Target: 95 votes and 40+ comments

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Chapter: Where Warmth Learned My Name

His scoldings shouldn’t feel like comfort, but they do.
Each word laced with irritation, yet dipped in care.
I’ve known anger that burns to destroy,
not anger that shields like armor.

All my life, raised on taunts that stripped pieces of me,
on punishments that taught silence instead of peace.
But when he frowns, when his tone sharpens
it doesn’t wound, it wraps.
Like he’s saying, “You matter enough for me to worry.”

It’s terrifying....this tenderness disguised as temper.
My mind whispers distance,
but my heart… it keeps inching closer,
drawn to that impossible warmth he carries without meaning to.

He feels like the sun...infuriatingly constant,
filling every cold corner I built to stay untouched.
And the cruelest part?
Even after I’ve soaked in all his warmth,
he still burns brighter
melting the last pieces of the glacier I used to call my heart.

Maybe this is how it feels to be loved
not in grand gestures,
but in someone’s scolding voice
that sounds, for the first time, like home.

~Avyuktha

The morning slipped softly into the Jaisingh Mansion...calm, golden, and unhurried. The sun filtered through the sheer curtains, scattering warmth across the room in honeyed streaks. The air carried that quiet peace that belonged only to homes where love had begun to breathe again...fragile, new, yet impossibly full.

Avyuktha stirred, lashes fluttering open. For a second, her mind floated in the haze between dream and waking and then she felt it. The steady, comforting rhythm beneath her ear. Arnav’s heartbeat. Her breath caught. His arm was wound protectively around her, strong and steady, his palm resting lightly on her waist as if even in sleep, he couldn’t let her drift too far.

For a long, fragile moment, she didn’t move. She just lay there, listening to that quiet thud of life beneath her cheek, a sound that felt more healing than any word ever could. It was strange, how something so ordinary could feel sacred. Safe. Like she had finally found the one place in the world that didn’t ask her to be brave.

Her gaze drifted to the other side of the bed, Anvi, fast asleep, her arm draped protectively over Aarush, who was half-buried against her stomach. Maan lay curled beside them, his hand stretched loosely over their blanket, as if even in dreams he was still holding them together. The sight tugged something deep in her chest, a quiet smile bloomed on her lips, soft and full of wonder.

She thought of slipping away to freshen up... but her body didn’t listen. That warmth pressed against her skin, that slow heartbeat beneath her ear, it was too precious to break. For once, she didn’t want to be the one who gave comfort. She wanted to receive it. To simply exist in someone’s arms without fear, without guilt, without needing to earn it.

So, she closed her eyes again and let herself sink into him, into the peace that wrapped around her like sunlight after a storm. For the first time in years, sleep came not from exhaustion, but from contentment. She didn’t dream of running or hiding. She dreamed of warmth.

A little while later, Arnav’s body clock nudged him awake. The world was still quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes when every soul in the room is safe. He blinked the sleep away and the first thing his eyes found was her, Avyuktha...still nestled against him. Her lips curved in the faintest smile, strands of hair sprawled across his arm like silk threads.

Something inside him stirred. A quiet ache, a deep, wordless emotion that rooted itself somewhere in his chest. He reached out, brushing a stray lock from her face, his fingers lingering longer than they should have. Then, with infinite gentleness, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, a silent promise his heart had already made long before his mind could name it.

When he looked up, his gaze softened further. Anvi, Aarush, Maan....tangled together in sleep, breaths syncing, peace finally settling where once there had been fear. For the first time in a long time, they looked like children again. He smiled, that small, quiet kind of smile that carries a thousand unspoken prayers. He leaned down and kissed each of their foreheads, one by one, a silent benediction of love.

Then he carefully slid out of bed, patting Aarush as the little boy stirred.

When Avyuktha opened her eyes again, the space beside her was empty. Her fingers reached instinctively for him, meeting only the faint coolness of the sheet. Something in her chest tugged, that small, irrational disappointment of waking up from something beautiful.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and looked around. The sight made her heart melt. Anvi’s hair was sprawled all over Aarush’s face, Maan’s leg hung halfway off the bed, and their blankets were a mess of warmth and chaos. She chuckled softly, that pure, airy sound that comes straight from the heart.

She freshened up and stepped out quietly.

And there he was.

Arnav sat on the edge of the bed, Aarush now awake and giggling in his lap, tiny hands clutching his shirt. He was gently shaking Maan and Anvi awake, his voice low yet warm, firm yet tender, that tone that made even the air around him feel safe.

“Utho, sleepyheads,” he murmured, ruffling Maan’s hair as the boy groaned and tried to hide under the blanket. “The sun’s already jealous you’re sleeping more than him.”

Avyuktha stood in the doorway, watching. Watching the man who had once been a storm now cradle her little world like something sacred.

In that simple, golden morning, with laughter blooming softly between them and light pooling over the floor, the Jaisingh Mansion didn’t feel like a house anymore. It felt like home.

Maan, Chutki… uth jao baccha, college ke liye late ho jaayega.”

Arnav’s voice was calm but carried that familiar firmness that never failed to wake them up, or at least make them protest.

Both groaned in unison, muffled by pillows.
“Bhaiyaaa, sone do naa… aaj nahi jaana college,” they chorused together, voices perfectly synchronized in sleepy rebellion.

From the doorway, Avyuktha pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. The sight of the two tangled up in blankets, arguing even in half-sleep, filled her chest with a warmth she couldn’t name.

Arnav exhaled dramatically, pretending to give up. “Acha, theek hai. Mat jao. Bas fir jab late slip milegi na, toh do hafte tak subah 5 baje jogging pe le jaunga main.”

The effect was immediate.

Both shot up like startled cats.

“Bhaiya!” Anvi whined, hair all messy, face adorably scrunched. “Ye dadagiri hui!”
“Haan!” Maan joined in, rubbing his eyes, voice still heavy with sleep. “Aise kaun uthata hai subah-subah?”

Arnav smirked, arms folded, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

That made Anvi blink. “Avu kahaan hai?” she asked, glancing around the room.

“Yahin hoon,” came Avyuktha’s soft voice.

They turned. She stood near the bathroom door, freshly bathed but still in the same clothes from yesterday, the fabric damp and clinging faintly to her. There was a shy uncertainty in her posture, as if she didn’t quite know if she belonged in that scene of easy morning chaos.

Arnav’s gaze softened instantly. “Tu naha rahi thi na? Kapde change nahi kiye?”

She looked down for a second, her voice small. “Vo… mere kapde geele reh gaye the.”

Anvi’s expression shifted in an instant, sleep forgotten, replaced by the fierce tenderness that only she could pull off. “Arre....tere pass pehanane ke liye kuch nhi tha....? Tune bola kyu nahi?”

Before Avyuktha could answer, Anvi was already off the bed, grabbing her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Chal mere saath. Mere kapde le le abhi. Aur shaam ko shopping pe chalenge, okay?.”

Her words tumbled out in a rush...pure, protective affection wrapped in her usual sass.

Arnav watched silently, a faint smile tugging at his lips. There was something deeply moving about it, seeing his Chutki fuss over the girl who had once flinched at kindness. And watching Avyuktha’s eyes glisten, caught between surprise and gratitude, as if every gesture of care was still a miracle to her.

Before she could speak, Anvi tugged her toward her room, all energy and chatter. “Chal!”

Maan yawned and trailed after them soon after, muttering something about “drama queen,” leaving Arnav alone with Aarush, who was now awake, sitting quietly on the bed, blinking up at him.

Arnav looked around that golden-lit room, the corners once heavy with silence now brimming with warmth. And as he lifted Aarush into his arms, a quiet smile spread across his face, the kind that comes only when the heart finally feels at home.

Soon after, Aarush was washed, dressed, and grinning from ear to ear, his tiny hands clutching the front of Arnav’s shirt as he carried him toward the kitchen.

The kitchen smelled faintly and sunlight, that warm, homely scent that always seemed to follow mornings like this. Arnav set Aarush carefully on the counter, the boy swinging his legs with uncontainable energy while Arnav rolled up his sleeves and began preparing the breakfast.

“Bhaiya,” Aarush chirped, eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity, “main madad karu?”

Arnav glanced sideways at him, raising an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Tujhe madad karni hai?”

Aarush nodded eagerly, curls bouncing, face glowing with excitement as if he’d just been offered the most important job in the world.

Arnav couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him. “Bas ek kaam kar,” he said after a beat, tone deliberately serious. “Wahi baitha reh chup-chaap.”

Aarush’s mouth dropped open in pure betrayal. His small shoulders slumped, and he gave the most dramatic sigh his tiny lungs could manage.

Seeing that, Arnav broke into another chuckle. “Jab tak teri height counter se zyada nahi ho jaati, tab tak kitchen mein help toh kya, aana bhi ban hai, samjha?”

Aarush huffed loudly, crossing his arms in protest. “Lekin mujhe help karni hai aapki!” he complained, his voice trembling with the kind of innocent determination that could melt steel and definitely Arnav’s heart.

Arnav turned toward him, leaning one arm against the counter, pretending to study him with a mock-serious expression. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just watched that tiny bundle of defiance and sweetness glaring up at him. Then he sighed, eyes softening, and reached for the fruit basket.

“Thik hai,” he said finally, pulling out a banana and handing it to him like it was a sacred task. “Ek kaam de raha hoon. Isko peel karke mujhe dena.”

Aarush blinked, stunned by the seriousness of the mission. Then his entire face lit up like a festival. “Ji!” he said proudly, puffing his little chest, and began peeling the banana with fierce concentration. His small fingers fumbled adorably at first, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth as if sheer focus could bend the fruit to his will.

Arnav watched him quietly. There was something about the sight, the tiny hands working so earnestly, the hum of a half-made tune under his breath, the sunlight glinting off the counter, that made his chest feel impossibly full.

He turned back to the stove, smiling softly to himself. The clatter of utensils, Aarush’s happy humming, and the faint sizzle of ghee together created a sound that didn’t belong to chaos or duty anymore, it belonged to peace.

To home.

Just then, Avyuktha stepped into the kitchen, wearing Anvi’s clothes. The oversized crop top that would’ve barely reached Anvi’s waist looked like a loose, comfy t-shirt on her, and the denim shorts hung awkwardly below her knees, secured by a belt far too big for her frame. She looked adorably out of place, her damp hair tied in a loose braid, droplets still tracing down her neck and yet, to Arnav, she was nothing short of perfect.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps, eyes softening instantly. Without a word, he wiped his hands on a cloth, walked over, and gently lifted her onto the counter beside Aarush.

“Acchi lag rahi hai,” he murmured, his voice warm and low. His thumb brushed over her cheek in an absent, tender motion before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Thank you…” she whispered, barely audible.

He chuckled quietly and turned back to the dough, sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted lightly with flour. She watched him, the rhythm in his movements, the quiet hum of peace that filled the space. Beside her, Aarush was still peeling the banana with the seriousness of a scientist. The scene made her smile, that kind of smile that rises straight from the heart without permission.

“Bhaiya,” she said suddenly, “mujhe kya karna hai?”

Without turning, Arnav replied with practiced calm, “Vahi… chup-chaap baithe rehna hai.”

Her mouth fell open in exaggerated offense. “Are mujhe kitchen ke saare kaam aate hain! Aap bataiye na mujhe kya karna hai.....main jhatt se kar dungi!”

He finally looked back, eyebrow arched, lips twitching as he fought a grin. “Nahi,” he said simply, the tone leaving no room for argument but his eyes still dancing with amusement.

Avyuktha huffed lightly, crossing her arms, though the pout on her face only made him smile more. Aarush, meanwhile, proudly held out the banana, now successfully peeled after great effort.

“Dekha!” Aarush declared triumphantly.

Arnav took it with a small nod, as if accepting an important offering. “Shabash,” he said, ruffling his hair before dropping the banana into the blender. He added milk and honey, the soft whirl of the machine filling the cozy kitchen. The scent of banana and sweetness mingled with ghee and sunlight, wrapping the space in warmth.

When the mix turned smooth and creamy, Arnav poured it into two glasses and handed one to Avyuktha, the other to Aarush.

“Ye lo. Finish karo dono,” he said in that playfully authoritative tone that made both of them listen instinctively. “Aur haan,” he added, pointing a flour-dusted finger at Avyuktha with mock sternness, “pura finish hona chahiye.”

Aarush immediately sat up straight and saluted. “Ji, bhaiya!”

Avyuktha laughed softly, shaking her head as she took the glass. “Aap toh teacher bhi ban sakte ho,” she teased under her breath.

Before Arnav could respond, his phone buzzed insistently on the counter. The smile faded just a fraction as he glanced at the screen, something in his expression shifting, quiet but unmistakable.

“Main aata hoon, bas 10 minute,” he said, picking up the phone. Then his eyes flicked back to the two of them, warm yet firm. “Stove se door rehna, aur ye smoothie finish karna. Samjhe?”

“Ji!” Aarush chirped again, halfway through his first sip.

Avyuktha just smiled, watching him as he strode out, sleeves rolled up, voice calm as he answered the call, leaving behind that faint mix of coffee, soap, and warmth that always lingered wherever he went.

She took another sip, eyes still on the door he had just walked through. And without realizing, her smile deepened, soft, unhurried, content. The kind of smile that only love, in its gentlest form, could bring.

The kitchen fell into a hushed, tense quiet.

Avyuktha’s eyes flicked to the smoothie glass in her hand, untouched, and then to Aarush, who sat sipping dutifully like the obedient boy Arnav had told him to be.

“Aaru…” she murmured with a small grin, “main jaldi se parathe bana deti hoon. Bhaiya ka kaam kam ho jaayega.”

Aarush blinked nervously, his little brows furrowed. “Jiji… unhone mana kiya tha… gussa ho jaayenge vo.”

Avyuktha shook her head, smiling softly. “Are nahi karenge gussa vo.”

Before he could argue, she was already at the counter, rolling out dough with careful precision, filling each paratha with neatly mashed aloo. Her focus was intense, almost reverent, as though she had been making parathas her whole life.

But when it came time to flip one, she couldn’t find a spatula. Impulsively, she used her hand. The hot pan hissed sharply beneath her touch. A small gasp escaped her lips, and her fingers reddened instantly. Yet she didn’t stop. The habit of silently bearing pain ran too deep to break in a moment.

Fifteen minutes later, the front door clicked and Arnav stepped in.

The sight froze him instantly.

“Avu!” The word tore out of him before he could stop it.

The glass in his hand nearly slipped. Her small frame hovered too close to the stove, fingers dangerously near the hot pan.

Avyuktha flinched, startled by the raw panic in his voice. Before she could even step back, he crossed the space in two strides, gripping her hand mid-air. His fingers were firm, trembling, the heat of her skin searing against his concern.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

Then his voice came again, jagged, broken, raw with fear rather than anger. “Kya kar rahi thi tu? Avyuktha, maine mana kiya tha na stove ke paas jaane se… ha?”

He turned the tap on, holding her hand under the running water, thumbs trembling as he checked each finger over and over, as if trying to reassure himself that she was really okay. “Yeh garam tha… tu jal jaati toh?” he whispered, a prayer disguised as a scolding.

Avyuktha’s eyes widened, uncomprehending. She had never known anger to feel like this, it was trembling, fragile, not wounding. It shook her, but it didn’t cut. Her heart, unused to such care, fluttered in confusion.

Aarush stood frozen by the counter, eyes wide, tiny hands clutching his shirt as he took in the scene.

Arnav’s pulse still raced. Carefully, he guided them both to the dining table, seating, made Avyuktha stand between his knees. His hands, still unsteady, cupped hers as though she might shatter.

“Maine mana kiya tha na?” he asked again, softer now, though fear still lingered in his tone.

Avyuktha nodded, barely.

“Toh phir kya kar rahi thi kitchen mein? Haath se touch kar rahi thi garam paratha? Teri height bhi nahi pahunchti stove tak, Avu! Agar tawa gir jaata toh?” His voice rose, then cracked. The thought of her hurt, burned… it twisted his chest painfully. “Itni chot lagi hai body pe, ab haath bhi jala leti phir…”

His words faltered, leaving behind only care hidden behind sternness.

Aarush swallowed hard. “Jiji… maine mana kiya tha… bhaiya gussa ho gaye.”

The sight softened Arnav immediately. Two children shrinking, fearing punishment, when all he wanted was to protect them.

Avyuktha’s lips trembled. Her eyes glistened, not from pain, but from the strange, new feeling of being scolded out of fear, not humiliation. Her entire life, scolding had meant failure. Now, it carried warmth.

For the first time, she felt that a warning could come from love.

In that fragile moment, something inside both her and Aarush shifted. Confusion turned to a strange happiness, happy to be cared for, happy to be noticed, happy to be protected.

Without a word, Arnav rose and returned to the kitchen. Moments later, he came back holding two glasses of smoothies, voice firm but gentler.

“Piyo dono. Finish it.”

They obeyed, quietly sipping, the kitchen silent except for the soft sound of their drinking. When they were done, Arnav ruffled Aarush’s hair. “Good boy.”

Then he looked at Avyuktha, empty glass in hand, her gaze downcast, guilt lingering across her delicate features.

“Aaj ke baad tu kitchen mein cook nahi karegi,” he said, his tone firm yet gentle. “Tab tak toh bilkul nahi, jab tak teri height stove se upar nahi ho jaaye. Samjhi?”

She nodded meekly. “Ji.”

“Ji kya?”

Her eyes lifted to his, uncertain, glistening. “Ji… nahi banaungi,” she whispered, then lifted her hands instinctively to her ears. “Sorry.”

The small, innocent gesture was so pure, so cute that it made him smile...helpless, soft, completely undone.

“Meri pagal bacchi…” he murmured, lowering her hands gently.

Before she could move, he pulled her into his arms. The hug was protective, trembling, full of all the fear he had tried to hide.

“Main darr gaya tha…” he whispered, voice hoarse against her hair. “Tu jal jaati toh, baccha…”

Avyuktha froze, her breath catching. No one had ever said that to her before. No one had ever been afraid for her. Her fingers clutched his shirt, tears spilling silently, not from pain, but from the overwhelming warmth in her chest.

He held her a moment longer, patting her back gently. “Ab mat jaana,” he breathed, half-command, half-plea.

Her muffled reply came against him. “Ji… nahi jaungi.”

Arnav exhaled slowly, relief washing over him. He pressed a soft kiss to her hair, lingering, grateful, and protective.

Sunlight streamed stronger now, golden threads spilling across the kitchen. The air smelled faintly of coffee, paratha, and something else, something deeper...a love that could only be born from fear and care intertwined.

In that quiet, trembling morning, three hearts, one fearful, two learning, discovered something sacred in the simplest of moments.

For the first time, a scolding had felt like love.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway as Maan and Anvi appeared, bags slung loosely over their shoulders. They called out in unison, bright and teasing, “Good morning!” before collapsing onto the dining table with the carefree ease of home.

Arnav glanced up, nodded, and called toward the corridor, “Meena, breakfast table par laga dijiye.” Within moments, the househelp entered, arranging steaming plates and hot food, filling the room with the cozy aroma of ghee and warmth.

Anvi leaned forward, eyes wide and sparkling, hand lifted dramatically like a queen issuing a decree. “Bhaiyaaa…” she sang, voice playful, exaggerated, a mixture of mischief and pleading that only she could pull off.

Arnav hummed softly, already anticipating the performance.

She continued, the whine stretching melodiously, “Vo, bhaiya, main bol rahi thi na… aaj college na jaau, pleaseeeee…”

Arnav raised a single eyebrow, amused. “Kyu? Kis khushi mein?”

Anvi clapped delightedly, eyes glimmering. “Aree…college se chutti milna hi sbse badi khushi ki baat hai!” she chirped, as if skipping college were the most jubilant occasion in the universe.

Aarush snorted a small giggle. Maan rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. Avyuktha watched quietly, cheeks warming at the simple, silly family moment...a tiny, perfect normal that felt like sunlight spilling through the house.

Arnav shook his head, a half-smile teasing the corners of his lips. Meena placed the steaming plates on the table, and everyone began to settle in.

Anvi’s pleading stretched like melted sugar. “Bhaiyaaa…” she wailed dramatically, eyes glistening with exaggerated sorrow. “Ek din le lene do na chhutti… mujhe Avu aur Aaru ki yaad aayegi college mein!”

Arnav sipped his coffee, hiding a smile behind the cup. “Baccha,” he said gently, that soft patience threading his voice, “thode dinon mein tumlogo ka summer break shuru hone wala hai na? Mushkil se teen–chaar din hi toh bache hain college ke. Chali jaa na… Avu aur Aaru toh yahin hain. College se aake shopping chali jaana, hmm?”

Anvi puffed her cheeks, as if making the gravest decision ever, then exhaled dramatically. “Theek hai…” she said, wagging a finger at him, “lekin shopping pe aapko bhi chalna hoga, phir!”

Arnav chuckled, a quiet, affectionate rumble. “Theek hai, done.”

Her face lit up instantly, sunlight bursting through clouds.

As Meena served the parathas, Arnav carefully placed one on each plate, edges still sizzling faintly with ghee. The aroma blended with the hum of the ceiling fan, filling the dining room with warmth.

Avyuktha smiled softly, lifting Aarush into her lap. He giggled, grabbing at the paratha while she tore small bites, feeding him with practiced, gentle care. Every so often, he tried to feed her back, messy pieces held toward her mouth, and she laughed softly, taking them in turn.

Arnav watched from his chair, coffee in hand. The sight, Avyuktha’s calm smile, Aarush’s laughter, Anvi’s playful chatter, Maan’s half-hidden mischief, brought a quiet ease to something deep inside him, a peace that settled without noise.

Maan and Anvi, half-finished with breakfast, were already bustling.

“Late ho raha hai!” Maan mumbled, mouth full, grabbing his bag.

Anvi gulped down the last of her smoothie. “Bhaiya, hum chale!” she called, hurrying to stand.

Arnav looked up, the protective tone slipping in effortlessly. “Helmet pehno dono and don't forget to take the security with you.”

“Yesss, boss!” Maan called, saluting as they darted out.

Anvi waved back, fingers high. “Bye, bhaiyaaa! Bye, Avu! Bye, Aaru!”

Aarush waved frantically. “Bye didi! Bye bhaiya!”

And just like that, the house quieted again, laughter lingering like sun through open windows.

Arnav’s gaze fell to the two still at the table, Avyuktha feeding Aarush, humming softly under her breath, every motion tender, instinctive.

He didn’t speak, but the thought brushed gently across his chest, For the first time in a long time, this house feels alive.

Avyuktha sat with Aarush in her lap, feeding him slowly, carefully brushing crumbs from his lips, her care so instinctive it felt sacred. When he finished, she set his plate aside, beginning to rise.

“Avu,” Arnav’s voice stopped her.

She turned, curious. “Ji?”

“Baith wapas,” he said simply.

Confused, she sat down. “Kya hua bhaiya?”

He slid a warm plate of paratha toward her. “Tune toh kuch khaya hi nahi. Kha isse.”

Avyuktha shook her head, eyes down. “Bhaiya… bhookh nahi hai.”

Arnav leaned forward, calm, patient, reading the familiar signs. Years of skipping meals had taught her to deny hunger, to shrink from care.

“Thoda sa khaa le, baccha,” he coaxed.

She shook her head again, lightly stubborn. “Sach mein… bhookh nahi hai.”

He sighed quietly, no irritation, only patience. Pulling the chair closer, he tore a small piece of paratha, holding it to her lips.

“Bas ek bite,” he said gently, nodding once.

Her resistance faltered under his calm, steady warmth. Slowly, she opened her mouth, taking it. He waited, tore another piece, and another, feeding her as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Aarush watched, wide-eyed. After a moment, he whispered, almost sharing a secret, “Bhaiya… aapko pata hai? ....Jiji ko pehli baar koi khila raha hai… mujhe toh jiji hamesha khilati hai. Lekin unhe koi nahi khilata.....”

Time seemed to still.

Avyuktha’s lashes fluttered. Her throat tightened as tears threatened to spill. Fingers trembled in her lap.

Arnav’s chest ached, a dull, deep ache. He looked at Aarush, smiling softly, voice thick with emotion.

“Ab main hoon na, Aaru… ab main Avu ko khilaunga..... Apne haath se.”

Aarush’s face lit up. “Phir mujhe bhi khilana!”

Arnav chuckled, gentle and low. “Haan, tujhe bhi khilaunga,” feeding another bite to Avyuktha, then ruffling Aarush’s hair.

Half the paratha gone, Avyuktha stopped him quietly. “Bhaiya… ab aur nahi khaya jaayega.”

He studied her, noting the faint effort, the discomfort in her stomach. He nodded. “Theek hai.”

But before she could process, he took the remaining half himself.

Avyuktha frowned. “Bhaiya… ye mera jhootha hai. Main baad mein kha lungi, waste nahi karungi. Pakka. Aap ye mat khaiye, please.”

He smiled faintly, tone teasing, calm. “Kyu? Koi problem hai?”

“Ye… mera jhootha hai,” she murmured, hesitant.

“Toh?” he said lightly, finishing it. Wiping his hands, he stood. “Ho gaya.”

Avyuktha blinked, moved silently, simple acceptance filling her chest.

“Bhaiya…” she whispered, “aur le lijiye… aapne bas aadha hi khaya.”

He smiled, warmth flickering in his eyes. “Baccha, meri ek online meeting hai. Paach minute mein late ho jaunga.” He brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Tu chinta mat kar. Baad mein kha lunga, hmm?”

She nodded, eyes lingering on him, noticing every detail, rolled sleeves, quiet authority, warmth lingering even as he turned away.

When he disappeared into his study, she stared at the empty plate. The half-paratha hadn’t been eaten out of hunger… but out of love.

And for the first time in years, something inside her softened. She hadn’t eaten much that morning, yet she felt full.

The Jaisingh Mansion lay cloaked in an uneasy stillness that afternoon, the kind that made even the air feel heavy.

Then came the creak of the front gates, the low hum of an engine fading, and finally, the echo of footsteps.

Abhimanyu and Pari stepped inside, their shoes clicking against marble that seemed to amplify every sound in the silence.

And then

“Bhaiyaaa!”

A shrill, terrified scream ripped through the mansion.

They froze for a heartbeat, then sprinted toward the guest wing. The door at the end of the corridor stood half open, the curtain inside trembling.

Abhimanyu pushed it wide

and everything stopped.

......

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