The morning after the revelation felt colder than winter. The mansion that once echoed with arguments and laughter now hummed with a silence that weighed on every heartbeat.

Aarohi Mehta stood by the window, the world outside blurred by the fine mist of dawn. Arnav hadn’t spoken much since last night — since the truth about their switched identities had turned their lives inside out. He was in the courtyard now, fixing his gaze on the old oak tree that had somehow survived the fire a decade ago.