Chapter:  His Dada

Flashback continued

(Ages:Arnav-17, Abhimanyu-19).

Morning came quietly, the soft light slipping through the curtains and falling across the still forms of the two brothers. Arnav stirred first, blinking against the faint ache in his body, the ache of last night’s tears, and of the cane marks that still burned faintly against his legs. For a moment, his heart almost believed the peace could last, the warmth of Abhimanyu’s arms still lingered in his mind like a safety he never wanted to lose.

But peace, for Arnav, never stayed long.

Because Abhimanyu remembered. He had heard everything Arnav had choked out between sobs the night before, about Maan, about Anvi, about the cruel words he thought they’d said. And Abhimanyu knew them, knew those kids too well. He’d seen them grow, seen their hearts, their bond with Arnav. He knew they’d never say such venom unless something was deeply misunderstood.

So as soon as breakfast ended, Abhimanyu’s voice, calm but cold beneath its softness, broke the silence.
“Arni, aaj ghar pe rehna. Humein baat karni hai.”

Arnav’s stomach sank instantly.

Within an hour, Anvi and Maan came bounding down the stairs, chatting animatedly about their favourite daily soap. The moment Abhimanyu prompted them gently “Kal raat tum log kiske baare mai baat kr rhe the...Saying manhoos and all?” both of them began their dramatic bashing of the character from the show.

And just like that… the entire picture fell into place.

They hadn’t been talking about Arnav at all.

Abhimanyu’s eyes slowly turned toward Arnav, the disbelief giving way to a quiet, contained fury that made the air go still.

Arnav’s face went pale, blood draining out of it completely. His heart dropped to his stomach. The realisation, the crushing, stupid weight of his misunderstanding, hit him like a blow.

His throat felt dry as dust. He didn’t even dare to meet Abhimanyu’s eyes now, because he could feel the fury burning behind them, cold and sharp and restrained only by love.

When Maan and Anvi left for school, the house fell into a silence so thick that it made Arnav’s pulse thunder in his ears. He stayed seated, unmoving, praying Abhimanyu might let it go. But then

“Arnav,” came Abhimanyu’s voice from down the hall, calm and low. “Mere room mein aao.”

Every muscle in Arnav’s body froze.

He swallowed hard, his fingers trembling slightly as he pushed himself up. Each step he took toward that door felt heavier than the last, like walking toward his own verdict. The faint sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears louder than the ticking clock.

When he reached the doorway, his eyes immediately fell on Abhimanyu.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed slightly but his entire posture radiated authority, restraint, and disappointment. On the bed beside him lay a single wooden ruler.

The sight made Arnav’s stomach twist violently.

He didn’t need words. The message was already written in the silence, in the air thick with consequence.

He stood frozen in the doorway, guilt clouding his chest like smoke. His fingers curled into fists by his sides as the memory of last night’s caning flashed in his mind, the sharp sting, the shame, the tears.

And now… this.

He was doomed, and he knew it.

Every stupid decision of last night replayed in his head, every word he’d said, every panic-driven assumption, every ounce of pain he’d caused. His breath hitched slightly as he lowered his eyes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Mannu…”

But the words died in his throat.

Abhimanyu finally lifted his gaze, calm, unblinking, a storm hidden beneath the surface.

“Close the door, Arnav.”

The tone wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.

It was the kind of quiet that made your heart stop beating for a second, the kind that told you you’d gone too far, and that love sometimes hurt because it had to

The weight of his own stupidity pressed on Arnav like a boulder. He stood in front of Abhimanyu, every heartbeat echoing in his ears. The air in the room was heavy....silent, suffocating.

Abhimanyu didn’t say a word. He just looked at him. That quiet, unreadable stare that said more than any shouting ever could.

Arnav’s eyes flickered nervously from the wooden ruler lying on the bed to Abhimanyu’s face, and then back again. His throat felt dry. His fingers fidgeted restlessly with the hem of his T-shirt as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his head slightly bowed, like a child waiting for judgment.

The silence stretched painfully.

Abhimanyu still said nothing. His eyes remained locked on Arnav, sharp, unwavering, making Arnav’s stomach twist harder with guilt.

Finally, Arnav couldn’t take it anymore. His voice came out small, shaky. “Mannu… sorry, Mannu… really sorry…” he blurted out, looking between the ruler and Abhimanyu’s eyes. “Galti ho gayi… I know I was very stupid… I’m really sorry.”

He looked up hesitantly, guilt clouding his tear filled eyes. His voice cracked as he added, almost pleading, “Really sorry, Mannu.”

He raised both hands and held his ears, the old childlike gesture of apology but the sight of it only made the shame burn deeper. He lowered his head again, unable to meet Abhimanyu’s eyes anymore.

Abhimanyu exhaled heavily, the sound rough in the tense air. He rubbed a hand down his face furiously, not out of anger at Arnav, but at the entire mess of emotions twisting inside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, steady, but laced with exhaustion.

“Start,” he said quietly. “Aur bata… kya lagta hai tujhe, tu ne kya galat kiya?”

Arnav blinked up, swallowing hard. He knew this tone. He knew the drill.
Abhimanyu always made him say it, to understand his mistake before the consequences came.

His fingers curled tighter into his shirt as he whispered, nervously, “I… I was being stupid.”

Abhimanyu hummed lowly in response, the sound unreadable. “Aage,” he said simply.

Arnav’s chest rose and fell unevenly. For a few seconds, he said nothing, just stared at the floor, fighting the tremor in his voice. But then, the words began to spill out...halting at first, then heavier, faster, as if everything he’d buried for months was finally cracking open.

“I… I worked too much,” he whispered. “Way more than I could handle… I didn’t stop." He looked up at abhimnayu once but his face was unreadable but fury in his eyes made arnav look away immediately,"I didn’t sleep properly, didn’t eat properly… I just kept pushing myself.”

His voice broke a little as he added, “I thought if I worked harder, maybe I’d feel enough… maybe I’d stop being a burden.”

Abhimanyu didn’t speak. He just sat there, his hands loosely clasped, eyes on Arnav, the kind of silence that felt heavier than any scolding.

“I didn’t take care of myself,” Arnav continued, his throat tightening. “I let my body crash. I made everyone worry. I… I was stupid, I know.”

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, but the tears didn’t stop.

“I pushed everyone away,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Even Maan and Chutki.... I didn’t want them to see me weak. I shouted at them, ignored them. I didn’t even pick up calls. I thought… if I stayed alone, maybe I could fix myself. But I just kept breaking more.”

Abhimanyu’s fingers twitched...a small, restrained motion but he still said nothing.

Arnav glanced up, guilt pouring out of his eyes. “I...I talked so rudely to you...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry.”

He paused, breath catching painfully. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I tr...tried t...to harm myself.”

Abhimanyu’s jaw tightened slightly, but his gaze didn’t waver.

Arnav’s voice cracked completely now, words spilling out between quiet sobs. “I don’t know what got into me. I was angry....Lost....I felt like I was drowning. I thought… Agar mai chala. Gya toh sb thik ho jayega.”

His body trembled, and he bit down on his lip, trying to steady himself. “I… I had those thoughts. I wanted to end it. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was so tired…”

Abhimanyu’s throat tightened painfully, but he stayed silent, his gaze softening, though the storm behind his eyes said everything his words didn’t.

Arnav continued, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, voice barely above a whisper now. “And you… you still came after me. Even when I screamed at you. Even when I insulted you. You didn’t stop. You held me even when I didn’t deserve it.”

His voice broke again, raw and trembling. “I'm sorry dada I'm so sorry...I didn't mean it i really didn't mean it dada I'm sorry.”

For as long as Arnav could remember, Abhimanyu had been his anchor.
Mannu when Arnav teased him, poked him, clung to him like a shadow
but dada in every corner of his heart, in every instinct that reached for safety.

He had always looked up to Abhimanyu with a quiet, unshakable reverence. The man who scolded him, protected him, fought the world for him… the man Arnav trusted more than he trusted himself.

And today, knowing he had raised his voice at that very man, spoken words heavy with hurt, felt like something inside him cracked. A guilt so sharp it scraped against his ribs.
Hurting Abhimanyu wasn’t just a mistake… it felt like he had bruised the only place he called home.

His heart wasn’t just breaking.
It was collapsing under the weight of having wounded his dada.

The tears came harder now, his words dissolving into choked sobs. “I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”

Abhimanyu finally let out a long breath, eyes closing for a moment as if steadying the ache in his chest. Then, quietly, he said

“Bas, Arni…”

Arnav’s shoulders shook as he cried harder, covering his face with both hands.

Abhimanyu reached forward, his voice barely above a whisper, “Shii baccha...Come here.”

And before Arnav could think, Abhimanyu pulled him closer...a firm, wordless hug that said everything he couldn’t.

Arnav clung to him like a drowning man finding shore, sobbing into his shoulder, whispering broken apologies that were swallowed by Abhimanyu’s silence.

Abhimanyu’s arms tightened around Arnav as he sobbed helplessly into his chest. He could feel the tremors racking through the younger boy’s body, every hiccup, every broken apology muffled against his shirt.

“Bas, Arni…” Abhimanyu whispered softly, rubbing slow circles on his back. “I’m not angry, baccha… I’m not angry.”

His voice was low, firm, yet soothing, like he was trying to anchor Arnav back to calm.

“I know you made a stupid mistake,” he murmured, kissing the side of Arnav’s head lightly. “But I won’t leave you for that, samjha? I’m right here… always.”

Arnav only shook his head weakly, clutching tighter at Abhimanyu’s shirt, broken words slipping out between sobs “Sorry, Dada… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to...”

Abhimanyu’s heart twisted painfully, but he kept coaxing him softly, running his palm over Arnav’s hair. “Shhh… bas, Arni… stop apologising, baccha… shhh…” he whispered, his tone all warmth and patience.

But Arnav didn’t stop. His words kept tumbling out, each one soaked in guilt. “I shouldn’t have said those things… shouldn’t have pushed you....”

Abhimanyu tightened his hold around Arnav, rubbing his back gently as the younger one kept crying into his chest. His own heart ached seeing Arnav like that, trembling, guilt-ridden, breaking apart in front of him. He pressed his lips to the top of Arnav’s head and whispered softly, “Bas, Arni… I’m not angry, baccha… I’m not angry. I know you made a stupid mistake, but I won’t ever leave you for that. Stop crying, hmm?”

His hand kept tracing small circles over Arnav’s back, the rhythm steady and grounding. “Shhh… stop apologising, Arni. It’s over, baccha, bas…”

Abhimanyu’s patience cracked, not out of anger but worry. He pulled back slightly, cupping Arnav’s face firmly, his voice turning stern.

“Arnav. Stop it. Right now.”

Arnav froze, startled by the sudden change in tone.

Abhimanyu looked him straight in the eye, his voice low but commanding. “You’ll fall sick crying like that. Bas karo.”

He gently wiped Arnav’s cheeks with his thumbs, brushing away the stubborn tears still falling. “Enough now. No more tears.”

Arnav nodded weakly, sniffling, trying to steady his breath as Abhimanyu broke the hug and reached for the jug.

He poured a glass of water, handed it to Arnav, and said quietly, “Paani pi le.”

Arnav took it with trembling fingers, sipped slowly, still hiccupping between gulps. Abhimanyu waited until he finished, then took the glass from his hand and placed it aside.

“Sit,” he said softly but firmly, patting the space beside him.

Arnav obeyed immediately, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed...head lowered, eyes still red and swollen.

Abhimanyu sighed, rubbing his forehead before looking at him again. His tone softened again, calm and guiding.

“Now listen to me carefully,” he began, “you know what you did wrong… but you need to understand why it was wrong.”

He paused, making sure Arnav was listening, before continuing gently, “Hurting yourself isn’t strength, Arni. Pushing people who love you away isn’t bravery. And thinking ending everything will make the pain go away...that’s not escape, that’s surrender.”

Abhimanyu exhaled deeply, voice lowering to a whisper. “You can fall, you can break, but not like this… not by turning against yourself.”

“Arni, I know it’s very difficult for you right now… I know,” he murmured, brushing the tears away with his thumb. “But please, Arni, don’t push us away. Hum sab hain tere saath...main, Pari, Maan, Anvi… sab, baccha. Don’t push us away from you.”

He paused, the tremor in his own voice betraying his struggle. “Jo chala gaya uske liye hum kuch nahi kar sakte, baccha…” he whispered, eyes glistening. “Lekin jo hai, uske saath dobara jeena toh seekh rahe hain na?”

His eyes searched Arnav’s, pleading for understanding. Arnav looked up, watery eyed, and nodded faintly.

Abhimanyu took a deep breath and continued, more steadily now. “Arni, I know you’re hurting… but you can’t do that. You can’t ever do that again. Samjha?”

He exhaled deeply, controlling the ache in his throat, then moved closer, kneeling down in front of Arnav, taking his trembling hands in both of his. “I promised Maa, Arni… I promised her I’d take care of you. And I won’t let that promise break. I won’t let you break it either.”

His voice grew firmer, eyes locked with Arnav’s. “You won’t repeat this ever again. You won’t. Because your life isn’t just yours anymore, samjha? Teri zindagi sirf teri nahi hai. Mera bhi haq hai tujhpe.” His voice broke slightly as he went on. “Maan ka, Anvi ka, Pari ka… hum sab ka haq hai tere upar, Arni. You can’t do that to yourself… or to us.”

Tears streamed silently down Arnav’s face as he nodded, whispering, “M..main kabhi nahi karunga, Dada… pakka promise.” He touched his throat with trembling fingers, then held his ears. “I’m really sorry Dada… really sorry… main kabhi dobara aisa nahi karunga.”

Abhimanyu swallowed hard, blinking away his own tears. “I’ll make sure of it,” he said softly, standing up. He sat on the bed again and motioned for Arnav to stand before him.

“So tell me,” he said, tilting his head slightly, a hint of discipline returning to his tone, “what do you think should be the consequence of the stunt you pulled?”

Arnav sniffed, looking at him through tear rimmed lashes. “I think… you should just give me a warning and leave me this time,” he said in a tiny, hopeful voice, eyes wide like a puppy.

And just like that, again Arnav slipped from “Dada” back to “Mannu” in the way he spoke, in the way he looked up at him with those trembling lashes.
The shift was so familiar, so instinctive, that Abhimanyu felt something helplessly soft stir in his chest. His personal brat, the one only he ever handled, ever understood, had resurfaced.

For a moment, Abhimanyu wasn’t the stern dada anymore. He was Arnav’s mannu again, the one this boy cried to, clung to, manipulated with those wide, pleading eyes.

And though he kept his face disciplined, Abhimanyu felt that dangerous warmth spread through him… the kind only Arnav could spark.

Abhimanyu raised an eyebrow, trying hard not to smile. “Acha?”

Arnav nodded quickly. “Ji… first and last mistake, I swear. Warning de do bas.”

But Abhimanyu ignored it completely and began calmly, “Essay. Ten pages. Every Sunday for the next three months. Topic: What you did for your friends and family, everything mentioned properly. And then you’ll conclude with what you mean to us, how important you are in our lives.”

Arnav nodded miserably. He knew he deserved it. But before he could breathe in relief thinking that was it, Abhimanyu added, “And for your overthinking....for the next month, you’ll go with Dad for yoga.”

Arnav’s eyes widened in horror. “Mannu… Mannu please, yaar! Baba subah 4 baje jaate hain! Please Mannu, koi aur punishment de de ye nhi”

Abhimanyu’s tone didn’t waver. “Two months.”

Arnav’s mouth fell open. “Nahi Mannu please, baba bahut strict hai yoga aur gym vagera ke liye!”

“Three months,” Abhimanyu said flatly.

Arnav gasped. “Mannu please yaar! Tu sit ups karwa le, essay likhwa le, kneel karwa le, but not this!”

“Five months.”

Arnav fell silent instantly, pouting like a sulking child, arms crossed. Abhimanyu’s lips twitched, a tiny smile threatening to escape but he schooled his face back into composure.

“And the last punishment,” Abhimanyu said finally.

Arnav’s head shot up, horrified. “Abhi aur bhi hai?!” he whined.

Abhimanyu nodded once. “Come here.”

Arnav gulped, hesitating. The memory of last night’s pain flickered, and his eyes welled up again. “Mannu… please,” he whispered, voice shaking.

The instant Abhimanyu saw the fear, his heart twisted. He stood up quickly, not to scold, but to pull Arnav into his arms. “Arni, I’m not going to hurt you, baccha,” he said softly, pressing a long kiss to the side of his head. “I’m so sorry, baccha… I’m so, so sorry.”

Arnav relaxed slowly in his hold, the tension easing. Abhimanyu broke the hug and sat down again, making Arnav stand between his knees.

“And your last punishment,” he said quietly, his tone softer now, “Is that....whenever you feel emotions that are too heavy for you to handle, whether sad or happy, you’ll come to me. You’ll hug me. Samjha?”

He smiled faintly. “Tujhe baat karni hai toh kar… nahi karni tab bhi koi baat nahi… But you have to come and hug me.”

That earned the faintest, trembling smile from Arnav....the first in days. Abhimanyu’s heart ached at the sight, but in a good way.

“And if you fail to do that,” Abhimanyu added, feigning seriousness, “I’ll drill sense into you again, just like yesterday.”

Arnav instantly shook his head. “Nahi, nahi! I’ll come to you always!” he said quickly and hugged Abhimanyu fiercely, clutching him like a lifeline.

A tiny laugh escaped Abhimanyu’s lips as he wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. “That’s more like my Arni,” he whispered.

Arnav buried his face into Abhimanyu’s chest, voice muffled but full of warmth. “I’m really sorry, Dada…”

The word slipped out so softly it almost drowned in his sobs...yet it hit Abhimanyu like a storm breaking through silence. For a second, everything inside him froze. His heartbeat, his breath, his thoughts...everything stilled around that one word.

Dada.

It wasn’t just a name. It was a memory, a lifetime, a promise.

Abhimanyu could still see the little boy Arnav had once been—messy curls bouncing as he ran, teary eyes blinking up at him with stubborn defiance, tiny lips refusing to say anything but “Mannu.” He remembered Sudha’s patient smile as she tried to correct him, gently reminding, “He’s older than you, beta. Call him Dada.” And how that small boy had only pressed closer to her saree, mumbling his protest, clutching the name “Mannu” like it was a piece of sunlight.

That had been Arnav—his own stubborn universe of warmth, the child who gave nicknames like gifts and loved fearlessly without knowing he was doing it. The only one who ever called him Mannu. And for years, that word had been enough.

But now, after everything that had unfolded between them, after the silence that had stretched too long, after the pushing away, the distance, the ache, Dada returned. Not playful, not teasing, not thrown carelessly into the air. It came trembling, cracked open by pain, soaked in everything Arnav couldn’t hold inside anymore.

Arnav used “Dada” whenever he wanted to feel like he truly belonged, whenever he wanted Abhimanyu to be his in that quiet, instinctive way only the heart understands. It was the word he leaned on when he needed to be held close, when he needed the warmth that only Abhimanyu could give, when he needed someone who wouldn’t walk away. Blood had never mattered to him; what mattered was the connection that lived between them, the kind that wrapped around his fears and made him feel safe. And for Arnav, “Dada” carried all of that, his need for closeness, his trust, his longing to keep Abhimanyu by his side. It was his way of saying that brothers aren’t born, they’re chosen, and he had chosen Abhimanyu with his whole heart.

It carried everything Arnav couldn’t say, the grief, the exhaustion, the silent plea to be held. And Abhimanyu felt something inside him crumble.

His arms instinctively tightened around his brother, pulling him closer, as if by holding him hard enough he could erase every trace of hurt the boy had ever felt. His throat burned, eyes stung, but he didn’t move. He just held him.

In that moment, it wasn’t about guilt or punishment or lessons. It was about two souls...one shattered, one bleeding...finding their way back to each other.

For years, “Mannu” had meant laughter and safety.
But “Dada”…
“Dada” meant surrender.
It meant trust.
It meant that little boy had come home again.

Abhimanyu’s chest ached as warmth replaced the cold that had settled there for days. The tears that fell weren’t sharp anymore, they carried peace, like a storm finally quieting.

He pressed a trembling kiss to Arnav’s head, feeling the rhythm of his breathing slowly even out. The world outside didn’t matter...not the guilt, not the fear, not the memories.

In that quiet, with his brother in his arms and that one word still echoing softly in his heart, Abhimanyu finally felt it, the winter had ended. And something gentle, something alive, was blooming again.

After the storm, Abhimanyu’s guilt never roared… it softened. It settled quietly in the corners of his chest, pushing him toward Arnav with a tenderness that felt almost instinctive. Discipline had never shaken him, but the thought of the pain he had caused lingered like a bruise on his own heart, a constant reminder that love, too, could hurt.

So he showed up. Every morning, without fail, the door of the Jaisingh mansion opened to his familiar footsteps. Sometimes he came before the house had even fully woken, carrying the smell of Arnav’s favourite breakfast, carefully packed, warm, prepared by his own hands because nothing else felt enough. The plate always arrived with a silent apology stitched between the folds of comfort.

His gestures became a ritual. The moment he saw Arnav, his hands automatically reached out...gentle, almost reverent, checking the fading marks with a care that spoke more than any words ever could. His fingers swept ointment slowly over the skin, moving with a quiet patience born from guilt and love, as though each stroke was his way of erasing the hurt he had caused. He never rushed. Not once. Every touch was steady, grounding, protective… a silent vow to never let Arnav feel alone in his pain again.

By evening, he would bring something small....chocolates, ice creams, little things that made Arnav glow even for a second. The way Arnav’s lips curved into soft, shy smiles had become Abhimanyu’s favourite sight, something he tucked quietly into his heart before heading back to his own house. And in those small smiles, Arnav found comfort, the reassurance that Abhimanyu wasn’t just showing up out of guilt… he was showing up out of love.

Nights were the softest. Abhimanyu would sit beside him, fingers carding gently through Arnav’s hair with a rhythmic affection that untangled the knots in his mind more than the ones in his curls. He stayed until Arnav’s breaths evened out, until the tension in his shoulders melted, until he could feel the safety settle back into the boy he had hurt. Sometimes Arnav drifted off mid smile, cocooned in a warmth only Abhimanyu could give, anchored by the steady presence sitting at the edge of his bed.

He always left late, slipping out only after making sure Arnav was tucked in, peaceful, protected. Even then, he carried the boy’s warmth on his palms, refusing to look back because leaving him, even sleeping, felt wrong. But he returned every dawn as though the night had never passed.

And Arnav… he bloomed quietly beneath all of this. Every ointment stroke felt like forgiveness. Every breakfast felt like someone choosing him. Every chocolate, every ice cream, every soft head-pat whispered a truth he had longed for all his life, that he mattered to someone deeply, fiercely, unconditionally. In Abhimanyu’s silent care, he found the anchor he never knew he needed. A place to rest his worries. A pair of hands that healed without asking anything back. A presence that felt like home… even without saying a single word.

Their bond didn’t need apologies or explanations...it simply deepened, layer by layer, carved softly into the everyday moments where love slipped in quietly, disguised as care.

A brother by choice.
A protector by heart.
And to Arnav, a home he had finally found.

Arnav’s thoughts came to a halt when he heard a sharp, painful wince, the sound slicing through the room before he could even breathe. His body went rigid, the easy warmth from moments ago draining out of him as he turned… and froze. The scene in front of him knocked the air from his lungs, his heartbeat stumbling into a panicked rhythm as dread, confusion, and instinct collided all at once. The calm was gone, something had shifted, something he hadn’t expected and Arnav could only stare, rooted to the spot, unable to process anything except the sudden heaviness settling in his chest.

___________________________________________

Thanks for reading, loves. ❤

Before you slip away, here are a few questions straight from my heart to yours, I’d love to know what you felt while reading this chapter:

1. Did this scene hit you the way it hit me while writing?
Did that one soft “Dada” squeeze your heart too, or was it just me collapsing emotionally?

2. Did it feel like something was breaking and healing at the same time?

3. If you had to describe the moment in one word...surrender, love, ache, homecoming, or something else, what would you choose?

4. Which line or moment made you pause for a second?

5. Would you like a small flashback of Arnav and Abhimanyu’s first meeting, the moment little Arnav decided this stranger would one day become “Mannu”?

6. How did Abhimanyu’s gentleness after the punishment make you feel?
Did it soften the whole scene for you?

7. Did it touch your heart that Abhimanyu stayed right beside him, refusing to walk away even for a moment?

8. Did the contrast strike you....Viren leaving Arnav alone in hurt vs. Abhimanyu staying, steady and tender, making sure he felt safe?

9. And most importantly:
Did this scene help you understand why “Dada” feels like home for Arnav?

10. What do you think pulled Arnav out of his memory so suddenly?
Whose tiny wince did he hear… and what do you think is happening in the room now?

This chapter was all heart, not the loud, dramatic kind, but the quiet, steady kind that catches you when everything else falls apart. Writing Abhimanyu staying beside Arnav, soothing him, holding him with such warmth… it reminded me how love can be soft even in the hardest moments.
If this scene made you breathe a little slower, if it warmed something small inside you, then I’m grateful you felt it with me. Their bond is gentle, healing, and so deeply human and I’m happy you’re walking through it with them.

A Small Honest Request

Before you go, I want to share something sincerely.
Your comments mean more than you think, they’re the little sparks that keep me excited to write the next part. When the comment section feels quiet, it sometimes makes me wonder if the story isn’t reaching you… and yes, it does make me feel like ending the book suddenly.

I don’t want to do that.
I want to keep bringing you these emotions, this depth, this love but I need to feel you here with me.

It takes just a few seconds to write a line, even a simple “I’m here” or “This touched me.”

Those tiny words mean the world to me.
So if this chapter made you feel anything at all, please leave a comment.
Your words truly motivate me to keep going.