Anjali quietly closed the door behind her as she left Kritika in the room, her eyes heavy with unspoken emotions. The soft thud of the door closing echoed in the silence, and for a moment, Kritika just stood there, staring out of the window. The view of the garden, lush and green, was peaceful. She watched Arnav in the distance, watering his plants, his strong frame a constant reminder of the years gone by.

Kritika's thoughts drifted back to the past—the shared childhoods, the love, and the heartache that followed. The story of her and Arnav's family was intertwined so deeply with her own, and it still felt like a heavy weight she couldn't shake.

Kritika's father and Anjali-Arnav's parents had been the best of friends, their bond stretching back to childhood. After Kritika's father had settled on the land next to the Raizada estate, their two families had been inseparable. She grew up like a little sister to Anjali and Arnav, always the one to receive all the love and care from everyone around her. She was cherished and spoiled, especially after her mother's passing. But that very love had often irked Arnav, especially as the years passed, and his frustration began to show.Then tragedy struck. The accident that took their parents away had broken them all. Arnav's world had shattered. After the accident, Arnav's father, in his grief, entrusted the responsibility of his children's future to Kritika's father. He took care of everything—the business, the house, and the children.

Since that day, Anjali had become fiercely protective of Arnav, while he had retreated into his anger. Arnav was never the same after the accident. His anger knew no bounds, and by the time he was seventeen, he had left for the UK, enrolling in Harvard. He never once called home during those years, leaving Anjali heartbroken. But when he returned, everything seemed to fall back into place. His father gave him the reins of the family business, guiding him step by step, and Arnav became the great businessman everyone knew as ASR—the king of the fashion world.To the world, he was ASR. To his family, he was still "Chotte," the little brother who had grown distant and cold.Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Kritika turned, her heart racing as she opened it to find Aashi standing there, her face lit up with a smile.

"Can I come in?" Aashi asked, hesitating at the threshold."Of course," Kritika said, stepping aside.

Aashi seemed to fidget, clearly hesitant to ask what was on her mind. Finally, she spoke. "You know Anji Bua since when?"

Kritika smiled softly, her eyes twinkling with a touch of nostalgia. "I think I've known her since I was in my mama's peth," she said, her tone light.

Aashi raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh... why didn't you come to Anji Bua's engagement?"Kritika paused before responding, choosing her words carefully. "I was busy helping my dad with a project. You know, balancing work and everything. It just didn't work out."Aashi's expression softened. "I understand. My papa always says he works hard to give me everything I want." Her voice lowered, almost wistful. "But sometimes, I just want his time. He works even on Sundays."

Kritika's heart went out to the little girl. She knew exactly what Aashi meant. "Your dad loves you, Aashi. He's just trying to give you the best future he can."

Aashi's eyes glistened with a mixture of understanding and sadness. "I know. But sometimes, I wish he'd just spend more time with me."

Kritika lifted Aashi into her lap, her heart full. "You know, my papa worked hard too. He did everything for me so that I could have a good future. At times, we feel like it's not enough, but you understand, don't you?"

Aashi nodded, her small hand clutching Kritika's. "I do. I understand. Papa loves me a lot, I know."

Kritika smiled and kissed the top of Aashi's head. "And he always will."

The conversation shifted, and soon Aashi was asking about her mother, a subject that had been taboo in the house for so long. "Did you know my mama?" Aashi asked hesitantly.Kritika was taken aback for a moment. She hadn't expected the question, but she couldn't bear the thought of Aashi growing up without knowing her mother.

"Yes," Kritika replied softly, her voice gentle. "I knew her a little."Aashi's face lit up with desperation. "Please tell me about her. No one talks about her. Papa doesn't like to talk about her because it makes him sad. And the others... they stay quiet. I only know Mama from the pictures."Kritika felt a pang in her heart. She could see the hunger for connection in Aashi's eyes. She took a deep breath, her voice steady. "Your mama was very beautiful. She was full of life, always making everyone around her happy. She loved Devi Mayya so much. Her day would always start and end with her prayers. When she was sad or anxious, she made the most amazing jalebis. That's the memory I have of her—her love for everyone and the joy she brought with her wherever she went."

Aashi listened intently, her small hands clasped tightly. "Thank you, Kritika Aunty," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude."You're welcome, Aashi. Your mama was someone special. And so are you."Just then, Anjali entered the room, her face breaking into a smile when she saw the two girls together. "Here you are, little devil!" she teased, her eyes twinkling.Aashi pouted but quickly perked up. "I'm not a devil. I'm a princess, right Kriti Maasi?"Anjali and Kritika froze at the word. *Maasi.* The title echoed in the room like a bitter reminder of the past.

Anjali furrowed her brows. "Why did you call her Maasi? She's not your mama's sister."Aashi blinked, confused. "Then what should I call her? She told me more about my mama than anyone else. And you also told me not to call old people by their names. So why should I?"Anjali and Kritika exchanged a glance, both taken aback by Aashi's innocence. The moment was heavy, but it was also a gentle reminder of the child's desire for connection.Kritika smiled warmly at Aashi. "You can call me Kriti, just like everyone else. I'm not that old, Anji Bua," she teased, lightening the mood.Anjali rolled her eyes. "Oh, I forgot to tell you both. There's someone downstairs who wants to see you."

Aashi bolted for the stairs, and Anjali and Kritika followed, both lost in their thoughts. What they didn't realize was that someone was watching them closely, listening in on their conversation.Downstairs, Aashi ran into the arms of a man, her voice full of innocence. "Phupha, you came to see Anji Bua?" she asked, her face lighting up.

The man smiled, his eyes softening at the sight of his niece. "Of course, Aashi," he said, his tone warm.Kritika froze as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes widening as she recognized him. Shyam Jha.

Anjali smiled brightly, stepping forward to introduce him. "Kritika, meet Shyam Jha, my fiancé, and soon-to-be husband."Kritika's lips parted in surprise. "So, this is why you didn't tell me beforehand," she said, her voice light but filled with genuine happiness. "Congratulations, both of you."Shyam grinned and teased, "You know, I'm the most intelligent in our class, yet I still ended up falling for this crazy woman."Anjali playfully swatted him. "Oh, please. You knew exactly what you were getting into."Kritika chuckled, feeling a bit lighter. "Oh, I know. She blackmailed you into it," she joked, winking at Shyam, who smiled back.Anjali rolled her eyes. "If you two are done making fun of me, shall we go to the living room?"Kritika and Shyam both bowed dramatically. "Yes, milord."The tension in the room lifted as everyone laughed together, the air filled with warmth and lightheartedness. For the first time in a while, Kritika felt at ease.As they all gathered around for dinner, the mood shifted. Aashi clung to Kritika, clearly seeking comfort, while Arnav remained distant, lost in his own thoughts. The dinner was filled with polite conversation, but a sense of unease lingered beneath the surface.Kritika made her way to the table and sat down. Arnav, who had been standing by the window, caught sight of the empty chair beside her. Without saying a word, he moved towards it and pulled the chair out for himself, ready to sit down. Kritika's gaze hardened as she watched him, her pulse quickening. "That's my seat," she said firmly, her voice sharp.Arnav glanced at her, his eyes narrowing. "I don't see your name on it," he replied, his tone cool and dismissive.

Kritika's grip tightened around her glass, her knuckles going white. "It's not about names, Arnav," she replied, her voice low. "It's about respect."Arnav smirked. "Respect? Really? You want to talk to me about respect, Kritika?"The words hung in the air like a challenge, and the tension in the room became palpable. Anjali glanced between them, her expression tense as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.For a moment, the room was silent, save for the clinking of cutlery. Finally, Kritika stood up, her eyes locking with Arnav's. "Fine, you take it. But don't forget, respect isn't something you just demand—it's something you earn."Without waiting for his response, she walked away, leaving him to sit down, the silence between them growing even more charged.

With Love – Salima