The next day, Arjun appears at Meera’s doorstep—not with flowers, but with a wheelchair-accessible kitchen design he’s been secretly working on for two years. He also brings a ledger: every penny he’s earned, saved for Rohan’s physiotherapy.

Meera wants to scream. Instead, she whispers, “Why now?” “Because I finally understood,” Arjun says. “Your fault means your responsibility —not just to say sorry, but to stay and fix what you can.”

Two years later, Arjun is out on parole, working as a dishwasher in a dingy Delhi diner. Meera has built a wall around her heart, caring for Rohan, who now uses a wheelchair and has sunk into silence.

She doesn’t forgive him immediately. But she lets him in.