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Chand was currently flinging her toys at Abhimanyu's face. Apparently, this was her unique way of "showing" them to him.

"And last but not least! This is Aman!" With a triumphant cry, she launched her toy bunny in Abhimanyu's direction. He, in turn, tried his best to maintain his composure, but the six-year-old was persistently testing his patience. Each toy, Chand had meticulously named after characters played by Shah Rukh Khan in his movies.

"Enough, brat! Stop throwing your toys at me!" Abhimanyu hissed through gritted teeth. In response, Chand stuck her tongue out in a childish display of defiance.

Chand's smug reply crackled with an opposing tone. "This is my room, so I do what I want!" she declared, puffing out her chest like a tiny warrior queen.

Abhimanyu, ever the playful tease, couldn't resist a jab. "A six-year-old with her own room? Now that's a story I'd love to hear," he chuckled. "Pretty sure this belongs to your grandma, right?"

Chand's cheeks puffed even further, a sign of impending meltdown. But before the full force of her frustration could erupt, she retaliated in her usual way – a flurry of airborne toys. This time, though, Abhimanyu was ready. With surprising agility for someone sprawled on the floor, he swatted and dodged each projectile with practiced ease. A smirk played on his lips as he deflected the final plush missile – a rather sad-looking sock monkey named "Rahul".

Their playful banter took a pause as the bedroom door swung open with a bang. Krish, stood in the doorway.

"Oi! Lunchtime, you two!" he announced in a monotone that somehow managed to convey both authority and a hint of exasperation.

Chand, momentarily distracted, raised an eyebrow at him, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. A sly grin spread across her face. "Lunch, huh? I'm taking the biggest plate!" she declared, already launching herself off the bed in a flurry of pink fabric. With a final giggle that echoed down the hallway, she disappeared, leaving Abhimanyu and Krish momentarily speechless in her wake.

Abhimanyu watched Chand's retreating form with a faint smile. "Weird kid," he murmured, the fondness in his voice betraying his playful teasing. Krish, however, remained silent.

Sensing the shift, Abhimanyu turned, he met Krish's curious stare pointed directly at his jawline. A flicker of surprise crossed Abhimanyu's face. The beard he usually sported did a good job of concealing the jagged scar that ran there, a permanent souvenir from a childhood tumble. He hadn't expected Krish, with his usual stoicism, to be so observant.

"Why do you have that scar, old man?" Krish blurted out, shattering the comfortable silence.

"Got hurt when I was your age, left a permanent scar," Abhimanyu said, his voice laced with a hidden pain.

It wasn't the whole truth. He'd been hurt at fourteen, pushed by his father so forcefully that a sharp table edge tore against his lips.  He remembered it clearly because it was his birthday.

He also recalled washing his bloodied clothes afterward, a punishment for staining the expensive marble floor with his blood. It had been a nightmare, a true hell. He could still hear his mother's cries echoing in his ears, begging his father to relent, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

"What's your name, kid?" Abhimanyu asked gently.

"Krish," the young boy replied.

At thirteen, Krish was one of the older children at the orphanage. Responsible and dependable, he always listened to the caregivers – Roop Didi, Sakhee Didi, and Naani-maa. He took charge of the younger kids, looking after them with a maturity that belied his age. Unlike the infants brought to the orphanage, Krish, abandoned at eight, still held vivid memories of his parents. The raw, unhealed scar of being an orphan had brought a kind of premature wisdom.

"Krish, huh," Abhimanyu muttered. It was clear – Abhimanyu wasn't exactly a natural with kids. Still, here he was, trying. But why? The question hung heavy in the air, even to him.

They reached the dining room to find everyone already seated. Abhimanyu and Krish took the only empty spots, the awkwardness thick enough to cut with a knife. Rishabh shot Abhimanyu a continuous glare, and some of the younger children remained huddled together, wary of the newcomer. Roop, caught in a dilemma, barely spoke. Abhimanyu's rescue of Chand had earned him some points, but Roop, ever cautious, remained skeptical of men, even seemingly good ones.

Only two people seemed genuinely happy about Abhimanyu's presence: Chand, of course, and Sushila Devi. Krish, on the other hand, had been nonchalant from the beginning. Sensing the tension, Sushila Devi cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should all introduce ourselves to our new guest," she suggested.

The tension in the room was palpable.  Everyone's eyes darted to Sushila Devi, but no one dared to break the ice.  Undeterred, she smiled and began, "Well then, why don't I start? My name is Sushila Devi, but the children here call me 'Naani-maa.'"

Her warm smile did little to melt the frost. "Rishabh," she prompted gently, turning to the young man, "since you're the second eldest here after me, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Rishabh scowled, clearly reluctant, but mumbled a response loud enough for Abhimanyu to hear. "Sub-inspector Rishabh Gupta," he grumbled.  Abhimanyu couldn't help but smirk – a spark of defiance in the otherwise suffocating atmosphere.

"Just a sub-inspector? I thought you were some big shot, little Gupta," Abhimanyu teased. It did hit Rishabh's nerve.

"Watch out! I can still throw you in jail for trespassing on this property and threatening the residents, which you did the other day," Rishabh threatened.

Abhimanyu chuckled as he raised his hands defensively. "Oops! I'm scared," Abhimanyu joked. He was definitely enjoying the reaction he was getting out of Rishabh. That was until someone slammed their hands on the table loudly, grabbing everyone's attention.

"The name's Roop Kashyap," Roop introduced herself once she realized she had everyone's attention, including Abhimanyu's.

"Feisty as always, foolish woman," Abhimanyu muttered, a frown creasing his brow as he waited for a retort that never came.

One by one, the others introduced themselves. Sakhee went first, followed by Meena, Krish, Sunaina, Rimjhim, Jeet, Jai, and Sahil. By the end, Abhimanyu's mind was already a jumble of unfamiliar names. Frankly, he wasn't too concerned with memorizing them all.

A small voice, barely a whisper, broke the silence. "Wh-what is your name?" Rimjhim, a young girl with trembling lips, finally dared to ask.

"Abhimanyu," he replied simply, the amusement fading from his voice.

Chand puffed out her chest with pride. "His full name is Abhimanyu Raichand! I saw it on his ID card yesterday."

Abhimanyu's jaw clenched. "Quiet, brat," he snapped. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face as he turned to the others. "Just Abhimanyu. No need for the last name."

Roop watched him intently, her brow furrowed in curiosity. What could be the reason behind his aversion to his surname?

The room fell silent once more. While Abhimanyu's words had sparked curiosity, fear and a sense of propriety kept most of the children quiet. After all, he was just a temporary visitor, and they likely wouldn't see him again after this.

When lunch ended, Chand, with her usual boundless energy, grabbed Abhimanyu's arm and dragged him outside where the other children were playing football. It wasn't exactly Abhimanyu's idea of fun, but Chand, as always, was a force of nature, impervious to anyone's objections.

"We have to play football with them!" Chand declared, bouncing with excitement.

Abhimanyu raised an eyebrow. "Playing with you lot wouldn't be much of a challenge, brat," he said with a hint of amusement. "Think I'll just watch from here."

"Aw, come on! I just know you're scared of losing!" Chand teased, but Abhimanyu remained unfazed. "Yeah, no," he mumbled, waving Chand off dismissively. "Go on ahead. I'm good here."

Chand rolled her eyes playfully and darted off to join the football game, leaving Abhimanyu alone. He sought refuge under the shade of a sprawling tree, his gaze drifting towards the laughing children. Pushing away the past was a constant struggle. Memories, like unwelcome visitors, had a way of slipping through the cracks. He recalled countless days spent watching neighborhood kids play from his opulent prison, a gilded cage built by his father's ambition. Frivolous pursuits like childhood games were deemed a waste of time in his father's eyes. Abhimanyu was not meant for scraped knees and carefree laughter; he was destined to become a machine, a cog in the relentless pursuit of family legacy.

The sudden sting of a football on his ankle jolted Abhimanyu from his melancholic reverie. He glanced down to see the ball at his feet, then up to meet the wide, fearful eyes of Sahil, the second youngest child. Confusion etched itself on Abhimanyu's face. Hadn't he spent enough time with them by now?

Sahil hesitantly reached out, retrieved the ball, and scurried away without a backward glance. Abhimanyu watched him go, a wry chuckle escaping his lips.  He shook his head in bemusement. "I wonder," he muttered to himself.

A voice startled him. Roop stood beside him, her gaze fixed on the retreating figure of Sahil. "It's your appearance, lazy man," she said bluntly. "You look...intimidating, like a thug."

Abhimanyu rose to his feet, a sardonic reply forming on his lips. "Here comes the ever-helpful advice on my appearance from a Foolish woman," he said, his voice laced with a bitterness he couldn't quite hide.

He couldn't help but steal a glance at Roop. There was an undeniable grace to her, a stark contrast to the women of his past. An unfamiliar feeling washed over him – a sense of inadequacy in the face of her quiet self-possession. This wasn't dominance, not in the way he was accustomed to. It was a quiet strength born of self-respect and unwavering confidence. Roop was a rare breed, a woman who understood her own worth.

"Perhaps a shave wouldn't hurt," Roop continued, her voice firm yet neutral.  "A little effort towards a more presentable appearance wouldn't go amiss."

A cocky smirk played on Abhimanyu's lips. "Is it about appearances, or are you simply hoping to catch a glimpse of this handsome face beneath the scruff?" he teased, leaning back against the tree.

Roop's response was a snort of derisive laughter. "In your wildest dreams, lazy man. Look, if you truly want to connect with the children, a shave wouldn't hurt. It might help bridge the gap a little." With that, she started to turn away.

"Wait," Abhimanyu called out, his earlier amusement replaced by a flicker of curiosity.  "Hold on a minute. What's your story? You looked positively panicked when I mentioned the red-light district."

Roop's jaw clenched. "We all have our secrets, Mr. Abhimanyu," she said, her voice laced with a steely edge. "Just as I respected your privacy about the Raichand name, I expect the same courtesy." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away with resolute steps.

Abhimanyu watched her go, a strange mix of frustration and intrigue swirling within him. Why did this woman pique his curiosity so? Logically, he knew their paths wouldn't cross again after today.  They were two souls on separate journeys, connected only by a brief encounter.

He glanced back at the children, a flicker of indecision crossing his features.  Then, with a sigh, he decided it was time to leave. Before Chand could rope him back into another activity, he opted for a quieter exit. A cautious glance around confirmed he was unnoticed, and Abhimanyu melted into the shadows, a ghost vanishing into thin air.  Perhaps running away was his only skill.  He was adept at disappearing, a talent honed by a lifetime of existing on the fringes.

As Abhimanyu rounded the corner onto his street, a vision in black and white stopped him in his tracks. A woman, effortlessly elegant, stood outside his building. Her dark, straight hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, framing a face that could have graced a runway model.

She remained impeccably dressed, the expensive glint of her black pants and the crisp white shirt peeking out from her blazer catching the fading sunlight. The rhythmic click of her black pencil heels against the pavement was the only sound that broke the tense silence. Her lips, painted a bold cherry red that contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, curved into a small, enigmatic smile as she removed her sunglasses, revealing a sharp gaze and a small mole perched on the corner of her left eye.

"Back for round two, Miss Mahi?" Abhimanyu drawled, the casual smirk that had softened his features earlier replaced by a familiar guardedness. All traces of the man who'd spent time with Chand and the children seemed to have vanished. The woman's gaze swept over him, lingering for a beat before a sly smile mirrored his own. Perhaps there was something about this life, something about Miss Mahi, that clawed its way back to Abhimanyu's core, a reminder of who he used to be. Would this encounter be a fleeting pull, or a force strong enough to unravel the tentative progress he'd made?

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