Four days ago

The breakfast table was hushed, each family member tucked into their own little rituals. Cutlery clinked softly, water poured gently into glasses, and the scent of toast and ghee lingered in the air.

Misha was the only melody in the stillness.

Perched on a high baby chair between Tanya and Atharv, she babbled in her baby voice, legs kicking under her chair while she squished strawberry pieces between her fingers like it was high art. Tanya hovered nearby with a tissue in one hand and a spoon in the other.

She was all soft cheeks and curling lashes, wearing a yellow romper with tiny ducks embroidered across her belly. Her hair had been tied into two shaky ponytails on either side of her head.

Tanya tried to dab her face with a tissue, but Misha batted her hand away and turned to Atharv with a dramatic "Na!"

Atharv, smirking, leaned in and whispered, "She's inherited your stubbornness." Tanya sighed. "Or your theatrics."

"Bunny!" she squealed, smushing a piece of toast with gleeful violence.

"Mishu, let the bunny rest," Tanya chuckled trying to save what little was left of breakfast.

"Papa!" Misha called out to Atharv, her voice bubbling with delight. "Bunny is eating too!"

Atharv chuckled too, ruffling her curls. "Save some for your bunny, Mishki."

She turned suddenly, spotted Vedant at the far end of the table, and her face lit up like the morning sun. "E-dant!" she squealed, flailing her hands.

Vedant glanced up from his tablet, where the Mittal presentation was open. His expression didn't change, but he did reach out for the napkin beside him. Misha took that as an invitation.

She held out a strawberry, smushed but proudly offered. "For you!"

"Wow," Atharv said with mock drama. "She doesn't even share her toys, but her royal highness is offering you food."

Vedant took the strawberry, wiping her hands gently. "Thank you."

Misha let out a triumphant squeal, then returned to stabbing her toast with great determination.

And then... the peace shattered.

Vedant's father set his teacup down. The sound was too calculated to be casual.

"About the topic you left midway last night..." He paused, folding his hands. "You're the eldest son of this house, Vedant. There are responsibilities that come with that. And sometimes, duties that can't be delayed forever."

Vedant didn't respond. He continued scrolling through the Mittal file on his tablet, jaw clenched tighter.

Responsibilities. Eldest son. That line again.

It always came back to this. Sacrifice disguised as duty. Choices dressed as expectations. And why now? Why did this conversation- more like one sided conversation have to creep into his morning, just hours before one of his most important meetings?

Vedant didn't look up.

"There's this family," his father continued, smooth and insistent. "We've been business acquaintances for some time. Reputed name. Their elder daughter, polite, poised and well educated. She'd make a good match."

Vedant didn't flinch, but the air around him did. Cold. Stiff.

"If you don't want to marry right away, atleast we can start looking, you can consider in next few months."

The room held its breath. Tanya turned her attention to Misha's toast. Atharv stayed quiet.

Vedant placed his tablet down slowly, turned to his mother instead.

"I'll eat in the office." He stood up.

His father's voice rose, low and commanding. "You can't just walk out every time something doesn't sit well with you-"

Vedant paused mid step, his shoulder angled back just slightly as if he might respond. But he didn't. He walked away instead. No breakfast. No backward glance. He left.

His mother watched him go with silent eyes. Not surprised. Just quietly sad.

From the head of the table, Dadu set down his glass of warm water, his movements slower than usual. His hand trembled faintly as he adjusted the shawl draped over his shoulder. He didn't say anything but his gaze followed Vedant all the way to the door. A small furrow formed on his brow, one of worry, not disappointment.

He didn't call out. Didn't intervene. But when Vedant's footsteps faded down the hallway, Dadu let out a long breath, as if the silence left behind was heavier than the conversation itself.

Tanya glanced at him once, concern flickering in her eyes. But he simply waved it off, turning back to his half eaten breakfast with a slowness that wasn't just age.

🪔

The meeting with the Mittals had been critical. Not because Vedant Malhotra hadn't already foreseen every loophole in their expansion plan, he had, a week ago but because this particular deal required more than just technical strategy. It demanded presence. Authority. Precision.

That's why he'd shifted it to Thursday. Not to buy more time. But because it deserved a day when his mind wouldn't be split between crises and corporate fires. And today, though not ideal, would have to do.

The Mittals were looking to expand their logistics wing, testing unfamiliar terrain, and hoping strategic consulting would be their compass. Vedant had already drafted a detailed blueprint of corrections, reorganized their entire plan, and realigned their numbers. He had done the thinking for them. All they had to do was say yes.

The meeting moved fast. Too fast for them, just right for him. No long winded debates. No unnecessary pleasantries. Just clean negotiations.

Within forty minutes, the deal was done.

The clients filed out of the conference room with the kind of polite stiffness that masked intimidation. They'd walked in with proposals. They left with instructions.

Vedant didn't linger. He gave a curt nod to the trailing associate and walked straight to his cabin, each step steady, measured. Controlled.

Once the glass door closed behind him and the hum of the outer office dulled, he finally allowed himself a breath.

Not loud. Not shaky. Just... exhale.

His fingers moved subtly downward to the right pocket of his trousers and slipped inside, curling around a small familiar shape. He felt it. Fingers brushed against smooth gold, warm from being against his skin all morning.

He didn't pull it out. Didn't need to. Just held it. A quiet ritual now, tucked between the chaos of meetings and pressure. The pendant grounded him in a way even caffeine or power never could. He didn't understand why. Not fully.

But something about it... settled the static in his chest. He held it for a few seconds longer, thumb grazing the edge mindlessly until a knock snapped his attention back.

Arnav stepped in without waiting. "Sir," he said, brisk as ever. "The signed documents are uploaded to your drive. And your triple shot."

Vedant let go of the pendant and straightened slightly, hand returning to the desk as if it had never wandered.

He gave Arnav a short nod, eyes already flicking to the laptop screen.

Arnav placed the coffee cup on the desk with theatrical precision. "Should last till the next crisis- or client. Also for the record you didn't blink once during that meeting. The Mittals looked like they were in a cross examination." Arnav added with a sly smile.

A beat of silence. A subtle exhale. That was all the reaction Arnav would get.

"I meant that as a compliment, by the way," he muttered under his breath.

"I wasn't trying to intimidate," Vedant said mildly.

Arnav arched a brow. "You breathe, they flinch. I don't think you need to try."

Vedant picked up the coffee, finally taking a slow sip. "Anything else?"

"No, sir. That's all for now" Arnav exited.

And then right on cue the perfume arrived before the person did.

Neha.

She strode into the cabin like she owned oxygen, heels clicking across the polished floor, a too sweet smile plastered to her lips. Her arms were filled with files, props to her performance.

"Sir," she said brightly, voice a little too high. "I've updated the audit drafts. If you'd like, I can walk you through them personally?"

Vedant didn't look up. His hands were already typing something on the keyboard. "Leave them with Arnav."

Her smile faltered. "Actually," she stepped closer, placing the files deliberately on his desk, "if you'd prefer, we could discuss it over coffee, maybe? You've been working nonstop, i thought you might need a break."

He looked up. And in that one glance, whatever flicker of hope she was clinging to burned out.

Vedant's eyes were unreadable. Cold, but not cruel. Dismissive in a way that didn't shout but suffocated.

"You're here to work," he said flatly. "Forward anything related to audits through official channels."

"I-of course. I just thought-"

He cut in, voice sharp now. "Make sure you have an appointment before coming in next time"

Her throat bobbed in a silent gulp. He'd already gone back to his screen. Dismissed. Not even with irritation. Just complete indifference.

She gathered what was left of her composure, gave a small, awkward nod, and turned. Her heels weren't quite as confident this time.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence returned, thick with things left unsaid.

Vedant didn't move. Didn't reach for the pendant- not with the ghost of unwanted perfume still lingering, not while the room felt touched by someone else's presence.

But he felt it. It didn't solve anything. Didn't change who he was. But it stayed. And in a life where everything was conditional, transactional, temporary-

the tiny stubborn piece of warmth mattered more than he'd ever admit.

Even to himself.

🪔

At 4 PM, his mother called.

"Can you come home early today, beta?"

"I'll try."

He did.

By 5, he was home, a rarity. The Malhotra mansion was quiet in a strangely comforting way. No staff bustling, no overlapping voices. Just the light shuffle of curtains and distant hum of the AC.

His mother was waiting on the living room couch. She smiled when she saw him.

"Come here."

Vedant walked over and, without a word, lowered himself onto the carpet. His head found her lap with a practiced ease.

"Thak gaya mera beta?" she whispered, brushing his hair gently.

"Mhm."

"Sar daba du?" she asked softly.

He gave a faint nod, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Aapko kabse poochhne ki zarurat padne lagi, Maa?"

She chuckled under her breath, calling a staff member for the oil. Once it arrived, she warmed it in her palms and began massaging his head in slow, practiced circles.

Five minutes passed in silence, only the rhythm of her hands and the comfort of that quiet bond filling the room.

"I wanted to talk to you," she said gently.

A hum of acknowledgement from Vedant.

"I won't force you into anything," she began, her tone careful. "You know that. I just want you to think about it. Not for us, not for appearances, but for you. The girl... I've seen her photo. Sweet smile. Kind face. Maybe... just give it a thought?"

His brows knit slightly. His mother didn't talk like his father. No declarations, no bargains. Just soft nudges.

Still, it unsettled him. Not because she asked, but because he wanted to believe her... and couldn't.

"I know why you don't want this," she continued, still massaging, "But the past doesn't deserve to own your future, beta. At some point, we all have to make peace. I did. You can too."

Vedant let out a small, hollow laugh. "That's not a noble thing, Maa. That's resignation."

Her hands stilled for a second.

"Maybe. Or maybe it's survival."

Before he could answer, the living room filled with the unmistakable wail of a baby.

Tanya entered, cradling Misha, who was red faced and crying inconsolably.

"Misha" Vedant sat up quickly, concern flashing across his face. "What happened?"

"She's been cranky all evening," Tanya sighed. "Missed her afternoon nap. And Atharv isn't home, so... she's just out of sorts."

Misha's cries grew louder as she spotted him. Arms stretched toward him desperately.

"E-dant!" she sobbed.

Tanya handed her over carefully. Vedant took her, cradling the baby in his arms. Misha clung to him like a koala, her tiny fists wrapping around his shirt.

"Shhh," he whispered, patting her back gently. "I'm here." She hiccupped, burying her face into his chest, still sniffling.

"She was playing alone for a bit. Suddenly started crying. I think she's missing Atharv."

"She didn't even cry this bad when Atharv left for Goa," Tanya said, looking bewildered.

Vedant brushed a strand of Misha's hair back, her breath evening out.

"You want to play?" he asked, quietly.

She hiccupped. Then blinked up at him, tears still clinging to her lashes then slowly nodded, bottom lip jutting out.

"We'll play with your legos, hmm?"

A firmer nod this time.

"Fine," he sighed, rising from the couch. "But only if you let me build the roof this time."

Misha blinked. Then, with a tiny grin, she clapped her hands together.

Maa watched from the sofa, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. Her son, who the world knew as stone and steel had melted into something unrecognizable at the sound of a one year old's cry. He could shoulder the weight of empires, endure storms in silence... but Misha's tears? Those, he could never bear.

🪔

The two of them sat on the playmat in the hallway outside the living room. A tiny plastic city began to form, crooked towers, uneven walls, mismatched colors. Misha kept stealing the blocks he reached for, giggling every time he raised an eyebrow.

"This," Vedant held up a lopsided yellow piece, "Is not a window, Mishki."

"Is!" she insisted.

"Is not."

"IS!" she shouted, throwing the block at his chest.

He caught it easily.

"Violence will not win this battle."

She giggled.

Vedant raised a brow. "Your architectural sense is questionable." he said as if she would understand anything.

Misha tossed another piece at him and shrieked with laughter.

The two of them sat, heads bent over colorful plastic. Tanya stood back, watching with an odd mix of amusement and something softer.

And in that moment mid roof construction and toddler squeals- Vedant Malhotra didn't feel like the man dodging marriage, or carrying the weight of legacy.

He was just E-dant.

🪔

It was 12:35 a.m. when Vedant unlocked the door to the Malhotra mansion. The house stood still, bathed in the soft glow of motion sensor lamps. Outside, city's chaos had finally lulled into silence, but Vedant's world hadn't slowed a bit. While the weekend meant respite for most, for him, it only meant uninterrupted hours of work.

Friday bled into Saturday, and Saturday refused to let go. He had been working back to back. The past two days had been a blur of boardroom meetings, last-minute client calls, due diligence marathons, and strategic forecasting sessions that refused to end.

The world outside was still, wrapped in its usual midnight hush. Inside him? A storm that refused to settle. His shoulders ached with tension, his shirt crumpled from the day that never ended. He didn't expect anything else from life. It had always been this way chaotic and demanding. He was used to it. His mind buzzed with numbers and names, yet his body begged for sleep.

He was halfway up the staircase, silently planning to collapse on his bed without even changing, when a sound soft, but wrong made him stop.

It came from Dadu's room.

At first, he thought it was the television. But then came another sound sharp and strained.

A sharp gasp. Then another. Quick, desperate... shallow.

Dadu.

Vedant's heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he sprinted down the corridor and threw open the door to his grandfather's room.

And then- he froze.

Dadu was sitting upright on the bed, one trembling hand clutching his kurta near his chest, the other gripping the sheets. Sweat drenched his forehead, trailing down his temples like fear made liquid. His breaths were loud and rapid, as though each inhale was a battle, each exhale a scream his body couldn't voice.

His lips were turning pale. His skin looked sunken and waxy.

"Dadu!" Vedant rushed to his side, voice shaking. He reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and lifted it to his lips. But Dadu couldn't even drink, his throat convulsed, rejecting it. His eyes were wide, not in pain- but in fear. That undid something inside Vedant.

He had never seen him scared. Never.

Vedant gently helped him lie down, then bolted out of the room, the panic finally ripping through him.

"ATHARV!" he shouted, voice echoing off the marble. "MAA!"

Doors opened. Lights flickered on. His mother came rushing down, barefoot, saree pallu clenched in her fist. Atharv appeared behind her, already pulling on a hoodie.

"Car. Now," Vedant ordered. Atharv didn't ask questions. He just nodded and sprinted out.

Within minutes, Vedant and Atharv were in the car, Dadu in the backseat, barely conscious, each breath raspier than the last. The family followed behind in another vehicle, but Vedant didn't look back. His foot was slammed on the accelerator. His jaw clenched. His heart... fighting not to break.

At the hospital, the emergency lights flashed harsh red against the white walls. Doctors moved quickly. Machines beeped. Oxygen masks. Injections. Vitals. Code blue threats hovering like ghosts in the corridors.

And then... hours. Hours of silence so loud it screamed.

It was 4 a.m., but no one even thought of sleep. Vedant sat on the cold steel bench, hands clasped between his knees, eyes staring blankly ahead. Not a tear. Not a word.

Not because he felt nothing. But because if he let even one feeling escape, it would all pour out. And he wouldn't know how to stop.

His mother sat beside him, whispering silent prayers into trembling palms. Every time a doctor passed by without a word, her hands shook harder.

Finally, one of them approached. "There was a cardiac episode," the doctor said. "Massive. His heart is severely weak. He has fluid in his lungs and significant arrhythmia. We've stabilized him for now... but prepare for the worst."

The ground didn't crack. The skies didn't fall. But Vedant's world split clean down the middle.

His mother broke. Just... shattered. Her sob was small but soul-wrenching, the kind that made even strangers ache.

Vedant didn't speak. Didn't react. He just stood up and walked to the window. Fist clenched. Jaw locked.

It was two more hours before they were told Dadu had regained consciousness. Only one person was allowed inside. Everyone turned to Vedant. He didn't wait for them to say his name.

He walked slowly into the room. It smelled of antiseptic and fate. The hum of machines, the IV line snaking into his grandfather's hand, the sterile scent, it all clawed at him.

Dadu lay there, frail and fragile, like time had aged him overnight. His eyes found Vedant's, tired but alert.

"Beta..."

Vedant leaned closer, offering a smile that tried to be brave but cracked at the edges.

"The doctors said it's minor. You'll be fine in no time." he said, brushing his grandfather's hand with his thumb.

Dadu chuckled, a weak, rattling sound. "Liar."

Vedant looked away.

With effort, Dadu reached up and slid the oxygen mask slightly off his face.

"Dadu- no, keep that on," Vedant whispered quickly, panic flashing in his eyes as he moved to adjust it.

"I'm fine," Dadu murmured, waving his hand weakly. "Let me... breathe like a man for once."

Vedant stilled, helpless.

"I know my time is near," Dadu whispered. "I can feel it. I'm not afraid. But before I go, there's something I need from you."

Vedant's throat burned. He shook his head, voice barely holding itself together. "Dadu, don't say that..."

"How have you been, Vedant?"

"I'm fine, Dadu. You need to rest-"

"Liar," he said again, firmer this time.

"I'm not asking about today. I'm asking about your life."

Vedant went still. He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The man lying in front of him had seen too much, known too much.

"You've been carrying so much, quietly. You think your silence hides you? That your calm face masks your chaos? I see through it, beta. I've seen you since you were Misha's age. And what she means to you- that's what you've always meant to me."

He paused to breathe, the machines beeping steadily beside him. Vedant swallowed hard. His throat was tight.

"I don't want you to live like me," he said, softer now. "I lost your Dadi when I was your age. I spent a lifetime in a home full of people but a heart full of silence. I don't want that for you. I don't want you to be alone when nights get too heavy to survive. I want someone to hold your hand... someone to remind you to breathe when you forget how."

Vedant looked away, blinking rapidly.

He coughed, the sound barely louder than a whisper, then went on, "I'm not asking you to fall in love on cue. The Sharma family... this wasn't your father's decision. It was mine- long before he ever crossed paths with them. Eknath Sharma was more than a friend to me; he was like a brother. We built our legacies side by side. And his granddaughter... I've known her since she was a child. Even back then, I saw it- the same quiet strength, the same fire wrapped in gentleness. She's grown into someone rare. Grounded, compassionate, unshakably strong. She reminds me of someone I once knew. Someone who used to believe in softness... someone who used to be you."

Dadu smiled faintly, then sighed.

"I won't force you, Vedant," Dadu said, his breath shallow, words fragile. "This is your life, your path. But if you can... just give it a chance. Once. That's all I ask. If my time comes... I want to go knowing you won't be walking through the world alone."

Before another word could fall, Vedant leaned forward, wrapping him in a quiet, trembling hug. His arms steady, his heart anything but. A single tear escaped his eye, slipping down his cheek, betraying the storm behind his silence.

"I've seen you build empires," Dadu whispered into his shoulder, voice cracking like old pages turned too many times. "But even kings need someone to come home to."

"You're not going anywhere," Vedant murmured, but his voice broke mid sentence.

Dadu pulled back, cupping vedant's hand in both of his. "I built this family with trembling hands, beta... Let me leave knowing it's safe in yours... with her."

There was a pause- a heartbeat too long, a breath too sharp.

"You want me to marry?" Vedant's voice was low, quiet like a prayer. "Then I will. For you, Dadu. But not yet... not like this. You have to stay."

And in that sterile hospital room, where hope clung to beeping machines and whispered prayers- a promise was made.

One carved from grief, sealed with love, and held together by the softest ache of almost losing him.

Far from that moment- a diya pendant rested in his pocket, quiet as fate, waiting to return to the one whose name it had carried all along.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

The real fun begins now :) are you excited for the pendant's homecoming ?

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- M 💌