She lifted one set of bangles, turning them gently between her fingers, hesitation flickering across her face. Her voice, when she finally spoke

"Suniyaee..." she began, glancing up at Siddhartha briefly before looking back down again, her fingers still playing with the bangles. "I was thinking of buying bangles for your mother. I just—" she paused , " I don't really know what colours she likes the most."

Siddhartha turned toward her fully then. He had been watching her quietly all this time, the way her brows furrowed slightly when she concentrated, the way her hairs slipped fly responding to air , When he answered, his voice was gentle, steady, and honest.

"She doesn't really wear glass bangles," he said calmly. "She prefers kangan or laakh ki churriya . That's what she's always worn."

"Oh," she murmured. "I see."

Her gaze shifted back to the market l, scanning it again,

"I don't think we'll find laakh ki churriya here," she said quietly. "This place mostly sells glass ones."

Siddhartha hummed in response

Before either of them could say anything else, Aarohi's phone rang.

The sound startled her so suddenly that she practically jumped in place. Siddhartha blinked, startled himself, watching as she fumbled slightly before grabbing her phone. The moment she saw the caller ID, her entire face changed.

"Baba."she stood up straighter, excitement spilling out of her in waves.

"BABAAAAAA!" she practically shouted into the phone the moment she answered. "When are you coming back? Are you okay? You're taking your medicines on time, right? You're eating properly, na? You are fine, right?"

She spoke so fast it was almost breathless, worry and love tumbling over each other. Siddhartha watched her from the side,

Her father's laughter echoed warmly through the phone.

"meri baachi , meri Kittu, calm down," he said affectionately. "I'm perfectly fine, but if you keep asking so many questions at once, how am I supposed to answer them all? Slow down, my child."

Aarohi huffed dramatically, folding her free arm across her chest like an offended child.

"You're very bad, Baba," she complained. "You said you were going to help cousin because he wants to join the military, and you completely forgot about your Kittu. I won't talk to you anymore. Forget that you even have a daughter."

Her words were dramatic, but her voice trembled just enough to give away how much she had missed him.

"Ay, my precious girl, don't be angry," her father said quickly, his tone turning softer. "And anyway, your marriage is fixed now, isn't it?"

Aarohi froze.

Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she glanced sideways at Siddhartha

"Baba, what kind of distant relative are you?" she scolded him. "You talk like this so casually. You weren't even there at that time. Do you know how nervous I was?"

Her father chuckled again, but there was unmistakable affection in it.

"My daughter," he said fondly, "I mean—I was there in spirit. Don't worry so much. I'll come back very soon."

There was a pause, and then his tone shifted into curiosity.

"By the way, where are you right now?"

Aarohi hesitated for half a second, then answered honestly, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"I'm at the market," she said. "With your future son-in-law."

Siddhartha's breath caught .

But before any word could leave him, a familiar voice rang out from the other end of the house, loud and warm and very much alive.

"Brother!" Aarohi's uncle called out cheerfully, his voice echoing through the corridor. "Come quickly, your sister-in-law has made bhel. If you don't come now, it'll be gone before you even taste it."

The moment broke —

Aarohi's father smiled faintly . He raised his voice in response, "I'm coming," the words simple at all .

"Beta," he said quietly, his voice lowering as though the moment belonged only to them now, "I'll call you tonight. We'll talk properly, without any hurry."

Aarohi nodded immediately, even though a small part of her wished the call did not have to end at all. "Okay, Papa," she replied softly, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a lingering reluctance. "Don't forget."

He smiled at that, a real smile this time, the kind that came from being needed. "I won't," he assured her, with the quiet confidence of a promise he intended to keep.

The call disconnected, and the screen went dark, but the warmth of it stayed with her.

He walked toward the dining table, where laughter and the clinking of plates waited for him, his brother already teasing someone about stealing extra onions from the bhel. He joined them, sitting down, responding when spoken to, eating when food was placed in front of him .

As he took his first bite, the present began to blur

And just like that, he was no longer here.

Year: 2003

Vikram Sharma— Army Major

"Mera bachaa ... you're finally back," she exclaimed, rushing toward him with a desperation that only a mother who counted days instead of hours could understand.

Before he could even remove his cap, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding him as though he might disappear again if she loosened her grip even a little. Her tears soaked into his uniform, carrying with them months of fear, prayer, and waiting.

"My child," she cried, her voice trembling as she cupped his face, examining him as if to confirm he was real , unhurt. "You've returned after three whole months, and now I won't let you go again. No matter what happens, I won't let you leave."

Vikram felt his throat tighten..

"Ma," he said gently, placing his hands over hers in his chin , . "I'm home now. Look at me. I'm fine."

She shook her head stubbornly, tears refusing to stop. "You say that every time," she replied through broken breaths. "And every time, my heart forgets how to beat properly until you return."

He pulled her into another embrace, tighter this time, resting his chin lightly against her head .

"Mera bacha ghar aagya ," his mother cried suddenly, her voice breaking as emotion spilled freely now that she had him in her arms, solid and breathing. "Ritu, bring the thali, quickly. Bring it.."

Ritu extanded a thali — a small diya, roli neatly placed beside rice, flower petals scattered gently, and a small bowl of water .

Vikram smiled helplessly, "Ma," he said softly, almost teasing , "I am not God. Look—He is right there. Worship Him, not me." He lifted his hand and pointed toward the curved stone idol of Ganesh ji near the he entrance gate .

His mother shot him a look—. "I'm not worshipping you," she replied firmly, . "I'm warding off the evil eye. Now be quiet and let me do this in peace."

There was no arguing with her when she spoke like that, so Vikram stood still, letting her circle the thali, letting her whisper prayers under her breath, letting her pour every fear she had carried for three long months into that single moment.

Before Vikram could say anything, a blur rushed toward him.

"Bhaiyaaa!" Ritu cried, practically throwing herself into his arms.

He laughed softly and hugged her back immediately, one arm wrapping around her shoulders with ease, familiarity settling in effortlessly. "This time," he said lightly, brushing her hair back the way he used to, "I'll convince Ma properly. I won't let her stop you from pursuing your dance career again."

Ritu froze for half a second, then looked up at him, searching his face as if to confirm he meant it. When she saw the sincerity there, her grip tightened, and she hugged him even harder, her cheek pressed firmly against his chest .

At that moment, his father said "Aagya tu," he said simply, arms folded across his chest, his voice steady but his eyes betraying everything his words refused to say.

He did not rush forward. He did not hug him. He did not cry.

Typical.

Indian fathers rarely allowed themselves such softness, even when their hearts overflowed more than anyone else's.

Vikram met his gaze and nodded once, a silent understanding passing between them—years of pride, worry, and respect exchanged in that single look.

After a brief pause, Vikram broke the stillness with a faint smile. "Shall we all stand at the gate the entire night, or can we go inside?" he said lightly.

That did it.

The tension dissolved into small chuckles, and the family began moving inward together. As Vikram stepped into the aangan, he slipped off his shoes respectfully, placing them aside, then walked toward the basin, washing his hands slowly .

But before going any further, his steps turned instinctively toward the curved stone idol of Ganesh ji .

He stood there quietly for a moment, then bent down, touching ganesh ji foot and then his forehead . Straightening up, he spoke softly .

"Your Vikram has returned, Ganesh ji," he said with a small smile. "Now tell me—when are you planning to send a daughter-in-law for yourself?"

Ganesh ji sighed dramatically, his divine voice murmuring with weary patience, The day you finally improve yourself, I will personally take seven rounds of bramhan.

Vikram scoffed under his breath, folding his arms. "You think I don't understand what you're saying? You take me for a fool? I know how clever you are. You'll quietly go take seven rounds around Lord Shiva and Parvati Maa instead ."

Ganesh ji sighed again, this time more deeply. Ja bhai ja , Do not disturb my peace.

Vikram chuckled softly, stepping back toward his shoes. "Don't forget me," he added casually .

As if you'd ever let me, Ganesh ji muttered.

With that, Vikram picked up his shoes and finally walked inside .

After the long, shower where warm water washed away the dust — Vikram changed into simple clothes, a plain T-shirt and soft sweatpants .

Dinner was already waiting for him, but before he could even sit properly, his mother had taken charge of the moment . She stood close, plate in one hand, spoon in the other, feeding him chole and parathas as if he were still a child who might disappear again if she looked away for too long.

Before he could finish chewing one bite, another was already at his lips, her movements quick, as though she were trying to make up for every meal he had missed while away.

"Ma," he protested gently, chewing hurriedly as another bite approached, "I was on duty, not on a hunger strike. I ate food there too, you know."

She shot him a look that instantly silenced him. "Be quiet," she said firmly, "Just eat."

Ritu, sitting nearby , eating . burst into laughter . Vikram glanced sideways at her, narrowing his eyes just enough to send a clear, unspoken warning her way Don't laugh too much, or I'll personally end your dance career before it even begins.

Ritu ducked her head to avoid his gaze.

After a while, when his stomach truly felt stretched to its limit and his breaths had slowed into the heavy fullness of someone who had been fed far beyond capacity, Vikram leaned back slightly and sighed.

"Maa," he said carefully, almost pleading now, "I'll take a short walk outside. You've fed me so much that my stomach might actually burst. Will you come with me?"

She paused, considering it for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I have work to finish. You go, but come back quickly."

He nodded obediently, standing up slowly, pressing a hand briefly to his abdomen . Ritu snort again. He shot her one last look before slipping on his shoes and stepping outside.

The night air greeted him As he walked out through the gate, his steps instinctively slowed, and just as he was about to move forward, something tugged at him. He turned back.

Ganesh ji . Dekh beta agar tu meri shanti bhang krnae ka socha bhi to teri fielding mai set krunga .aree yae fielding walal trend to 2025 mai ayega koi naa koi na .

He straightened, raised his hand in salute .. Then his pace softened into a normal walk, , his mind drifting as the road opened up ahead.

Streetlights glowed, voices blended into the night, and by the time he reached the busy station nearby, surrounded by movement and life ..

The familiar - paan stall caught his eye the moment he reached the side of the station road, and without even realizing it, .

"Raju ," he called out, almost breathless, as he reached the stall.

The paan wala looked up, his hands pausing mid-motion, eyes widening first in surprise and then in something dangerously close to disbelief.

For a second, he simply stared .

"Bhaiya... you've come back?" he asked slowly .

Vikram raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile forming on his lips. "A living man is standing right in front of you," he replied lightly. "That must mean I've come back, right?"

The paan wala broke into a grin instantly , "Bhaiya, you're still exactly the same," he said fondly, shaking his head. "Should I make your usual? Without supari?"

Vikram laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. "Raju," he said, pointing at him playfully, "you've learned well. Go on, make it."

He sat down on the nearby bench, stretching his legs slightly, allowing himself to simply exist for a moment, surrounded by the familiar chaos of the station .

His gaze wandered idly -

The corner of the street looked wrong even before Vikram fully understood why, something about the way the crowd stood too close, their bodies forming a rough circle, their laughter sharp and careless .

A woman stood trapped in the middle, her breath uneven, her eyes wide with a fear , her hands trembling as she tried to shield the two children clinging to her.

One was barely a toddler, tiny fingers fisted into her motiyo ka haar, the other no older than four or five, wrapped around her leg, crying silently, his face buried into the fabric of her dupatta.

The men around her leaned closer, voices low and mocking, eyes roaming without shame, one of them reaching out as if he had every right to touch what was not his.

Vikram before his thoughts could slow him down, he moved. He shoved his way forward, his shoulder slamming into the man who had reached for her dupatta, pushing him back hard enough to make him stumble, and in the same motion Vikram stepped in front of her, placing his body infront of her .

She gasped, clutching the children tighter, her forehead brushing his back .

One of the men laughed, loud and ugly.
"Pretty boy," he sneered, spitting on the ground, "this is not a place for heroes. Walk away now, unless you want to die here tonight."

Vikram did not turn. He did not even flinch. A slow smirk curved his lips, then it faded then spoke "You should be ashamed," .

The words landed like a slap.

The man's face twisted with rage. He snapped his fingers and barked, "Catch him."

Everything broke loose.

Hands came at Vikram from all sides, fists swinging, curses flying, but his body moved on instinct, sharp and precise, every block and strike fueled by one single thought — they will not touch her again.

The crowd began to grow, people stopping, watching, murmurs rising like a tide, but the men were too blinded by anger to care.

Behind him, the woman stood frozen, tears slipping down her cheeks, whispering soft reassurances to the children even as her voice trembled .

That was when the boss noticed.

His gaze flicked to the gathering crowd, to the attention turning dangerous, and fear finally replaced his arrogance. He turned and ran.

Vikram saw it instantly. He shoved one last man away and took off after him, his feet pounding against the ground, heart racing The boss glanced back, panic flashing across his face, and suddenly a knife appeared in his hand.

The blade sliced Vikram's palm as he reached out, blood blooming red against his skin . The man tore free and kept running, desperation giving him speed.

Then, out of nowhere .

A brick flew through the air, thrown by a bold civilian it struck the boss squarely, sending him crashing to the ground with a cry. Before he could recover, Vikram was on him, pinning him down, wrenching the knife from his grip with a hiss of pain as blood dripped from his hand. Another man rushed in to help, kicking the knife away, holding the boss down as he struggled uselessly beneath them.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, closer, until blue and red lights flooded the street.

The police arrived swiftly, pulling the man up, snapping cuffs around his wrists, rounding up the others who had not managed to escape.

One of the officers turned to Vikram and that man , eyes scanning the blood on his hand, the exhaustion on his face, and something like respect softened his expression.

"You both are brave," the policeman said, his voice firm but warm. "Thank you for standing up and helping us. People like you make a difference."

Vikram shook his head slightly, his gaze drifting back to the woman, who now stood with the children wrapped safely around her, . "No need to thank me," he replied quietly. "Just make sure your people stay more alert. No one should ever feel this unsafe."

The officer nodded once, quiet understanding passing between them without another word. Then he turned and walked away with his team, the arrested men taken along. Slowly, the crowd began to fade, curiosity dissolving into routine, footsteps returning to their usual rhythm, the station breathing again as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

Vikram stayed where he was for a moment.

Then he turned toward the woman.

She stood frozen, the baby clutched tightly to her chest, her arms trembling now that the danger had passed. The older child pressed himself against her side, still holding onto her clothing as if letting go might invite fear back in. Vikram softened instantly his voice gentle when he spoke.

"Aap log theek hain?" he asked carefully, keeping a respectful distance.

At the sound of his voice, the woman startled. She stepped back instinctively, pulling the children closer.

The baby began to cry . Vikram immediately lifted his hands slightly in reassurance.

"Nahi... nahi," he said softly, steadily. "Aap mujhse daryiye mat. Ab sab theek hai."

She looked at him then truly looked at him. Her eyes were deep . After a brief pause, she inclined her head just a little.

"Ji," she said quietly. "Dhanyavaad."

The word was simple, yet dignified, spoken with restraint rather than haste.

Vikram nodded, relieved that she had responded at all. "Aap log... kisi wait kar rahe hain?" he asked gently.

She frowned slightly, confusion crossing her face. "Ji?" she echoed.

Looking at then he realized they might be from village realizing his words might have sounded unfamiliar, he corrected himself, slower this time. "Mera arth hai kya aap kisi ki pratiksha kar rahe hain?"

Before she could answer, the younger child still holding her fingers looked up and spoke in a small, tired voice .

"Maa... humein bhookh lag rahi hai."

His eyes dropped to them the torn clothes, the dirt clinging to skin, the exhaustion written plainly on faces far too young for such hardship.

The woman noticed his gaze and looked at him again. Gathering herself, she spoke with quiet politeness, though uncertainty edged her voice.

"Kya aap bata sakte hain," she asked, "ki yahan bhojan kahan milta hai? Hum uska moolya avashya denge."

As she spoke, she reached into a small cloth bundle tied at her waist a worn potli and opened it carefully. From inside, she took out several gold coins resting them on her palm as if this were the most natural exchange in the world.

Vikram's eyes widened the moment the coins caught the light.

"They are... gold," he said quietly, disbelief slipping into his voice before he could stop it.

The woman looked at him with calm certainty, as though there were nothing extraordinary about what lay in her palm. "Ji," she replied simply, her tone composed, untouched by doubt. "Yeh shuddh sona hai."

He looked at her . There was no cunning in her eyes, no calculation, no awareness of value as the modern world defined it. Only innocence, wrapped in dignity. It struck him suddenly that perhaps she did not understand what these coins meant here. Or perhaps she trusted too easily. Either way, the thought unsettled him. He thought maybe she has came from some ancient mindset village .

He gently pushed her hand back toward her. "Inhe apne paas rakhiye," he said softly. "Mujhe kuch nahi chahiye. Aap bas... mere saath chaliye."

She hesitated, instinctively pulling the children closer, her body tensing again as old fear resurfaced. Vikram noticed it immediately, the way her eyes flicked briefly toward the corner where those men had stood earlier. He understood then. Trust did not come easily to her. Not anymore.

His voice softened further. "Aap yahin rukiye," he said reassuringly. "Yahin paas mein. Main abhi khana lekar aata hoon. Aap wahaan paan ki dukaan ke paas baith jaiye."

She studied his face for a long moment, as if weighing something far deeper than his words. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Vikram didn't waste another second.

He hurried toward the nearby hotel, his steps quick but controlled, his mind oddly restless. Ten minutes later, he returned carrying three neatly arranged plates simple Fresh rotis stacked carefully, warm sabzi , dal steaming gently beside rice, crisp papad, sliced salad, and a small bowl of gulab jamun placed thoughtfully to the side.

He laid everything out in front of them with care, ensuring the plates were within easy reach.

The woman looked at the food, then at him, emotion flickering briefly across her face before she lowered her gaze respectfully. "Maharaaj ji," she said softly, "jal."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Maharaaj ji?" he repeated, almost smiling despite himself. "Nahi... mera naam Vikram hai. Aap mujhe Vikram hi bulao."

She nodded quietly, absorbing his words.

The paan wala, who had been watching the entire interaction from a distance with silent curiosity, brought water without being asked.

Vikram helped the younger child wash her hands first, pouring water gently, making sure she didn't spill too much, his movements patient and careful.

They ate slowly.

Not hurriedly, but with the kind of hunger that came from long deprivation. Vikram watched them quietly, something tight loosening in his chest with every bite they took. He stepped aside briefly to make a call.

"Maa," he said softly into the phone, turning away so they wouldn't feel overheard, "main thodi der mein ghar aata hoon."

On the other end, his mother's voice came calm and trusting. "Theek hai," she said, and that was that.

That wome noticed his palm.

The dried blood, dark against his skin.

Her expression changed instantly. Concern replaced exhaustion. Without a word, she gently guided the baby into the older child's arms, ensuring the little one was steady. Then she stepped closer to Vikram, her movements quick but careful, as though urgency and hesitation were battling within her.

He looked down at her, surprised, just as she reached up and tore a strip from the edge of her dupatta without hesitation. The sound of fabric ripping was soft, final.

Before he could protest, she lifted his injured hand gently, her touch light, as if afraid to cause pain. She began wrapping the cloth around his palm, her fingers brushing his skin briefly, warmly.

VIKRAM POV

The station noise faded into nothing.

Her face was close now, her lashes lowered in concentration, her hands steady despite everything she had endured that night. There was tenderness in her movements, an unspoken gratitude woven into every wrap of cloth.

And somewhere between the warmth of her touch and the quiet care in her eyes, something unfamiliar bloomed in my chest - not sudden, not overwhelming, but gentle -

A first feeling .

When she finished, she tied the cloth securely and looked up at him, their eyes meeting for a brief, fragile moment.

How was the chapter, sweethearts?

Do you have any favorite dialogue or scene?

If you think there's anything I should change or improve, feel free to share your thoughts I genuinely love hearing from you all.

And please, don't forget to VOTE and COMMENT!