Chapter: To Small To Understand, To Big To Forgot.

The afternoon sun streamed across the dining table, warm and calm, but it couldn't touch the heaviness in the room. Silence hung thick, pressing on everyone as they ate slowly, not from hunger but out of habit, a quiet insistence that no one would be the first to stop.

Aarush sat on Anvi's lap, refusing to move. Ever since he had seen her cry, he hadn't let go. His tiny arms clung to her, his head resting against her chest, holding her just as Avyuktha used to hold him whenever he had cried...a small, protective anchor against the storm of emotions surrounding them.

Anvi fed him gently, spoonful by spoonful, while taking bites herself, mechanical and quiet. She didn't look up once. Every swallow was heavy, weighed down by her own guilt and the mistakes she couldn't undo.

Across the table, the family stole glances at her. Their anger had cooled, replaced by a quiet, aching sadness. They could see the guilt in her lowered eyes, the way she kept still when she never had before. This wasn't the Anvi who laughed too loudly, who never stayed silent for even a moment. Seeing her like this tugged at their hearts.

And Aarush... he felt it too. Small though he was, he understood emotions with a depth beyond his years. Whenever he had felt unsafe, Avyuktha would hold him, press him against her chest, and calm him. Now, he was doing the same for Anvi...pressing close, offering warmth and reassurance, as if he could carry some of her burden for her.

He nuzzled closer against her, tiny hands holding on, steadying her in a way only he could. In that quiet, unspoken space, grief, guilt, love, and fragile comfort intertwined, wrapping them both in a silence that was heavier than words, yet somehow soothing.

The family continued their meal, glances full of unspoken understanding, hearts quietly echoing the emotions that filled the room. In the stillness, forgiveness had begun its slow, gentle work.

The tense silence at the dining table was broken by the shrill ring of a phone. Arnav glanced at the screen, his expression unreadable. Without picking up, he said in a quiet, emotionless tone, "Anvi, your dean is calling me."

For the first time, Anvi looked up. Her eyes widened instantly, she already knew why. Abhimanyu, reading the moment, nodded slightly and said, "Arnav, put it on speaker."

Arnav obeyed. The phone clicked, and the conversation began.

Dean: Hello, am I speaking to Mr. Arnav Jaisingh?

Arnav opened his mouth to reply, but Abhimanyu cut in sharply.

Abhimanyu: Yes.

Dean: Actually, sir, I wanted to meet you today regarding Anvi Jaisingh... She had a fight in the college canteen and punched a girl so hard that her nose broke. The girl's parents want to talk to you immediately.

Abhimanyu: I'm out of town right now. Can you contact Mr. Viren Jaisingh, her father?

Dean: Oh... I don't have his number. The guardianship form has your number only.

Abhimanyu: That's fine. I'll call him myself, he will be there along with Anvi.

Dean: Okay, sir. Thank you.

The call ended. Arnav's face immediately tightened into a frown. "Mannu, tu pagal ho gaya hai kya...? Tu janta hai na woh kya karenge?" His voice was laced with worry. He knew Viren...impulsive, hot-headed, fiercely protective of the Jaisingh name. Anything that could tarnish it would be intolerable to him, even ironically, given the man's own scandals, affairs, parties, drinking...all the things he pretended didn't exist.

Abhimanyu ignored Arnav and turned calmly but sharply to Anvi. "Call your father."

Anvi fumbled, panic creeping in. "Vo... vo do din se ghar nahi aaye hain."

Abhimanyu's gaze didn't waver. "He is in Mumbai. Call him."

Anvi picked up her phone and dialed. The first call went unanswered. The second, too. On the third, a familiar voice came through.

Viren: Kya hua, Anvi? (light irritation, calm)

Anvi: Vo, Dad... the dean called. He wants to meet you.

There was no pause, no questions, just the familiar dump of responsibility.

Viren: Take Arnav with you. I'm busy.

Abhimanyu gestured for Anvi to speak up. Hesitantly, she tried again. "Aap chal chaliye, please."

Viren: Are, take Arnav with you. I am really busy right now. (Click.)

The next second, Arnav's phone rang. It was Viren calling him. Abhimanyu gestured, and Arnav put it on speaker.

Viren: Arnav, Anvi's principal called. He wants to meet me... I can't right now, so you go and meet him.

Abhimanyu took the phone from him smoothly.

Abhimanyu: Hello, Mr. Jaisingh, Abhimanyu here.

Viren: Oh, Abhimanyu... Why is Arnav's phone with you?

Abhimanyu: Yeah, actually, Arnav is in a meeting right now. I had his phone.

Viren: Oh... can you inform Arnav that Anvi's dean called and wants to meet?

Abhimanyu: Actually, sir, it would be a long meeting. I don't think Arnav can manage it.

Viren: (sighing) Can you meet him?

Ironically, this man had never been one to take responsibility. For years, Arnav had carried the weight of Maan and Anvi on his shoulders....every little thing, every problem. And now, even for once, Viren was trying to dodge what was his own duty.

Abhimanyu: Actually, sir, I also have a meeting, so I can't.

And with that, he hung up.

The silence barely returned before another call came in, this time for Anvi.

Viren: Anvi, be ready in ten minutes. I'm coming.

Anvi froze, her hands tightening around the phone. The suddenness, the casualness of it, the complete lack of concern for the gravity of the situation, it all made her chest ache. Yet, she had no choice. She nodded silently, though he couldn't see her, and braced herself for what was coming.

Anvi's voice trembled as she announced, "H... he's coming in ten minutes."

She handed Aarush to Avyuktha, pausing for a moment to kiss his forehead. His small, trusting eyes looked up at her, and for a second, her chest tightened...she didn't want to leave him. But duty, fear, and responsibility pressed her forward, and she hurried upstairs.

Her heart raced. She had never once gone to meet the principal or dean with her father. After her mother passed away, it had always been Arnav who took care of these matters; before that, her mother Sudha had accompanied her. The thought of facing Viren alone, with the dean's call looming over her, made her stomach twist into knots.

After overhearing Abhimanyu and Viren's conversation, she knew exactly how annoyed her father would be and the gravity of the situation pressed down like a weight she couldn't lift. She had thrown the first punch, and in their world, that made her guilty regardless of the provocation.

She quickly changed, taking a deep, steadying breath, and moved out. Viren was already there, waiting. Her eyes flicked once to Arnav before she stepped into the car, a silent plea passing between them. Then she closed the door, her pulse hammering, and sat rigidly, bracing herself for what was to come.

At home, Arnav paced restlessly across the living room, his breath uneven and his mind spinning with thoughts of Anvi. He couldn't sit, couldn't stand still; every nerve in his body seemed on edge. The memory of Viren's temper gnawed at him relentlessly, and the helplessness he felt built until it broke out in a snap.

"Yaar Mannu, kya kiya tune...?" he burst out, his voice tight and trembling. "Meri bacchi, Mannu... yaar..." He ran a hand through his hair, pacing faster, the fear of what Viren might do clawing at him.

Abhimanyu remained still at first, knowing too well the fear that gripped Arnav. He had witnessed Viren's anger, had seen the ruthless lengths he would go to protect the Jaisingh name. Viren never hesitated, no matter the cost. And yet, despite Viren's own life being a collage of scandals, drinking, affairs, and late-night indulgences, he had somehow learned to expect perfection from those around him.

Finally, he walked over and placed a firm hand on Arnav's shoulder. "Arni... calm down," he said, his voice steady and soft. "You know he won't do anything publicly. And we're at home. Relax a little... he won't do anything to Anvi."

Arnav exhaled shakily. He knew Abhimanyu was right Viren valued his reputation above all else, and whatever actions he took, they would never be in front of outsiders. The thought eased some of the tightness in Arnav's chest.

Gently, Abhimanyu guided him to the sofa. "Sit," he murmured. Arnav sank down, shoulders tense, his eyes still clouded with worry. Abhimanyu sat beside him, his hands moving in slow, firm, reassuring strokes over Arnav's arms. Arnav winced slightly, the memory of the punishment earlier the hours on his knees with hands raised was still raw. Seeing this, Abhimanyu's chest tightened with guilt, and his touch softened instinctively.

He worked his way from Arnav's shoulders to his forearms, then down to his calves, each stroke easing the tension, melting it inch by inch under his steady hands. Slowly, Arnav's breathing began to even out, the panic receding just enough to let him feel grounded.

Across from them, Avyuktha watched with an amused smile tugging at her lips. The sight was almost ridiculous the mighty Arnav Jaisingh sitting like a king while Abhimanyu pampered him like a prince. Yet beneath her amusement, a thought lingered. Why was Arnav the one panicking so intensely? Viren was Anvi's father. So why did it feel like the world was falling apart for Arnav instead?

Maan, sitting beside her, wasn't noticing the pampering or the tension, he was trapped in his own memories. He remembered that day, the punishment, the fear-every detail. And now, seeing Arnav pacing and panicking in the same way he had once felt, Maan understood everything.

FLASHBACK

Arnav was fifteen.

That fragile, in between age where a boy is too old to hide behind innocence, yet too young to fully grasp the weight of consequences. The sun that afternoon was merciless, pouring molten gold across the school playground. Dust rose in lazy clouds as the football skidded over it, chased by a storm of shouting boys. Laughter, taunts, the rhythmic pounding of cleats against dirt, all of it formed a chaotic, suffocating symphony.

And in the middle of it all, Arnav Jaisingh ran like he owned the field.

His dark hair whipped across his forehead with every stride, sweat plastering his T-shirt to his back. There was a sharpness in his eyes, fearless and unyielding, that made teachers weary and students instinctively fall in line behind him. Even at fifteen, he carried a magnetism that drew attention effortlessly, cheekbones sharp, body lean and athletic, moving with a grace that seemed almost instinctive.

The game had begun in good humor. Boys that age rarely stayed that way.

A pass went astray. A snide remark cut through the air. A shove “accidental,” but heavy with intent.

Tension snapped like a taut string.

Voices rose, tempers flared, insults slashed through the din like knives. The football forgotten, two teams circled each other like wild animals, eyes burning with rivalry.

A hand landed on Arnav's shoulder. Another shoved him back. Movement blurred...a fist, a flicker of rage, a roar in his ears and then:

THUD.

Arnav's knuckles smashed into his classmate's face.

The boy staggered backward, choking, his eye already swelling into a dark, ugly bruise, purple spreading along his jaw like spilled ink. The others froze, silent, witnessing the mark bloom in real time.

Arnav remained untouched. Not a scratch, not a ruffled breath, not a falter in stance.

And in school… that was enough.

Enough to decide guilt. Enough to decide punishment. Enough to decide shame.

Within the hour, the chaos had escalated. The boy's parents arrived, storming the premises like generals in a war they had imagined, demanding explanations, apologies, justice.

Arnav sat outside the principal’s office, arms stiff at his sides, gaze fixed on the scuffed floor. The one person who always softened the edges of these storms, who always understood, who always saw beyond appearances… Sudha… wasn’t there.

She was out of town. The one time she wouldn’t be.

Which left Viren.

Not gentle, patient Sudha. Not the calm voice who would ask if he was hurt, who would probe carefully for context.

Viren Jaisingh.

A man whose anger was sharp, precise, and humiliating. A man for whom reputation mattered more than reason, more than feelings, more than truth.

Arnav had lived through Viren’s fury before. He knew the kind of weight that fell from the man's gaze, the icy edges of his voice, the crushing authority that made knees buckle and hearts pound.

His stomach twisted. Every step in the hall sounded thunderous in his ears. His palms were clammy; his knees bounced uncontrollably. The voices of the waiting, impatient parents became a distant, nervous hum.

And as the door creaked open and a familiar shadow filled the frame, Arnav felt a cold knot of dread settle deep in his chest.

He waited.

For the man who would decide his fate. For the storm that was coming.

And somewhere beneath it all, he braced himself for the humiliation, the pain, the feea, for the day his innocence would be measured and found insufficient.

Viren arrived with the stormy presence Arnav had been dreading...stiff shoulders, jaw clenched, eyes already judging before anyone spoke.

The principal had barely begun explaining when the other boy's parents launched into their accusations. They painted Arnav as violent, reckless, a menace who had “savagely attacked” their son. And Viren… didn’t question a single word. He didn’t look at Arnav, didn’t ask what happened, didn’t even allow him to speak. The moment the principal finished, Viren turned to Arnav with a cold, warning glare and snapped,

“Say sorry.”

Arnav, burning with humiliation, managed a stiff apology while the other parents glared triumphantly. The boy with the bruised eye sniffed dramatically beside them, overplaying his pain for effect, something Arnav noticed immediately but knew better than to mention.

Viren didn’t wait another second. He grabbed Arnav by the arm and marched him out, ignoring the principal's calls for a calmer resolution.

The second the school gates were behind them, Viren’s grip shifted from Arnav’s arm to his ear...harsh, cruel, unforgiving.

A sharp twist. A painful yank. Arnav winced hard, stumbling as Viren dragged him toward the car like a misbehaving dog. His ear burned, his eyes watered from the sting, but he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Viren hated tears even more than he hated trouble.

The drive home was silent but charged, the kind of silence that suffocates. Arnav sat rigid, ear throbbing, stomach sick with dread. He already knew this wasn’t the end.

It was Saturday. Primary school was closed. Which meant Maan and Anvi were home.

As soon as Viren entered the house, pulling Arnav behind him, the sound of Arnav’s restrained cries...soft, pained, involuntary, echoed through the hallway. Maan and Anvi, playing nearby, froze instantly. The moment they heard their brother's sharp, quick wince, they instinctively flinched. Fear rippled through them.

Viren released Arnav's ear with a sudden jerk, pushing him forward into the hall. Arnav stumbled before catching his balance. His ear was red and throbbing, humiliation pooling in his chest.

But even in pain, his first instinct was the two pairs of small eyes watching him from the staircase.

Anvi clutched Maan's hand, wide-eyed and trembling. Maan swallowed hard, already looking for a place to hide.

Arnav caught their gaze just for a second, enough to see fear settling in them and immediately shook his head lightly. Not at Viren, but at them.

“Go,” he whispered firmly. Not pleading, not angry, protective. “Go to your room. Now.”

They hesitated, both scared for him. But Arnav’s tone left no room to argue. He couldn’t let them see whatever was coming next. He couldn’t let them hear more than they already had.

Because Viren's anger wasn’t confusion or disappointment. It was something sharper. Something darker. Something Arnav didn’t want the younger ones to witness.

The moment Maan and Anvi’s small footsteps disappeared up the stairs, the air in the hall shifted. The house fell into a tense, ringing silence, the kind that comes right before something breaks.

Viren turned toward Arnav slowly, almost too calmly. And in that calm… Arnav’s stomach dropped.

Before he could brace himself, Viren’s hand whipped across his face.

CRACK.

The slap echoed against the walls...sharp, raw, brutal. Arnav's head snapped to the side, cheek exploding with heat, vision blurring for a second. His breath hitched, more in shock than pain, and he struggled to stay upright, hands fisting at his sides.

Viren didn’t give him a moment.

“Why the hell were you fighting like some goon in your school?!” he roared.

Another slap. Harder. So hard Arnav staggered back a step, the world spinning briefly. His ears rang, his eyes stung, but he forced himself not to fall. Falling would make it worse. Falling would make him look weak.

His cheek throbbed violently, a deep ache spreading across his jaw. But he kept his gaze down because meeting Viren's eyes would only provoke him more.

Viren towered over him, chest heaving, fury rolling off him in waves. Not a father asking for the truth. Not a man trying to understand. Just anger. Just shame. Just the obsession with reputation that he carried like poison in his blood.

“You want to ruin my name?” Viren spat, stepping closer. “Do you think people will say the other boy started it? No. They'll say Arnav Jaisingh behaved like a street thug!”

Arnav swallowed hard, throat tight, cheek burning. He wanted to speak, to tell him what really happened, how the boy had shoved him first, how the fight wasn’t about anger but about protecting a teammate but he knew better. Viren wasn’t asking. Viren had already decided.

Arnav simply stood there, fists trembling at his sides, doing everything in his power not to cry. A single tear would be a fresh invitation to more rage.

Outside the room, on the staircase landing, two small shadows lingered just out of sight, Maan clutching Anvi's hand, both trembling, listening to the sound of their brother being hit.

Viren's voice rose again, sharper, louder, cutting through Arnav's already throbbing skull. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to sit there and listen to the principal and those parents say all that about MY son?” His anger wasn’t disappointment, it was pure wounded ego. He didn’t care what Arnav had faced. He cared that he had been embarrassed.

Another slap cracked across Arnav's cheek before he could recover. His head snapped to the side, eyes burning as tears threatened to spill. Instinctively, desperately, he tried to explain

“Papa… uss ladke ne ”

but the moment his voice wavered, Viren’s palm collided with his face again, harder, silencing him mid-sentence.

“Do you think I care?” Viren thundered, stepping closer until Arnav could feel his breath on his skin. “Do you think it matters to me whether that boy started the fight or not?”

Arnav blinked rapidly, a helpless tremor running down his spine. His cheek stung, jaw numbed, but the worst part was the helplessness. There was no way to defend himself. No way to prove the truth. No one to listen.

Viren’s fingers clamped suddenly around Arnav’s ear, twisting brutally. Arnav gasped, stumbling forward as Viren jerked him again and again like a disobedient servant, not his own child.

“Listen to me carefully, Arnav,” he hissed, shaking him till Arnav's eyes watered. “You are a Jaisingh. Whatever you do reflects on me...on my name… on the way I raised you. So I don’t give a damn if that boy started it. I just know you were involved. That is enough.”

He released Arnav’s ear with a final, vicious jerk. Arnav straightened instinctively, hands shaking, breath uneven. His face burned; his ear felt aflame. But he stayed silent because experience had taught him that speaking made everything worse.

Viren wasn’t finished. His eyes narrowed, scanning Arnav from head to toe, disgust simmering beneath the surface.

“Aur school padhne jaate ho ya khelne?” he snapped. “Why were you playing in the first place, huh?”

Arnav didn’t answer. His throat worked, but no sound came out. What could he even say? That it was P.T. period? That everyone was playing? That it was normal?

None of it mattered. Not to Viren. Arnav knew it.

His silence, meant to protect himself, only stoked Viren’s fury further. Something snapped in the man, his expression shifted from loud anger to something quieter, darker, far more dangerous.

When Viren spoke next, his voice dropped into a calm, chilling tone that drained the blood from Arnav's face.

“Bahot garmi chadh gayi hai na tere sir pe…” he said slowly, deadly. “Rukk. Abhi nikalta hoon.”

He reached for his belt.

The metallic click of the buckle echoed in the hall like a death knell.

Arnav's heart lurched painfully...a sick, uneven pulse of dread punching through his chest. The room suddenly felt colder, smaller, the air thinner. He stood frozen, every muscle tightening on instinct, eyes fixed on the leather sliding out of the loops with a horrifying slither.

As Viren unbuckled the belt fully, Arnav's pulse hammered so loudly he could barely hear anything else.

Viren's voice dropped into that chilling calm that made Arnav's blood run cold. "Strip," he said, each word slow, deliberate, carrying the weight of absolute authority. Arnav froze, every nerve screaming, but before he could process, his chest heaving, he found the words spilling out in desperation. "Papa... I'm sorry... I won't do it again... please... Papa... I'm sorry!" His voice cracked into sobs, tears streaming down his face, but Viren didn't flinch.

The leather belt cracked harshly against Arnav's back, biting deep into his skin. He cried out, a raw, ragged sound that seemed to echo endlessly, but Viren's expression remained unmoved. "I said, strip!" Viren repeated, pressing each word like a blade.

When Arnav didn't respond fast enough, the belt lashed him again, sending fresh sparks of agony across his spine. He let out a desperate wail, "Ahhhh... Papa! I'm sorry! Please! I'm sorry!" yet it was met with another strike. And then another.

Arnav realized there was no escape, no mercy, no pause. Trembling, shaking, heart hammering, he obeyed, stripping down to just his shorts. He stood there, shivering violently from fear and pain, every nerve screaming, every inch of his skin on fire. Viren's gaze was merciless. "Go stand in the garden like this," he ordered.

Arnav froze.

Another brutal crack of the belt across his bare back sent him sprawling to the ground. The tears streamed freely now, mixing with sweat, salt burning his raw skin, but Viren didn't relent. He dragged him across the floor, ignoring the pleas, ignoring the agony, until he planted him in the garden, standing alone under the scorching sun.

"Now you will understand how humiliated I felt sitting there in your principal's office," Viren said, his voice low, cold, and utterly unyielding. Arnav stood there, sobbing bitterly, rubbing his body in a feeble attempt to soothe the welts and searing pain. The servants watched in silence, their faces grim, eyes filling with pity and horror. But unbeknownst to Arnav, a pair of eyes was observing everything from the mansion windows...wide, flinching, and trembling with every lash. Abhimanyu watched, each blow making him flinch, each sob tearing at his heart.

The punishment stretched, unbearable and cruel, until Viren finally disappeared into the study, leaving Arnav broken and trembling in the harsh sunlight. Maan, having heard every cry from his room, didn't hesitate for a second. He rushed out, fear and anger twisting his small frame, and barked at the nearest servant to call Sudha. Then, without waiting, he grabbed the phone and called Abhimanyu's house, voice trembling as he explained what was happening.

After what felt like an eternity, Abhimanyu arrived, and with him came his father, moving swiftly toward the house, ready to confront the horror unfolding in the garden.

Abhimanyu froze the moment he saw Arnav standing there, shivering, tears streaking down his bruised, sunburned face. His chest tightened, and for the first time in a long while, he felt completely helpless, the sight of Arnav in such pain tore at him in a way he couldn't contain. His eyes glistened, threatening to spill over, and he moved forward slowly, unsure how to break the cruelty he had just witnessed.

Behind him, his father, an IPS officer, stepped forward with a sharp, decisive gaze. He didn't waste words. Pulling out his phone, he took a few pictures of Arnav's injuries, the evidence stark and undeniable. Turning to Viren, he spoke with quiet authority laced with ice, if he ever dared to treat a child like that again, he would face charges for child abuse. His warning was clear...Viren's public image would be ruined, his business threatened, and any further cruelty would carry legal consequences. Viren, for all his pride and anger, stiffened, realizing that the rules had changed, and that his usual intimidation no longer held sway.

Sudha was still in the United States, due to arrive only after two days, so Abhimanyu and his father took immediate action. They gathered Arnav, Maan, and Anvi, whisking them away from the oppressive house and the shadow of Viren's wrath for a few days of safety and care.

Abhimanyu tended to Arnav like a mother would. He gently applied soothing cream to the bruises and welts, caressed his hair to lull him to sleep, and remained at his side for hours. Arnav ran a fever from the combination of the sun and the trauma of the punishment, but Abhimanyu never left him alone. Every sigh, every whimper, every tiny shiver was noticed, and met with careful, tender attention.

Abhimanyu's father also stepped in, providing the calm, protective presence of a father. He monitored Arnav's health, helped him rest, and reinforced the sense of security that had been completely absent in the house with Viren. Together, the two of them became Arnav's shield, his solace, his anchor in the storm.

Meanwhile, Maan, Anvi, and Keshav, Abhimanyu's younger brother, stuck close to each other, finding comfort in one another's presence. Keshav, in his own childish ways, would distract and calm the siblings, telling silly stories or making faces, lightening the heavy mood just enough. Abhimanyu made sure they were cared for too, attending to their needs alongside Arnav, his protective instinct stretched wide across all of them. In that small, temporary sanctuary, for the first time in days, the children felt what it meant to be safe, nurtured, and truly seen.

When Sudha returned two days later, the moment she saw Arnav, her heart shattered. Her sunshine, her boy, bruised, feverish, shivering...looked so small and fragile, and she could barely breathe from the pain of seeing him like that. The rage that had been simmering for days erupted instantly. She confronted Viren the moment she stepped into the house, her voice sharp, trembling, every word laced with anger and heartbreak. The conversation escalated quickly, the argument burning hotter and hotter until the very mention of divorce hung between them like a storm cloud, threatening to tear the family apart.

Viren, ever calculating, had two motives that kept him from giving in. Sudha wasn't just his wife, she was the backbone of Jaisingh Industries, the quiet, sharp, unstoppable force who had been running the company with wit and precision while he had indulged himself elsewhere. Losing her would mean losing control, losing power, and exposing his weakness to the world. Second, his public image, a carefully crafted façade of the perfect family man and powerful businessman, would crumble if divorce became public.

And so he begged. Not politely. Not apologetically. But with cunning, emotional manipulation honed over years. He twisted every word to make it seem like he was the victim, portraying himself as a man who "just couldn't control his anger." And then, the cruelest blow, he turned it toward Arnav.

The fifteen-year-old boy, exhausted, bruised, and terrified, suddenly carried the impossible weight of his parents' potential separation. Viren's words seeped into him like poison: "If you don't forgive me, your mother and I... we might be torn apart. You have to make her forgive me. It's because of you, Arnav."

Arnav, already fragile from the trauma, begged his mother to forgive Viren. His small shoulders bore a burden far too heavy for his age. He pleaded, cried, and reasoned with her, convincing her to let Viren go, the boy who should have been protected had instead been made the protector, the negotiator, the bridge between his parents' chaos.

And just like always, once Sudha relented, Viren disappeared. The storm passed in the house, but only in his absence. He didn't call. He didn't check in. He didn't ask if Arnav was healed, if Sudha had recovered from the fight, if the children were safe. He vanished into the shadows for months, leaving behind the echoes of his anger, the imprint of fear on a child's body, and the endless aftermath of his emotional manipulation.

Maan's spiraling thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he felt a gentle tug at his arms. He looked down to see Aarush standing there, his big innocent eyes fixed on him, full of concern that only a child could carry. "Bhaiya... aap ro rahe ho?" the little boy asked softly, his voice trembling just slightly with worry.

Maan blinked, startled, and only then realized that tears were slipping down his own cheeks. The memories, the fear, the helplessness, it all came rushing back in an instant. Hastily, he wiped them away, forcing his voice into a steadier tone than he felt.

"Mai... bhaiya nahi hoon... tumhara,"

___________________________________________

Thanks for reading, lovelies! 💛

1. How was the chapter?
Tell me everything...the emotions, your favourite moment, anything that stayed with you!

2. What are your thoughts on the flashback?
Did it land the way it was meant to? Did little Jaisinghs and Rathore's make your heart squeeze?

3. One word for Viren?
I know you all have some strong ones. 👀🔥

4. What do you think was happening at the end?
Why do you think Maan suddenly snapped at Aarush?

5. And what do you feel for Arnav after this chapter?
I’m ready for all your protective rants.

Now, the important part!
I have two paths for the story, and I want you to choose:

✨ Option A:
Viren stays actively involved...more drama, more complications, more emotional chaos.

✨ Option B:
We move forward with the five siblings holding each other together, focusing on healing and growth.
(And don’t worry, even in Option B, Viren will have a few flashbacks and small moments of interference… just no big tracks around him.)

So tell me…
Do you want more Viren-heavy storyline, or a sibling focused arc with only small Viren moments?

Can’t wait to hear your opinions! 💛📚