▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

She's not ready.

No, she isn't.

The realization settles in Siya's chest like a stone as she steps out of the car, the chill of the early morning wrapping around her like a hesitant embrace.

The air is damp with the faint scent of dew, carrying with it the earthy aroma of the galli she grew up in.

Everything feels achingly familiar—the narrow cobbled street that snakes its way between the rows of old houses, the faded paint peeling from the walls, the soft hum of birds just beginning their morning chorus.

And yet, everything feels impossibly foreign, like a memory distorted by time.

She adjusts Rudra in her arms, the steady warmth of his small body grounding her, even as her mind spins.

His tiny face is nestled into the crook of her neck, his soft breaths brushing against her skin, his long lashes resting peacefully against his cheeks.

He is blissfully unaware of the storm inside her, of the weight of this moment, of the house that looms at the end of the galli—a house that once held her entire world and now feels like an unspoken question.

Dhruv steps out behind her, his movements quieter than usual, as if even he can sense the gravity of the moment.

He slings a small bag over his shoulder, his gaze flicking briefly to her face before he averts his eyes, giving her the space she hasn't asked for but desperately needs.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't ask if she's okay, doesn't try to fill the silence. He knows better. Six years together have taught him when to speak and when to simply be there.

Siya tightens her grip on the little one, instinctively, her fingers trembling slightly as they brush against the soft fabric of his hoodie.

The galli is still.

No clanging pots from neighboring kitchens, no faint music spilling out of a distant window, no footsteps echoing against the cobblestones.

It's the kind of stillness that exists only in the early hours of the morning, just before the world wakes up and stretches itself into chaos.

Her heart feels heavy, its rhythm uneven as she forces her feet to move forward.

Each step feels deliberate, measured, like she's afraid the sound of her shoes against the ground will shatter the fragile quiet around her.

Her breaths are shallow, her throat tight, and every inch of her feels like it's fighting to retreat back into the car, to drive away and leave the past where it belongs.

But there's no going back now.

A lump rises in her throat, thick and unrelenting. She swallows hard, blinking against the sudden sting in her eyes.

This was supposed to feel different. She was supposed to feel triumphant, stepping back into her old life after everything she's accomplished. She wasn't supposed to feel this... unmoored.

The house before her is unrecognizable.

Siya's eyes trace its tall, gleaming structure, struggling to reconcile this vision of perfection with the home she left behind.

This wasn't the house where she, Lavanya and Adarsh scribbled cricket scores on the boundary wall, where the verandah always carried the faint smell of agarbatti mingling with the scent of freshly brewed chai.

This wasn't the house with the creaky metal door her father used to fix every Diwali, the one where her mother hung colorful dupattas to dry on the wrought iron balcony railing.

Her mother used to call it "our little dream," but that dream had always been modest. It had character—a pale-yellow exterior weathered by years of sun and monsoon rains, an inviting warmth that didn't need a polished marble driveway or towering gates.

But this...

This house stood like a stranger in her galli. Its ivory walls reflected the rising sun, smooth and spotless, as though even the dust from the street didn't dare cling to it.

The balcony was larger than the entire verandah she remembered, its intricately designed railings glinting under the morning light.

Where there was once a small, cracked pathway leading to the front door, there was now a sweeping driveway paved with tiles so clean they almost shone.

She had imagined this moment countless times—standing here again, seeing the house she'd helped rebuild from afar.

But in her mind, it still had the soul of her childhood home.

The neem tree would still stand in its corner, offering shade during hot afternoons. The old blue side door, with its slightly rusted handle, would still creak when opened.

The upstairs balcony would still be hung with her maa's flowerpots, their mismatched colors adding a burst of life to the walls.

Instead, the blue door had been replaced by a towering metal one, polished to perfection and flanked by modern light fixtures that seemed out of place in the narrow lane.

Siya's breath catches as she stands there, staring at the house that was once her entire world and now feels like an uninvited guest in her own memories.

The changes are startling, not just because they are unknown, but because they seem to whisper to her, You no longer belong here.

She feels Rudra move in her arms, his soft snores humming against her neck, a stark contrast to the silence around her. For a moment, she envies him—how easily he sleeps, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside her.

Dhruv steps forward slightly, his shadow falling across the driveway. "Didi," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper, careful not to disturb Rudra.

There's hesitation in his tone, a kind of gentle concern that Siya recognizes immediately. He's asking her without words—Are you ready? Do you want to go back? Should we leave?

Siya doesn't answer. She can't. Her throat feels like it's closing up, the words tangled in a knot of emotions she doesn't know how to untangle.

Instead, she takes a deep, shaky breath and steps forward, her heels clicking softly against the cobblestones.

Each step feels heavier than the last, as though the weight of her past is trying to pull her back, to remind her of all the reasons she left.

The air smells different here. It's faint, but she can still catch it—a trace of masala wafting through the stillness, likely from her mother's early morning chai.

It hits her like a wave, crashing into her chest with a force that almost makes her stumble. Her mother must already be in the kitchen, Siya thinks.

The image forms in her mind unbidden—her maa, dressed in her soft cotton saree, her hair pinned up, humming quietly as she moves between the stove and the counter.

She always made chai first thing in the morning after pooja, a routine as much for herself as for the family. Siya can almost hear her voice, calling out to her father, to take his blood pressure ki tablets

"Darsh! Jaldi aajao, agar aaj late hua na toh hum bike nahi leke jaane denge apko!" [Darsh! Come quickly, if you're late today, I won't let you take the bike!]

Siya freezes in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she thinks she's imagined it, that her mind is playing tricks on her, conjuring a voice she hasn't heard in six years. But then it comes again, louder this time, carrying with it the distinct cadence of her maa's impatience.

"Adarsh! Sun rahe hai na ya fir hum khud andar aaye?" [Adarsh! Are you listening, or should I come inside myself?]

Her mother's voice hasn't changed. It still carries that same warmth, that same authority, the way it always did when she managed the house like a finely tuned orchestra.

Siya shifts her weight, her arms tightening instinctively around Rudra as he stirs slightly in his sleep. His tiny fist clenches and unclenches against her blazer before settling again, his soft breaths steady against her collarbone.

The weight of him in her arms should ground her, but instead, it feels like a tether—keeping her rooted in place, unable to move forward or step back.

She hears the faint creak of the front door opening before she sees it. Her breath stills as the sound reaches her ears, and a moment later, her father steps out, his movements unhurried, his gaze fixed downward as he adjusts the watering can in his hand.

He's wearing his usual morning attire—a simple white kurta and pajama, the fabric slightly wrinkled as though it's just been pulled from under a pillow.

His hair, streaked with more grey than she remembers, is neatly combed, and his glasses sit low on his nose as he looks at the ground, muttering something to himself.

Siya doesn't move. She stands there, frozen in the stillness of the early morning, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as she watches him.

Her father walks toward the small row of flower pots lined neatly along the edge of the driveway, his focus entirely on the task at hand. He crouches slightly, tilting the can carefully so the water trickles out in a steady stream, soaking the soil around the marigolds.

Her throat tightens as she takes in the scene, memories crashing into her like waves. How many times had she watched him do this?

She can almost hear him lecturing her, Adarsh, and Lavanya as kids, explaining why each plant needed just the right amount of water—not too much, not too little.

He'd always taken pride in her Maa's garden, in the way the flowers bloomed under his care.

Siya's heart tightens as she watches how he bends slightly at the waist, his hands steady as he tips the watering can with practiced precision.

The water flows in a gentle arc, soaking the soil around the marigolds in a perfect circle, his motions unhurried and precise.

Her eyes trace the curve of his back, the slight hunch in his shoulders that wasn't there before, the way his movements carry a weight she didn't remember him having.

Time has added lines to his face, softened the firmness of his jaw, but it hasn't dulled the care with which he tends to those flowers—the ones he always pretended to hate but secretly loved.

Siya takes a shallow breath, her focus fixed on her father, on the way he wipes his brow with the back of his hand, muttering softly under his breath. The words are inaudible, but she knows he's probably chiding himself for forgetting to check on them.

And then, just like that, his head lifts.

Siya's breath catches in her throat as his gaze sweeps absently over the driveway, his eyes squinting slightly against the soft glare of the morning sun.

For a moment, it seems like he doesn't see her—his attention focused on something distant, something routine.

But then his gaze lands on her, and everything stills.

It happens in an instant, and yet it feels like time slows to a crawl. She watches as his face freezes mid-expression, his features caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

His eyes widen, as if trying to reconcile the image before him with the memories in his mind. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply stands there, staring at her as though she's stepped out of a dream he's too afraid to wake from.

The lines on his face deepen as his brows draw together, his lips parting wordlessly. Siya can see the emotions flickering across his features—shock, hesitation, something that looks almost like hope but is tempered by caution, as if he's afraid to believe what he's seeing.

She swallows hard, as she forces herself to meet his gaze. Her feet feel rooted to the ground, her body heavy with the weight of all the years that have passed. She wants to say something, to bridge the unbearable silence stretching between them, but the words won't come.

"Siya, aap hai?" [Siya, is that you?] he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carries across the driveway like a shout.

Her breath hitches, and she nods slowly, her tears threatening to spill over. She doesn't trust herself to speak yet, so she lets the small, trembling movement of her head be her answer.

He blinks, his hand loosening on the handle of the watering can. It slips from his grip, clattering to the ground with a dull, hollow sound that echoes in the stillness.

He takes a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching out slightly, as though drawn to her by an invisible thread.

His fingers shake ever so slightly, suspended in hesitation, as though he's afraid that if he reaches out and touches her, she'll dissolve into nothing more than a cruel mirage.

When his hand finally brushes her face, Siya feels her worries melt away. He cups her cheek carefully, as if she's something precious, something fragile he doesn't quite know how to hold anymore.

The gentleness of the gesture undoes her completely, and a shiver runs through her as the years of distance collapse into the space between them.

Anurag's thumb grazes her cheek, catching a tear she hadn't even realized was there. His hand lingers, trembling but grounding him in a moment that feels too unreal to trust. His eyes search hers with an intensity that makes her heart ache.

They dart across her features—her eyes, her nose, the line of her jaw—as though he's trying to convince himself that she's truly standing before him.

No words comes out. It's as if his voice has been stolen by the sheer force of emotion, trapped somewhere deep within him.

Finally, in a voice so soft it's barely audible, he whispers, "Aap... aap sach mein yahan hai, bacha?" [You... you're really here, my child?] The words tremble as they leave his lips, his voice breaking under the weight of disbelief and hope.

Siya doesn't answer right away. Her chest is heavy, overwhelmed by everything she can see in his eyes—the heartbreak, the longing, and the hope he's too afraid to fully embrace.

Anurag's other hand cup her face completely now, as though he's trying to hold onto her with everything he has.

"Saalo se socha tha yeh din hum dekh payenge ya nahi," [For years, I wondered if I'd ever see this day.] he murmurs, his voice breaking into uneven pieces.

His forehead dips forward, nearly touching hers as his tears fall freely now. "Hume laga tha... aap kabhi wapas nahi aayengi." [I thought... you'd never come back.]

The raw vulnerability in his voice undoes Siya completely. A sob escapes her lips, and she leans into his touch, closing her eyes as she lets herself feel the weight of his love, the forgiveness he offers without words, and the grief of the time they've lost.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Papa."

Anurag shakes his head quickly, his tears still falling, as if brushing away the need for her apology. "Mat boliye," [Don't say that.] he says hoarsely, his voice breaking.

"Aap wapas aa gayi hai. Bas itna hi kaafi hai humare liye." [You've come back. That's all that matters for me.]

For a moment, the world around them seems to disappear, leaving just the two of them in the quiet morning air, holding onto each other as if time itself has stopped.

Anurag's arms tighten around Siya as if he's afraid that letting go might make her disappear again. His body trembles against hers, not from weakness but from the sheer weight of emotions he can no longer contain.

Siya feels the dampness of his tears against her hair as he holds her close, and she closes her eyes, letting herself be enveloped in the safety of her father's embrace—a safety she had denied herself for far too long.

But then, as his breathing begins to steady, Anurag pulls back just enough to look at her again.

His hands remain on her shoulders, grounding them both, his thumbs instinctively brushing against the fabric of her tank top as if to reassure himself that this moment is real.

His gaze travels over her face again, softer now, but still searching, as though he's trying to memorize every detail before the world can interrupt them.

"Kitne badal gaye hai aap," [You've changed so much.] he murmurs, his voice quiet, almost reverent. 

There's no reproach in his words—only a bittersweet recognition of the years that have passed, the years they've lost. His fingers tremble slightly as they reach up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture so familiar it makes her heart ache.

Siya opens her mouth to respond, but before she can find the words, a soft sound behind her—a small, sleepy sigh—shatters the fragile bubble they've been cocooned in.

She stiffens, and Anurag's brows knit together in confusion, his gaze flickering past her. For a moment, there's only silence, broken by the faint rustling of fabric as Siya adjusts her hold on the small, blanketed figure nestled against her chest.

Anurag's eyes lower, his expression shifting from confusion to shock as they land on Rudra. His lips part slightly, and he takes an involuntary step back, his hands falling away from her shoulders.

His gaze darts between Siya's face and the child she's holding, his breath catching audibly as realization begins to dawn.

"Yeh..." His voice falters, unsteady and filled with disbelief. "Yeh kaun hai, Siya?" [Who is this, Siya?]

Siya swallows hard, her throat dry as she looks down at Rudra, who stirs faintly in her arms but doesn't wake.

Her heart races as she lifts her gaze back to her father's face, the storm of emotions she sees there making it hard for her to breathe.

The confusion, the hurt, the unspoken questions—they all hit her at once, and for a moment, she feels like that nineteen-year-old girl again, standing at a crossroads she doesn't know how to navigate.

"Papa," she begins, her voice barely above a whisper, but it cracks under the weight of everything she wants to say.

She takes a shaky breath, holding Rudra a little closer as if his presence can somehow give her strength. "Yeh... yeh Rudra hai, humare bete." [He... he is Rudra, my son.]

Anurag stares at her, the words sinking in slowly, their meaning too enormous to comprehend all at once. His lips part, but no sound comes out, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and astonishment.

His eyes fall to Rudra, still fast asleep against Siya's chest, his tiny face serene, unaware of the storm his presence has just unleashed. Anurag's chest rises and falls unevenly as he struggles to process the sight before him.

"Aapke... bete?" [Your son?] he echoes finally, his voice barely audible. The word feels foreign on his tongue, as if it doesn't belong to the reality he thought he knew.

His gaze lifts back to Siya, searching her face for answers, for some indication that this isn't what it seems, even as he knows deep down that it is.

Siya nods slowly, her tears spilling over, but she doesn't wipe them away. She lets them fall, lets them speak the words she can't bring herself to say. "Ji, Papa," [Yes, Papa,] she whispers, her voice trembling. "Humare bete hai." [My son.]

Anurag feels the world tilt slightly beneath his feet, as though the ground he's always known has shifted into something unfamiliar and uncertain. His mind struggles to keep up, grasping at the edges of this revelation that feels both impossible and undeniable.

His Siya—his little girl, the one he carried on his shoulders during festivals, whose tiny hand once fit so perfectly in his—was now a mother.

For a moment, the weight of it presses down on him, and he feels his knees weaken. He remembers the day she was born, how her cries filled the hospital room and his heart in equal measure.

He remembers the first time she called him "Papa," her voice high and sweet, the sound of it more precious than any melody. She had been his pride, his strength, the shining star he thought could never falter. And now...

He looks at her again, standing there with tears streaming down her face, holding a child—a beautiful, innocent child who carries her features and something else he can't yet place.

His heart twists painfully. She has a son. His first baby, his pride, has faced the world alone, has borne this responsibility, and he wasn't there.

But then, another thought creeps in, sharp and unrelenting. She had this child before marriage. The realization strikes him like a physical blow, and his breath catches in his throat.

He closes his eyes for a moment, his mind flooded with conflicting emotions. This was his Siya, the daughter he had raised with so much love and care.

How had she faced something so monumental without him? How had she managed it all on her own?

The questions swirl, but they're quickly swallowed by something deeper, something far more potent—grief.

Grief for the years they lost, for the pain she must have endured in silence, and for the trust that once existed between them but had been overshadowed by fear.

His daughter had felt she couldn't come to him. She had faced the world's judgment, carried this secret, and lived with it alone. The thought is unbearable.

Before the silence can stretch further, the front door swings open with a loud creak. Adarsh, her younger brother, appears in the doorway, his face still groggy from sleep.

His hair is messy, and his marvel shirt hangs loosely over his pajama bottoms, but when his green eyes land on Siya, he freezes, his entire body going still.

"Di?" he whispers, his voice rough with disbelief. For a second, he seems to think he's imagining her.

He blinks rapidly, his gaze darting between her face and the child she holds. "Di, aap...?" [Di, you...?]

Siya turns toward him, her lips trembling as she manages a nod. Her tears spill over again, and she barely has a chance to say his name before he's rushing down the steps, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.

His arms wrap around her with an urgency that nearly takes her breath away, pulling her into a fierce hug that's equal parts love and desperation.

The force of his embrace presses Rudra between them, and the little boy stirs, his sleepy murmurs breaking the fragile silence.

Adarsh pulls back slightly, startled, and looks down to see the child's head tucked securely against Siya's shoulder. His brows knit together in confusion, but the tenderness in his expression doesn't waver.

As Adarsh's arms release her, a soft, warm pressure remains between them, the lingering echo of his embrace still present.

Rudra stirs, his small form nestled securely against Siya's chest, his soft murmurs threading through the thick silence that has settled around them.

Adarsh pulls back a fraction, his expression shifting from the raw emotion of the moment to a flicker of confusion, his gaze falling to the child in her arms.

His brows furrow, and his eyes narrow, trying to make sense of the new reality before him.

The child, still sleeping peacefully in Siya's arms, looks so small, so fragile, and yet there's something undeniably familiar in the way Siya holds him—protectively, tenderly, as though he's been a part of her for far longer than just this brief moment.

Adarsh's voice comes out soft, hesitant, as though he fears speaking the words aloud, unsure if he's ready for the truth.

"Yeh kaun hai?" [Who is this?] he asks again, his voice almost reverent, as though asking the question could make the answer more real, more tangible, as if the answer holds a piece of her past he's never seen before.

Siya's gaze softens, and she slowly lowers her head to look at Rudra, brushing her hand gently through his hair. She lingers for a moment, as though savoring the weight of the moment, before lifting her eyes to meet Adarsh's.

Her voice breaks through the stillness, a quiet tremor of emotion beneath the surface as she whispers, "Yeh Rudra hai... humare bete." [This is Rudra... my son.]

The words hang in the air between them, their impact immediate and undeniable. Adarsh blinks, his breath catching in his throat, a sudden, sharp intake of air as though the enormity of what she's said is too much to process all at once.

His gaze flits from Siya to the child, and back again, trying to reconcile the reality in front of him with the older sister he once knew—the one who had always been his family's precious child, so full of dreams and plans. How could this be possible?

And then, as though the weight of the revelation isn't enough, Devika, Siya's mother, steps forward from the doorway, her presence sudden and commanding.

Her face is pale, her eyes wide with shock, as though she, too, can't believe the words that have just left Siya's lips.

She stands there frozen, her hands clutching the doorframe for support, as if she's afraid she might fall apart if she moves. The shocked silence that follows feels heavier than any words could have been.

Devika's lips part, but no sound emerges, her gaze fixed on the small child in Siya's arms. Her eyes shift to Siya's face, searching, trying to find some trace of the daughter she thought she knew, the girl who had left so many years ago with a story she never truly told.

The realization hits her like a cold wind: her daughter had a child—her own grandchild—without her, without any of them, knowing.

Meanwhile, from her spot near the door, Lavanya watches the scene unfold with a look of quiet sleep and annoyance.

Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes narrowed in irritation. She leans against the doorframe, the weight of her disapproval clear in the stiff set of her posture.

The delicate tenderness of the moment seems lost on her, overshadowed by a quiet scowl that tightens her features.

Her gaze flicks from Devika's stunned face to Siya's tearful eyes, and then down to the child she still doesn't fully understand. A bitter thought lingers in the back of her mind, an irritation she can't shake.

She knows this is supposed to be a moment of reunion, a moment of joy, but it doesn't feel like that.

But none of this matters to Siya right now. All she can do is stand there, holding Rudra close, letting her family's reactions wash over her.

She's home. She's here with them. And maybe, just maybe, she'll find a way to tell them everything else.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Rudra loves these squishy clouds!

He doesn't know what they're really called, but it doesn't matter. To him, they're little, soft clouds floating in sweet, sticky water, and he can't stop poking at them.

They're so squishy, so soft, and when he presses them with his fingers, they spring right back up like magic. He giggles, his tiny hand cupping one of the white balls, the syrup trickling down his fingers.

His big brown eyes glance up at the faces around him. So many people are here, all looking at him. Rudra doesn't recognize any of them, but they don't seem scary.

The older man sitting in the big chair—the one Rudra thinks looks a little like the king from his storybooks—has kind eyes that crinkle when he smiles.

And the woman sitting next to him, the one wearing a bright saree, keeps wiping her eyes with the edge of her pallu, but her smile is warm and gentle.

Rudra doesn't understand why she looks so sad and happy at the same time, but it doesn't bother him much.

Then there's the young man sitting on the floor, his legs crossed like Rudra's. He has the same sparkly eyes as Mama, and his smile is so big it makes Rudra want to smile back.

"Aapko aache lage?" [Do you like them?] the man asks, his voice playful and soft.

Rudra nods quickly, his curls bouncing as he dips another "cloud" into the syrup. "YES! Very tasty hai." [YES! It is very tasty.]he says, his voice filled with joy. "Like squishy clouds jaise!" [Like squishy clouds!]

His words make everyone laugh again, a sound that fills the room like sunshine spilling through the tall windows. Even Mama, who has been so quiet all this time, chuckles softly beside him, her hand brushing lightly over his head.

The gentle warmth of her touch makes Rudra pause, his little body shaking with visible joy when she leans down to place a kiss on his curly mop. He looks up at her with wide, sparkling eyes, his heart full in a way he doesn't yet have words for.

But then Rudra notices something. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the woman—the one Mama called "his Nani"— wiping her face with the edge of her saree.

At first, he thinks it's nothing—just a small movement, like how Mama sometimes rubs her nose when it's cold. But when he looks more closely, he sees the tears.

Big, heavy drops rolling down her cheeks, glinting in the light like the syrup dripping from his hands. Her lips are smiling, but the tears keep coming, and the sight makes Rudra's own smile falter.

He tilts his head, his little brows knitting together as he stares at her.

Why was she crying?

Crying, in Rudra's mind, was for skinned knees and broken toys, for when someone yelled too loudly or when a cartoon ended before he was ready.

Crying was what he did when his ears hurt on the airplane, or when he missed Mama after school. It wasn't something people did when they were smiling.

His tiny mind tries to make sense of it, his thoughts jumping from one idea to another, as if he were solving a puzzle. Maybe her green eyes were hurting, he thinks.

Sometimes, when he rubbed his own eyes too hard, they would water, and it felt like crying, even though it wasn't.

Or maybe she was sad because someone took her squishy clouds away. But no, that didn't seem right—she hadn't even tried one.

What if she was crying because of him? The thought makes his chest feel tight, a strange heaviness settling there that he doesn't like.

He glances at his sticky hands, now smudged on his shirt, and wonders if he did something wrong. Did she not like him being here? Did she want him to go back and sit quietly next to Mama?

But then he remembers her smile, the way it hadn't wavered even as the tears kept falling. And that confuses him even more. How could someone be sad and happy at the same time?

In Rudra's world, those feelings lived on opposite sides of a line. You were one or the other, never both. Yet here she was, smiling through her tears, and it made no sense to him at all.

His small hand curls tighter around the rasgulla in his fingers, his focus entirely on her now. The squishy cloud doesn't seem so interesting anymore.

All he wants is for her to stop crying, to stop making that soundless ache fill the room. He wants her to be just happy, the way she looked when she first saw him holding the rasgulla.

"Why is Nani crying?" he finally whispers to himself, his voice so soft it barely carries.

He glances up at Mama, as if she might have an answer, but Mama's eyes are on Nani too, her face unreadable. Rudra decides, in that moment, that no one should ever cry while smiling. It feels wrong, like a mistake in one of his picture books.

Without waiting for anyone to notice, Rudra gets up. His movements are small and deliberate, as if the weight of what he's doing has made him quieter.

Sticky syrup clings to his hands, and his steps leave faint marks on the polished floor, but he doesn't care. His little legs carry him across the room to where Nani sits, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

Rudra reaches her chair and looks up, his small face serious, his brows scrunched together the way Mama's do when she's thinking hard. He doesn't really know what he's supposed to do, but he knows he doesn't like seeing nani like this.

So, he stretches out his hand—the one holding the rasgulla—and places it carefully on her lap. The syrup smears the shiny fabric of her saree, spreading in sticky streaks that look like sunlight on water, but Rudra doesn't care. He just wants her to look at him.

"Nani," he says softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. When she doesn't respond, he leans closer, his curls bouncing with the movement, and adds, "No ro, nani. I apko squishy clouds donga." [Nani, don't cry. I'll give you my squishy clouds.]

His words are simple, but they carry all the earnestness his small heart can offer. To him, there's nothing more precious than the rasgulla in his hand, the squishy cloud that made everyone laugh just moments ago.

And if giving it to nani can make her smile again, then he'll give it to her without a second thought.

He carefully climbs onto her lap, his little hands grabbing the edge of the chair for balance. His cheek presses against her shoulder, and he wraps his arms around her as tightly as he can, syrupy hands and all.

The rasgulla squishes slightly between his fingers, but Rudra doesn't notice. He only cares about holding her, about making her feel better the way Mama makes him feel better when he's sad.

For a moment, there's nothing but silence. And then, nani's hands, soft and trembling, rise to rest gently on Rudra's back. Her fingers stroke his curls, her touch light and hesitant at first, like she's afraid she might break the spell of this moment.

But then she pulls him closer, her arms wrapping around him as her tears fall faster now—not from sadness, but from a tidal wave of emotions she can't quite name.

"Arey, laddoo," [Oh, my sweet one,] she says softly, her voice trembling with the weight of her tears, but there's a faint smile now tugging at her lips.

Her words come slow and tender, as though she's speaking directly to his little heart. "Aapke jaise pyara baccha hoga toh kaise ro sakte hain hum?"
[how can anyone cry with a child as lovely as you around?]

Rudra blinks up at her, his big, curious eyes rounding even further as he processes the new name. He tilts his head slightly, his curls bouncing with the movement, and his small mouth parts in a soft "O" of surprise.

"Laddoo?" he repeats, testing the word like it's a new toy he's just discovered. His voice is soft, laced with a mixture of confusion and wonder, and his little hands tug at her saree, sticky syrup leaving faint marks. "I laddoo?" [I'm laddoo?]

Devika chuckles through her tears, her hands cupping his round cheeks as she looks at him with pure adoration. "Haan, bilkul laddoo ho aap," [Yes, you're absolutely a laddoo.] she replies, her thumbs brushing gently against his skin. "Gol-matol aur sabse zyada sweet, bas laddoo jaisa." [Round and chubby, and the sweetest of all, just like a laddoo.]

Rudra considers this for a moment, his tiny brow furrowing in thought. Then, as if deciding that being called laddoo is the highest of compliments, he breaks into a wide, toothy grin.

His dimples deepen, and his entire face lights up, a small giggle bubbling out of him as he leans into her touch.

"I laddoo!" [I'm laddoo!] he announces triumphantly, his voice ringing out with pure, unfiltered joy. "Mama, listen! I laddoo!" [Mama, listen! I'm laddoo!]

Siya, who has been quietly watching from her spot nearby, lets out a soft laugh, her chest tightening at the sight of her son's happiness.

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but her smile is full, radiant, as she watches her mother and her child connect in a way she hadn't dared to imagine. "Haan, meri jaan," [Yes, my love.] she says, her voice gentle but firm, "Aap laddoo hi ho. Sabse pyare laddoo." [You are a laddoo. The sweetest laddoo of all.]

Rudra wiggles excitedly in Devika's lap, his little arms flapping like wings as he looks between the two women. "I sabse sweet!" [I'm the sweetest!] he declares, his voice filled with the unshakable confidence only a child can muster.

Devika laughs again, her heart swelling as she hugs him closer. Her tears continue to fall, but now they're lighter, softer, as if the weight they carried has begun to ease. "Haan, laddoo, aap sabse sweet ho," [Yes, laddoo, you're the sweetest of all.] she murmurs, her voice filled with affection.

Rudra leans back slightly, his small hands pressing against her chest as he tilts his head to look at her more closely. "But Nani," [But Nani,] he says, his tone turning serious, his little brows knitting together. "Aap now happy, na?" [you're happy now, right?]

Devika nods quickly, her smile widening even as fresh tears spill over. "Haan, beta," [Yes, my dear.] she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. "Ab Nani bilkul happy hai." [Now Nani is completely happy.]

Rudra stays nestled in his nani's arms for a while longer, his tiny hands occasionally patting her cheek, as if to check she's still there. His sticky rasgulla sits forgotten in his grasp, its syrup trailing faint marks on her saree.

LBut Devika doesn't care. Her arms are wrapped tightly around him, holding him like she's afraid he might disappear if she lets go. Her laughter is softer now, a warm hum that matches the steady rise and fall of his small chest.

But soon enough, Rudra's attention shifts, as it always does. His sharp eyes catch movement nearby, and he notices a figure sitting quietly, watching them with a mixture of awe and hesitation.

It's Anurag, sitting with his hands clasped together, his face still carrying the weight of emotions he hasn't yet managed to process.

Rudra tilts his head, his curls bouncing slightly as he examines the man. There's something about him that feels familiar, even though Rudra doesn't know why.

"Nani," [Nani,] Rudra says suddenly, tugging gently at her saree. "Who hai?" [Who is that?] He points at Anurag with his sticky fingers, his voice filled with curiosity.

Devika follows his gaze and smiles, though her own tears glisten in her eyes again. "Woh... woh aapke nanu hain, beta," [That's your nanu,] she whispers, her voice trembling with both joy and disbelief. "Mere Anu ji." [my Anu ji.]

Rudra's mouth forms a small "O" of wonder, and he shifts slightly in her lap, his wide eyes still fixed on Anurag. "I nanu?" [My nanu?] he echoes, testing the words like they're something magical.

Then, without hesitation, he wriggles free from Devika's hold and slides to the floor, his little legs moving with determination as he crosses the room.

Anurag doesn't move at first. He sits frozen, his gaze fixed on the small boy walking toward him, his heart thundering in his chest. Rudra stops just a few steps away, tilting his head again as he looks up at Anurag.

His small hands are sticky and his shirt is smudged with syrup, but his smile is as bright as the morning sun.

"Nanu?" he asks softly, his voice curious but certain, as though he's already decided that this man belongs to him.

Anurag's throat tightens, and for a moment, he can't speak. His trembling hands reach out, but they stop just short of touching him, as if he's afraid the boy might vanish if he gets too close.

"Haan, laddoo," [Yes, laddoo,] Anurag finally manages, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Hum aapke nanu hai." [I'm your grandfather.]

Rudra beams at him, his dimples deepening as he takes another step closer. Without waiting for an invitation, he reaches out and grabs Anurag's hands, his small fingers sticky but warm against his grandfather's skin. "You sach I nanu ho?" [You're really my nanu?] he asks, his voice filled with wonder.

Anurag's chest tightens as he looks at Rudra, the child's wide, curious eyes mirroring the innocence and wonder of a world untouched by complexities. He doesn't hesitate, before pulling the boy, in his lap.

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over Rudra's small, sticky fingers. "Ji laddoo sahab," [Yes, laddoo sir,] he says, his voice steadying as warmth fills it, "Ab aap batao ki aap litti chokha khao ge?" [Now, will you eat litti chokha?]

At the mention of litti chokha, Siya's head jerks up, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she's not sitting in the living room of a house that feels both hers and not hers.

She's back in that old kitchen, perched on the counter, her legs swinging as she watches her maa knead the dough with practiced hands.

Her younger self leans forward eagerly, her small hands diving into the bowl to help. "Siya, itni zor se mat daba, gol matol banate hain, theek hai?" [Siya, don't press so hard. We make them round and smooth, alright?] her maa's voice would come, soft but patient, as she guided Siya's tiny fingers to roll the dough into perfect spheres.

The memory clutches at her heart, warm and bittersweet. She swallows the lump in her throat and looks down at Rudra, who's staring up at Anurag with wide, curious eyes, as though the word litti chokha is some magical phrase he's never heard before.

"Litti chokha what hota?" [What's litti chokha?] Rudra asks, tilting his head slightly, his curls bouncing with the movement.

Anurag lets out a soft laugh, at the boy's mixed language. He shifts his position, pulling the boy onto his lap, "Arre laddoo, litti chokha toh ekdum special hota hai," [Oh, laddoo, litti chokha is something very special.] he says, his voice taking on a playful, almost conspiratorial tone.

"Woh humare ghar ka khaas dish hai—hum bahut tasty banate hai." [It's a signature dish of our home—I make it very tasty.]

Rudra's eyes grow even wider, and he gasps dramatically, his hands clapping together in excitement. "Tasty? I loves tasty things! I khana hai, now!" [Tasty? I love tasty things! I want to eat it now!]

Siya can't help the smile that spreads across her face as she watches the exchange, her heart tugging at the sight of her father and son connecting so effortlessly. "Papa, aap kya unke favourite banne kis koshish kar rahe ho?" [Papa,  why are you trying to be his favourite?] she says, her voice teasing but laced with affection.

Anurag turns his gaze to Siya, his expression softening as he chuckles. "Aapka beta hai, Siya. Toh khaane ka shauk toh hoga hi," [He's your son, Siya. So of course he'll love food.] he replies, his tone warm but slightly mischievous.

"Aur waise bhi, laddoo sahab ke liye hum kuch bhi banayenge." [And anyway, for our laddoo, we'll make anything.]

Rudra tugs at Anurag's sleeve, drawing his attention back. "Nanu, I help! Like I Mama ko karta." [Grandpa, I'll help! Just like I do with Mama.] He pauses, puffing out his chest proudly. "I aacha helper!" [I'm a good helper!]

Anurag raises his eyebrows, his lips quirking into an impressed smile. "Arre waah! Toh phir aap aur hum milke sabse tasty litti banayenge," [Wow! Then you and I will make the tastiest litti together.] he says, extending his hand for a tiny handshake. "Deal?" [Deal?]

Rudra grins and smacks his sticky hand into Anurag's, the syrup leaving faint marks on his grandfather's palm. "Deal!" he exclaims, his voice ringing with delight.

"Oh Nanu - Nati, ghar mein sattu toh hai nahi, toh kaise banaoge," [Oh, grandfather-grandson, how will you make litti, we don't have sattu at home.] Devika says, glancing pointedly at Anurag. Her voice carries the faintest edge of teasing as she adds, "Nati ke saath plan banate time yeh toh soch lena chahiye tha, nahi?" [You should've thought of that while making plans with your grandson, no?]

Anurag rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, his usual calm demeanor slipping into something almost boyish under his wife's gentle scolding. "Arre, ab hum kya karein? Itni excitement thi ki bas...Dukaan se le jayenge, par dukaan tak kaun jayega? Nanu toh ab budhe ho gaya hai" [Oh, what can I say? I was so excited that I forgot...We will get it from the shop, but who will go to the shop? Your grandpa has gotten old now.] he trails off, his voice softening as he looks down at Rudra, who's staring up at them with wide, curious eyes.

Adarsh perks up immediately, his grin widening as he straightens. "Dukaan tak jaana toh mamu ka kaam hai, hai na, laddoo?" [Going to the shop is your uncle's job, right, laddoo?] he says, holding out his hand toward Rudra. "Chalo, mere saath chal. Sattu khud kharidenge." [Come on, come with me. We'll buy the sattu ourselves.]

Rudra's face lights up at the suggestion, his excitement bubbling over as he jumps off of Anurag's lap and rushes toward Adarsh. "I bhi come, Mamu!" [I'll come too, Uncle!] he exclaims, practically bouncing in place as he looks up at his uncle with uncontainable enthusiasm.

"Main bhi aata hoon," [I'm coming too.] Dhruv says, stepping forward with an easy grin as he slings an arm around Adarsh's shoulders. "Tum dono ko kaise chod doon?" [How can I leave you two alone?]

Adarsh snorts, shrugging off Dhruv's arm with mock irritation. "Aap bodyguard banega? Pehle khud ka dhyan rakh le," [You'll be the bodyguard? Take care of yourself first.] he retorts, though there's a playful glint in his eyes as he ruffles Rudra's curls.

Rudra shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his little fingers twisting together behind his back as he sways slightly. His big green eyes remain fixed on Siya, wide with hope and framed by lashes that seem almost too long for someone so small.

There's a hint of mischief in his expression, but it's eclipsed by the careful pout beginning to form on his lower lip—the kind that tugs at Siya's heart in ways she can never resist.

"Mama, I jaon?" [Mama, can I go?] he asks softly, his voice dipped in that particular sweetness that only he can manage, the words tumbling out with an innocence that makes Siya's heart ache.

Siya's chest tightens as she looks down at him, her mind momentarily blank. She knows this look too well. It's his secret weapon, the ultimate move he pulls when he really wants something—and it works every time.

The way his head tilts ever so slightly, his little body swaying just enough to remind her how small he still is, how much he still depends on her. She's lost the battle before it's even begun.

She lets out a soft laugh, brushing an errant curl from his forehead as she crouches to his level. Her hands gently cup his round cheeks, her thumbs grazing the soft, sticky skin.

"Haan, meri jaan, zarur jaiye" [Yes, meri jaan, of course you can go.] she says, her voice warm and soothing. "Par ek promise karna padega. Dhruv bhaiyya aur Mamu ki baat sunenge, unse door nahi jayenge, theek hai?" [But you'll have to make one promise. Listen to Dhruv bhaiyya and Mamu, and don't wander away from them, okay?]

Rudra's pout disappears instantly, replaced by a triumphant grin that lights up his entire face. His curls bounce as he nods, his excitement barely contained. "I promise, Mama!" he exclaims, throwing his arms around her neck in an impromptu hug. "I good boy banunuga!" [I'll be a good boy!]

"Good boy toh aap pehle se hi ho," [You're already a good boy.] Siya murmurs, her voice soft and filled with warmth as she presses a tender kiss to the top of Rudra's curly head.

Her fingers brush gently against his hair, lingering for a moment as if to seal the promise she knows he'll keep. "Bas aapne Mama ki baat mat bhoolna," [Just don't forget what your Mama said.] she adds, her tone gentle but firm, a mix of love and the quiet authority that only a mother can wield.

Rudra pulls back slightly, his big brown eyes sparkling with excitement, and without hesitation, he leans forward to plant a noisy, slightly sticky kiss on her cheek.

His tiny lips leave a faint, syrupy mark that Siya doesn't even bother to wipe away. Instead, she watches him with a soft smile as he bounds over to Adarsh, his energy bubbling over like a fizzy drink.

Aaja, laddoo!" [Come, laddoo] Adarsh exclaims, crouching slightly, his arms opening wide with exaggerated enthusiasm as Rudra runs toward him, his tiny legs moving as fast as they can.

The joy on the little boy's face is infectious, his giggles filling the room as Adarsh effortlessly scoops him up into his arms. "Chalo, aapko hum chiji lekar dete hain. Bye didi, hum aate hai apne chote rajkumar ko lekar aate hai." [Come on, I will buy you chiji. Bye, didi, we'll be back with our little prince!]

Dhruv grabs the front door handle, holding it open as he adjusts his cap with his other hand. "Ready, Rajkumar Rudra?" [Ready, Prince Rudra?] he asks, grinning at the boy who is now perched comfortably in Adarsh's arms.

"Ready!" Rudra exclaims, his voice ringing with excitement as he waves at Siya with sticky fingers. "Bye, Mama! I come back soon!" [Bye, Mama! I'll come back soon!]

Siya waves back, a soft, lingering smile on her lips as she watches the door close behind Adarsh, Dhruv, and Rudra. The faint echoes of Rudra's excited chatter fade away, leaving behind a quiet stillness that feels heavier than it should.

She lets out a slow breath, her shoulders loosening slightly, but the silence that envelops the room presses down on her, thick and unyielding, like a weight she can't quite shrug off.

Turning back toward the room, Siya's eyes meet those of her parents. Anurag's steady gaze holds a quiet intensity, brimming with unspoken questions, while Devika's face is softer, touched by the remnants of shock and a tenderness only a mother can carry.

For a moment, the three of them remain frozen in place, the silence stretching like a fragile thread neither of them dares to break. It feels as though the air itself is waiting—waiting for someone to speak, to unravel the years of distance and unanswered questions that hang heavily between them.

"Bacha," [My dear] Devika begins finally, her voice soft and cautious, like she's afraid of stepping on broken glass. "Itne saal ho gaye... aur aapne kabhi—" [It's been so many years... and you never—] Her words falter mid-sentence, caught in her throat as she struggles to continue.

Siya feels the weight of her mother's words before they're even fully spoken, and her fingers instinctively reach for the edge of her blazer, twisting it between her hands as if to ground herself.

She keeps her gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet their eyes, her own voice trembling as she tries to respond. "Maa, main—" [Maa, I—] she starts, but her words are cut short by a sharp, pointed voice that slices through the tension like a knife.

Siya feels her chest tighten, her throat constricting as she fights to hold herself together. She can feel her parents' eyes on her—watching, waiting—but she doesn't know how to begin.

"Bacha," [My child,] Anurag says after a long pause, his voice softer now, tinged with a deep sadness that makes Siya's heart ache. "Aapne humse yeh kyun chupaya? Kya hum itne paraye lagte hai aapko?" [Why did you hide this from us? Do we seem so distant to you?]

The grief in his voice feels like a physical blow, and Siya's carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. She looks up at her father, her eyes brimming with tears, and shakes her head.

"Papa, aisa nahi tha," [Papa, it wasn't like that.] she says, her voice breaking as she struggles to explain. "Hum dar lagta tha... ki agar aapko pata chalega toh aap naraz ho jayenge. Ki main aap sab ko disappoint kar dungi." [I was scared... scared that if you found out, you'd be angry. That I'd disappoint you all.]

Devika steps closer, her hand reaching out to gently cup Siya's cheek. Her touch is warm, soothing, and Siya leans into it instinctively, her tears spilling over.

"Beta, hum aapke maa-papa hain," [My child, we're your parents.] Devika says softly, her own voice trembling. "Aapko humare paas aana chahiye tha... sab kuch bata dena chahiye tha. Hum toh sirf aapka saath dena chahte the." [You should have come to us... told us everything. All we ever wanted was to be there for you.]

Siya closes her eyes, the weight of her mother's words sinking deep into her chest. "Humse galti ho gayi, Maa," [I made a mistake, Maa.] she whispers, her voice barely audible as her tears flow freely now. "Hume lagta tha ki hum sab kuch khud sambhal sakte hai, par hum galat the. Hume aap sabki zarurat thi... hamesha thi." [I thought I could handle everything on my own, but I was wrong. I've always needed you all.]

Anurag steps forward then, his hand resting gently on Siya's shoulder as he speaks. "Bacha, insaan galtiyan karta hai," he says, his voice steady and reassuring. "Par galtiyan kabhi itni badi nahi hoti ki maa-baap apne bachon ko maaf na kar sakein." [My child, people make mistakes. But no mistake is so big that parents can't forgive their children.]

Siya opens her eyes slowly, her vision blurred with tears as she looks up at her father. The kindness in his expression, the strength in his voice, makes her heart ache in a way she hadn't realized it could.

She feels the years of distance, of silence, folding in on themselves as if they'd never been there. For the first time in what feels like forever, she doesn't feel like the girl who left—she feels like a daughter coming home.

"Papa," she chokes out, her voice trembling, the word carrying the weight of everything she hasn't said in six years. She steps closer, her head bowing slightly, her shoulders trembling as she leans into him.

His arms come around her instinctively, strong and steady, pulling her into the warmth and safety of his embrace.

"Hum bas yeh sochte rahe," [We kept thinking] Anurag murmurs, his hand cradling the back of her head as she clings to him. "Ki aap kaisi ho. Har baar jab phone kiya, humein lagta tha ki aap wapas aogi... par aap kabhi aaye nahi." [About how you were. Every time you called, we thought you'd come back... but you never did.]

His voice cracks slightly, but he pushes through. "Aur kabhi Rudra ke baare mein bataya bhi nahi." [And you never told us about Rudra.]

Siya presses her face into her father's shoulder, her tears soaking into the fabric of his kurta as his words strike a chord deep within her. Each syllable carries the weight of years lost, of moments she had robbed him of, of the truths she had hidden not out of malice, but fear.

She tightens her grip on him, her arms trembling as she clings to the father she'd missed more than she'd ever allowed herself to admit.

"Humse himmat nahi hui, Papa," [I didn't have the courage, Papa.] she whispers brokenly, her voice muffled against him. "Hume darr lagta tha ki aap naraz honge, ki aap sab se aankhein milana mushkil ho jayega." [I was scared you'd be angry, that I wouldn't be able to face all of you.]

Her words are heavy with regret, each one carrying the unspoken apologies that had weighed her down for years. "Par hum galat the... hume aapse sach chupana nahi chahiye tha." [But I was wrong... I shouldn't have hidden the truth from you.]

Anurag's arms tighten around her, his hand gently stroking her hair in a gesture so familiar, so deeply comforting, that it undoes her even further.

"Siyu," he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with an ache that mirrors hers. "Naraz hone ka toh sawal hi nahi tha. Hum bas yeh samajh nahi paaye ki aapne yeh sab kuch akeli kaise jhela." [There was never a question of being angry. We just couldn't understand how you faced all of this alone.]

Devika, who has been silent until now, steps closer, her hands clasped tightly together as though they're the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Her lips tremble, her voice soft and hesitant as she speaks.

"Aur Rudra... humara naati," [And Rudra... our grandson.] she murmurs, her eyes brimming with tears as she looks at Siya. "Unke har ek pal, har ek hasi—aapne humein usse door kyun rakha, beta? Hum toh unka aur aapka saath de sakte the." [Every moment, every smile of his—why did you keep us away from him, my child? We could have been there for him and you.]

Siya pulls away slightly from her father's embrace, her hands trembling as she wipes at her cheeks. Her throat feels tight, her words slow and heavy as she turns to her mother.

"Maa, hume pata tha ki aap log Rudra se bohat pyaar karenge... par hume lagta tha ki humne aap sabka bharosa toda hai," [Maa, I knew you would love Rudra... but I felt like I'd broken your trust.] she admits, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "Main chahti thi ki sab theek ho jaye, ki main sab kuch sambhal loon... tab aap sab ko bataoon." [I wanted everything to be okay, to fix everything on my own... and then tell you.]

Devika's lips tremble as she reaches out, her hands cupping Siya's tear-streaked face with a tenderness that makes Siya's chest tighten.

"Beta, maa-baap ka pyaar koi shart pe nahi hota," [My child, a parent's love doesn't come with conditions.] she says gently, her thumbs brushing away Siya's tears. "Aapse galti hui, par iska matlab yeh nahi ki hum aapse pyar karna band kar dete." [You made a mistake, but that doesn't mean we stopped loving you.]

Siya nods shakily, her tears falling faster now, but before she can respond, Lavanya's voice cuts through the moment, sharp and cold.

"Yeh sab kitna asaan hai na," [This is all so easy, isn't it?] she says bitterly, stepping out from the kitchen doorway where she'd been watching silently.

Her arms are crossed, her expression hard and unyielding as her gaze sweeps over the three of them. "'Galti ho gayi,' aur sab maaf ho gaya. Jaise ki kuch hua hi nahi." ['I made a mistake,' and everything's forgiven. Like nothing ever happened.]

Siya stiffens, her heart sinking further at the bitterness in Lavanya's tone. She turns to her slowly, her chest tightening as the words she knows are coming hang heavy in the air.

Lavanya's expression is sharp, her brows knitted in a mixture of anger and hurt that cuts deeper than Siya had expected. She swallows hard, forcing herself to meet her sister's eyes, though every fiber of her wants to look away.

"Lavanya," [Lavanya,] she says softly, her voice tentative, trying to bridge the growing chasm between them. "Hum—" [I—]

But Lavanya doesn't let her finish. Her arms cross tightly over her chest, her posture rigid as she cuts Siya off with a sharpness that feels like a slap. "Mat boliye, Didi," [Don't speak, Didi.] she snaps, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. "Kya bologi ab? Aur ek jhoot?" [What are you going to say now? Another lie?]

Siya flinches at the accusation, her heart clenching painfully. She opens her mouth to respond, but Lavanya steps forward, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and continues before Siya can find her voice.

"Hume jhoot bardasht nahi hai, Didi. Aap jaanti ho yeh baat," [I can't tolerate lies, Didi. You know that.] Lavanya says, her voice rising slightly as her frustration spills over. "Phir aapne humse kyun chupaya? Hum jaante the... jaante the ki aap pregnant the, humne woh test reports dekhi thi. Jhoot kyu bola?! Aap bolte the ki hum aapki parchai hai, parchai se baate koun chupata hai?!" [So why did you hide it from me? I knew... I knew you were pregnant, I saw the test reports. You used to say that I am your shadow, then who hides things from their shadow?] Her voice cracks, the pain behind her words unmistakable. "Hum 13 ke the, haan. Lekin hum itne chhoti bhi nahi the ki humari didi ke dil pe kya beet rahi hai yeh samajh nahi sakte the." [I was only 13, yes. But I wasn't so young that I couldn't understand what my Didi was going through.]

Siya's breath catches in her throat, her mind reeling as she takes in Lavanya's words. She hadn't realized how deeply her choices had hurt her sister, how much Lavanya had carried in silence all these years. She takes a step closer, her hands trembling at her sides. "Lavanya, suniye..." [Lavanya, listen...] she begins, her voice barely above a whisper, but Lavanya isn't done yet.

"Aapne hamesha hume sab kuch bataya hai, Didi," [You always told me everything, Didi.] Lavanya continues, her voice growing softer now, but no less pained. "Hum aapke shadow the, hamesha aapke peeche. Aur us waqt, jab aapko sabse zyada zarurat thi kisi apne ki, aapne hume door kar diya. Kyun?" [I was your shadow, always behind you. And at that time, when you needed someone the most, you pushed me away. Why?] Her lips tremble as she speaks, her anger giving way to the hurt that has been festering for years. "Kyun hume yeh mehsoos karaya ki hum aapke liye kuch bhi nahi hai?" [Why did you make me feel like I meant nothing to you?]

The weight of Lavanya's words hits Siya like a tidal wave, and for a moment, she struggles to breathe under the force of her own guilt. Her chest feels tight, her heart aching as she watches the tears spill over Lavanya's lashes. She steps forward cautiously, her voice trembling as she tries to explain.

"Lavanya, hum... hum dar gaye the," [Lavanya, I... I was scared.] Siya admits, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "Hum sirf 19 ke the, aur hum bilkul akeke the. Aap humari chhoti behen hai, tab aap sirf 13 saal ke the. Hum aapko yeh sab kaise samjha sakte the? Kaise aapko woh bojh de sakte the jo hum khud nahi utha paa rahe the?" [I was only 19, and I was completely alone. You were my little sister, only 13. How could I explain all this to you? How could I give you a burden that even I couldn't carry?] She looks at her sister with pleading eyes, her tears falling freely now. "Hum galat the, haan. Hum galat the ki humne aapko door kar diya, lekin hum sirf aapko protect karna chahti thi." [I was wrong, yes. I was wrong to push you away, but I only wanted to protect you.]

Lavanya blinks, her arms dropping slightly as Siya's words sink in. The anger on her face falters for a moment, replaced by something softer, something that hints at the love she still holds for her sister despite everything. But the hurt is still there, raw and unhealed.

"Protect?" Lavanya repeats, her voice quiet but edged with disbelief. "Didi, aapko lagta hai ki hume protect karne ke liye humse jhoot bolna zaroori tha?" [Didi, you think that lying to me was necessary to protect me?] Her voice rises slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface again. "Agar apne hume bata diya hota, toh shayad hum samajh jaate. Shayad hum aapka saath de paate." [If you had told me, maybe I could have understood. Maybe I could have supported you.]

Siya's shoulders slump, her head bowing as Lavanya's words cut through her defenses. She nods slowly, her voice barely audible as she speaks. "Haan, hume lagta tha ki hum apko bacha rahe hai," [Yes, I thought I was protecting you.] she admits, her tears spilling over again. "Lekin ab samajh aata hai ki humne aapko khud se door kar diya." [But now I understand that I pushed you away.]

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The silence stretches between them, heavy with years of unspoken words, of wounds that have yet to heal. Then, slowly, Lavanya exhales, her arms falling completely to her sides as she looks at Siya, her expression softening just slightly.

"Hum aapse naraaz hai, Didi," [I'm angry with you, Didi.] she says quietly, her voice trembling. "Lekin iska matlab yeh nahi hai ki hum aapse pyaar nahi karte." [But that doesn't mean I don't love you.] She takes a hesitant step closer, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Bas hum waqt chahiye. Samajhne ke liye, maaf karne ke liye." [I just need time. To understand, to forgive.]

Siya nods, her heart aching but filled with a glimmer of hope. "Hum intezaar karenge," [I'll wait.] she whispers, her voice steady despite her tears. "Jitna waqt aapko chahiye, Lavanya. Hum intezaar karenge." [However much time you need, Lavanya. I'll wait.]

And for the first time in years, the distance between them feels just a little smaller.

For a moment, silence blankets the room once more, but this time it carries a different weight—not of anger or resentment, but of hesitant reconciliation, of bridges beginning to rebuild.

Lavanya's head turns slightly as though to avoid Siya's eyes, but she lingers in the doorway, her presence softer now, less charged with tension. Siya watches her without protest, knowing that the time Lavanya needs is something she must give willingly, without conditions.

Devika, who has been watching this exchange with quiet but profound emotion, finally takes a step forward. Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her, and her expression is caught somewhere between relief and concern. Her voice, when she speaks, is soft but deliberate, as though choosing her words carefully.

"Siya," she says, breaking the stillness that has settled over the room. "Itne saalon baad aap aaye ho. Aapko dekh kar humara dil bhar aaya hai... lekin hum yeh bhi jaanna chahte hain ki aap yahan kaise? Kya baat hai, bacha?" [After so many years, you've come home. Seeing you has filled my heart, but I also want to know what has bought you back? What it is, my baby?]

Siya hesitates for a moment, her hands curling slightly against the sides of her blazer. The question, though inevitable, feels heavier than she had anticipated.

She looks between her mother and father, their faces etched with anticipation and curiosity, before taking a deep breath. Her heart beats a little faster, the enormity of what she's about to say settling into her chest.

"Maa, Papa," [Maa, Papa,] she begins, her voice steady but carrying a weight of quiet pride. "Hum wapas isliye aaye hai kyunki... hume ek responsibility mili hai. Ek nayi shuruaat, ek naya chance apni zindagi ke liye." [I've come back because... I've been given a responsibility. A new beginning, a new chance for my life.]

Anurag exchanges a glance with Devika, their confusion deepening as Siya takes another small step forward. "Hume Voidcorp ke Indian branch ka CEO banaya gaya hai," [I've been made the CEO of the Indian branch of Voidcorp.] Siya continues, her tone calm but resolute. "Par yeh sirf ek CEO ka role nahi hai, Papa. Yeh humari zindagi ka sabse bada mauka hai." [But this isn't just a CEO role, Papa. This is the biggest opportunity of my life.]

"Voidcorp ne sirf ek CEO ka role nahi diya hao, Maa, Papa," [Voidcorp hasn't just given me a CEO role, Maa, Papa.] Siya begins again, her words deliberate as she chooses them carefully.

"Unhone hume poori autonomy di hai. Indian operations ke har decision ke liye—chahe woh strategic partnerships ho, regional heads ko appoint karna ho ya naye initiatives implement karne ho—sab kuch humare control mein hai." [They've given me complete autonomy. For every decision related to Indian operations—whether it's strategic partnerships, appointing regional heads, or implementing new initiatives—everything will be under my control.] She pauses for a moment, allowing her words to settle before continuing.

Anurag's brows knit together slightly, his hand coming up to adjust his glasses as he processes her words. "Aur yeh sab... aap khud sambhaloge?" [And you'll handle all this... by yourself?] he asks, his tone a full of awe and concern. "Itna bada kaam, itna bada control... kisi ke supervision ke bina?" [Such a big role, such big control... without anyone's supervision?]

Siya shifts her weight slightly, her fingers brushing over the edge of her dupatta as her gaze moves between her parents. The gravity of the moment presses down on her shoulders, but there's also a flicker of pride within her—a steady flame that fuels her resolve.

She takes a deep breath before continuing, her voice measured and calm, though her heart pounds in anticipation of their reactions. Siya nods, her expression softening as she senses the undercurrent of worry in her father's voice.

"Haan, Papa," [Yes, Papa.] she says, her voice steady but gentle. "Unhone humpe pura bharosa dikhaya hai. Hume kisi ki permission nahi leni hogi, aur hum apni team bana sakte hai—unke logon ke saath kaam karenge jo mere vision ko samajhte hain." [They've placed complete trust in me. I won't need anyone's permission, and I can build my own team—work only with people who understand my vision.]

She pauses, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Aur yeh bhi... unhone hume ek equity stake diya hai. Sirf ek employee nahi, hum unke saath ek partner bhi hai." [And there's more... they've given me an equity stake. I'm not just an employee; I'm also a partner with them.]

Devika's hand comes up to her chest, her expression caught somewhere between amazement and disbelief. "Partner? Matlab... aapke paas ownership bhi hai?" [Partner? You mean... you have an ownership stake?] she asks, her voice trembling slightly as she looks at her daughter with wide eyes.

Siya's smile widens just a fraction, but there's no arrogance in it—just quiet pride. "Haan, Maa," [Yes, Maa.] she replies, her tone warm but firm.

"Unhone hume yeh role ek partner ki tarah diya hai. Iska matlab hai ki sirf decisions hi nahi, balki jo bhi growth hogi, woh humara hoga. Humare paas freedom hai apne ideas ko implement karne ki, bina kisi interference ke." [They've given me this role as a partner. That means it's not just about making decisions—any growth that happens, I'll have a share in it. I have the freedom to implement my ideas, without interference.]

For a moment, neither of them speaks, the weight of Siya's words settling like a soft, profound echo in the room. Anurag exchanges a glance with Devika, his eyes reflecting the quiet awe he feels, though his lips press together as if holding back a flood of emotions.

Devika, on the other hand, doesn't even try to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She steps forward, her trembling hands reaching out to grasp Siya's.

Siya swallows hard, her own eyes stinging with tears she hasn't let fall yet. "Aap logon ka bharosa aur ashirwaad tha, Maa," [It was your trust and blessings, Maa.] she says softly, her voice trembling.

"Aapne hamesha hume sikhaaya hai ki kaise apne sapne ke liye mehnat karni chahiye. Aaj agar hum yahan hai, toh yeh aap dono ki wajah se hai." [You always taught me how to work hard for my dreams. If I'm here today, it's because of both of you.]

Anurag finally steps forward, his expression softening as he places a hand on Siya's shoulder. His voice is quieter now, but no less heartfelt. "Siya, hume apke upar itna garv hai, aap kabhi samajh bhi nahi payenge," [Siya, you'll never truly understand how proud I am of you.] he says, his tone filled with both pride and emotion.

"Par ek baat yaad rakhiye ga—aapke jitne bade sapne hain, utni hi badi zimmedaari bhi hoti hai. Hum jaante hain ki aap uska samna kar sakte ho." [But remember one thing—the bigger your dreams, the greater your responsibility. I know you can face it.]

Siya felt her throat tighten at her father's words, each one striking a chord deep within her, stirring emotions she had long kept buried.

She looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears, and saw a tenderness in his eyes that she hadn't seen in years—perhaps not since she was a little girl, running to him with scraped knees and broken crayons.

It was as if, in that moment, the distance of time, misunderstandings, and pain had melted away, leaving only the love that had always been there, steady and unwavering, even when she had doubted it.

"Hum abhi Suchitra jiji ko bata kar aate hai!" [I'll tell Suchitra jiji right away!] Devika suddenly exclaims, her voice bright and filled with excitement.

She pushes herself up from the chair, her movements quick and purposeful, as though the news can't wait another second. She makes her way toward the small side table where her phone rests, her hands already reaching for it.

The sudden declaration catches Siya and Anurag off guard, and they blink through their tears, heads tilting slightly in confusion.

"Suchitra jiji?" [Suchitra jiji?] Anurag repeats softly, his voice tinged with curiosity and a faint trace of surprise.

"Haan, jiji ko," [Yes, to jiji.] Devika replies with a decisive nod, the weight of the emotional moment giving way to a renewed energy. "Unhe toh sabse pehle pata chalna chahiye. Itni badi baat hai, aur jiji ko nahi batayenge? Yeh toh ho hi nahi sakta!" [She should be the first to know. This is such big news—how can I not tell her? That's just not possible!]

The father and daughters exchange faint, bemused smiles, their gazes fixed on the undisputed boss of the house, each of them trying to make sense of her sudden shift in mood.

Her mother's enthusiasm is infectious, and for the first time in a long while, that Siya feels a lightness in her chest—a warmth that had been missing for years.

"Maa," [Maa,] she says gently, taking a step closer to her. Her hand reaches out to rest on her forearm, stopping her before she can dial the number. "Aapko lagta hai, Suchitra bua abhi sunna chahenge? Subah ke kitne baje hai?" [do you think Suchitra bua would want to hear this right now? Do you know how early it is?].

Devika glances at the wall clock, and for a brief moment, she hesitates. The hands of the clock show that it's barely 6:15 in the morning, the faint light of dawn still casting long shadows across the room. But the hesitation lasts only a second before she waves it off with a dismissive shake of her head.

"Jiji ko koi farak nahi padta," [Jiji won't mind.] Devika declares with a wide grin, already clutching the phone as though the call is inevitable.

"Waise bhi woh Pranav bhaisaab ki wajah se subah jaldi uth jaati hain. Ab toh unhe ye khushi ke pal mein shaamil karna zaruri hai." [She always wakes up early because of Pranav bhaisaab anyway. Now it's important to include her in this happy moment.]

Anurag leans back in his chair, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. His lips curve into a knowing smile, and his eyes glint with playful mischief as he watches his wife, whose excitement is as contagious as it is relentless.

"Aaji suniye," [Listen,] he begins, his tone teasing but warm, "agar unhone phone uthate hi daant diya na, Devika ji, toh aap humare paas mat aaiyega. Hum subah-subah jiji se ladne waale nahi hain." [If she scolds you the moment she picks up, Devika ji, don't come running to me. I'm not going to argue with jiji this early in the morning.]

Devika narrows her eyes at him, her hands coming to rest on her hips in a stance that is both familiar and formidable. "Aap toh bas yeh chahte hain ki hume akele hi sab kuch sambhalna pade," [You just want me to handle everything alone—argue with jiji, explain things to her, and share the happiness by myself.] she replies, her voice feigning indignation, though the corners of her lips twitch with suppressed amusement.

"Jiji se ladna pade, unhe samjhana pade, aur khushi ki baat batani ho. bhi hume hi share karni pade. Waah, Anurag ji! Kya shaandar pati hain aap!" [Wow, Anurag ji! What an amazing husband you are!]

Siya hides her smile behind her hand, her heart feeling lighter as she watches the familiar banter unfold. It's a scene she had missed more than she had ever admitted to herself—a glimpse of the everyday magic that made her family so uniquely theirs.

She hadn't realized how much she craved this—this sense of belonging, this warmth, this safe haven that had once been her entire world.

"Devika ji," Anurag counters, raising a hand as though in self-defense, his smile widening. "Hum bas yeh keh rahe hai ki agar aap yeh news unse itne subah share karna chahengi, toh unka jawaab aapko bhi sambhalna padega. Hum toh sirf dekhenge." [I'm just saying that if you want to share this news with her this early in the morning, then you'll also have to handle her response. I will just watch here.]

"Apko toh sirf comments marna aur chai pina aata hai," [You only know how to pass comments, and drink chai.] Devika retorts, her tone sharp as she crosses her arms, her stance defiant.

Siya's laugh finally escapes, light and unrestrained, breaking through the thick emotions of the morning. It's a sound that feels foreign in her own ears—something she hasn't heard herself do in years.

Her parents both turn toward her at once, their playful exchange pausing as they take in the sight of her smiling. Devika's eyes soften, her teasing demeanor giving way to something gentler, and Anurag's grin falters into a tender smile.

"Dekha?" [See?] Anurag says, gesturing toward Siya with a flick of his hand, his voice laced with affection. "Siya ko humare beech ki ladaai ka maza aa raha hai." [Siya is enjoying our argument.]

"Ladaai?" [Fight?] Devika scoffs, though her tone is far from annoyed. "Kisne kaha ki yeh ladaai hai? Yeh toh aapka roz ka drama hai, Anurag ji." [Who said this is a fight? This is your daily drama, Anurag ji.] She shakes her head, but there's a faint smile on her lips as she looks back at Siya.

"Drama toh aapka shauk hai, Devika ji," [Drama is your passion, Devika ji.] Anurag quips, holding up a finger as if to emphasize his point. "Hum toh bas piche se support karte hai." [I just support from behind the scenes.]

Siya shakes her head lightly, her laughter fading into a smile that lingers as she watches them. The ease between her parents, the unspoken understanding beneath their words, feels like a balm she hadn't known she needed.

It's a reminder of everything she's been missing—of the love that has always been here, waiting for her, even when she felt too far away to reach for it.

For the first time in years, she feels like she's where she belongs.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

AND THEY MEET IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!!!

This chapter was 13,398 words. 😐

I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT!

bowledover18, dagabaazreee, Esmahiranursultan77, Gillinmydil, ogcuphid

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

Aur prem so bolo,

Radhe..Radhe 🙏🏻