The door creaked open, breaking the hush like a breath drawn too loud. Hallway light spilled into the study—warm, honey-hued—and caught the frame of a man at the desk.
Mr. Singh.
He didn't turn. His eyes, faintly rimmed with red, stayed fixed on the photograph of his younger self, distant, as if watching a moment he wished he could return to.
At the threshold, Mr. Raj exchanged a brief glance with Ayan and Aarav, then stepped forward.
Mr. Singh blinked slowly, pulling himself from the deep well of thought. The frame clicked softly against the desk as he set it down.
When he finally turned, his face held only the stoic neutrality he'd mastered over the years. Still, the sharp, brief hitch in his breath betrayed him.
"Ayan…" His eyes flickered toward them. "Aarav?" His voice was formal yet polite.
Ayan reached out and took Aarav's hand, fingers interlacing with quiet determination. Aarav's shoulders squared, head bowed slightly, and he allowed the gesture—calm and steady.
"Sir…" Aarav began carefully, respectfully. "We've made mistakes. Said things we shouldn't. Hurt you in ways we can't undo…" His voice thickened. "And for all of it—we're truly sorry."
Mr. Singh's jaw tightened as his gaze flicked between them. There was a pause, a flicker in his eyes.
"I know nothing can be forgotten," Aarav said quietly, "but I'm here… to send Ayan back."
A little pause followed, as if everyone was letting those words settle and trying to understand their weight.
Then Ayan squeezed Aarav's hand. "Papa… we don't want to be pulled apart again. We just want to be together—with your permission."
Mr. Singh raised an eyebrow, silent. He looked at them—Ayan holding Aarav's hand, calm and earnest—and something softened in his expression. He knew how much courage this required.
He didn't nod. He didn't smile. No words. No thunder. Just a long, quiet stare that finally settled—soft, small, but enough.
"Feelings can't be erased. And I never meant to do so," he said at last, quieter now, almost reflective.
Then his gaze met Aarav's, full of expectation. "I'm giving you this chance, so stand on it and prove it matters."
In those words, there was reluctant permission—maybe even a promise to accept, not instantly, but step by step.
Aarav bowed slightly. "Thank you, Sir. I won't disappoint you."
Mr. Singh looked up. "I expect you not to call me 'Sir' next time."
A flicker of emotion—too quick to name—passed through Ayan's eyes. He looked at Aarav, then both bowed in unison, respect and gratitude shining through.
A soft gleam and a faint wrinkle appeared on Mr. Singh's face, as if convinced by that promise.
Ayan hesitated, then spoke again. "Papa, there's something else… we want to talk to you. It's about—Brother Arun and Abhi."
Mr. Singh's eyes lifted to Ayan, thoughtful. Silence deepened, and with it, his expression shifted. His second son still in pain. A small exhale.
Then he looked past the boys, settling on Mr. Raj by the door. "Call Annaya," he said deliberately.
---
[Meanwhile—Mr. Sidharth's office]
Mayank's office was quiet, sunlight spilling through the blinds and casting long stripes across his polished desk.
A soft knock came. "Sir… Mr. Sidharth is here," his assistant said.
Mayank's brow furrowed. Mr. Sidharth? He hadn't expected this. "Send him in," he replied, calm, though curiosity prickled at him.
The door opened, and Mr. Sidharth walked in with the precision of a man used to control. He settled into the chair opposite Mayank.
"Mayank," Mr. Sidharth began, voice measured, almost mournful. "You know why I'm here. Mr. Singh and Rawat… they took my son from me. Innocent. Precious. I cannot let this go."
Mayank leaned back, eyes softening. "Sir… I understand your pain. But I need to protect my family. I cannot risk them."
Mr. Sidharth's expression hardened slightly, but his words remained calm, almost persuasive. "I don't ask you to risk anything. Just help me… to ensure they don't rise again."
Mayank's hands drifted to the edge of his desk, gripping lightly. Something in Sidharth's tone didn't sit right—this wasn't just grief. The careful insistence on ensuring they "don't rise" hinted at power, not justice.
"Sir… revenge only breeds ruin. I don't want to drag anyone into this—I'm really sorry."
Mr. Sidharth leaned in, voice soft but steel beneath it. "You're doing this for your family. Will they ever forget your father's death? You and I… we could shift everything. Strategically. And we can do it without endangering your family. I just need a little help. That's it…"
Mayank exhaled, torn. He glanced at the photographs of his family, at the life he loved. And yet… he felt the pull of the weight hidden in Mr. Sidharth's words.
Finally, he nodded, voice quiet but firm. "Alright. I'll help… What's the plan?"
Mr. Sidharth's lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, and he extended his hand for a vow.
Mayank hesitated for just a moment. Then he extended it. Mr. Sidharth's hand closed over his with a confident grip. Justice, loss, power—it didn't matter which mask Sidharth wore. A pact seemed to be sealed.
---
[That night—Rawat estate]
The terrace lay quiet, bathed in the silver glow of a half-moon.
Abhi stood near the edge, arms resting on cold stone, staring out—but not seeing. His body was still; inside, he was fraying. His jaw locked tight, his eyes burning from words he refused to release.
Behind him, the door shifted.
Aarav stepped out first, slow and careful. He didn't speak, just watched his brother for a moment. Karan followed, folding his arms near the doorframe, while Vihan strolled in with practiced lightness, a packet of chips in hand.
They said nothing at first. They let the silence sit—let Abhi feel seen.
Aarav moved closer, until he was beside Abhi, leaning on the railing in quiet mirror.
"How long will you keep avoiding him?"
Abhi's grip on the railing tightened. His voice broke low. "I almost killed him. I hurt him a lot."
Karan shifted, arms pressing tighter over his chest. The usual composure slipped, leaving something raw. "You didn't mean to—it was a misunderstanding. That's different. And there's still time to make it right."
Vihan crunched into his chips, then said lightly, though his tone carried weight, "We all mess up. Doesn't mean it's the end, Brother."
Aarav exhaled, steady, grounding. "He's not waiting for the perfect version of you. He just wants you." A beat. "So stop running—and show him."
"I agree..." Vihan said.
Abhi swallowed hard. The silence stretched again—warmer now, no longer heavy. His hands loosened their grip. He blinked once, twice, image of Arun flickering before his gaze, then he lowered his head.
"Brother… will you come with me to the mansion tomorrow?"
Aarav placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Of course, I will."
Vihan leaned in with a mischievous smile, lowering his voice. "Good thing you agreed. I was this close to pushing you off the terrace—just to make Senior-Arun come running."
The words landed like a stone in water. Silence. Every eye swung to Vihan, frozen in disbelief.
He blinked, glanced between them, then chuckled nervously. "What? …Just kidding."
Karan stepped closer, amusement tugging at his lips. He pinched Vihan's cheeks, shaking his head. "Your brain works in mysterious ways, junior. Try not to wear it out."
Vihan swatted his hand away with a dramatic scowl, cheeks puffed red.
That earned a ripple of laughter. Abhi smiled too—a real one this time, soft and unguarded, the kind that lingered. His eyes shimmered with gentleness, and for a moment, the air felt lighter.
No one spoke after that. No questions. No pressure. They simply stayed. Together.
Not everything was fixed. Not everything was forgotten. But Abhi decided he wouldn't carry it anymore.