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Shubman lost. To Ishan. Again.

He still doesn't know how it happened. One moment, they were arguing over which plushie was less ridiculous, and the next, Ishan had somehow outtalked him, declared himself the winner, and walked off holding a plushie.

A pink bunny plushie.

And now here they are—walking through the airport, drawing every kind of look imaginable.

Ishan, with his long mullet swaying dramatically, his neatly shaped beard, and his gold kundals catching the light, is strutting like he's on a ramp walk.

And if that wasn't enough, he's sipping boba tea with such exaggerated enthusiasm that even the tapioca pearls seem embarrassed.

Shubman glares down at the plushie in his own hand—a Spiderman doll with an oversized head, its red and blue colors practically screaming for attention. He grips it tightly, as if it's responsible for his current humiliation.

He doesn't mind carrying a plushie—it's for a kid, after all—but the fact that he lost to Ishan? That's what's really driving him mad.

He adjusts his grip on Spiderman and mutters under his breath, his tone sour, "Pata nahi main har baar kaise is dedh footiye ke haathon haar jaata hoon." [I don't know how I keep losing to this shorty.]

He glares at Ishan, who's now twirling the unicorn plushie as if it's a trophy.

He just cannot win against that dedh footiya—Ishan's favorite insult for anyone shorter than him, which, ironically, Ishan himself embodies perfectly.

And the fact that the two of them are being so loud, Shubman wantsto head out of here quickly, finally turns around, his face a mask of pure annoyance.

"Tum dono bas chup reh sakte ho kya?" [Can you two just shut up?] he snaps, his voice sharp enough to make Ishan pause mid-sip.

"Pehle hi mujhe yeh Spiderman ka plushie lekar ghoomna pad raha hai, aur upar se tum dono ki bakwas sunni pad rahi hai." [I'm already stuck walking around with this Spiderman plushie, and on top of that, I have to listen to your nonsense.]

Ishan grins, clearly enjoying Shubman's growing irritation. "Arre, yeh toh Rudra ke liye hai na? Toh tu itna kyun irritate ho raha hai?" [Hey, this is for Rudra, right? So why are you so irritated?] he asks innocently, though his tone is anything but.

"Aur waise bhi, tu plushie ke saath cute lag raha hai. Thoda smile kar le, Shubhi." [And anyway, you look cute with the plushie. Smile a little, Shubhi.]

Shubman glares at him, holding up the plushie for emphasis. "Mujhe cute lagne ka koi shauk nahi hai, samjha?" [I have no interest in looking cute, got it?] he retorts, his voice firm.

Abhishek, who has been quietly watching this drama unfold, bursts out laughing. He clutches his stomach as he leans slightly to the side, clearly enjoying the banter more than he should.

"Shubh, tu kyun try karta hai isse argue karne ka?" [Shubh, why do you even try to argue with him?] he says between laughs. "Ishan ke saath ladne ka matlab hai ki tu khud ko pareshaan kar raha hai." [Fighting with Ishan is like deliberately stressing yourself out.]

Shubman spins on his heel to face Abhishek, pointing the Spiderman plushie at him like it's a weapon. "Tu chup kar." [You shut up.]

His tone is sharp enough to momentarily silence Abhishek, though the smirk on his face remains firmly in place. "Tujhe toh bas iski side leni hoti hai." [You just love taking his side.]

Abhishek shrugs, raising his hands in mock surrender, his smirk widening. "Main kya karoon? Woh jada cute hai." [What can I do? He is cuter.]

Ishan, as if on cue, leans in closer to Shubman, his grin somehow growing even more infuriating. "Dekha? Even Abhishek maan raha hai ki main cutie hoon." [See? Even Abhishek agrees I'm cutie.]

Abhishek drapes an arm over Ishan's shoulder with the exaggerated flair of someone auditioning for a melodramatic Bollywood role.

His voice drops an octave as he sighs theatrically, "Haye mera Ishipie! Tu toh sabse cute hai. Main toh tere saath shaadi karne ke liye Aditi se bhi ladne ko tayaar hoon." [Oh, my Ishipie! You're the cutest. I'm ready to fight Aditi to marry you.]

Shubman halts in his tracks, turning to face them with a look of utter disbelief etched on his face. The Spiderman plushie in his hand dangles limply, as though it too has given up on making sense of the situation.

He raises his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply, like someone trying to summon the strength of every deity imaginable.

Then, in a tone that's sharp enough to cut glass, he says, "Tum logon ka dimaag kharab ho gaya hai kya?" [Have you both lost your minds?]

His glare bounces from Abhishek, who is now batting his eyelashes dramatically, to Ishan, who has the audacity to look smug, his grin widening as though he's the star of this chaotic show.

Shubman's fingers tighten around the plushie, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he considers chucking it at them.

Abhishek, clearly unfazed by Shubman's frustration, flips an imaginary strand of hair over his shoulder and bats his eyelashes at Ishan.

"Sach mein, yaar. Agar tu haan bol de na, toh main shaadi ki planning abhi shuru kar doon." [Seriously, dude. If you say yes, I'll start planning the wedding right now.]

Ishan, always ready to play along, places a hand dramatically on his chest, his face lighting up with exaggerated joy.

"Arey, Abhishek! Main toh kab se tere 'proposal' ka intezaar kar raha tha!" [Oh, Abhishek! I've been waiting for your proposal for so long!] He turns to Shubman, his expression mock-serious. "Shubh, tu hamare best man banega na?" [Shubh, will you be our best man?]

Ishan, as though on cue, places a hand dramatically over his chest, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated joy. His gold kundals catch the light as he leans into the moment, his tone dripping with mock emotion.

"Arey, Abhishek! Main toh kab se tere 'proposal' ka intezaar kar raha tha." [Oh, Abhishek! I've been waiting for your proposal for so long.]

Then, as if remembering Shubman's presence, Ishan turns his head sharply, his expression suddenly serious.

His grin softens into something akin to earnestness, though the mischief in his eyes betrays him. "Shubh, tu hamare best man banega na?" [Shubh, will you be our best man?]

For a moment, Shubman just stares at them, his mouth slightly open, as though he can't quite believe what he's hearing.

His silence is met with expectant looks from both Abhishek and Ishan, who stand side by side like a couple posing for engagement photos, Abhishek's arm still slung possessively over Ishan's shoulder.

Finally, Shubman exhales loudly, his breath coming out in a sharp huff as he points the Spiderman plushie at them like a gavel.

His voice is clipped, laced with equal parts frustration and disbelief. "Main tum dono ke drama ke liye yahan nahi hoon, samjhe? Agar tumhe yeh nautanki karni hai, toh kisi aur ko apna audience banao." [I'm not here for your drama, got it? If you want to do this nonsense, find someone else to be your audience.]

Abhishek, instead of taking the hint, gasps audibly, his hand flying to his chest in mock offense. "Shubh! Tu itna rude kaise ho sakta hai? Yeh toh hamari life ka sabse bada moment hai!" [Shubh! How can you be so rude? This is the biggest moment of our lives!]

He leans closer to Ishan, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper that's loud enough for Shubman to hear. "Ishipie, tu notice kar raha hai? Yeh jealousy se baat kar raha hai." [Ishipie, are you noticing? He's talking out of jealousy.]

Ishan nods solemnly, his expression carefully thoughtful, though the twitch at the corners of his lips betrays his amusement.

He leans slightly toward Shubman, tilting his head in mock concern, and says with an almost-too-earnest tone, "Haan, Abhi. Main toh bas yehi keh raha tha. Shubman, agar tum mujhe pasand karte ho, toh bol do na." [Yeah, Abhi. I was just saying—Shubman, if you like me, just say it.]

Shubman groans audibly, the sound dragging out like he's trying to expel all his frustration at once, but it does nothing to ease the growing tension in his chest.

He clutches the Spiderman plushie tighter in his hand, its oversized head wobbling awkwardly with every restless shift of his grip.

The absurdity of the situation—a national cricketer walking through an airport, holding a ridiculous toy, while his two teammates laugh like a pair of unhinged hyenas—only makes his irritation simmer further.

The sound of Ishan and Abhishek's uncontrollable giggles bounces off the airport walls, drawing amused glances and stifled chuckles from passersby.

Shubman feels a prickle of embarrassment creep up his neck; he can practically feel his dignity dissolving with every echo of their laughter.

He's about to turn around and snap at them, perhaps something cutting enough to at least get them to pipe down, when he feels a small, sudden impact against his shin.

It's light but firm enough to throw him slightly off balance, and instinctively, Shubman takes a step back, his brow furrowing as he glances down.

The sight makes him pause.

Standing there, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes, is a boy no older than five or six. His small frame is wrapped in a pale blue hoodie with a cartoon dinosaur on the front, and his tiny sneakers are scuffed as though he's been running around nonstop.

But it's not the hoodie or the sneakers that catch Shubman off guard.

It's the boy's eyes—vivid green, shimmering like freshly polished emeralds, and they hit him with a force far greater than the bump against his leg.

Those eyes. They're hauntingly familiar.

Shubman freezes, the world around him fading into a dull, unimportant blur. The distant hum of the airport—the murmur of announcements, the shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional burst of laughter—becomes a faint hum in his ears, drowned out by the pounding of his heart.

He feels like he's been thrown into cold water, his breath catching as he stares at the boy.

They're so achingly familiar that it feels like they've reached out and punched him in the chest. Piercing green, vivid and alive, filled with an innocence that twists the knife deeper into his soul.

His grip on the Spiderman plushie loosens further, his fingers trembling slightly as the memories come rushing back, unbidden and unstoppable, like a tide he has no strength to hold back.

It's been years, but the pain hasn't dulled. If anything, it's grown sharper, cutting into him at the quietest, most unexpected moments—like now. He never thought he'd see those eyes again.

Not like this. Not on the face of a child who shouldn't have the power to bring him to his knees with a single glance.

But here he is, rooted to the spot, unable to breathe properly, unable to look away. Those eyes had always been her most striking feature, windows to a soul so vibrant, so full of life, so endlessly forgiving.

And now they're staring back at him, vivid and haunting, on the face of a boy who has no idea what he's just stirred up.

Shubman swallows hard, his throat dry, his chest heavy with an ache he's grown far too familiar with. He tries to steady his breathing, but it's impossible. The memories rush in faster now, blurring his vision and making his pulse stutter.

He remembers how those eyes used to light up when she laughed, how they would soften when she looked at him like he was the only person in the world who mattered.

He remembers how they burned with anger when he pushed her too far, said the wrong thing, let his ego get in the way. But most of all, he remembers how they shimmered with unshed tears that last time, when he'd hurt her in a way he never thought he could.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, but the action only intensifies the memories, makes them sharper, clearer, like someone turning the volume up on a song he's been trying desperately to drown out.

He sees her standing in front of him, those green eyes glistening with heartbreak, her voice trembling as she said words he never thought he'd hear from her. Words he didn't know how to respond to.

He hadn't realized it at the time—not fully, not in the way he should have—that she was serious. That she was done. He'd thought they'd fight, like they always did, and then somehow find their way back to each other.

But this time, it was different. This time, she didn't look back. And he... he didn't stop her.

He was so convinced he'd have time. Time to fix things. Time to apologize. Time to explain. But then she was gone.

Not just gone from his life but truly gone, as though she'd erased herself from the world entirely.

No calls. No more tuition. No whispers of where she might be. And now, years later, her absence feels like an open wound that refuses to heal.

His chest tightens, the weight of his regret almost suffocating. He misses her. God, he misses her more than he ever thought it was possible to miss someone.

It's not just the big things—the sound of her laughter, the way she used to tease him when he got too serious, the warmth of her hand in his. It's the little things, too.

The way she used to hum under her breath when she was lost in thought, the way her hair would fall into her face no matter how many times she tucked it behind her ear, the way she used to look at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention, like he was her entire world. He hadn't realized how much he'd taken those moments for granted until they were gone.

Until she was gone.

The boy shifts slightly, drawing Shubman's attention back to the present. His tiny hand reaches out to touch the Spiderman plushie, his small fingers brushing against the fabric. Shubman glances down at the boy's hand, then back up at his face, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

He wonders, for a fleeting moment, if she would have smiled at the sight of this boy. If those same green eyes would have softened with warmth as she reached out to ruffle his hair or crouched down to talk to him. She'd always had a way with kids, an ease about her that made them gravitate toward her.

His breath hitches as the ache in his chest deepens, the weight of his regret pressing harder against him. He knows he messed up.

He knows he could have done so many things differently, said so many things he didn't, taken back so many words he never should have said. But knowing doesn't make it any easier.

It doesn't change the fact that she's gone, and he's left holding onto fragments of memories that only serve to remind him of what he's lost.

Shubman's chest tightens as the whirlwind of memories leaves him with a suffocating emptiness that he can't shake.

It's not just the guilt or the sadness—it's the deep, gnawing ache of regret that's been simmering inside him for years, now surging to the surface with a vengeance.

He feels like a man carrying the weight of two worlds: the one he's living in and the one he lost. And no matter how much time has passed, the scales have never balanced.

He rubs a hand down his face, the rough scrape of his palm against his skin doing little to ground him.

The image of those green eyes—the boy's and hers—continues to float in front of him like a ghost he can't exorcise. He knows he should shake it off, compartmentalize it the way he's done a thousand times before.

But today, something about it feels sharper, more raw. It feels like punishment, though he knows deep down he deserves every ounce of it.

"Look ke walk!" [Look where you're walking!] the boy snaps, his tiny voice carrying an air of authority that seems almost absurd coming from someone who barely reaches Shubman's waist.

His little hands are firmly planted on his hips, his curls bouncing indignantly as he glares up at Shubman with all the confidence in the world.

Shubman stands there for a moment, completely taken aback, blinking at the tiny creature in front of him.

The boy's audacity is almost impressive, and the way he's standing with his hands planted firmly on his hips, staring up at Shubman with such conviction, makes it hard not to burst out laughing.

The curls bouncing on his head, combined with his mini sneakers flashing with every shift of his weight, only add to the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

It's a look of absolute authority coming from someone who could probably fit in Shubman's pocket.

"Excuse me?" Shubman finally asks, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement, arching a brow.

He crouches down slightly to match the boy's level, leaning forward with a faint chuckle that he tries (and fails) to suppress.

He watches the little guy poke a finger into his knee—not with any real force, but definitely with purpose, like it's a matter of great importance.

"You 'scuse me!" the boy retorts, his tiny chin jutting out defiantly as his hand remains pressed firmly against Shubman's knee.

The words come out in such a serious tone, it almost sounds like the boy's reciting some ancient law. "You ne did not dekha Rudra?" [You did not see Rudra?] he continues, his voice rising slightly, as if the whole world should be aware of this grave injustice. "Aap big and tall ho, but you ne no look kiya!" [You are big and tall, but you didn't look!]

Shubman's lips twitch as he tries not to laugh. The boy's hindi, and mannerisms are so earnest, so confident, it's hard to believe someone so small can be so serious.

Slowly, he straightens up, taking a deep breath as he folds his arms across his chest, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Oh, toh tum Rudra ho," [Oh, so you're Rudra,] Shubman says, dragging out the name with exaggerated curiosity, like this is the most profound revelation of his day. "Tell me, Rudra, kya tum aise hi badon pe chila te ho?" [Tell me, Rudra, do you always yell at grown-ups like this?]

The boy's tiny eyebrows knit even tighter, and his hands fly up in exaggerated frustration, his whole posture shifting to show he's clearly done with this conversation, like he's dealing with someone who simply isn't getting it.

"You walk like elephant!" he announces loudly, a dramatic frown on his face as he mimics a large, lumbering walk with exaggerated steps. "Big-big steps! Boom, boom, BOOM!"

Each stomp of his foot causes his shoes to light up, flashing like little beacons with every emphatic motion. It's so comically over-the-top that Shubman has to hold back his grin.

"Aap ne almost squish Rudra!" [You almost squished Rudra!] Rudra continues, pointing an accusing finger directly at Shubman's chest.

The accusation is punctuated by a wide-eyed, innocent stare, as if Shubman has just committed the most unforgivable crime in the history of mankind. "Mama kehte hai squish is bad!" [Mama says squishing is bad!]

By this point, Shubman's eyes are practically sparkling with barely-contained laughter, and he shakes his head, still crouching to get closer to Rudra's level.

The boy's intensity is so unexpected that it's hard not to enjoy the absurdity of the situation. He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be deeply offended.

"Oh, no!" The Prince of Cricket exclaims, with a dramatic gasp. "I didn't mean to squish you, Rudra! Please forgive me, my tiny friend!"

"DON'T CALL ME TINY?! You ne big hoke what kiya?" [What have you done by being big?!] Rudra shouts, his voice piercing the air, rising with each syllable until it's almost like he's on the verge of exploding.

He gestures wildly, almost losing his balance in the process, his little legs doing a funny little jig as he marches in circles around Shubman.

His shoes are flashing like little disco lights with each step, the light-up sneakers flashing in time with his outrage, adding a whole new layer of drama to the scene.

Rudra stops mid-step, pausing just long enough to glare up at Shubman, his tiny face scrunched with intensity, eyebrows furrowed so deeply that he could pass for a mini version of someone preparing to face the most serious courtroom case of their life.

He tilts his head to the side, as if silently daring Shubman to dispute the gravity of the situation.

It's the kind of look that makes Shubman want to burst out laughing, but he does his best to hold it in, biting his lip.

He knows better than to provoke the tiny storm in front of him, who seems poised to take this whole thing to the next level.

But then—BAHAHAHAHAHA—a loud, unrestrained laugh echoes through the airport.

The sound startles Rudra so much that he stops in his tracks, momentarily frozen, his wide eyes darting around the room like he's searching for the source of this unexpected disruption.

Rudra whips his head around, and land on Ishan, who has a grin plastered across his face, barely containing his amusement.

The sight of Rudra's angry little face, has Ishan practically doubled over in laughter, holding onto his stomach as though he might collapse any second.

Rudra's face shifts immediately. His anger melts into confusion as he blinks up at Ishan, his tiny forehead wrinkling in confusion, trying to figure out what just happened.

For a moment, the little boy seems to forget the entire reason for his anger, distracted by the sight of this cute uncle laughing at him.

Rudra's hands come to a stop, unsure of whether he's supposed to be offended or amused by the new development.

"Cute uncle, you why laugh rahe ho?" [Cute uncle, why are you laughing?] Rudra asks, tilting his head as his tiny voice goes up a notch, still demanding an explanation.

"Sorry, champ, main apke upar nai hass nai raha hoon. I agree with you, yeh haar time mera mazak banata raheta hai. Isne itna tall hoke kya kar liya?! I am on your team." [Sorry champ, I am not laughing on you. I agree with you, he always makes fun of me. What has he done by being so tall?! I am on your team.] Ishan says, as he walks over to the cute boy, and kneels beside him, wrapping an arm around the small shoulders.

The moment the words leave his mouth, Rudra's little face brightens, as if he's just been told the most exciting news ever.

He looks up at Ishan with newfound admiration, and without any warning, he stretches out his tiny hand toward Ishan's face.

In the blink of an eye, he grabs hold of Ishan's cheek and squeezes it with all the force his tiny fingers can muster.

"Your golu cheeks toh are like mine!" [Your chubby cheeks are just like mine!] Rudra announces once more, his voice loud and proud, as if he's giving Ishan the greatest compliment possible.

His tiny hand lingers on Ishan's cheek, his fingers gently pinching the soft skin, testing the "golu-ness" with the kind of scientific rigor that only a child could bring.

The little fingers prod and poke, searching for the exact texture, the precise amount of squishiness that will confirm this monumental discovery.

Ishan's heart melts at the pure joy on Rudra's face. The way the little boy beams up at him, his excitement palpable, makes Ishan feel like he's just received the world's most heartfelt compliment.

He chuckles softly, his hand still resting over Rudra's, and he gives it a gentle squeeze, as if to confirm that he's listening.

"Haye! Meri jaan, tu kitna cute hai!" [Oh my! My dear, you are so cute!] Ishan exclaims, his voice bubbling with affection as he places his other hand gently over Rudra's tiny one, trying to stop the pinching.

Rudra's eyes widen even further, the realization making him nearly bounce off his feet with excitement.

"My mama also calls me meri jaan!" he exclaims, his tiny voice ringing with sheer delight as he flings his arms wide, almost as though he's discovered an exciting new connection between them.

His cheeks puff up proudly as if he's sharing some big family secret with Ishan, and then he giggles, like he's just let everyone in on a fantastic joke.

His little chest puffs up with pride, his cheeks ballooning out adorably, and there's this look on his face—like he's just shared a secret so important that it could change the world, or at least make someone else as happy as he feels right now.

His giggle tumbles out immediately afterward, the kind of carefree, infectious laughter only a child can manage, the sound bubbling over as if he's told a joke only he truly understands.

Ishan is watching him, his lips pulling into a slow, soft smile that grows wider with every second.

There's something about the sheer joy in Rudra's voice, the unfiltered excitement radiating from him, that tugs at Ishan's heart in a way he can't quite explain.

He keeps his hand gently over Rudra's, as though anchoring the moment, his thumb brushing over the small knuckles in a quiet show of affection.

"Tu toh full-on cuteness hai, champ," [You're like a treasure trove of cuteness, champ.] Ishan says, his voice filled with warmth as he shakes his head in disbelief, as if he can't quite handle just how adorable this kid is.

But before he can say anything more, another voice cuts in, calm but curious, carrying the easy authority of someone used to handling both kids and chaos.

"Champ, apke mama kahan hai?" [Champ, where is your mama?] Abhishek asks, stepping forward with a smile that's soft around the edges, though there's a flicker of concern in his eyes.

He crouches slightly as he speaks, his tone gentle but firm, as though trying to bridge the gap between his own towering height and the tiny boy in front of him.

There's a patience in the way he speaks, the kind that comes from someone who knows how to talk to kids—not like they're smaller, less important people, but like they're equals with a language all their own.

"Mama is in the washroom," he says, his words tumbling out with the unfiltered honesty only children possess. "Main dadu aur dadi ke saath hoon." [Mama is in the washroom. I'm here with dadu and dadi.]

His small voice carries a hint of pride, as though pointing out that he's not alone and is, in fact, under the watchful eyes of his grandparents, a fact that should reassure any grown-up.

Abhishek nods slowly, his smile growing just a little wider, but there's still an edge of curiosity in his expression. He tilts his head, letting Rudra see that he's not entirely convinced just yet.

"Aur woh kahan hai?" [And where are they?] he asks, his tone gentle but teasing, drawing out the words like he's playing a lighthearted game of twenty questions.

Rudra's brows furrow ever so slightly, his tiny forehead crinkling in a way that makes him look far older than his years.

He glances around the room briefly, as if searching for someone, before looking back at Abhishek with the kind of patience only a child pretending to be patient can manage.

Just as Rudra opens his mouth, perhaps to answer or perhaps to ask an unrelated question entirely—his train of thought often derailing without warning—a voice cuts through the quiet, clear and familiar.

"Chote Kaka?" [Little one?]

The words are gentle but enough to pull everyone's attention, and as if on instinct, all three men turn toward the source of the voice, their movements almost synchronized.

"Dadi!" [Grandma!] Rudra exclaims without missing a beat, his face lighting up in an instant, the sudden shift in his expression enough to make the world around him feel warmer.

"Maa?" [Mom?] Shubman's voice follows, softer but filled with the same warmth, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he recognizes the voice.

And just like that, Keart steps forward, her presence commanding yet gentle, followed closely by Lakhwinder, who moves with the assurance of someone who's seen it all.

Their eyes scan the room, taking in the scene before they both turn their attention to Rudra, whose face lights up instantly.

It's as if someone has flicked a switch, and suddenly, the little boy is glowing with an energy that's hard to ignore.

Without a second's hesitation, Rudra bursts into action. His legs move like they're made of pure excitement, carrying him across the room faster than anyone would expect from someone so small.

It's like he's been given a burst of energy—his tiny feet barely touching the ground as he races toward Keart, arms outstretched in an instinctive call for comfort, love, and all the warmth his little heart can absorb.

Keart's face softens instantly at the sight, her eyes twinkling with affection as she bends down to meet him.

The moment feels almost suspended in time, as if the world has paused for just a second, allowing the bond between grandmother and grandson to shine through.

Rudra's little hands reach up toward her, and she opens her arms wide, meeting him halfway.

There's a soft, almost reverent silence as she gathers him in, lifting him into her embrace with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times before.

In that moment, all else fades into the background—the room, the people, even the lingering questions. It's just Keart and Rudra, held in the quiet, comforting world they've created together.

Lakhwinder watches them with a small, knowing smile on his face. His eyes flicker briefly to Shubman, then to Keart and Rudra, before he turns his attention back to his son.

"Aur Shubman, gift le aaya?" [And Shubman, did you bring a gift?] Lakhwinder asks, his voice light and teasing, as he pats Shubman's shoulder affectionately, a gesture that feels both familiar and comforting.

Shubman, always the dutiful son, smiles warmly and nods. "Ji Papa, yeh lejiye," [Yes, Papa, here you go.] he says, his voice steady, but there's a glint of amusement in his eyes as he hands the Spiderman plushie over with a touch of pride.

With the gift exchanged, Shubman takes a step back, his attention naturally shifting to his mother.

His heart swells with affection as he watches Keart, a quiet moment of realization settling over him.

There's something about her presence that always calms him, that grounds him in a way nothing else can.

Without a second thought, he moves toward her, arms open, ready to embrace her in a long-awaited hug. He may have gotten older, but the bond between mother and son remains as strong as ever.

But as Shubman takes those first steps toward her, he feels an unusual shift in the air, a subtle tension that wasn't there a moment ago.

It's as though the world around him slows, and his instincts tell him something is off. He doesn't immediately know what it is, but the feeling lingers.

Rudra, nestled securely in Keart's arms, is the source of that change.

Rudra is possessive.

The little boy, previously laughing, suddenly looks far more serious than his years should allow.

His tiny face hardens, his brows knitting together with a protective intensity that seems far too grown-up for his small frame.

His small hands tighten around Keart, pulling her closer to him, as if to shield her from anyone—especially from Shubman.

He doesn't say a word, but the protective energy radiates from him like an invisible force field. Rudra's eyes lock onto Shubman, his gaze sharp and possessive, as if daring him to come any closer.

The innocence that once marked his expressions now gives way to a firm possessiveness.

It's not just that he's in his grandmother's arms; it's the very fact that she is his person, someone he has claimed as his own, and no one—least of all Shubman—can take her from him.

The little boy's arms encircle Keart's neck tighter, and his small face presses into her shoulder, as if to make a point that she is his and his alone.

There's no malice in Rudra's actions, no ill intentions, but it's clear: he doesn't like sharing, especially not his Dadi.

"Chote kake, yeh mera kaka hai" [Little one, he is my son.] she says in a calm, soothing tone, as though attempting to ease Rudra's sudden wariness.

But Rudra doesn't budge. His hold around Keart's neck tightens, his tiny face buried deeper into her shoulder.

His small body stays rigid, the unspoken message clear: You are mine, Dadi, and I'm not letting anyone take you from me.

His eyes still remain fixed on Shubman, unwavering and guarded, with no sign of letting up.

Shubman, slightly taken aback by Rudra's sudden transformation, hesitates for a moment.

He watches the little boy, his heart softening at the sight of such protective devotion, but the protective vibe from Rudra doesn't go unnoticed.

Still, he makes his move, slowly stepping closer, his arm stretching out, eager to wrap around his mother's shoulders in a warm, familiar side hug—something he's done a thousand times before.

But the moment his arm gets anywhere near Keart, something unexpected happens. A small hand shoots out—tiny but firm—and before Shubman even has a chance to react, Rudra pushes his arm away. It's not a rough shove, but it's definitely a clear, strong refusal.

Shubman freezes, blinking a few times in surprise. His arm, which had been just a moment away from connecting with his mother, now hangs awkwardly in mid-air.

He looks at Rudra, who is still clutching Keart tightly, his face serious but his eyes twinkling with a kind of impish triumph.

Rudra's lips curl into the tiniest of smiles, almost as if he's saying, Nice try, but you're not getting in on this one.

Shubman, never one to back down easily, raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin. He looks from Rudra to Keart, who seems amused by the whole interaction.

But before he can say anything, Rudra, not missing a beat, presses his tiny lips to Keart's cheek, planting a kiss that's more about claiming territory than affection, as if to make sure Shubman knows exactly who is in charge of this moment.

"My dadi hai," [She's my grandmother.] Rudra says, his voice sweet and matter-of-fact, like he's explaining something that is clearly obvious to everyone, as if he's just solved a riddle and now everyone needs to know the answer.

Shubman watches in disbelief, his jaw dropping a little as Rudra's words sink in. He blinks, trying to process the fact that not only is Rudra in control here, but he's also managed to stake his claim over Keart with the authority of a child who knows exactly how to win hearts.

"Teri dadi hai toh meri maa hai yeh. Mujhe meri Maa ko hug karne ka haq hai," [If she's your grandmother, then she's my mother. I have the right to hug my mother.] Shubman says with a grin, his voice teasing yet full of warmth, like he's both joking and not joking at the same time.

He throws Rudra a mock-defiant look, hoping the little guy will at least appreciate the playful challenge.

But Rudra is not to be outdone. His eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint, and without missing a beat, he shoots back with the kind of fierce determination that only a child could muster when they're defending something they hold dear.

"Nahi hai! My dadi!" [No, she's mine! My grandmother!] Rudra declares, puffing his chest out and raising his chin a little, as if to say, I'm not backing down, Uncle Shubman.

The conviction in his voice is pure, unshakable, and it almost makes Shubman want to laugh aloud at how seriously the little boy is taking this.

"Meri maa hai!" [She's my mother!] Shubman responds immediately, his tone playful but firm, like he's making his final statement on the matter.

"My dadi!" [My grandmother!] Rudra insists again, his tiny face scrunching up in the cutest way as he prepares for round two in this adorable battle of words.

"Ok ok, bas," [Okay, okay, enough.] Lakhwinder uncle interjects, his voice a mix of amusement and authority.

He steps forward, laughing as he places a gentle hand on both Shubman's and Rudra's shoulders, effectively halting their verbal sparring.

The two of them turn their attention to him, still smiling but now looking at Lakhwinder with curiosity.

"Sher puttar, yeh dekh, Shub tere liye yeh Spiderman plushie lekar aaya hai," [Look, my brave boy, Shubman, here's the Spiderman plushie I brought for you.] Lakhwinder uncle continues, his voice suddenly warm and affectionate.

He holds up a small Spiderman plushie, its red and blue colors standing out against the background. It's clearly a peace offering, a distraction, and he knows it'll work.

The moment the plushie is revealed, Rudra's eyes widen, and his little hands reach for it with the speed of a lightning bolt.

His previous scuffle with Shubman forgotten, he eagerly grabs the plushie, his face lighting up as though he's just been given the most treasured gift in the world.

It's as if the plushie has become the ultimate prize, and in that instant, all is forgiven, the playful tension between him and Shubman melting away.

Shubman chuckles softly, watching Rudra clutch the Spiderman plushie to his chest like it's the most valuable treasure in the world.

The boy's face is lit with pure, unfiltered joy, and for a moment, Shubman's usual competitive streak takes a backseat.

There's something about Rudra's enthusiasm, his sheer delight in the smallest things, that feels infectious.

It's a small victory for Rudra, but it feels monumental—like he's conquered an entire kingdom just by getting his hands on that plushie.

Keart looks on with a warm smile, gently stroking Rudra's back as he continues to marvel at the plushie. "Dekho na, kitni jaldi mood theek ho gaya iska," [Look at that, how quickly his mood has improved.] she says softly to Shubman, her tone filled with affection.

Lakhwinder chuckles, folding his arms as he leans slightly to one side. "Arrey mood toh change toh hoga hi na, Keart ji," [And why wouldn't the mood be changed, Keart ji?] he adds with mock seriousness, glancing at Shubman out of the corner of his eye. "Kyunki ye plushie laane ke liye toh hamare champion ne kitna effort kiya hai!" [After all, our champion here put in so much effort to bring that plushie!]

Shubman rolls his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a reluctant smile. "Papa, maine bas ek plushie uthaya hai, Mount Everest nahi chadha." [Papa, I just picked up a plushie, not climbed Mount Everest.]

His voice carries a playful exasperation, but his tone softens as he looks back at Rudra, who is now animatedly talking to Keart about all the "missions" Spiderman is going to go on.

Before anyone can respond, a new voice calls out, cutting through the gentle chatter.

It's Dhruv, his tone carrying just the right mix of affection and authority that makes people instinctively pay attention. "Oye chhote, kya shaitani kar rahe ho ab?" [Oh little one, what mischief are you up to now?]

All heads turn toward the source of the voice, and there he is—tall and lean, with an easygoing smile that seems permanently etched on his face.

Dhruv strides toward the group, his sharp black blazer slightly unbuttoned over a casual white shirt, looking every bit the confident professional until you notice the undeniable big-brother energy radiating off him.

Rudra's face lights up instantly, his small frame practically vibrating with excitement as he waves the Spiderman plushie in Dhruv's direction.

"Dhruv bhaiyya! Dekho, mere paas Spiderman hai!" [Dhruv bhaiyya! Look, I have Spiderman!] he exclaims, his voice high-pitched with excitement.

Dhruv's lips quirk into a grin. "Arre wah, Spiderman! Yeh kaise mila?" [Wow, Spiderman! How did you get this?] he asks, his tone exaggeratedly amazed, as though Rudra has just unveiled the eighth wonder of the world.

"Yeh Uncle laaye," [This Uncle brought it.] Rudra announces proudly, pointing straight at Shubman without a hint of hesitation.

Dhruv's grin falters for a fraction of a second as his gaze follows Rudra's outstretched finger.

His eyes land on Shubman, then shift to Ishan, and finally to Abhishek, all three of whom are watching the interaction with varying degrees of amusement.

It takes Dhruv a moment to process what he's seeing, and when it clicks, his eyes widen almost comically.

He blinks once, twice, his mouth opening slightly before snapping shut again. For someone who usually carries himself with easy confidence, Dhruv suddenly looks like he's been struck by lightning.

"Aap... Aap Shubman Gill ho?" [You... You're Shubman Gill?] he blurts out, his voice rising slightly in pitch as his brain scrambles to catch up with reality.

Shubman raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, and nods casually. "Haan, main Shubman hoon," [Yes, I'm Shubman.] he replies, his tone easy but laced with a hint of mischief.

"And that means..." Dhruv's voice trails off as his gaze flickers to Ishan and Abhishek. Recognition dawns fully, and his jaw drops. "Oh my God. Aap Ishan Kishan aur Abhishek Sharma bhi ho!" [Oh my God. You're Ishan Kishan and Abhishek Sharma too!]

Ishan, ever the entertainer, smirks and leans forward slightly, his gold kundals catching the light. "Aur koi doubt hai, bhai? Passport dikhana padega kya?" [Any doubts, bro? Should I show you my passport?] he quips, crossing his arms in mock seriousness.

Abhishek bursts out laughing, slapping Ishan lightly on the back. "Ishu, banda star-struck hai. Thoda chill kar," [Ishu, the guy's star-struck. Take it easy.] he teases, shaking his head.

Dhruv, still visibly stunned, straightens up a little, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh... I mean, I know who you guys are, obviously," he says quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Mujhe bas... kabhi socha nahi tha ki airport par aap logon se milne ka chance milega." [I just... never thought I'd get the chance to meet you guys at the airport.]

Shubman chuckles, exchanging a knowing glance with Ishan. "Airport toh safe jagah hai milne ke liye. Stadium mein toh zyada mushkil hota hai," [The airport is a safe place to meet. It's harder at the stadium.] he jokes, his tone lighthearted.

"Woh toh hai," [That's true.] Dhruv admits, a nervous laugh escaping him. He glances down at Rudra, who is still proudly showing off his Spiderman plushie, completely oblivious to the fact that his older brother is having a minor meltdown over standing in the presence of three cricketing icons.

Rudra tilts his head further, his curls bouncing as he considers the word. His brows furrow as though he's trying to unlock a great mystery. "Sharmaate? What does matlab?" [Blush? What does that mean?] he asks, his tiny voice brimming with curiosity.

Ishan grins wider, his gold kundals swinging lightly. "Matlab blush, champ. Jab log sharma jaate hain na, toh unka face lal ho jaata hai," [It means blush, champ. When people get shy, their face turns red.] he explains, gesturing dramatically to his own face, pretending to fan it for eff ect.

Rudra blinks up at Ishan, processing the explanation with all the seriousness of a child trying to grasp an unfamiliar concept.

Then, with the earnestness only a five-year-old can manage, he shakes his head firmly. "Dhruv bhaiyya kabhi does not blush," [Dhruv bhaiyya never blushes.] he declares, his tone absolute.

Ishan raises an eyebrow, glancing at Dhruv, whose face is already betraying him with a faint pink tinge creeping up his cheeks. "Pakka? Kabhi bhi nahi?" [Are you sure? Never?] Ishan prods, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Yes," Rudra says confidently, clutching his Spiderman plushie tighter as though it gives him authority on the matter.

Then, after a moment of thoughtful silence, his face lights up with an idea, and he leans in conspiratorially toward Ishan, his voice dropping to an exaggerated whisper, "Lekin I girlfriends ko blush have seen." [But I've seen his girlfriends blush.]

There's a beat of silence.

And then, all at once, the group erupts.

Ishan bursts into loud, unrestrained laughter, nearly doubling over as he clutches his stomach.

Even Abhishek, who had been trying to maintain some semblance of composure, loses it, letting out a bark of laughter that turns into a full-blown cackle.

Shubman's hand flies to his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he tries—and fails—to stifle his amusement.

Dhruv, meanwhile, looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. "Rudra!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of mortification and disbelief as he crouches down to the little boy's level. "Yeh kya bol raha hai tu? Girlfriends?" [What are you saying? Girlfriends?]

Rudra nods solemnly, his innocent expression making the situation ten times funnier. "Yes, bhaiyya. The one jo pretty dresses wear hain and go on aapke saath coffee date." [Yes bhaiyya. The ones who wear pretty dresses and go for coffee with you.] he says matter-of-factly, his tone entirely devoid of mischief.

Ishan is practically on the floor at this point, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes as he gasps for breath. "Bhai, tera toh pol khul gaya!" [Bro, your secrets are out in the open now!] he manages between fits of laughter.

Abhishek, still laughing, claps Dhruv on the back with mock sympathy. "Aur yeh kehta hai ki tu sharmaata nahi. Dekh, abhi kaise lal ho gaya hai," [And he says you don't blush. Look, your face is so red right now.] he teases, pointing at Dhruv's increasingly reddening face.

Dhruv groans loudly, running a hand down his face as if that will somehow erase the situation. "Rudra, yeh baatein ghar pe karte hain. Yahan sabke saamne nahi," [Rudra, we talk about these things at home. Not in front of everyone.] he mutters, his voice filled with exasperation as he glances at the cricketing trio, who are clearly enjoying every second of his torment.

Rudra blinks up at him innocently, tilting his head again. "But I kuch wrong toh no say, bhaiyya," [But I didn't say anything wrong, bhaiyya.] he says, his voice genuinely confused.

This only sets Ishan off again, his laughter echoing through the airport. "Wah, champ! Tu toh mera hero hai," [Wow, champ! You're my hero.] he declares, ruffling Rudra's curls affectionately.

Dhruv shifts his focus to Rudra, brushing off the laughter and teasing with a quick shake of his head.

He gently pinches Rudra's cheek, his tone softening as he asks, "Yeh sab chhod, chote, yeh bata ma'am kahan hai?" [Leave all this, little one. Tell me, where's Ma'am?]

Rudra points toward the general direction of the washrooms, his little hand gripping the Spiderman plushie tightly.

"Mama washroom mein hai," [Mama is in the washroom.] he says matter-of-factly, his focus already shifting back to the plushie as if the question wasn't all that important.

Dhruv nods, brushing his fingers gently through Rudra's messy curls, his eyes softening. "Theek hai, champ. Tab tak tu yahan relax kar aur Spiderman ke saath time spend kar, okay?" [Alright, champ. For now, just relax here and spend time with Spiderman, okay?] he says with a smile, his voice low and reassuring.

Rudra grins, clutching the plushie even tighter. "Okay, Dhruv bhaiyya," he chirps, completely at ease now.

Before Dhruv can say more, Shubman clears his throat, catching everyone's attention. "Maa, Papa," he begins, his tone calm but tinged with a slight urgency.

"Humein Shahneel di ke show ke liye late ho raha hai. Abhi chalte hain warna phir woh daantengi ki family hamesha last moment pe pahuchti hai." [We're getting late for Shahneel di's show. Let's leave now, or else she'll scold us for always arriving at the last moment.]

Keart glances at Lakhwinder, and they exchange a quick, knowing look. "Haan, sahi keh raha hai Shubman," [Yes, Shubman is right.]

Keart says, her voice carrying the kind of calm authority that immediately wraps everyone in a sense of assurance. She glances at Rudra, who is happily distracted by Spiderman, before continuing.

"Tum teeno jao, car start karo. Hum Rudra ko uski Mama ke paas chhod ke aate hain, phir milte hain parking lot mein." [You three go and start the car. We'll drop Rudra off with his Mama and then meet you in the parking lot.]

Ishan, who's been grinning through most of the interaction, raises an eyebrow. "Sure, aunty? Hum wait kar lete hain." [Are you sure, aunty? We can wait.]

Keart waves her hand dismissively, already crouching slightly to adjust Rudra's hoodie. "Arre nahi, tum log jao. Time waste mat karo," [Oh no, you all go. Don't waste time.] she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Show important hai, humein der nahi karni chahiye." [The show is important, and we shouldn't be late.]

But before Shubman, Ishan, or Abhishek can move, Dhruv steps forward, raising a hand as if to pause the entire conversation. "Nahi, aunty. Aap log jao. Main yahin hoon na, Rudra ko dekh lunga," [No, aunty. You all go. I'm here, right? I'll look after Rudra.] he says, his voice steady and confident.

He glances down at Rudra, who's now making Spiderman "swing" through the air with exaggerated sound effects, and smiles fondly. "Main yahin rukta hoon, aur jab ma'am aa jaengi, toh unke saath chala jaunga." [I'll stay here, and when ma'am returns, I'll leave with her.]

Keart hesitates, her motherly instincts kicking in as she scans Dhruv's face, searching for any sign of uncertainty.

But his expression remains calm, and the way he gently pats Rudra's head, keeping the boy completely at ease, reassures her. She looks at Lakhwinder, who gives a small nod, silently agreeing with Dhruv's suggestion.

"Thik hai, puttar," [Alright, dear.] Keart finally says, straightening up and placing a hand lightly on Dhruv's shoulder.

"Par Rudra ka dhyan rakhna, aur beta ji se kehna ki humein der ho rahi thi isiliye pehle nikal gaye." [But take care of Rudra, and tell beta ji that we had to leave early because we were getting late.]

"Bilkul," [Absolutely.] Dhruv replies, nodding firmly. "Woh bilkul safe hai mere saath, aunty. Aap tension mat lo." [He's completely safe with me, aunty. Don't worry.]

Keart's hand lingers on Rudra's back, her touch gentle yet firm, as though willing him to absorb the reassurance she wishes she could give.

"Beta," [Dear] she says softly, her voice a steady melody of affection and resolve, "Dadi ko ab jaana padega. Par main tumse promise karti hoon ki hum jaldi milenge. Dhruv bhaiyya yahin hain, aur tumhare saath rahenge." [Dadi has to go now. But I promise you, we'll meet again soon. Dhruv bhaiyya is here, and he will stay with you.]

Rudra's small fingers clutch the Spiderman plushie tighter, his movements slowing as his wide, curious eyes gaze up at Keart.

There's a quiet confusion in his expression, the kind that only a child carries when they're trying to make sense of something far beyond their grasp.

His lips part slightly, and in a voice no louder than a whisper, he asks, "Dadi, where go rahe ho? I ko bhi take with you." [Dadi, where are you going? Take me with you.]

Keart's heart squeezes painfully at his innocent words, the ache settling deep as she kneels once more to meet his eye level.

She gathers him in her arms, wrapping him in the kind of warm, all-encompassing hug only a grandmother can give. Her chin rests lightly on his soft hair, and her hand strokes his back in gentle, soothing circles.

Her voice trembles ever so slightly as she says, "Beta, Shahneel bua ka show shuru hone waala hai. Sabko time pe wahaan pahuchna zaroori hai. Tumhare saath rehne ka toh mann bohot hai, par Dhruv bhaiyya tumhare saath hain na, woh tumhara khayal rakhenge. Aur hum bohot jaldi wapas milenge." [Beta, Shahneel bua's show is about to start. Everyone needs to be there on time. I really want to stay with you, but Dhruv bhaiyya is here, and he'll take care of you. We'll meet again very soon.]

As she speaks, her words are soft, her tone careful, but it's clear they fail to reach the little boy whose world, for this moment, feels like it's unraveling. His grip on her only tightens as he shakes his head, the first glimmer of tears pooling in his eyes.

Lakhwinder steps forward, his usually steady presence now carrying a tenderness that's rare for him to show.

He crouches beside them, his large hand resting lightly on Rudra's small shoulder. His deep, calming voice breaks the silence. "Dekho, Sher puttar," [Look, lion cub,] he says gently, tilting his head to meet the boy's gaze.

"Dadu aur Dadi bas thodi der ke liye jaa rahe hain. Aur tum toh itne brave ho, hai na? Hum wapas aayenge, aur tab tumhe ek naya surprise bhi denge. Par abhi ke liye tumhe Dadi aur Dadu ko ek big smile deni hogi." [Dadu and Dadi are just going for a little while. And you're so brave, aren't you? We'll come back and even bring you a new surprise. But for now, you have to give Dadi and Dadu a big smile.]

For a moment, Rudra seems to consider Lakhwinder's words. His small brow furrows, his wide eyes darting between his grandparents. But the brave smile they're asking for doesn't come.

Instead, his lower lip trembles, and the first tear slips down his cheek, followed by another. His tiny voice breaks as he whispers, "No, I no rehna. I bhi go hai." [No, I don't want to stay. I want to come too.]

The sight of his tears is too much for Keart to bear. Her composure falters completely as she cups his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears that keep spilling over.

"Bas, beta. Aise mat ro," [Enough, beta. Don't cry like this.] she pleads softly, her voice thick with emotion. "Dadi ko jaana padega, par main hamesha tumhare saath hoon, chahe door kyun na hoon. Tumhe pata hai na, Dadi tumse kitna pyaar karti hai?" [Dadi has to go, but I'm always with you, even if I'm far away. You know how much Dadi loves you, don't you?]

But Rudra doesn't stop. His quiet sniffles grow into heartbreaking sobs, his small frame trembling as he clings to her desperately. "No, I Dadi ke with go hai," [No, I want to go with Dadi.] he cries, his voice cracking with the raw emotion of a child who cannot understand why he has to let go of someone he loves.

Lakhwinder's shoulders slump slightly as he stands up, his usual stoicism replaced by an uncharacteristic vulnerability.

He runs a hand over his face, the weight of the moment visible in the way his jaw tightens. Unable to find the words, he glances at Dhruv, silently asking for help.

Dhruv, who has been standing quietly in the background, steps forward with purpose now. His gaze softens as he crouches down in front of Rudra, his tone calm but laced with just enough authority to command attention.

"Rudra," he says gently, his arms opening slightly as if inviting the boy into his space. "Dekho, agar tum aise roge na, toh Spiderman tumhare saath khelna band kar dega. Usse toh sirf brave superheroes pasand hain. Aur mujhe pata hai ki tum sabse brave ho." [Look, if you cry like this, Spiderman will stop playing with you. He only likes brave superheroes. And I know you're the bravest of all.]

Rudra's sobs falter for a moment as Dhruv's words sink in. He looks up at him, his tear-streaked face filled with doubt, his small chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

"I brave hoon?" [Am I brave?] he asks shakily, a flicker of hope breaking through the sadness.

Dhruv nods, his smile warm and reassuring as he reaches out to gently pull Rudra into his arms. "Bilkul," [Absolutely.] he says, stroking the boy's back. "Tum mere chhote superhero ho. Aur superheroes kabhi nahi rote. Tum Dadi aur Dadu ko ek big hug do aur unhe ek smile dikhao. Phir hum Spiderman ke saath maze karenge, thik hai?" [You're my little superhero. And superheroes never cry. Give Dadi and Dadu a big hug and show them a smile. Then we'll have fun with Spiderman, okay?]

Rudra hesitates, his small hands clutching at Dhruv's shirt now instead of Keart's. He looks back at his grandparents, his expression still uncertain but softening as Dhruv's presence steadies him. Slowly, he nods, though the tears haven't completely stopped.

Keart leans in to scoop him up for one final hug, holding him tightly against her. Her voice wavers as she whispers, "Mera brave chota kaka. Hum tumse bohot pyaar karte hain." [My brave little one. We love you so much.]

She presses a lingering kiss to his forehead before setting him back down gently.

As Lakhwinder and Keart finally step away, their gazes lingering on Rudra, Dhruv adjusts the boy in his arms and whispers something softly in his ear.

Whatever it is, it seems to brighten Rudra's face just slightly. His sobs fade into soft sniffles, though his cheeks remain damp.

Ishan, standing a few steps away, watches the scene with an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. He shifts his weight awkwardly, his usual easy grin replaced by a conflicted expression that doesn't quite fit his face.

For someone who thrives on lighthearted jokes and playful banter, this moment feels unexpectedly heavy.

He hasn't known Rudra for long—just a handful of minutes, really—but something about the boy has woven itself into his heart.

He takes a small step forward, hands stuffed into his pockets, before crouching slightly to bring himself closer to Rudra's level.

"Chhote, tumhe pata hai na ki superheroes sirf tab sad hote hain jab unke friends unhe smile nahi dete?" [Little one, you know superheroes only get sad when their friends don't smile at them, right?] he says softly, his tone unusually gentle, his eyes flickering with an emotion he doesn't entirely understand himself.

His words are light, meant to cheer, but the slight crack in his voice betrays how affected he is.

Rudra's gaze shifts to Ishan, his brows furrowing as he considers the words, though he doesn't reply. His small fingers still clutch the fabric of Dhruv's shirt, his hesitation evident.

"Rudra," Ishan begins hesitantly, his voice softer than usual as he steps forward. He holds out the plushie, his fingers brushing against its soft fur as if reluctant to let it go.

"Yeh lo. Yeh bunny tumhare liye hai. Main soch raha tha ki mujhe chahiye hoga, par shayad yeh tumhare liye zyada special ban sakta hai." [Here, Rudra. This bunny is for you. I thought I needed it, but maybe it can be more special for you.]

Rudra's red-rimmed eyes lift to meet Ishan's, and for a moment, he just stares at the bunny. Slowly, his little hand reaches out to take it, fingers curling around the soft pink fabric.

He holds it close, pressing it against his chest alongside Spiderman, his lips trembling as he whispers, "I liye?" [For me?]

Ishan nods, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips, though his throat feels tight. "Haan, tumhare liye," [Yes, for you.] he says, his voice warm but tinged with something unspoken.

"Tumhare paas ek superhero hai aur ab ek bunny bhi hai, dono tumhe hamesha khush rakhenge. Jaise ki tumhe khush rehna chahiye." [You have a superhero and now a bunny too—both will always keep you happy, just like you should be.]

Rudra clutches the bunny tighter, his small face pressing into its fur as if testing its softness. The "Thank you" that follows is barely audible, but it's enough to make Ishan's chest ache with a bittersweet warmth.

He steps back, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to compose himself, but his eyes linger on Rudra for just a moment longer.

Abhishek, standing silently nearby, watches the scene unfold with an ache he can't quite put into words. He's always been good with kids—playful, easygoing—but this is different.

He's only just met Rudra, and yet the thought of saying goodbye feels heavier than he expected. He steps closer, kneeling to meet Rudra's gaze, and his usual cheeky smile falters into something softer, more sincere.

"Rudra," Abhishek says gently, his voice lower than usual, "Next time jab hum milenge na toh main tumhare saath cricket khelunga, promise." [The next time we meet, I will play cricket with you, I promise.]

Rudra's grip on the bunny tightens, and for a moment, he seems on the verge of tears again. But Abhishek reaches out, ruffling the boy's soft hair in a gesture so gentle it's almost reverent.

"Superheroes kabhi nahi rote, yaad hai?" [Superheroes never cry, remember?] he adds with a small grin, though his voice trembles just slightly.

Rudra nods slowly, his lips pressing together in a brave attempt to hold back his emotions.

He leans forward, wrapping his small arms around Abhishek and Ishan's neck in a sudden, unexpected hug that takes the cricketer by surprise.

Both freeze for a moment before letting their arms come up to envelop Rudra, holding him tightly as if it's the only thing grounding the little boy.

Shubman crouches down slowly to Rudra's height, his hands resting gently on his knees as if bracing himself for something unspeakably hard.

His eyes soften, the usual sparkle dimmed, replaced by an emotion that he cannot quite place—a strange heaviness that coils around his chest and refuses to let go.

He's been good with kids before; they laugh at his jokes, hang onto his words, and admire his feats on the field. But this... this feels different.

It's not admiration or awe he sees in Rudra's big, curious eyes—it's something more raw, something unspoken, as though the boy sees through every layer of him and reaches straight for his heart.

Rudra stands silently, his small hands twisting nervously in front of him. His gaze flickers up to Shubman's face, uncertain but steady, as if he's searching for answers to questions he doesn't even know how to ask.

Shubman swallows, his throat dry, and offers the boy a tentative smile—one that feels more like an apology than anything else.

Rudra's lips press into a thin line, his chin quivering slightly as if he's trying to keep himself together. He nods, but the gesture feels half-hearted, as if it's not enough to truly convey what's going on inside him.

His small frame looks impossibly smaller under the dim light, his presence fragile yet grounding in a way Shubman can't explain.

Shubman feels an odd pull in his chest, like something fragile and precious slipping through his fingers, though he doesn't know what it is or why it's so significant.

He shifts forward, balancing on his heels, lowering himself even further until his eyes are level with Rudra's.

His knees almost touch the floor, his body instinctively moving to close the space between them, though it feels like no matter how close he gets, the distance between them remains infinite, vast in ways he can't fully understand.

Then Rudra's voice comes, soft and trembling, barely above a whisper, but each word lands with the weight of something far heavier. "I am sorry rude hone keliye, angry uncle." [I'm sorry for being rude, angry uncle.]

Shubman freezes. The words hit him like a punch to the gut—not because they're accusatory or hurtful, but because of the way they're laced with innocence, an innocence that carries the kind of honesty most adults lose over time.

The boy's apology is earnest, vulnerable, and so utterly pure that Shubman doesn't know what to do with it.

For a moment, he's silent, searching Rudra's face for clues, for some sign of what the boy is really feeling.

But Rudra's big, dark eyes look back at him, open and honest, offering no answers—only more questions. Shubman exhales slowly, his heart aching in a way he's never felt before.

"Rudra," he says softly, his voice gentler than he thought it could be.

He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Kuch bhi ho, tumhe mujhse maafi maangne ki zarurat kabhi nahi padegi, samjhe?" [No matter what, you'll never need to apologize to me, understand?]

His words are steady, but there's a crack in his tone, a rawness that betrays the storm brewing inside him.

Rudra blinks up at him, tilting his head slightly, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind the words.

Shubman wonders what the boy must be thinking, what thoughts are running through that young, sharp mind.

Does Rudra think of him as a stranger? Or is there something else there—a flicker of recognition, a connection that neither of them can name?

The silence stretches between them, thick and heavy, until Shubman reaches out. His hand hovers hesitantly for a moment before he himself pull the boy into a hug.

"Tum bilkul galat nahi the, Rudra. Kabhi kabhi hum sab thoda gussa ho jaate hain, bas baat itni si hai." [You weren't wrong, Rudra. Sometimes we all get a little angry, that's all.] He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. "Aur tumhara gussa... woh bhi valid tha. Main bhi thoda rude tha na?" [And your anger... that was valid too. I was a little rude as well, wasn't I?]

Rudra's lips twitch, as he feels the man hug him, almost forming a small smile, but it disappears just as quickly.

"Par mujhe aapko hurt nahi karna chahiye tha... maine aapko hurt kiya?" [But I shouldn't have hurt you... did I hurt you?]

The question lodges itself deep in Shubman's chest, tightening the ache that's already settled there.

He feels like he's walking on a razor's edge, trying to find the right words without fully understanding why it matters so much.

"Nahi, bilkul nahi," [No, not at all.] he says, his voice firm but soft, like he's making a promise. "Tumne mujhe hurt nahi kiya, Rudra. Tum kabhi nahi kar sakte." [You didn't hurt me, Rudra. You never could.]

Rudra stares at him, his expression unreadable for a long moment, before nodding slowly, as if accepting the words but still holding onto some doubt.

And in that moment, Shubman feels an overwhelming surge of protectiveness, an instinct so powerful it takes his breath away.

Shubman watches as Rudra nods, his small, delicate head lowering slightly as if weighed down by an invisible burden.

He doesn't know why it feels so heavy in his chest—this ache that seems to grip him from the inside out, growing stronger with each passing second.

As if something inside him is quietly unraveling, thread by thread, and the more he stands here, the more distant Rudra feels, even though the boy is right in front of him.

He breathes in deeply, but the air feels heavier than it should, as if the space between them has stretched to an unmanageable length.

He knows he should pull away, knows that leaving is what's best for both of them—after all, this isn't his child, this isn't his responsibility.

But for some reason, the thought of leaving feels like a piece of him is being torn away.

But with each step he imagines taking, the feeling in his chest grows heavier, suffocating in its intensity.

The thought of leaving... of walking away... sends a sharp pain through him, almost like a physical injury. And yet, he doesn't know why.

It's as though something is pulling him back, a magnetic force he can't explain, something he's not ready to leave behind, though he knows it's not meant for him.

The words 'goodbye' linger on the tip of his tongue, but they don't feel right. It doesn't feel like the right thing to say to Rudra.

His feet feel as though they're trudging through thick mud, each movement sluggish, reluctant. The ache in his chest intensifies, and he doesn't understand it.

He doesn't understand why leaving feels like his heart is being torn into pieces, why it feels like he's losing something that's been his all along, even though he can't put a name to it.

He looks back once more, his gaze lingering on Rudra, who's still standing there, watching him with wide, searching eyes.

For a moment, Shubman's breath catches in his throat, and he feels the overwhelming urge to go back, to scoop the boy up into his arms and tell him that everything will be okay.

But instead, he forces himself to take another step forward, to move away, to leave.

But he keeps walking. He has to. Because what else is there to do when you don't even understand the force that's pulling you?

His heart aches in ways he can't put into words, and he doesn't know what this feeling is, or why it hurts so much. But one thing is painfully clear: leaving Rudra feels like leaving a part of himself behind.

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I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THE MEETING BETWEEN RUDRA AND SHUBMAN. I am sorry if it was a bit disappointing or boring.

bowledover18, Esma_Hiranur_Sultan, ogcuphid, dagabaazreee

Pasand aaya, toh vote and comment kar dena. Story mein kuch chahiye, toh bata dena.

Aur prem so bolo,

Radhe..Radhe 🙏🏻