died.
But just as she turned to leave, something caught her eye on the bookshelf — a leather diary with Rhea’s name on it.
Her hands hesitated.
Should she open it?
Before she could decide, the lights snapped on behind her.
She froze.
Aaryan.
He stood in the doorway, his face unreadable, jaw clenched.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked coldly.
Anjali’s mouth went dry. “I… I wanted to know what you were hiding.”
A long pause followed.
He stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning the room like a wound had been reopened.
“I warned you never to enter this room.”
His voice was low, but it carried fury — and pain.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I needed to understand why this marriage feels like I’m living with a ghost.”
Aaryan’s gaze locked with hers.
And for the first time… **his eyes weren’t empty**.
They were full of grief.
And something else.
Guilt.
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- Writer
