Jaisingh Mansion-Mumbai

The golden hues of the evening sun filtered through the wide glass windows of Jaisingh Mansion, casting long shadows across the marbled floor. The house was unusually calm for that hour.

Arnav stepped inside, loosening the cuffs of his shirt after a long day at work. His sharp gaze immediately caught Anvi sitting cross-legged on the carpet near Viren's chair. She was animatedly talking, hands moving in the air to emphasize her story. Viren, half-glasses perched on his nose, was holding a book in one hand, but his attention kept flickering to his daughter, his lips tugging into an indulgent smile.

For a moment, Arnav paused at the doorway, taking in the sight. Something warm yet heavy tugged at his chest. He was used to seeing Viren distant, consumed by files and meetings, not like this—listening, smiling, even chuckling at Anvi's silly antics.

Arnav cleared his throat softly and stepped forward.

"Chutki," he said, voice gentle but carrying authority, "tumne assignment khatam kiya?"

Anvi looked up, startled, then pouted. "Bhaiya, bas thoda baaki hai. Papa meri story sun rahe the."

Viren set the book down slowly and glanced at his son. "Har waqt sirf discipline se zindagi nahi chalti, Arnav. Kabhi kabhi bachchon ki baaton mein bhi sukoon milta hai." 

Says the man who who was barely even present to teach them basic discipline~author

Arnav's jaw twitched slightly at the subtle reprimand, but he held his tongue. He simply moved closer, placing a hand on Anvi's head and brushing her hair back.

"Assignment khatam kar lo, phir papa ko puri story sunana," he said firmly.

Anvi huffed but nodded. She scrambled up, hugged Viren quickly, and skipped away.

Now the room was quieter, only the faint tick of the antique clock filling the silence. Viren leaned back in his chair, studying Arnav with a gaze that carried both pride and unspoken distance.

"You've grown too strict, Arnav," he murmured. "Kabhi kabhi tum apni maa ki yaad dilate ho."

Arnav's fists clenched at his sides for a second, but he said nothing. He simply turned towards the balcony, his face unreadable, as if swallowing emotions that threatened to spill.

Sehgal nivaas-sitara

The house was eerily quiet after the morning chaos. Avyuktha had just carried Aarush to their room, her small arms wrapped tightly around him as his sobs echoed softly against the walls. Prerna's footsteps were swift and deliberate behind them, the kind that made Avyuktha's stomach churn even before the next cruelty could arrive.

"Avyuktha! Jao, aur ye sab floors dobara mop karo! Aur dhyaan rahe, corners ekdum saaf hone chahiye!" Prerna barked, tossing a bucket toward her. The weight was more than a child of twelve could manage. "Aur agar ye sahi se nahi hoga, tum dono ke liye bahut bura hoga!"

Avyuktha's hands shook as she knelt, scrubbing the floor with all the strength she could muster, still clutching his knees where the bruise from earlier throbbed.Aarush howering beside her.

Then, with a sudden crash, a vase shattered against the floor. A sharp fragment slashed Aarush's leg. Red bloomed on his skin, stark against his small body. He cried out, a high-pitched wail that made Avyuktha's heart seize.

"Aru!...Aru!....dikhao mujhe Aru...," she whispered, lifting him carefully, her own palms scraping against the floor and drawing tiny lines of blood.

Just then, the front door creaked open. Parth stepped in from school, and his eyes widened at the sight. Aarush writhing, blood oozing, and Avyuktha struggling to keep him steady while her own scraped feet throbbed.

"Maa Dad warned you! You are doing the same thing again!" Parth's voice rang sharp, echoing in the tense silence.

Prerna turned, her face twisted with fury. "Aawaz neeche samjhe?....tum indono ke liye mujhse battameezi nhi kr sakte...apne baap ke nakshekadam pe mat chalana seekho.....nhi toh acha nhi hoga tumhare liye"

But Parth ignored her. He crouched beside Aarush, assessing the bleeding. "Ayu, listen to me," he said firmly. "There's a medical camp set up at aru's school today. You have to take him there immediately. He needs first aid, now!"

Avyuktha didn't hesitate. She hoisted Aarush onto her hip, and with his trembling body pressed against her, she ran barefoot across the dusty courtyard. Pain lanced through her feet as her skin scraped against the ground, but she didn't falter.

The medical camp was just about to close when they arrived. Avyuktha pushed the doors open, her chest heaving. Maan, who had been helping the seniors wind up the setup, noticed her immediately.

"Hey—why are you running like that? Kya hua?"

"My brother—he's injured!" Avyuktha gasped, holding out Aarush. "Please... please bandage him. Please give him medicine!"

Maan quickly stepped forward, gently supporting Aarush. The boy's frail frame, the malnutrition, and the scar on his leg from before didn't escape his eyes. He frowned, concern written all over his face.

"Camp is closed now. Come back later," another volunteer snapped harshly.

Maan's voice firmed, though he kept it respectful.

"Sir, he's bleeding... we can't send him away like this. At least let me call one of the seniors to check him."

He turned to Avyuktha, softening his tone.

"Don't worry. Bring him inside — we'll get him treated."

The camp was almost empty when the doctor finished bandaging Aarush's small leg. He exhaled softly, patting the boy's head.

But then Maan's eyes fell on Avyuktha's feet. Raw scrapes. Fresh blood. Dust clinging to her skin.

Maan's heart lurched.

"Tumhare pair..." he breathed out, instantly kneeling.

Avyuktha stiffened, pulling her feet back. "Kuch nahi hai," she muttered quickly, her tone flat, almost rehearsed.

Maan hesitated for a second, then his voice softened but carried quiet insistence.

"Please... dikhaiye. Aise chodna sahi nahi hoga."

Her lips parted in protest, but then she caught the steady, almost pleading look in his eyes. Reluctantly, silently, she placed her foot forward.

Maan's jaw tightened at the sight. With slow, careful movements — just the way he had seen his seniors do — he cleaned the wounds, applied ointment, and wrapped them in bandages. His hands were gentle, almost reverent — yet his mind was storming.

As he rose, his gaze shifted — and froze.

Just above her kameez neckline, half-hidden but unmistakable, was a dark mar across her shoulder, trailing down her left arm. Not the mark of an accident—too sharp, too deliberate.

His brows knitted. "Ye... ye kya hua? Kaise hua?"

The words left him in a rush, sharper than intended.

Avyuktha's eyes widened. In an instant, she tugged at her dupatta, hiding the scar like she was hiding her entire world. Her voice broke, hurried, defensive:

"Kuch nahi hua... bas... kuch bhi nahi."

And before he could press further, she bent, scooped Aarush into her frail arms, and whispered, "Dhanyavaad, doctor... hum dono ki madad karne ke liye."

No eye contact. No pause. She turned swiftly, clutching her brother close, and walked away—barefoot, bandaged, and silent.

Maan stood there, fists curling, eyes following the small figure retreating into the dusk.

A storm brewed in his chest. He had seen too much. Yet he had no answers.

Jaisingh Mansion -Mumbai

Arnav stood at the balcony door, his eyes fixed on the fading horizon. The evening breeze ruffled his hair, but his stance remained rigid, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Behind him, Viren closed his book and spoke, his voice lower now.

"Arnav."

Arnav turned slightly, his face composed, eyes respectful, yet distant.

"Ji, Papa."

Viren studied him for a moment—the sharp jawline, the steady eyes, the way he carried responsibility on his shoulders as if it was stitched into his very being. Too young to have grown so old.

"You've done more for this family than I ever asked of you," Viren said quietly. "Maan, Anvi... they look at you the way children look at a father."

Arnav's lips pressed into a thin line. He gave a small nod, nothing more.

Viren's voice grew heavier. "Kabhi lagta hai... main... sirf ek parchhayi ban gaya hoon."

Arnav finally met his gaze. Respect lingered in his eyes, but it was tempered by an unspoken ache.

The silence that followed was almost suffocating.

Viren exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Arnav... kya tum mujhse nafrat karte ho?"

Arnav's eyes flickered—just for a second—with a storm of emotions. Fury, grief, love, betrayal—all colliding, all suppressed. He stepped closer, his voice calm but sharp as glass.

"Nafrat... ek bahot bada shabd hai, Papa....Main aapko izzat deta hoon. Lekin izzat aur pyaar... dono ek saath chalna zaroori nahi hai."

The words struck Viren harder than any shouted fury could. His hand trembled slightly against the armrest, but he forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Tum bilkul apni maa ki tarah ho," he whispered, voice breaking at the edges.

Arnav straightened, his jaw tightening. Without another word, he bowed his head respectfully and walked away, leaving Viren staring at the empty doorway—his guilt growing heavier in the silence.

......