Above is what Dhruv looks like
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Kahan faas gaya yaar... [Where have I gotten stuck, man...]

Dhruv is bored out of his mind.

Sitting at the edge of his chair, Dhruv is fighting valiantly against the creeping boredom threatening to claim him. His gaze flits around the boardroom, taking in the scene that had become all too familiar over the past year—a long, polished table surrounded by executives who looked like they had stepped straight out of a luxury brand catalog.

Suits so sharp they could cut glass, glasses perched on noses with a precision that seemed calculated, and the occasional flash of pearls that gleamed under the cold, unforgiving light of the overhead fixtures.

He stifles a sigh, shifting slightly in his chair. Why did these boardrooms always feel like they were designed to crush the spirit?

The air-conditioning was set to "Arctic Blast," the chairs, though expensive, seemed deliberately uncomfortable, and the tone of the meeting was always the same—serious, methodical, and painfully devoid of any spontaneity.

Dhruv hates it. He'd take the chaos of his desk over this stifling atmosphere any day. At least there, he could scroll through memes between tasks without feeling like he was being scrutinized by a jury of austere strangers.

Yet here he is, stuck, trying to keep his restlessness under wraps. He casts a glance at Siya, who commands the room with her signature calm. Standing at the head of the table, she presents the quarterly financial report with a confidence that borders on artistry.

Her voice is steady and measured, weaving through projections and growth rates like a maestro guiding an orchestra. To anyone else, it might be dry technical jargon, but to Dhruv, it's mesmerizing.

How does she do it? he wonders, leaning back slightly, arms crossed. How does she make numbers sound... exciting?

If he were up there, he'd probably end up saying something absurd like, "Haan, toh revenue growth... kya baat karoon aap logon se... bas samajh lo, badhiya ho raha hai!" [Yeah, so revenue growth... what can I even say, guys? It's going great, just trust me.]

But Siya ma'am? Siya ma'am can turn a 7% revenue increase into a financial picture so precise it would make a banker blush. She has them all—even Mr. Callas, the self-appointed skeptic of the group—nodding along like she was revealing the secrets of the universe.

"Revenue growth stands at a 7% increase from last quarter," Siya says, each word landing with purpose. "This is primarily driven by strong performance in our Asia-Pacific and EMEA regions, where markets have exceeded initial projections. However, North America presents some challenges. Rising operational costs and inflationary pressures have created a slight dip, but we've already implemented measures to mitigate these impacts."

He can see the board members nodding along, their sharp eyes following Siya's every move, every calculated recommendation.

They're impressed—anyone with half a brain can tell. Even that old guy, Mr. Hendrix, with the pocket square who looks like he hasn't approved of anything since 1987 seems begrudgingly intrigued.

Dhruv smirks to himself. Dekha? Meri Siya ma'am kuch bhi kar sakti hai. Taklu panga mat leo. [See? My Siya ma'am can handle anything. Don't mess with her, you baldie]

He mentally cheers for her, fighting the urge to clap in the middle of her presentation.

Dhruv thinks that even if Siya ma'am was listing ingredients for a recipe, for all he cares—she makes everything sound rock solid. And as she wraps up her point, even Mr. Callas raises a thoughtful eyebrow, though Dhruv swears he's doing his best to look unimpressed.

"Ms. Tripathi," Callas began, his tone laced with the kind of deliberate gravitas that made Dhruv's fists clench under the table. "Your projections for mitigating operational costs in North America are... optimistic. Could you elaborate on the specific strategies you plan to employ?"

Oh no. Mr. Glasses Adjustment is going in for the kill.

Here we go, Dhruv thinks, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. Callas always had a way of making even the simplest questions sound like accusations. His steepled fingers and measured pauses make Dhruv want to fling a coffee mug across the room, at him.

Benstokes, yeh uncle kuch zyada nahi bol raha. [Benstokes, isn't this uncle saying a bit too much?]

But Siya, cool as ice, just listens, nodding like she's genuinely considering his words, even though Dhruv knows she's heard it all before. She's unfazed, of course—Callas could toss her a live grenade and she'd probably find a way to disarm it before anyone had time to blink.

Bas tu mujhe boardroom ke bahar mil, [Just meet me outside the boardroom] he mutters in his mind, imagining the very satisfying dressing-down he'd give Callas if he ever caught him in the hallway.

He catches himself staring daggers at Callas and quickly shifts his gaze, straightening up in his chair, hoping no one noticed his almost-fistfight with his own thoughts.

Siya glances at him briefly, giving him a subtle, almost amused look, as if to say, Relax. I've got this. "Mr. Callas, we've allocated funds specifically for our marketing campaigns in key North American markets—places where we see the highest return. The plan is to tailor our approach each quarter, adjusting based on market responses and competitor activity. In addition, we'll be redirecting certain budget allocations from lower-performing areas to areas with higher growth potential. This should allow us to address the cost impacts without exceeding the limits we've set."

"We'll also," Siya adds, her tone firm but patient, "be implementing phased adjustments over the next two quarters to monitor and manage any unforeseen fluctuations in operational costs. If we see any red flags, we'll respond immediately, ensuring our targets stay on track for the fiscal year's close." Her gaze is steady, meeting Callas's with a confidence that's impossible to ignore.

Siya, meanwhile, sits there as if she hasn't just single-handedly dismantled Callas's mildly antagonistic line of questioning. She gives him a polite smile, the kind that says, "I hope we're good now," but also quietly dares him to find a single flaw in her logic.

Dhruv watches her with a mix of awe and amusement, thinking she could probably talk a volcano out of erupting if she wanted to.

Callas adjusts his glasses for what feels like the fiftieth time that day, the universal sign of a man scrambling to recover. He clears his throat, looking like he's about to say something, but then apparently thinks better of it. Dhruv stifles a laugh, biting the inside of his cheek.

Arre wah, ab toh uncle seedha line pe aa gaya. Siya ma'am ka jaadoo. [Wow, the uncle is suddenly in line. Siya ma'am's magic.]

Across the table, Ms. Woodgrip adjusts her reading glasses in a way that feels almost ceremonial, like she's preparing to deliver the final verdict.

Every movement is deliberate, her calm, unhurried demeanor carrying the weight of decades of boardroom dominance. When she finally speaks, her voice is so smooth and composed it could probably lull a lion to sleep.

"Siya," she says, her words measured and deliberate, like she's addressing the entire United Nations instead of just a room full of tired executives. "Your insight is, as always, deeply appreciated. It's clear you not only grasp the complex layers of this business but also possess the foresight to navigate challenges before they even arise."

The compliment lands like a well-timed applause line, and Dhruv watches as the room collectively nods in agreement. A few executives scribble notes, while others murmur their approval, clearly kicking themselves for not having thought of such an eloquent answer themselves.

Dhruv sneaks a glance at Siya, expecting her to be soaking in the well-deserved praise, but she just sits there, cool and composed, like this is just another Tuesday for her.

Ekdam James Bond vibes. Bas yeh Martini nahi peeti. [James Bond vibes. Just missing a martini.]

Pehle kyun nahi bola, aunty?  Why did you say this before, aunty?] he thinks, mentally throwing in a triumphant drumroll. Sabko pata hai Siya ma'am ke bina yeh board do din nahi chal sakta. [Everyone knows without Siya ma'am, this board won't run a day.]

But then, something about Woodgrip's tone catches his attention. It's a little too... polished. Like there's something brewing beneath the surface. Dhruv narrows his eyes, suddenly suspicious.

Yeh itni tareef kyun kar rahi hai? Kahin yeh golmaal toh nahi? Kuch toh gadbad hai, Daya. [Why is she praising Siya ma'am so much? Is this a scam? Something's fishy, Daya.]

Woodgrip pauses, her faint smile growing just enough to make Dhruv feel like she's about to drop a plot twist. Siya tilts her head slightly, her expression politely curious, but Dhruv can tell she's clocked the same thing. Kya twist dene wali hai, aunty? Komolika kahi ki, teri chaal ke pichhe kya hai? [What twist is this aunty about to reveal? Komolika vibes—what's the scheme behind this move?]

"In fact, Siya," Woodgrip says, her voice clear, deliberate, each syllable carrying the authority of someone who knows the magnitude of what she's about to propose, "we'd like to offer you an opportunity to lead on a scale that very few are ever entrusted with."

She leans forward, her hands clasped before her as she continues, her tone almost reverent. "You've built something extraordinary here, and it's not only recognized by those of us in this room but by our global board. Your vision, your meticulous attention to detail, your ability to anticipate challenges and adapt—that's what we need, but on a much larger scale."

The words land in slow motion for Dhruv. His first thought is that this is great news—Siya deserves all the recognition she's getting. But his second thought?

Arre yaar, isse kya matlab hai? Siya ke workload ka already Himalaya bana hua hai, aur upar se aur kaam? Kya yeh people pleaser boss logon ka naye tareeke ka prasad hai? [Oh, come on, what does this mean? Siya's workload is already as big as the Himalayas, and now more work on top of that? Is this some new 'people-pleaser boss' trick?]

He risks a glance at Siya. She's still calm, her expression unreadable, but Dhruv knows her well enough to see the flicker of calculation behind her eyes.

If this were a chessboard, she'd already be three moves ahead, anticipating the long game. Dhruv, on the other hand, can't help imagining Woodgrip dramatically standing up and revealing a giant flowchart titled "How to Overwork Siya Tripathi in Three Easy Steps."

As the room collectively holds its breath, Dhruv leans back, crossing his arms again. He's not sure what's coming next, but one thing he does know? Whatever move Siya makes, it's going to be brilliant—and maybe just a little bit dangerous.

Aakhir Siya ma'am ke saamne toh duniya bhi ek plan banake hi aati hai. [After all, the world always comes prepared when facing Siya Ma'am.]

"We are in the process of expanding significantly in India. The division there has immense potential, but we need someone with both strategic acumen and a grounded understanding of the market—someone who can lead with both vision and pragmatism. In essence, we're offering you not merely a role but an enterprise of your own making. You would oversee every division within India, setting the tone, establishing the standards, and essentially sculpting our entire presence there according to your own blueprint."

For a moment, Dhruv's brain stalls. It is a rare thing for him, a man whose thoughts generally flowed faster than a WhatsApp group on IPL night. But this? This was next level.

His mind trips over itself, trying to process the sheer enormity of what was being said. Bhanyankar! Yeh toh pehli baar kisi ko seedha Shahenshah bana rahe hain. [This is insane! They're practically making her an emperor for the first time!]

And then came the kicker. Mr. Hamil, chimes in, his tone a touch more personal, as if he were confiding in Siya rather than making an announcement to the room.

"This is not a conventional CEO role," he says, his words calm but brimming with intent. "You would have unprecedented control over operational decisions, personnel, and strategic partnerships. Think of it as running your own empire under the banner of this company."

Dhruv's eyebrows shoot up, and he barely suppresses the urge to whistle. Empire? Matlab, Mughal-e-Azam level ka promotion hai yeh! Genius mode on hai, yeh toh confirmed. [An empire? This is Mughal-e-Azam-level promotion! Genius mode on: confirmed.]

Hamil isn't done. Oh no, he is just getting started. "You would have complete autonomy to hire or remove key leaders, to select the regional heads who align with your vision, and to implement initiatives at your own discretion," he continues, his voice steady. "And as an added element of ownership, the board has approved a significant equity stake in the company. This is more than a title; it's a tangible investment in your leadership, a partnership that reflects the belief we have in your capabilities and vision."

"You would be leading all divisions in India with an authority that transcends even typical CEO responsibilities. We believe in your strategic vision, your attention to detail, and your ability to inspire loyalty and excellence. And that's why the board has approved a substantial equity stake—an investment that makes you a true partner in our mission. We don't want just a leader; we want someone who will shape the future of our company in India."

Hamil finally sits back, the faintest smile tugging at his lips, like he knows the enormity of what he has just offered. The room seems to exhale collectively, the kind of silence that came not from discomfort but from sheer awe.

Dhruv's smirk is now bordering on a full-blown grin, his chest swelling with an almost comedic level of pride. The words lands like fireworks in Dhruv's brain.

For a second, he wants to jump out of his chair and scream, Behenchod, but he manages to stay seated, though his inner voice was losing it completely. AMBANI SIDE HATT JAA. MERI MUMMY CEO AA RAHI HAI! NACHO, BC! [Ambani, move aside. My mummy is becoming CEO! Dance, everyone!]

In his head, a chaotic Bollywood soundtrack has already begun its overture, an auditory hallucination of triumph. Dhoom machale, Dhruv. Dhoom machale, his inner voice urges, punctuating each imagined drumbeat with the glorious implications of Siya's soon-to-be reign.

Amid the swirling excitement and the mental confetti cannons, one crystalline thought managed to rise above the noise, clear and unshakable: Siya is about to rewrite the rulebook of corporate leadership. And here he is, front row to the revolution, possibly even holding the metaphorical mic stand for her.

Kya maze wali life hogi, meri. The PA to Lady Ambani. Haye... [What a fun life it is going to be. The PA to Lady Ambani.] He barely suppressed the urge to mentally belt out, NACHOOO.

Siya ma'am is as serene and focused as a sage meditating on the answers to life itself. But Dhruv, who had seen this woman turn everything from boardroom politics to airport delays into works of art, could sense the wheels spinning in her mind.

Beneath that poised exterior was a tug-of-war between her unstoppable ambition and the memories that clung to the place she was being asked to build this empire.

A flicker of emotion passed across her gaze, subtle but enough for Dhruv to notice, and he felt an overwhelming pang of admiration for the woman he'd come to respect more than anyone else in his life.

He was still lost in this reverie when Mr. Callas' voice broke through, sharper now, and pointed directly at him. "Oh, and Dhruv," Callas said, his tone carrying a teasing glint, as if he were about to reveal a surprise he'd been holding back for dramatic effect, "we haven't forgotten about you."

Dhruv blinks, caught off guard, his excitement doing a poor job of staying contained as he straightened slightly in his seat. "Me?" he manages, though the grin creeping onto his face is already threatening to split it in two.

The idea of an opportunity being extended to him was too delicious to resist, and his mind immediately goes into overdrive, imagining all the absurd possibilities. Opportunity? Matlab kya? CEO of Coffee Supply Chains? Managing Director of Siya's Calendar? Global Head of Emergency Meeting Snacks? [Opportunity? What is it? CEO of Coffee Supply Chains? Global Head of Emergency Meeting Snacks?]

Siya turns her head just slightly, raising an eyebrow at him, a flicker of amusement ghosting across her lips. Dhruv could tell she is trying hard not to smirk. It was an expression that said, Oh, you're going to love this, and also, Don't you dare embarrass me, Dhruv.

"We'd like you to continue as Siya's PA," Callas begins, the words calm, measured, as if he were building suspense on purpose, "but with certain... upgrades." He pauses, letting the word sink in, watching Dhruv's reaction with barely concealed amusement.

"You'll still be her right hand, of course—she'll need someone she trusts implicitly. But we're adding responsibilities tied to strategic operations. Consider it an elevated title, a significantly revised salary package, and—naturally—a few additional resources to help you support her effectively as she transitions into this new role."

For a moment, Dhruv can only stare, his mind spinning like a roulette wheel of wild possibilities. "Elevated title?" he repeated silently, tasting the phrase as if it were the most decadent dessert he'd ever been served.

He imagined himself striding into their soon-to-be glitzy India headquarters with a title embossed on his office door—something grand like Chief of Staff to the CEO.

"And," Hamil continues, "to assist with the demands of the role, you'll have access to a small discretionary fund. For last-minute travel arrangements, high-level meeting preparations, or..." He waits for effect, his gaze drifting toward Siya with a glimmer of humor in his eyes, "those occasional, life-or-death coffee emergencies." He ends with a conspiratorial wink, and Dhruv, who was hanging on to every word like a puppy hearing the crinkle of a treat bag, almost whooped out loud.

Discretionary fund? His brain latches onto those words with a grip tighter than a cricket commentator clutching his mic during a last-over finish.

The possibilities blooms in his mind, loud and colorful and utterly absurd. Toh ab Starbucks pe bhi CEO-level orders! Hazelnut syrup extra, caramel drizzle double. Jeena isi ka naam hai. [Starbucks orders with CEO-level hazelnut syrup! This is life!]

For a moment, he allows himself to revel in the sheer drama of it all. His mind sketches wild scenarios where he wasn't just a PA—he was The PA, swooping into meetings with bespoke leather folders, his phone always buzzing with high-stakes updates from people whose job titles had "Global" in them.

He imagines himself shaking hands with Fortune 500 CEOs, walking into rooms that smelled of freshly brewed power plays, and tossing folders dramatically onto long mahogany conference tables.

Dhruv catches Siya's gaze, and the look they exchanged nearly undid him. There it was, that unspoken language they'd perfected over countless late nights and early mornings.

Her lips twitch, just enough to signal amusement, and her eyes sparkle with affection mixed with a warning that said, If you embarrass me right now, I'll make you use that discretionary fund to buy 500 kilos of paperclips.

He grins back, equal parts mischievous and reverent, and tightens his grip on the armrest to keep from bursting into a monologue worthy of a Karan Johar climax scene.

For just a second, he imagines throwing his arms into the air, tears streaming down his face, and shouting in the cabin, Siya Maa, tum dekh rahi ho? Aapka Dhruv executive PA ban gaya! [Siya Mom, can you see? Your son is an executive PA now!]

But he settles instead for a wide grin and a nod so enthusiastic that Siya had to suppress a chuckle.

Hamil's voice shiftes slightly, leaning into something more thoughtful. "We'll also be offering access to senior leadership training resources, mentorship opportunities with our global offices, and an expectation that you'll play an integral role in supporting high-level operations. Think of it as a unique kind of executive mentorship."

The words "senior leadership" hits Dhruv like a ton of bricks. Processing them slowly, his thoughts ricocheting between awe and disbelief. Senior leadership? Him? The same guy who once spilled coffee on the office printer and tried to bribe the IT guy with samosas to keep it quiet? The same guy who had once—okay, maybe twice—used company resources to organize a surprise biryani lunch for Siya just because she looked stressed? And now they wanted him to assist with high-level operations?

The board's knowing look didn't help. It was as if the board had a direct view into Dhruv's mind, watching the chaos unfold and finding it deeply amusing. Dhruv managed to nod, his face caught somewhere between wide-eyed astonishment and barely contained glee.

Like a kid needing reassurance from their mother, he searches for Siya's reaction, needing some kind of grounding amidst the overwhelming tide of possibility.

His gaze landed on her, lips curved into the faintest smile, one that seemed to speak directly to him without the need for words. You can do this, it said, a reassurance so gentle and understated that it made Dhruv's chest tighten.

But there was more to her expression than encouragement. The way she is hold the end of the table, her knuckles turning white, hidden from others. Almost. But Dhruv notices. He always notices. And for all her poise, for all the effortless grace Siya carried like armor, Dhruv could see something slipping through the cracks.

Fear.

He couldn't name it, couldn't explain it, but it was there—a flicker of something in the way her lips are pressed together just a second too long, in the slight tremor of her hand as it brushed her sleeve, in the way her eyes, sharp and calculating as always, seemed to hesitate, lingering on some invisible horizon that no one else in the room could see.

It wasn't obvious, not to the untrained eye. The rest of the board saw the same impenetrable Siya Tripathi who could out-strategize a chess master while sipping her morning coffee.

But Dhruv? Dhruv had seen her at her lowest, her messiest, her human-est. He'd seen her wrap up five-hour strategy meetings with a smile, only to collapse into her office chair five minutes later, rubbing her temples and muttering about why Excel sheets should be outlawed.

And right now, something is eating at her. Something big.

The air is thick with the kind of silence that spoke louder than any words—a silence charged with the gravity of the proposal that had just been presented. Papers rests untouched on the table, pens lay idle, and the faint hum of the air conditioning provided the only sound, a mechanical reminder of the tension that filled the space.

Siya's gaze wasn't on the expectant faces of the executives before her, nor on the papers spread out like a battlefield on the table. Instead, her eyes seemed to drift somewhere far beyond the confines of the room, as though she were looking at something only she could see, something foreign and untouchable.

The silence stretches on, and for a moment, it seemed as though no one dared to break it. Then, Siya's shoulders shift ever so slightly as she inhales deeply, her chest rising and falling with a deliberate steadiness that spoke of someone trying to gather scattered pieces of resolve.

Her hands tightened briefly before relaxing again, the gesture so subtle it would have gone unnoticed by anyone who didn't know her. Dhruv did.

When Siya finally speaks, her voice smooth, even, and measured, the kind of voice that commanded attention without needing to raise its volume. "I appreciate the faith you have placed in me," she begins, her words carefully chosen, as though each syllable was a stone placed deliberately to form an unshakable wall.

"This is an extraordinary opportunity, and I do not take it lightly. However, before I can commit to any decision, I will need a detailed transition plan and full access to the India division's financial records. It's important to me that I have all the necessary information to make an informed choice."

Her tone is professional, detached even, but Dhruv saw the faint flicker of tension in the way her fingers interlocked. The words came out perfectly composed, but there was an almost imperceptible tightness in her jaw, a shadow in her eyes that betrayed the weight of something unspoken. Something she hadn't shared, not with the board and not with him.

The room remaines still for a moment longer as the board absorbed her response. Mr. Callas, the chairman, nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Of course, Siya," his voice is as measured as hers. "We trust your judgment. Take the time you need."

Siya inclines her head in acknowledgment, offering a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her gaze shifted slightly, moving down the length of the table until it settled on Dhruv. For a brief moment, her expression softened, the rigid mask of professionalism giving way to something warmer, gentler.

"As for Dhruv," Siya's voice is lowered, just enough to carry a note of personal affection, "I think the board's offer is a reflection of his hard work and his potential. I want to ensure he knows how proud I am of him, and I believe this is an opportunity he should seriously consider."

The words hang in the air, carefully spoken but weighted with an odd finality that sent an unexpected chill down Dhruv's spine.

He straightens his back as he feels the eyes of the board turn toward him. His mind races to catch up with the conversation, with the implications of her words.

She had spoken about him as though he were just another name on an organizational chart, a promising subordinate being nudged toward a strategic move. But that wasn't who he is—not to her and not to himself.

Dhruv makes a sound cutting through the quiet. "I appreciate the offer," He glances around the room, meeting the eyes of the board members one by one.

There is a faint tremor in his chest, the kind that came from standing in a room full of people who exuded authority, but he refuses to let it show. "But I'll need time to think it over as well. Like Ms. Tripathi said, it's not a decision I can make lightly."

His words are calm, deliberate, and yet there is an undertone of quiet defiance that seemed to catch the attention of the board. A few of them exchanged glances, their expressions shifting subtly.

Mr. Callas folds his hands across his stomach as he regards Dhruv with a thoughtful expression. "That's perfectly reasonable," he says with a faint hint of approval. "Opportunities like this deserve careful consideration."

Ms. Woodgrip nods in agreement, her sharp features softening just slightly. "Absolutely, take the time you need, Dhruv. We understand this is a significant decision."

The tension in the room seemed to ease, but Siya remaines silent, her gaze fixed on Dhruv with an intensity that makes him feel as though she can see straight through him, past the polite veneer and into the depths of his thoughts.

For a fleeting moment, her lips quirked upward in the faintest hint of a smile, one so small it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

"Well then," Mr. Hamil adds while he adjustes his glasses. "I think we've covered everything we needed to for now. Siya, Dhruv, we'll await your decisions. Take the time you need."

The quiet rustle of papers and the scrape of chair legs against the floor signal the end of the meeting. The board members begin gathering their belongings, their polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor as they make their way toward the door.

Siya sits motionless at the head of the long, imposing table, her hands resting on its polished surface, her fingers slightly curled as though grasping an invisible thread that might unravel the tension.

He knows there is more to her reluctance than what she had let on, but the walls Siya had built around herself were not so easily breached.

When the last of the board members have finally left, the sharp click of the closing door reverberates through the conference room, a final punctuation to the charged discussions that had unfolded.

A silence settles in a way that is not one of calm but of something unresolved, something teetering on the edge of confrontation and understanding.

For a long moment, she doesn't look at Dhruv. It is as though she is wrestling with thoughts too layered and complex to articulate immediately.

Her profile is composed, but Dhruv, who has known her long enough to read the faintest shifts in her demeanor, noticed the slight tightening of her jaw, the way her fingers flexed as if bracing for what was to come.

Finally, she turns to him. Her voice, when it came, was soft but carries the weight of the authority of the maternal figure. "Mana kyu kiya, Dhruv?" [Why did you deny, Dhruv?] she questions, her words simple, yet laden with significance.

There is no accusation in her tone, no anger, only a quiet insistence that demanded honesty from him.

Dhruv stands a few steps away, his figure framed by the midday sunlight streaming in through the windows.

He remained still, his expression unreadable, though his dark eyes held a flicker of something — determination, perhaps, or defiance tempered by respect.

He didn't respond right away. Instead, he let the question hang in the air, allowing the weight of it to sink in, not just for her but for himself as well.

After a long pause, Dhruv breaks the silence, his voice carrying an edge of vulnerability that was uncharacteristic for him,"Aapko yaad hai, jab aap mujhe apne ghar lekar gaye the, toh maine aapse kya kaha tha?" [Do you remember, when you bought me home, what I said to you?]

Her shoulders stiffen, and for a moment. When she finally looks up at him, her bright green eyes are darker than usual, shadowed by memories she hasn't shared and burdens she hasn't named. But she didn't argue, and Dhruv knew that his decision had struck a chord.

He wasn't just her protégé; he was her family, the son she had chosen when the world had left him with no one else. And no matter how composed she seems, no matter how tightly she holds her cards to her chest, Dhruv can see that his Siya Maa needs him just as much as he needs her.

"Tumne kaha tha," [You said] she pauses, her voice quieter now, as though she is not speaking to him but to the room itself, or perhaps to the ghosts of the past that lingered in her mind, "ki tum mujhe kabhi akela nahi chhodoge." [that you would never leave me alone.]

Dhruv nods, the faintest smile playing on his lips, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Aur aaj bhi wahi sach hai," [And that is still true today.] he said, his words deliberate, each one carrying the weight of a promise he had no intention of breaking.

Moving closer, his steps are slow and measured, as though approaching not just Siya but the walls she had built around herself over the years. "Maa agar yeh nahi karna chahti, toh beta kyun kare?" [If the mother doesn't want to do this, then why should the son?]

Siya inhales sharply, the sound almost imperceptible, but to Dhruv, it spoke volumes. She seeks stability in the way she leans back slightly in her chair, her fingers curling around the armrests. "Yeh tumhara decision hai, Dhruv. Tumhari zindagi, tumhare sapne... mera faisla tumhare raste ka kaise ban sakta hai?" [This is your decision, Dhruv. Your life, your dreams... How can my decision be an obstacle in your path?]

A soft, almost bitter laugh, escapes Dhruv, "Mere sapne wahi hai jaha aap aur mera Rudra hain," [My dreams are wherever you and my Rudra are.] He shakes his head, while crossing his arms over his chest.. "Jaha aapka saath ho, wahi mera rasta hai. Mujhe aapke saath rehna hai. Agar aapne 'na' kaha, toh mera jawab bhi wahi hoga." [Wherever you are, that's my path. I want to stay with you two. If you say 'no,' then my answer will be the same.]

She wants to argue, to push back against the stubborn loyalty he displays, but deep down, she couldn't deny the bond they share, the unspoken understanding that had grown between them over the years.

The chair scrapes softly against the floor as Siya stalks to the window. The city stretched out before her, a sprawling expanse of steel and glass bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. She didn't look at him as she spoke, her voice quieter now, almost reflective. "Tumhe pata hai, India mere liye kya hai?" [Do you know what India is for me?] she began, "Ek jagah nahi. Ek yaadon ka jungle hai, jisme har ek mod pe dard chhupa hai." [It's not just a place. It's a forest of memories, with pain hidden at every turn.]

Dhruv's expressions soften, the defiance in his stance giving way to something gentler. While keeping a respectful distance, Dhruv moves closer. "Mujhe pata hai," [I know. ] he answers quietly, his voice carrying an empathy that made her chest tighten. "Aur mujhe yeh bhi pata hai ki aapke bina main yeh jungle nahi samajh sakta." [And I also know that without you, I can't navigate this forest.]

Siya faces him then, her expressions unreadable, though her eyes easily betray a flicker of something — pain, perhaps, or gratitude, or both. "Tum samajhte ho," [Do you understand,] she said, her tone firmer now, "ki kabhi-kabhi, apne liye jeena bhi zaroori hota hai?" [that sometimes, living for yourself is also necessary?]

"I know," Dhruv replies simply, gathering the notes from the table, "lekin aapke liye jeena hi toh meri zindagi ka sabse bada sapna hai." [But living for you is the biggest dream of my life.]

For a long moment, neither of them speak, the room settling into a quiet that felt almost deliberate, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath, unwilling to disturb the delicate stillness.

It isn't an awkward silence, not the kind that demands to be filled with empty words or strained explanations, but one that carried weight—a shared understanding built over years of navigating life's countless twists and turns together.

Siya's fingers graze the edge of the table, her touch featherlight and distracted, as though she is grounding herself in the rhythm of the wood beneath her fingertips. Her gaze is steady, fixed on some invisible point in the room as her thoughts churned just beneath the surface.

Finally, with a long, measured exhale, Siya breaks the silence. Her voice is soft but carried by the weight of conviction, the kind of tone that didn't invite arguments but rather left room for reflection. "Thik hai, lekin yeh mat bhoolo, Dhruv... zindagi mein kabhi-kabhi, apne raste khud banane padte hain. Har waqt kisi aur ka intezaar nahi kar sakte." [Alright. But don't forget, Dhruv... In life, sometimes you have to create your own paths. You can't always wait for someone else.]

Dhruv doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he studies her, his gaze steady and unwavering, like he is searching for something in the lines of her face.

When he finally speaks, his voice carrying that familiar warmth of his, light and teasing but never dismissive. "Aur kabhi-kabhi," [And sometimes, ] he utters, his words slow and deliberate, "raste wahi hote hain, jahan apne hote hain. Toh agar apne hi saath ho, toh chinta kis baat ki?" [the paths are wherever your loved ones are. So if you have your loved ones with you, what's there to worry about?]

Siya's lips twitches, the faintest flicker of a smile threatening to break through her carefully maintained expression. She twists her face slightly, as if to look away and regain her composure, but the softness in her eyes betrayes her.

"Tum bohot ziddi ho," [You are so stubborn.] she articulates finally, her voice carrying a hint of resignation. Yet even in her exasperation, there is a thread of affection woven through her words, like she has long since accepted this part of him and, perhaps begrudgingly, even adores it.

Dhruv's smile widenes, a flicker of mischief lighting up his features. "Woh toh aapne sikhaya hai," [That's something you taught me.] he quips, his tone playful and quick, as though the words had been waiting on the tip of his tongue for this very moment.

A soft laugh escapes her before she can stop it. "Mujhe hi kyun blame karte ho tum?" [Why do you always blame me?] she mutters, though there was no real irritation behind the question.
It was more a reflex, something she would say to fill the space between them that had now shifted into something lighter, easier.

The tension that had been simmering earlier had all but dissolved, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing that neither needed to explain too much or say more than what was necessary.

But just as the air between them settle into this newfound ease, Siya's phone vibrates against the table, the sudden sound cutting through their shared moment.

She blinks, startled, before quickly reaching for it. Her brows furrowes the second she glances at the screen, her expression shifting into one of immediate concern.

"It's Rudra's school," she murmurs, her voice so low it was almost as though she is speaking to herself. The words are clipped, but her tone carried a tremor, an edge of anxiety that belies her otherwise composed demeanor.

The laid back and nonchalance posture of Dhruv is gone. The change in Siya's tone, that slight crack in her usually unshakable composure, set him on edge.

"Kya hua, Siya maa?" [What happened, Siya Maa?] he asks cautiously, his voice deliberately calm but laced with concern. He doesn't press her for details yet, knowing she will share when ready, but his eyes remains fixed on her, watchful and alert, as though bracing for what might come next.

Siya doesn't respond immediately. Her brows furrowed as her thumb swipe across the screen, accepting the call. The sharp sound of her voice saying, "Hello?" fills the space, louder than she intends.

Dhruv watches her carefully, his own unease growing with every second of silence that follows. He can't hear the words on the other end of the line, but he doesn't need to. Siya's expression talk volumes.

Her jaw tightened, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes darkened with a storm of emotions—fear, frustration, and something deeper, a mother's instinctive protectiveness roaring to life.

"What do you mean 'emergency'?" she demands, her voice sharp but still controlled. It was the kind of tone she uses when negotiating multi-million-pound deals, steady and authoritative, but this time it is underscored by something raw and vulnerable. "Is he hurt? What happened?"

Dhruv feels his stomach twist at her words. Emergency. Hurt. He is up in seconds, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape, his long strides taking him closer to her without a second thought.

He doesn't interrupt, but his heart thuds loudly in his chest, and he clenches his fists at his sides to keep from reaching out to question her.

The seconds stretches unbearably as Siya continues to listen, her expression growing grimmer by the moment. Whatever she is hearing, it was clearly bad.

When she finally speaks again, her voice is clipped, almost mechanical, as though she is trying to keep her emotions in check.

"I'm on my way," she declares curtly before ending the call and letting the phone fall to the table with a soft thud.

For a moment, she just stands there, her shoulders tense, her hands trembling ever so slightly as they hovered at her sides. Her eyes stare straight ahead, unfocused, as though she is trying to process what she had just heard.

"Siya maa?" Dhruv's voice breaks the silence, cautious but insistent. With each step, his own concern mounts. "Rudra toh theek hai na? Kya bola unhone?" [Rudra is okay, right? What did they say?]

Siya inhales sharply, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to collect herself. "School ne bulaya hai," [The school has called.] she finally said reports, her voice tight and measured. "Something about an... altercation."

"Altercation?" Dhruv repeates, his brows knitting together in confusion. His mind immediately conjures a thousand scenarios, each one worse than the last.

Rudra? The same Rudra who would rather run away from a fight than engage in one?

The five-year-old boy who cried when he accidentally hurt the neighbourhood cat while playing cricket? The boy who has a natural charm that even his teachers couldn't resist?

The thought of him being involved in any kind of altercation fells absurd—and terrifying.

"Kya bola?" [Did they say?]  he presses gently, his voice softening despite the urgency in his chest. "Koi hurt hua hai kya? Rudra okay hai?" [Is anyone is hurt? Is Rudra okay?]

Her head moves side to side her, her hands already reaching for her bag as she moves with purpose. "Woh kuch zyada nahi bole," [They didn't say much.] her words tumble out in a rush. "Bas itna ki ek emergency hai aur... aur Rudra involved hai. I don't know, Dhruv. I don't know what's happened." [Just that there's an emergency and... and Rudra is involved. I don't know, Dhruv. I don't know what's happened.]

Her voice crackes ever so slightly on the last word, betraying the panic she is trying so hard to suppress.

Dhruv swallows hard, his own chest tightening at the sight of her distress. Siya is the strongest person he knows, a woman who had faced unimaginable challenges and emerged unscathed every time.

But now? Now she looks like a mother on the verge of breaking, her composure unraveling piece by piece as the fear for her child—her sweet, mischievous, cricket-obsessed little boy—threatened to consume her.

"Siya maa," Dhruv's voice is low and hush as he walks closer. "Dekho, jo bhi hua hoga, hum handle kar lenge. Rudra ko kuch nahi hoga. Main aapke saath hoon." [look, whatever's happened, we'll handle it. Rudra will be fine. I'll come with you...]

His words are meant to comfort her, but even as they leave his mouth, a part of him can't shake his own growing dread.

Rudra is baby brother. He'd been there when the boy took his first wobbly steps, when he scored his first boundary with a plastic bat, when he cried inconsolably because he thought he had hurt a butterfly while chasing it.

Rudra isn't just Siya's world; he is Dhruv's too. The thought of him being hurt or scared... it made Dhruv's hands clench tighter, his jaw locking as he fought to keep his own fears at bay.

Siya barely seems to hear him. Her mind is racing, spiraling through a series of worst-case scenarios that left her breathless.

Had Rudra been hurt? Had someone bullied him? Or worse... had he been the one to lash out? No, she couldn't believe that.

Rudra isn't violent. He is spirited and mischievous, yes, with a knack for finding trouble in the most innocent ways, but he isn't a fighter.

He isn't the kind of child who would deliberately hurt someone. At least, that's what she tells herself, over and over again, as though repeating it might somehow make it true.

Her chest aches at the thought of him sitting in the principal's office, his big, soulful eyes wide with fear and confusion, wondering if he'd let her down. Rudra always tries so hard to make her proud, to live up to the impossible standards he thought she'd set for him. The idea that he might be scared, that he might be blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault... it is almost too much to bear.

"Yahan se nikalte hain," [Let's get out of here,] Dhruv says gently, his hand resting on her shoulders and guiding her. "Main gaadi ready karwa deta hoon. Hum abhi chalenge." [I'll have the car ready. We'll leave right away.]

Siya nods wordlessly, her feet already moving toward the door. Her movements were quick but unsteady, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as if trying to drown out the chaotic whirl of thoughts in her mind.

Dhruv follows closely, guiding Siya by her shoulder, matching her hurried pace, his own worry etched into every line of his face.

As they step outside, Siya's mind races with unspoken prayers. Let him be okay. Please, just let him be okay.

The love she felt for Rudra wasn't something she could put into words; it was a force that consumed her, shaped her, defined her.

And now, as fear threatened to drown her, all she could cling to was the hope that her little boy—her heart, her joy—was safe.

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Hello, I hope you guys like the chapter. I apologize if it is a bit weird, I am a bit sick so I am not at my full capacity.

Any suggestions of what you guys wanna see in this story ya fir kisi aur story mein?

Milte hai, prem se bolo

Radhe Radhe🙏🏻