Two days had passed, and Shubman remained distant from Aryaman. Not once did he meet the child's eyes, offering only a quick goodnight kiss before retreating into himself. Yet, somehow, those small gestures kept Aryaman tethered to him, longing for more.

Shubman left early for practice each morning and returned home late after a long, exhausting day. He barely spoke or looked around, moving through his routines like a shadow—eating in silence and then disappearing into the bedroom. To avoid the child, he had unknowingly distanced himself from Pashmina, too.

That night, as he lay beside her, he watched her sleeping face, illuminated by the soft glow of the night lamp. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and her expression was weary even when resting. She carried his responsibilities without complaint, never once forcing him to change or demanding more from him.

A pang of guilt twisted in his chest. Did she deserve this?

He let out a deep sigh, his fingers gently caressing her tired face. Even in sleep, she leaned into his touch unknowingly, seeking comfort she didn't realize she needed.

"We're too young for this," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he took in the sight of her—so selfless, so giving. She had just come out of her own struggles, yet here she was, ready to help him with a baby that wasn't even her responsibility.

And here he was—a coward, running away.

He quickly retreated his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep himself from making any noise. But just as he tried to compose himself, a small, warm grip wrapped around his finger.

Startled, he looked down and met a pair of innocent eyes gazing up at him. Aryaman.

The child's tiny fingers clung to his own as if sensing his pain as if offering silent comfort for the emotional turmoil raging inside him. Shubman's breath hitched. How did this little one, who barely understood the world, manage to see through him so effortlessly?

The little one poked his tongue out, his innocent attempt at playfulness faltering when he saw Shubman's tears silently falling onto his face. Aryaman's tiny features crumpled in discomfort, his lips quivering as he prepared to cry, mirroring the sorrow he saw in Shubman's eyes.

Shubman's breath hitched, panic flashing through him. His eyes widened as he quickly scooped Aryaman into his arms, holding him close. Without a second thought, he hurried out of the room before the baby's cries could break the silence of the night.

Shubman buried the little one's face against his chest, his arms wrapping protectively around him to muffle the cries. His heart pounded as he turned back toward the room, eyes scanning Pashmina's sleeping form. She hadn't stirred. A breath of relief escaped his lips.

Gently rocking Aryaman, he whispered soft reassurances, his hand running up and down the baby's tiny back. But Aryaman's cries didn't stop—his small fists clutched Shubman's t-shirt tightly, his sobs breaking into hiccups against his father's chest.

Shubman frowned, concern creeping in. Was he just startled, or was there another reason for this much crying?

Maybe he's hungry? The thought struck Shubman, and he wasted no time. Still cradling Aryaman, he quickly walked down the stairs, whispering soft reassurances as the little one continued to whimper.

By now, Aryaman had resorted to chewing on his t-shirt, and Shubman grimaced in mild disgust. But he couldn't do anything about it—not unless he wanted to risk waking up the whole house.

Stepping into the dimly lit kitchen, he scanned the counters, his mind racing to recall how Pashmina had made a bottle the previous night. He had watched her—luckily, he was observant enough to piece together the process now. Taking a deep breath, he set Aryaman down gently in his high chair and hurried to gather the ingredients, hoping he wouldn't mess it up.

Just as Shubman was about to step away, a loud whimper stopped him in his tracks. Aryaman's tiny fingers opened and closed in the air, reaching out desperately, his face scrunching up as if he were about to cry again.

Shubman groaned, running a hand through his hair. He looked down at the little one, who was now clinging to him as if letting go wasn't an option. With a tired sigh, he asked, as if Aryaman would understand, "And how do you expect me to make you a bottle while I hold you?"

Of course, the baby only blinked at him, still chewing on his t-shirt, completely unbothered by his predicament.

"Come on, answer me," Shubman pushed his question again, narrowing his eyes at the little one. "How do you expect me to make you a bottle while I hold you?"

Aryaman only blinked up at him, completely unbothered, his tiny mouth still occupied with chewing on the damp fabric of Shubman's t-shirt.

Shubman shut his eyes tightly, rubbing them in exhaustion. "Did you really think an 11-month-old baby would answer you?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head at his own ridiculousness.

When he opened his eyes, Aryaman was still staring at him, his tiny hands gripping onto his collar as if holding on for dear life. The baby let out a soft whimper, his lips quivering as if sensing Shubman's frustration.

Shubman sighed, his annoyance melting away. "Alright, alright. You win." Adjusting Aryaman in one arm, he reached for the bottle ingredients with the other, silently accepting his fate—making a bottle with one hand while the little troublemaker clung to him like a baby koala.

Once Shubman was done preparing the bottle, he switched off the kitchen light and walked into the living room, settling onto the couch with Aryaman securely in his arms. He held up the bottle, ready to feed him—but to his surprise, the baby simply stared at it, making no move to drink.

Shubman's eyebrows furrowed. "You're not hungry?" he asked, tilting his head.

Aryaman blinked up at him innocently.

Shubman rolled his eyes, letting out a tired sigh. "Don't tell me I just wasted ten minutes for nothing," he muttered, staring at the baby in disbelief.

Shubman watched in confusion as Aryaman kept wiggling, his little body shifting like he had a mission only he understood. His tiny hands kept stretching towards the backyard while the other clumsily pushed against the bottle as if it were in his way.

Shubman let out a tired sigh. "What are you even trying to do?" he asked, adjusting his hold to keep the baby from slipping.

Aryaman, of course, didn't answer—not that Shubman expected him to. Instead, he squirmed even more, his whimpers turning into frustrated little grunts.

Shubman frowned. "Seriously? First, you cry like you're starving, and now you don't even want the bottle?" He ran a hand through his hair, watching as the baby continued his odd little movements. "What do you want then?"

Shubman followed Aryaman's gaze toward the backyard, his brows knitting together in confusion. The baby was clearly reaching for something, but what? It was dark outside, and there was nothing unusual that Shubman could see.

With a sigh, he shifted Aryaman higher in his arms. "Alright, what is it?" he mumbled, standing up and walking toward the glass door leading to the backyard.

As soon as they got closer, Aryaman let out an excited squeal, his tiny legs kicking against Shubman's stomach. Shubman huffed at the sudden movement but couldn't help the small smirk tugging at his lips. So, now you're all excited, huh?

Shubman let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down at Aryaman's bright, eager eyes. "I get it, I get it. You've got your preference on where you wanna eat, huh?" he muttered, amusement lacing his voice. Aryaman only responded with another excited wiggle, his chubby fingers still reaching out toward the bottle.

Shubman sighed in mock defeat, adjusting Aryaman in his arms as he stepped onto the porch. The cool night breeze brushed against his skin, carrying the faint scent of earth and dewy grass.

 The backyard was quiet, the only sounds being the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves. He sat down on the wooden swing, settling Aryaman comfortably in his lap. "Alright, little troublemaker, let's try this again," he murmured, bringing the bottle to Aryaman's lips. This time, the baby latched onto it without hesitation, drinking peacefully. His tiny hands rested against Shubman's chest, occasionally twitching as if trying to grasp something invisible.

Shubman watched Aryaman quietly, the rhythmic sucking sounds filling the peaceful night air. The gentle sway of the wooden swing added to the tranquillity of the moment, rocking them both in a slow, comforting rhythm.

Aryaman leaned his soft cheek against Shubman's chest, his tiny fingers curling slightly as he continued drinking. His lashes fluttered, and for a moment, it seemed as if he was simply taking in the warmth and safety of Shubman's embrace.

Shubman glanced down, his heart unexpectedly tightening at the sight. The baby's dark eyes, filled with curiosity and quiet wonder, traced over his face—as if memorizing every feature. His tiny fingers lifted hesitantly before brushing against Shubman's jaw in a featherlight touch.

Shubman swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He had spent days keeping his distance, convincing himself that if he didn't get too close, he wouldn't feel too much. But Aryaman—this little one who had no words, only gestures—was making that impossible.

A lump formed in his throat as he let out a shaky breath, his free hand moving to cup the back of Aryaman's head. He gently stroked the soft curls, pressing a light kiss onto them. "You're something else, you know that?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aryaman, as if understanding gave a sleepy blink before settling even closer into his chest, his tiny body melting into Shubman's warmth.

And just like that, without words, without force—Shubman felt the last of his resistance crumble.

He pulled the little one up, letting Aryaman's warm cheek rest against his forehead. A shaky breath escaped his lips as he closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to sink into the feeling. The tiny heartbeat against his own, the soft rise and fall of Aryaman's chest—it was all so small, so fragile, yet it carried a weight he could no longer ignore.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers traced soothing circles on Aryaman's back. "Your little actions... they're making it impossible, you know that, little one?"

Aryaman, of course, didn't reply. He only let out a tiny sigh, curling further into Shubman's warmth, as if he had found the safest place in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, Shubman was starting to feel the same.

Shubman pulled back slightly, just enough to take in the little one's face. Aryaman was still drinking the last of the bottle, his tiny fingers lazily gripping onto Shubman's shirt. His eyelids drooped, his lashes fluttering as sleep threatened to take over, but he fought it—just a little—his drowsy gaze fixed on Shubman as if he were listening.

Shubman huffed out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "What, you staying up just to hear me talk now?" he murmured, brushing a stray curl from Aryaman's forehead. "I didn't know I had such an attentive audience."

Aryaman made a soft sound, almost like a hum, his lips still latched onto the bottle but drinking slower now. Shubman sighed, feeling something warm spread through his chest.

"You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you?" he whispered, his voice softer now, almost fond. His fingers traced small, absentminded circles against Aryaman's back. "Just like me."

The baby's grip loosened slightly, his tiny hands now resting limply against Shubman's chest. His breathing had evened out, the bottle slipping from his mouth as sleep finally won the battle.

Shubman stared down at him, at the way he fit so perfectly in his arms, at the peaceful expression on his tiny face. He let out another breath, this one quieter, almost as if he were afraid of breaking the moment.

For the first time in days, he didn't feel the urge to run.

Instead, he pulled Aryaman closer, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head.

"Sleep tight, little one," he murmured. "I've got you."

Pashmina stirred slightly, her sleep-fogged mind registering the empty space beside her. Her brows knitted together as she reached out instinctively, but her fingers met only cool sheets. Blinking against the dim light of the room, she sat up, her heart beginning to race.

Where were they?

Her eyes darted around, searching for any sign of Shubman or Aryaman, but the room was empty. A sudden wave of panic gripped her chest, threatening to turn into full-blown anxiety. Had something happened?

Just as she was about to rush out of bed, her gaze landed on the faint glow seeping through the curtains—the backyard lights were on.

Relief flooded her veins as she let out a shaky breath. They're outside.

Calming herself, she pushed the blanket aside and stood up, padding quietly toward the window. As she peeked through the curtains, her breath hitched at the sight before her.

There, on the wooden swing, sat Shubman with Aryaman curled up against his chest. The baby's tiny body rose and fell with each breath, his fingers loosely gripping Shubman's shirt. Shubman in turn, held him securely, his hand resting protectively on Aryaman's back. His head was tilted slightly downward, eyes soft as he gazed at the sleeping baby.

Pashmina's heart clenched.

For days, Shubman had been distant—physically and emotionally. He had been avoiding both her and Aryaman, lost in his own turmoil. But now, under the quiet glow of the backyard lights, he looked... different.

Softer. At peace.

Her lips curved into a small, tired smile. Maybe he wasn't ready to say it out loud yet. Maybe he was still figuring things out.

But at this moment, watching him hold Aryaman as if he was afraid to let go—Pashmina knew.

He wasn't running anymore.

Pashmina stood frozen by the window, her breath caught in her throat as she watched Shubman. His lips moved softly, speaking words only meant for the sleeping baby in his arms. She couldn't hear him, but she could feel it—the weight behind every word, the quiet sincerity of his voice.

She didn't dare move, afraid that if she did, she would break the fragile moment unfolding before her.

Shubman gently rocked Aryaman, his fingers running absentmindedly over the baby's small back. His voice was low, almost hesitant as if he was confessing things he couldn't say to anyone else.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he murmured, his eyes fixed on Aryaman's peaceful face. "I've been trying to stay away, thinking it'd make things easier. But..." He let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "You make it impossible, little one."

He exhaled slowly, his head resting lightly against Aryaman's.

"I thought... if I kept my distance, I wouldn't feel anything. That it wouldn't hurt. But you—" his voice faltered, a wry chuckle escaping his lips—"you don't care about any of that, do you? You just... look at me like I belong."

A lump formed in Pashmina's throat as she pressed a hand over her heart, feeling its unsteady rhythm.

Shubman swallowed hard, his voice quieter now, as if the words were meant for himself as much as for Aryaman.

"I don't know if I deserve it," he admitted. "But... I don't want to run anymore."

Pashmina felt tears prick her eyes.

He wasn't just speaking to Aryaman.

He was speaking to himself.

And maybe—just maybe—he was finally letting himself believe that he could stay.

As Shubman spoke his heartfelt words, a single star in the vast night sky shimmered brighter than all the others, casting a gentle glow over the quiet backyard. It was almost as if the universe itself had paused to listen, as if someone, somewhere, had been waiting for this moment.

Avantika.

She had made a choice—a choice not out of doubt, but out of trust. Trust in Shubman.

And as she watched from beyond, her soul at peace among the stars, she knew she had chosen right.

Shubman, who had once resisted, now held Aryaman with quiet protectiveness, speaking words not out of obligation, but from the depths of his heart. He wasn't just carrying the baby—he was embracing the bond forming between them, accepting it without hesitation.

The star flickered, as if offering a silent blessing, before settling into a steady glow.

Avantika had trusted Shubman.

And tonight, under the vast sky, he had proven that trust was never misplaced.