01│Where We Begin Again

Present~

Vihaan Singh Rajvansh pulled up to the grand glass-and-steel building in his sleek black BMW, the engine purring softly before it came to a halt. The morning sun gleamed off the polished surface of the car. His driver quickly scrambled out, rushing to open the door for him.

Vihaan emerged, exuding an aura of power and sophistication. Dressed in a pristine white shirt tucked neatly into black suit pants, he looked every bit the successful businessman he was. His sharp jawline was clean-shaven, his hair neatly styled, and his black sunglasses added a touch of mystery to his otherwise severe appearance. Draped over one arm was his suit jacket, and in his other hand, he held his phone to his ear.

"Yes, Mr. Catteneo, I understand the situation perfectly," he said smoothly, his voice devoid of emotion, like a machine built for negotiations. He strode toward the building's entrance, unfazed by the morning bustle around him. As he approached, the security guard at the door quickly straightened, opening it with a respectful nod.

Vihaan returned the gesture with the slightest inclination of his head, continuing his conversation as though nothing existed beyond the call. "Unfortunately, I have personal commitments later today. We have no choice but to postpone," he added before ending the call with a swift tap on the screen.

Inside the building, employees turned discreet glances in his direction. He was a man who commanded attention without demanding it-a presence impossible to ignore. His assistant, Advait, trailed behind him, tablet in hand, struggling to match his boss's long strides.

"Forward today's schedule," Vihaan instructed without pausing or looking back.

Advait nodded immediately, pulling out his tablet to comply. He hesitated for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it.

"What is it?" Vihaan asked without looking up, his tone clipped but not harsh. He continued typing, his pace unbroken.

Advait hesitated again, then sighed. "It's not related to work," he said carefully, knowing full well how Vihaan valued boundaries during office hours.

"Ask away," Vihaan said in a slightly exasperated tone as the elevator doors opened. They stepped out, walking briskly towards his office. "You won't be able to sit still unless you get it off your chest."

Advait sighed, debating whether or not to bring it up. Not until they were inside Vihaan's expansive office on the top floor, with the city skyline stretching out through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Vihaan shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair before settling down behind his massive desk. The office, as always, was spotless. The polished wooden desk gleamed under the soft lighting, and the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air.

Advait cleared his throat but waited until Vihaan had opened his laptop and begun typing before finally speaking. "Are you okay?" he asked cautiously.

Vihaan froze, his fingers hovering above the keyboard. His jaw clenched tightly, and his shoulders stiffened. "Why do you ask?" His voice was even, though his body betrayed the tension he was trying to suppress.

Advait didn't flinch. He knew there was no point in sugarcoating things. "Today is Aanchal's fourth death anniversary," he said plainly, his words cutting through the air like a sharp knife.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Vihaan's expression turned colder, his voice dropping several degrees. "Where is my black coffee?" he asked, clearly dismissing the topic.

Advait sighed, shaking his head in disappointment but knowing better than to push further. He turned and left the office to fetch the requested coffee.

The door clicked shut, and the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the air conditioning. Vihaan stared blankly at the screen in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere. His vision blurred slightly as memories began to surface, unbidden and unwanted.

Four years today.

Four years since he had lost her.

Four years since their child had been taken away before he ever got to meet him.

Vihaan leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed as he tried to push away the rising wave of emotions. But it was no use. The hollow ache in his chest was as sharp as ever.

Four years of emptiness.

Four years of feeling like a part of him had died that day too.

The image of her lifeless body lying on the hospital bed flashed through his mind, as vivid as though it had happened yesterday. He clenched his jaw tightly, willing the memories to go away, but they clung to him like shadows he couldn't escape.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, the weight of the past pressing heavily on his chest. He had built an empire in these four years, thrown himself into work, and made sure nothing-not even emotions-could break through his cold exterior. But no matter how much he tried, the emptiness remained.

Will this feeling ever go away?

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before exhaling slowly. He reached for a framed photo on his desk. It was a picture of Aanchal, her smile radiant, her eyes bright with life. She had been his anchor, his joy, the one who made him believe in happiness.

"I shouldn't have let you go alone, that night," he whispered to the empty room, his voice barely audible. The guilt gnawed at him relentlessly, an invisible chain that kept dragging him back to that fateful day.

A soft knock on the door broke his reverie. Advait entered, carrying a steaming cup of black coffee. He placed it on the desk quietly, casting a concerned glance at Vihaan but saying nothing.

"Thanks," Vihaan said gruffly, picking up the cup and taking a sip. The bitter liquid did nothing to ease the bitterness inside him.

"If you need anything..." Advait began, but Vihaan cut him off with a curt nod. "I'll manage."

Advait hesitated for a moment longer before retreating silently, leaving Vihaan alone once more.

As the door closed, Vihaan swiveled his chair around, facing the vast expanse of the city beyond the glass. The bustling world outside carried on, oblivious to the storm raging within him.

He had everything-wealth, power, respect-but none of it filled the void left by Aanchal's absence.

The weight of solitude was unbearable, yet he wore it like armor, shielding himself from the world. He couldn't afford to be vulnerable.

But as he sat there, staring at the city that stretched endlessly before him, he couldn't help but wonder-was this all life had to offer now? An endless cycle of work, achievements, and a loneliness that refused to leave?

He didn't have an answer.

He never did.

🕊️

~Some hours earlier, Amsterdam

Khushi crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at her three-year-old son, who was standing by the kitchen counter with chocolate smeared all over his little hands and chubby cheeks. His eyes widened in surprise, caught red-handed in the act of raiding the snack drawer.

"What are you doing, Adi?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to maintain a serious expression.

Adi grinned sheepishly, his chocolate-streaked teeth gleaming as he realized he'd been caught. "I was helping you, mamma," he said innocently, as though this mess was part of some grand plan to assist her.

Khushi's lips twitched, fighting the urge to smile. "Helping me? How exactly were you helping me?" she asked, tapping her foot on the floor, feigning sternness.

Adi thought for a moment, his tiny finger pressing against his chin as he tried to come up with an answer. After a long pause, he brightened up. "We're going to... In... Innn..." He struggled with the word, scrunching up his face in concentration. When he couldn't remember, he finally declared with enthusiasm, "To nana-nani!"

Khushi chuckled softly, unable to hold back her amusement anymore. "We're going to India, Adi. Where nana and nani lives," she corrected gently, kneeling down to his level.

"Yes! India! Where nana-nani lives!" Adi repeated excitedly, his eyes shining with joy. He clapped his chocolate-covered hands together, inadvertently spreading more mess on his clothes.

"Alright, little troublemaker," Khushi said, ruffling his already messy hair. "If you manage to clean yourself up without my help, I'll let you have the remote and watch all the Tom and Jerry you want. Deal?"

Adi's eyes widened in delight. "Really, mumma? As long as I want?" he asked, as though he couldn't believe his luck.

"Yes, all by yourself," Khushi repeated, giving him an encouraging smile. Without wasting a second, Adi turned on his heels and ran toward the bathroom, his little feet pattering against the floor. The sound of the faucet turning on and water splashing filled the house moments later.

Khushi shook her head fondly, glancing around at the mess he'd left behind. Just as she bent down to pick up a discarded wrapper, a familiar voice startled her.

"You're not doing the right thing by taking my son away from me," Raghav's deep voice echoed from the doorway, laced with frustration and bitterness.

Khushi froze for a moment before straightening up. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was-she knew that voice all too well. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him, keeping her expression neutral. He stood there, tall and imposing, his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes burning with unspoken anger.

"We're leaving, Raghav," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside her. "There's nothing more to discuss."

Raghav's jaw clenched. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "But why?" he demanded, his tone sharp. "Why do you need to go? Why can't you stay here? Aditya needs his father."

"I came here following you, Raghav. I never wanted to leave India, and you know that," she said calmly, wiping away the last smudge of chocolate from the floor. Finally, standing up straight, she looked him in the eye and added, "I'm sorry you'll have to stay away from your son, but I can't help it anymore. We are leaving."

"Rubbish!" Raghav spat out angrily. "Of course, you can help it. You just don't want to."

Khushi didn't flinch. She met his glare head-on and nodded. "Yes, you're right. I don't want to," she said with quiet conviction. "Because now, I'll do what's right for me and my son. I'll do what I want."

Raghav's face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. "You'll regret this," he said, his voice low and threatening. "I'll fight you for Aditya. I'll get custody of my son, no matter what it takes."

Khushi's heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let him see her fear. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and met his glare head-on. "We'll see about that," she said, her voice steady.

Before Raghav could say anything more, a small voice interrupted them. "Mumma, look! I cleaned up all by myself!" Adi called out proudly, standing at the washroom door, his hands dripping wet but his face glowing with excitement.

Khushi's stern expression softened instantly as she turned toward her son. She widened her eyes in mock surprise, kneeling down to his level. "Wow! I am so proud of my little Adi," she said, ruffling his wet hair affectionately.

Adi grinned at her praise, but his smile faded the moment his eyes landed on Raghav. His expression turned into a deep frown. Pointing a tiny finger at Raghav, he asked bluntly, "What is he doing here?"

Raghav's eyes darkened as he glared at the little boy. "I'm your father," he said coldly. "Is that how you talk to me?"

But Adi didn't back down. His tiny fists clenched as he shouted, "I don't care who you are! You make my mumma cry, so you're bad!" Without waiting for a response, he turned and ran back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

"Adi!" Khushi called after him, but he didn't stop.

"This boy-" Raghav began angrily, but Khushi grabbed his arm, pulling him back before he could follow Adi.

"Don't you dare!" she hissed, her voice low but fierce. "He's a kid, Raghav. A three-year-old! That's how you talk to him?"

"He's a spoiled, misbehaved kid!" Raghav shouted, his voice echoing through the house.

Khushi closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside her. When she opened them again, her gaze was steely. "Get out, Raghav," she said firmly.

"I'm not going anywhere until-"

"Get out before I call the cops," she cut him off sharply. "And you know very well that I can do that."

Raghav clenched his fists, his jaw tightening in anger, with a furious glare, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. The loud bang echoed through the quiet house, making Khushi flinch for a brief second.

As the sound faded, Khushi let out a long breath and sank down onto the couch, resting her head in her hands. Her fingers dug into her scalp as she tried to ease the throbbing headache building behind her eyes. Her mind was spinning with thoughts she didn't want to entertain but couldn't help.

What has happened to him? she wondered bitterly, rubbing her temples. Did he really change so much, or had he always been like this, and I just failed to notice it back then?

It was a question that haunted her often. In the beginning, Raghav had seemed perfect. He had been charming, attentive, and caring-or so she had thought. But now, after everything that had happened, she couldn't help but question if she had ever truly known the man she married.

Sighing deeply, Khushi stood up from the couch, running a hand through her hair as she walked toward Aditya's room. She opened the door slowly, the hinges letting out a faint creak, and peeked inside. Her heart softened immediately at the sight before her

There, on his small Mickey Mouse-themed bed, her three-year-old son, Aditya, was fast asleep, hugging his favourite teddy bear. His tiny chest rose and fell steadily, his face peaceful and angelic under the dim glow of the lamp light. His curly hair was slightly messy, sticking out in different directions, but to her, he looked perfect.

A soft smile tugged at her lips as she walked over to him quietly, careful not to make any noise. Leaning down, she placed a gentle kiss on his soft hair, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. In that moment, all her worries seemed to melt away, even if only for a little while.

These past four years had been nothing short of a nightmare. If it weren't for her little Adi, she didn't know how she would have survived. He had been her light when everything around her was dark. Her strength when she had none left. Her reason to keep going when giving up seemed easier.

She pulled the blanket up to cover him properly and stood there for a moment, simply watching him sleep. He was her whole world-her miracle baby. And she would do anything to keep him safe and happy.

It had been almost three years since she and Raghav had officially divorced. The entire process had been exhausting, both mentally and emotionally. Raghav had refused to let her go, dragging the divorce proceedings out for as long as possible. Not because he loved her-no, that wasn't it. He simply didn't want to lose control. He knew that divorcing her would also mean losing custody of their son, and that was something he couldn't accept.

The legal battle that followed had been long and grueling. Court dates, endless paperwork, and tense arguments became a regular part of her life. Raghav had fought tooth and nail for custody of Aditya, but in the end, Khushi had won. She had been granted full custody of her son just a week ago, and the relief she felt was indescribable.

Without wasting any time, she had made the decision to return to India. Her uncle and aunt, who had always been there for her, needed her now. And deep down, Khushi knew that India was where Aditya needed to grow up. He deserved to be surrounded by love and family, to have a stable and happy childhood-something she was determined to give him.

With one last kiss on his forehead, she turned and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Her miracle baby.

Her little Adi.

Her everything.

02│A New Light

Today was Aanchal's death anniversary. Vihaan wanted nothing more than to bury himself in work for the entire day and then spend the night alone, drowning in her memories. That was his routine for the past four years—work himself to exhaustion, then let the memories consume him when no one was around to see.

But today, things weren't going as planned.

"Yes, Maa, I will be there on time," Vihaan reassured Amrita for what felt like the hundredth time today. He had promised her that he would be there to pick up her niece from the airport whenever she came back, and unfortunately, that happened to be today. So, he had no choice—he would be there.

Vihaan didn't break promises.

"I know that," Amrita hesitated before continuing, "it's just that today is..." Her voice trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

In his own grief, Vihaan sometimes forgot that Amrita and Gaurav had lost their daughter too. They had nurtured and cared for Aanchal from the day she was born, watched her grow into the beautiful woman she became, only to lose her too soon.

And maybe he would never get to experience that feeling himself—of raising a child, of being a father.

He gulped, pushing down the lump in his throat.

"I'm on my way to the airport," he said, his voice wasn't cold or distant, but it wasn't exactly soft either.

"Okay, I've sent you her photo" Amrita said meekly before ending the call.

It would only take a few hours. He would pick up their niece—Khushi, he thought that was her name—and after that, he could go back to his usual routine. He would lock himself away and drown in his sorrow, just like every other year.

Vihaan reached his car and signaled for the keys from his driver, who hesitated for a moment.

"Sir..." the driver began, making Vihaan frown in annoyance. "Advait sir said not to let you go anywhere alone today," he added cautiously.

Fucking Advait.

Vihaan felt irritation rising in his chest. He was not a child who needed someone to watch over him. He was a grown man who could take care of himself perfectly well.

Shooting one final glare at the poor driver, he said firmly, "Take me to the airport." The driver nodded hastily, opening the backseat door for him without further argument.

Vihaan grudgingly got into the car, knowing that throwing a tantrum would only land the driver in trouble. He leaned back in his seat, glaring at his phone. Without hesitation, he shot a quick text to his secretary—who, at this point, seemed to be trying to act like a worried mother.

"I'm not a fucking kid you can control."

The message was marked as "Seen," but there was no reply. Vihaan waited for a moment, then shot another glare at his phone before shoving it back into his pocket.

Minutes later, the driver announced, "Sir, we are here."

Vihaan entered the airport, his eyes carefully scanning the large digital arrival board hanging above the busy crowd. He quickly found the flight number he was looking for—Khushi's flight had already landed. He let out a small sigh, knowing that he couldn't turn back now. He didn't know much about Khushi, apart from the few things Amrita had told him. All he knew was that she was Aanchal's cousin, someone who had been living abroad for years.

Even though Amrita said Khushi had been close to Aanchal, Vihaan wasn't sure how true that was. If she had really been that close to Aanchal, why hadn't she attended the funeral? Why hadn't she been there during Aanchal's last moments? These thoughts left a bitter taste in Vihaan's mouth, but he chose not to dwell on them too much.

He positioned himself near the arrival gate, keeping his hands tucked firmly into his pockets as he waited. The bustling crowd of travelers, their families, and loved ones didn't seem to affect him at all. He stood still, his expression stoic, completely unaffected by the joyful reunions happening all around him.

After a few minutes of waiting, he finally spotted her. A young woman, likely in her late twenties, emerged from the gate, pulling a suitcase in one hand while holding a small boy's hand with the other. Vihaan let confusion wash over him for a brief moment—nobody had mentioned anything about her having a son. The boy looked to be around three or four years old, almost the same age his... No, he cut the thought off before it could fully form.

Khushi seemed a bit lost, her eyes scanning the crowd as though searching for someone. She was tall but not as tall as Aanchal, with long dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. She wore a simple black kurti paired with white leggings. Her face, though undeniably pretty, looked tired, as if the journey had taken more out of her than she had expected.

Vihaan didn't move right away. For a moment, he simply observed her from where he stood. She was nothing like Aanchal. Where Aanchal had been bold and elegant, exuding confidence effortlessly, Khushi appeared smaller and more vulnerable. There was a stark contrast between the two women that Vihaan couldn't help but notice.

The little boy tugged at Khushi's hand, saying something Vihaan couldn't hear from where he stood. Khushi bent down slightly to listen to him, her expression turning stern for a brief second, making the boy pout in frustration. A moment later, she extended her hand toward him, but the boy stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest, puffing his cheeks.

Khushi sighed softly, giving in to his little tantrum, but just as quickly, a hint of a smile curved her lips.

That smile caught Vihaan off guard. It wasn't forced despite the weariness etched on her face. It was genuine—a smile meant only for her child, one that seemed to brighten her entire expression. Something stirred inside Vihaan, a strange pang that he didn't quite understand. Or perhaps, he didn't want to understand it.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, Khushi's eyes met his from across the room. She paused for a moment, recognition dawning in her eyes. Vihaan frowned slightly, confused as to how she could recognize him so quickly since they had never met before. Shaking off the thought, he straightened his posture as Khushi gave him a small, hesitant smile.

Vihaan walked toward her, his usual cold demeanor firmly in place. "Khushi Bhatia?" he asked flatly, his voice devoid of any warmth.

"Yes," she replied, nodding slightly. "You must be Vihaan." Her voice was soft yet clear.

Vihaan gave a curt nod. "Let's go. The car's waiting outside," he said without offering any pleasantries.

Khushi blinked at his abruptness but chose not to comment. Instead, she reached for her son's hand and began to follow him. However, the little boy had other ideas.

"Mumma, wait!" he said excitedly, tugging on her hand and pointing toward a nearby stall selling colorful balloons. In that moment, he seemed to have completely forgotten that he was supposed to be upset with his mother.

Khushi looked down at her son, clearly torn between indulging him and following Vihaan, who had already taken a few steps ahead.

Noticing the hesitation, Vihaan turned back, his expression as impassive as ever. "If he wants a balloon, get him one," he said simply, his tone neither irritated nor kind.

Khushi gave him a small, grateful nod before crouching down to her son's level. "Okay, we'll get a balloon, but you have to promise you'll hold my hand afterward, alright?"

The boy nodded eagerly, his earlier tantrum forgotten in the face of the promised balloon. Khushi walked with him to the stall while Vihaan waited nearby, hands still in his pockets, trying to hide his growing irritation. It wasn't that the boy annoyed him—children never bothered him. What irritated him was the delay, the added time pulling him further away from his carefully planned day.

Once Khushi and her son had their balloon, they rejoined Vihaan, and the trio made their way towards his car. The boy happily clutched his new balloon in one hand and Khushi's hand in the other, while Vihaan walked a few paces ahead, keeping a noticeable distance.

When they reached the car, Vihaan gestured for the driver to open the back door. Khushi helped her son climb in first before sliding in beside him. Vihaan got in on the other side, ensuring there was enough space between himself and the passengers.

As soon as the car began to move, the little boy turned his attention to Vihaan. "Who are you?" he asked curiously, his big eyes staring up at him.

"I'm Vihaan," he said, forcing himself to keep his tone soft, reminding himself that he was talking to a child.

"I'm Aditya Bhatia," the boy said proudly, extending his tiny hand toward Vihaan. "Did you know my name means sun?" He grinned widely. "Mumma says it's because I'm her sun."

Vihaan couldn't help but smile back at the boy's enthusiasm. "That's great," he said, shaking his little hand.

"I'm sorry about him," Khushi said apologetically, offering a tired but warm smile. "He slept the entire flight, so now he's full of energy. I guess I'll have to keep up with him all night."

Vihaan shook his head slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's fine," he said, his gaze shifting back to the boy, who was now happily playing with his balloon.

"What does your name mean?" Aditya asked suddenly, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he leaned closer to Vihaan.

Vihaan chuckled softly, amused by the little boy's enthusiasm. "It means dawn," he replied simply.

Aditya scrunched up his face in confusion. "Dawn? What's that?" he asked, tilting his head in a way that made Vihaan smile more genuinely this time.

"It's the first light of day, before the sun rises," Vihaan explained, keeping his tone gentle. "Kind of like how the sky starts to glow before morning comes."

Aditya's eyes widened in excitement. "Wow! That's so cool!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "That means our names are kind of the same, right? Sun and dawn—they go together!"

Vihaan laughed, a genuine, soft laugh that felt strange yet refreshing after so long. "You're right," he agreed. "They do go together."

Khushi watched the interaction silently, a bit surprised by how easily Vihaan was talking to Aditya. From what she had heard about him, she didn't expect him to be so... approachable. She had assumed he would be colder, more distant. Yet here he was, smiling at her son, engaging with him as if it came naturally.

"Mumma, look!" Aditya suddenly shouted, pointing excitedly out the window. "A big building!"

Khushi smiled and leaned closer to him. "Yes, sweetheart. There are lots of tall buildings here in the city," she said softly, brushing back his hair in a loving gesture.

Vihaan observed the tender moment between mother and son, a strange feeling stirring inside him once again. It wasn't quite sadness, but it wasn't happiness either. It was something quieter, something he couldn't name. He quickly looked away, focusing on the view outside his window instead.

The rest of the car ride passed mostly in silence, with Aditya occasionally pointing out things he found interesting. Vihaan remained quiet, lost in his thoughts, while Khushi kept an eye on her son, making sure he didn't get too restless.

When they finally reached Amrita's house, Vihaan straightened in his seat, feeling a familiar sense of unease wash over him. He hadn't been here in a while—not since Aanchal's passing. It still felt strange coming back, as if he didn't quite belong anymore.

Khushi noticed his sudden change in demeanor but chose not to comment. Instead, she turned to him with a small, grateful smile. "Thank you for picking us up," she said sincerely. "I know today must be... difficult for you."

Vihaan didn't respond right away. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable. Before he could say anything more, Aditya piped up from beside Khushi.

"You're coming inside, right?" the little boy asked expectantly, his wide eyes filled with hope.

Vihaan hesitated for a brief moment, torn between his instinct to decline and the boy's innocent request. In the end, he found himself nodding. "Yeah," he said shortly, stepping out of the car. "Let's go inside."

Khushi sighed softly in relief and got out, holding Aditya's hand as Vihaan followed them towards the front door. Amrita was already waiting for them, standing at the doorway with a warm smile on her face. As soon as she saw Khushi and Aditya, her expression lit up with joy.

"Khushi, my dear!" Amrita exclaimed, stepping forward to embrace her niece. "It's been so long. I'm so glad you're finally here."

Khushi smiled, hugging her aunt tightly. "I missed you too, maasi," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of relief.

Amrita knelt down to Aditya's level, her eyes twinkling with affection. "And this must be Aditya! My, you've grown so much since I last saw you."

Aditya grinned shyly, half-hiding behind his mother's legs. "Hi," he said in a small voice, peeking out at her cautiously.

"Such a polite little boy!" Amrita said warmly, reaching out to gently pat his head. "We're so happy to have you both here."

Vihaan stood off to the side, watching the reunion unfold quietly. A part of him felt like an outsider, even though he was technically a part of this family. He didn't know why he hadn't left already—he had done what was asked of him, and yet here he was, lingering.

Amrita finally noticed him standing behind them. Her eyes widened in surprise, as though she wasn't expecting to see him there. "Vihaan?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief.

He forced out a small smile and gave her a curt nod. "Aditya wanted me to come," he said hesitantly, as if unsure of whether his presence was truly welcome.

"And you agreed?" Amrita's eyebrows shot up, clearly unable to hide her astonishment. "That's... unexpected," she added, her lips twitching into a teasing smile.

"Yes," Vihaan replied roughly, clearing his throat. He didn't want to elaborate—it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, one he hadn't fully processed yet.

Amrita smiled knowingly, but she didn't press further. Instead, she turned back to Khushi, her joy evident. "Come inside, all of you. You must be tired from your journey." She stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.

As they moved toward the front door, Amrita kept glancing at Vihaan, still grinning as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Khushi walked ahead with Aditya, holding his hand tightly, while Vihaan trailed a few steps behind.

The familiar scent of the house hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold—a blend of fresh flowers and sandalwood, the same comforting smell that always lingered in Amrita's home. It stirred a mix of emotions within him, memories he had tried hard to keep at bay.

For the first time in a long while, he felt something other than the numb emptiness that had become his constant companion. It wasn't exactly happiness, but it was something close—something quieter, softer, and gentler, something he couldn't quite put into words.

As Amrita led them into the living room, Vihaan took a seat on one of the armchairs, keeping his posture rigid. He wasn't sure what the coming days would bring, but for now, he would keep his promise.

Whatever bitterness he felt toward Khushi could wait. Whatever unspoken grief still lingered between them all could wait.

For now, he would simply take things one moment at a time.

03│Grumpy Heart Stolen

Amrita fussed over Khushi and Aditya, offering them water and snacks as they settled into the cozy living room. The house was warm, filled with soft lighting and familiar family photos lining the walls. Khushi took in her surroundings, feeling a rush of nostalgia. Though it had been years since she'd last visited, the house hadn't changed much. The warmth of her aunt's hospitality remained the same, instantly making her feel at ease.

"Aditya, do you want some juice?" Amrita asked, her voice gentle as she crouched down to his level again.

Aditya looked up at his mother for approval, and when Khushi nodded, he gave a shy smile. "Yes, please."

"I'll be right back." Amrita stood and headed toward the kitchen, leaving Khushi and Vihaan in an awkward silence.

Khushi glanced at Vihaan, who sat stiffly in the chair, his expression unreadable. She had heard a lot about him from Aanchal--how he was a kind and loving husband, someone who rarely spoke but always made his presence felt in quiet, meaningful ways. But the man sitting before her now seemed distant, as though he had built walls around himself that no one could breach.

"Thank you again for picking us up," Khushi said softly, breaking the silence. She wasn't sure if he wanted to talk, but she felt the need to acknowledge his effort.

Vihaan gave a slight nod, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her. "It wasn't a problem," he said curtly.

Khushi hesitated, unsure of what to say next. She wanted to ask him about Aanchal, but something about his demeanor made her hold back. There was an air of finality around him, as though he didn't want to revisit the past.

Amrita returned with a glass of juice and a plate of biscuits, placing them on the table in front of Aditya. "Here you go, sweetheart." Aditya's face lit up as he eagerly grabbed a biscuit.

"You've grown up so well, Khushi," Amrita said, turning her attention back to her niece. "I can't believe it's been so long since I last saw you. And Aditya--he's such a lovely boy. You must be so proud."

Khushi smiled, brushing her hand through her son's hair. "I am," she said, her voice soft with affection. "He's the reason I keep going."

Amrita's gaze softened, and she reached out to squeeze Khushi's hand. "You're home now. You won't have to do it all alone anymore."

Khushi nodded, grateful for her aunt's support. She had been nervous about coming back, unsure of how she would be received after being away for so long. But Amrita's warmth made her feel as though she had made the right decision.

🕊️

Vihaan watched the exchange in silence, feeling like an outsider once again. He knew Amrita meant well, but he couldn't help the bitterness that bubbled beneath the surface. Aanchal's absence was palpable, and seeing Khushi sitting there, smiling as though nothing had happened, only reminded him of the loss he carried with him every day.

"Vihaan, why don't you stay for dinner?" Amrita suggested suddenly, turning toward him.

He blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. "I... I have some work to do," he said, standing up abruptly. "I should get going."

"Can't you stay a little longer?" Adi asked, looking up at him with those wide, hopeful eyes that made it difficult for Vihaan to refuse.

Vihaan hesitated, not sure how to turn down a kid without seeming rude. He glanced at Khushi, half-expecting her to intervene, but she simply watched silently, as if waiting to see what he would do.

"Pretty please," Adi added, tilting his head and giving him the most adorable puppy-dog expression Vihaan had ever seen. Seriously, where did kids learn these techniques? Was there a secret adorable academy or something?

Vihaan sighed in defeat, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he muttered, "but only for some more minutes."

Three hours later...

"Do you like cookies?" Adi asked excitedly, his eyes practically sparkling as he stared at Vihaan like he was some kind of superhero.

Considering that Vihaan had just bought him an entire tub of chocolate ice cream a few minutes ago--and answered what felt like a thousand of his weirdest questions--it made sense why Adi looked at him like that. Clearly, Vihaan had earned his spot in the Hall of Cool People.

"Time to sleep," Khushi announced suddenly, glaring at him, her sharp voice slicing through the air like a knife.

Vihaan winced. He had, in fact, bought ice cream for Adi despite Khushi explicitly telling him not to. So... yeah, her glare made complete sense.

"But I'm not sleepy," Adi whined, pouting dramatically and putting on his most tragic face.

Vihaan looked at him and then back at Khushi. How could she not melt at that? He was cute! Adorable, even! But no, she remained completely unmoved, standing there with her arms crossed like a stone-cold villain in a bedtime saga.

"I want to talk to Vi!" Adi whined.

"Vi?" Khushi raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

"Vi," Adi repeated, pointing at Vihaan like his mother was being slow on purpose. "His name is too big for me."

Khushi sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "No, it's not. It's Vi-ha-an," she said, enunciating every syllable as if trying to drill it into Adi's head.

"But Vi is easier," Adi said with a nonchalant shrug. Then he turned to Vihaan with hopeful eyes. "You don't mind, right?"

Vihaan could practically feel Khushi's death glare burning into him. He knew he should tread carefully here, but... Adi's hopeful little face was impossible to resist.

"I have no problem," Vihaan said with a grin, enjoying the small victorious fist pump Adi did in response.

Khushi sighed dramatically, shaking her head with a disappointed look. "You are spoiling him," she said, sounding like she was already regretting letting Vihaan stay this long.

Vihaan just shrugged, offering his best innocent smile. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was spoiling Adi a little. But come on-just look at that adorable face! How could he not?

"It's time to go to bed," Khushi repeated, her voice firm but gentler now as she shook her head. She looked exhausted after the long flight, and even Adi must have noticed it. His enthusiasm dimmed slightly as he obediently got up from beside Vihaan, his small shoulders sagging just a little.

"But where will he sleep?" Adi asked, pointing his tiny finger straight at Vihaan, his eyes wide with curiosity and concern.

Glancing at Gaurav--Aanchal's father--who had come home a few hours ago. Gaurav hadn't moved from his place on the couch, watching everything unfold with an amused look, clearly enjoying the little drama his four-year-old grandson was creating.

"I think I should go now," Vihaan said, offering Gaurav a small nod. He could feel the older man's eyes on him, but Gaurav simply raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable.

Before he could take a step toward the door, Adi's face scrunched up with worry. "But it's late," he said, his voice small but urgent. "What if... what if Voldemort comes and kills you?"

Vihaan blinked at the unexpected question, and then, to his own surprise, he burst out laughing. The sheer seriousness on Adi's face, the way he worriedly bit his bottom lip, made it impossible not to laugh. The sound echoing through the living room.

He fucking loved this kid.

Amrita, who had been silently clearing the dining table, froze mid-motion, her eyes darting toward Vihaan in shock. Gaurav, on the other hand, blinked rapidly, looking at him like he was seeing a ghost. Neither of them had expected to hear laughter from Vihaan today--of all days.

"Nothing will happen to me," Vihaan said between chuckles, still shaking his head.

And then, as quickly as it had come, the laughter faded. Reality sank back in like a heavy weight pressing against his chest. His smile vanished, replaced by a blank expression as realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

Today was Aanchal's death anniversary.

He should be mourning his wife right now, not laughing. Not enjoying a little boy's antics. Not feeling a fleeting moment of joy. Suddenly, his stomach churned, and he felt sick. He needed to get out of here. He needed to be alone.

"I think... I should go now," Vihaan muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor, his voice hollow.

Before he could make it to the door, Khushi's soft voice called after him. "Vihaan."

He stopped but didn't turn around.

"It's actually really late," she said gently, and he could hear the kindness in her voice. "Why don't you just stay here tonight?"

He looked up, and for a moment, his eyes met hers. There was a knowing glint in them, something that told him she understood exactly what he was feeling, which somehow made him feel even worse. He hated that look, that pity, but he was too drained to argue.

"Okay," he finally said with a small nod.

Khushi picked up a now half-asleep Adi in her arms, his head resting against her shoulder, and murmured, "Good night," to her uncle and aunt, who tried their best to smile at Vihaan, though it was clear they didn't know what to say.

Vihaan followed Khushi down the dimly lit hallway, the soft creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet felt almost deafening in the silence. His gaze stayed fixed on Adi, who was now fully nestled against his mother, his tiny arms wrapped tightly around her neck. His little face was peaceful, his lashes fluttering slightly as he drifted deeper into sleep.

Vihaan envied him. Sleep came easy to children. No haunting memories, no regrets clawing at them in the dead of night.

Khushi stopped at a door and carefully pushed it open with her foot. Inside, the room was small but cozy, with soft night lights casting a warm glow across the walls, which were decorated with colorful drawings and posters of superheroes. She walked over to the small bed in the corner and gently laid Adi down, tucking the blankets around him with the tenderness only a mother could possess.

Vihaan hovered by the doorway, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do-say goodnight and leave or just stand there like a lost idiot.

Khushi straightened up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and turned to face him. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as she whispered, "You can stay in the guest room. It's down the hall."

Vihaan gave a small nod, his throat feeling tight. "Thanks," he mumbled, his voice rough and barely above a whisper. He wasn't sure if he was thankful for the hospitality or just too exhausted to protest.

For a moment, she simply stood there, her eyes scanning his face as if searching for something--perhaps the right words, perhaps a sign that he was okay. He could see the concern behind her calm expression, a concern that made him feel even more suffocated. But, to his relief, she didn't say anything. No words of sympathy, no questions, nothing.

And for that, he was grateful.

Khushi finally turned away, walking past him, her arm lightly brushing against his. The brief touch sent an unexpected jolt through him, not because of any lingering emotions, but because it reminded him that he was still here, still present, still existing in the world.

Vihaan glanced down at Adi one last time, watching the way his tiny chest rose and fell with each breath, then followed Khushi out.

Khushi walked a few steps ahead, leading the way without saying a word. The silence between them felt comfortable yet heavy, filled with things neither of them were willing to talk about.

Finally, they reached the guest room. Khushi pushed open the door, revealing a simple, neatly arranged space with a bed, a small wooden dresser, and a single window that overlooked the quiet street outside.

Vihaan stepped inside hesitantly, feeling oddly out of place, like he was intruding on a life that wasn't his anymore.

Khushi lingered by the door for a moment. "If you need anything..." she trailed off, her voice gentle but unsure, as if she wasn't quite sure how to comfort him without crossing a line.

"I'll be fine," Vihaan said quickly, not wanting to drag the conversation any longer.

She nodded slowly, giving him one last look before stepping back. "Good night, Vihaan," she said softly.

"Good night," he replied, watching as she quietly closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in the unfamiliar room.

Vihaan sighed, running a hand down his face before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Tonight was going to be long.