The black car rolled through the iron gates, evening sun washing the villa in warm gold.
Inside, Kiaan sat quietly, forehead against the glass, watching the house he lived in… but never quite claimed as home.
The car stopped.
Kiaan stepped out first, backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder.
In the foyer, Bhoomi and Susheela stood waiting — soft smiles, open arms, the kind of warmth that didn't need words.
Bhoomi — his Dadi — stretched her arms wide.
"There's my boy."
Kiaan walked into her embrace without hesitation. His voice softened — something fragile but safe.
"Dadi…"
Susheela ran her fingers through his hair, gentle and concerned.
"How was school today, sweetheart? Everything alright?"
Kiaan paused — eyes flicking down.
"It was fine… it went well."
A half-truth. A half-lie. Enough to pass.
From a step behind, Yuvaan watched — shoulders tense, eyes steady, relief slipping into the smallest corners of him.
Footsteps echoed across marble.
Meera appeared, elegant, poised.
Beside her walked Rani, Meera's younger sister — twenty-five, sweet smile, observant eyes, soon to be Yuvaan's fiancée.
Rani crouched in front of Kiaan almost instantly, pulling him gently into a half-hug.
"Kiaan! How was school today, my dear? Tell me everything."
Her voice dripped with honey.
Then she added softly — yet boldly —
"How was it, my son?"
Something in the room tightened.
Kiaan's body went rigid.
For a moment he didn't move at all… then he pushed her away — not violently, just firmly, drawing a line.
"I'm not your son."
Silence stretched — sharp, uncomfortable.
Meera's face stiffened.
Susheela's hands froze.
Bhoomi's eyes narrowed protectively.
Yuvaan stepped forward — calm voice, controlled expression.
"Kiaan."
The boy looked at him, eyes dark with mixed emotions — anger, confusion, loyalty, loss.
He said nothing, only stared up at his father as if waiting for judgment.
Rani's smile faltered — then returned, polished but colder.
"It's alright, Yuvaan. Kids say things. He'll warm up to me soon."
Everyone could hear the bruise in her tone beneath the sugar.
Kiaan looked away, jaw tightening.
He wasn't rude — he was hurting.
Protecting something sacred.
Someone irreplaceable.
Yuvaan took a breath, knowing what he had to say even if it hurt him to say it.
"You shouldn't speak to elders like that."
Kiaan didn't argue.
He simply lowered his gaze, swallowed hard, and stood beside Dadi a little closer — as if choosing his side without words.
Rani adjusted her dupatta with grace, but her eyes never left Kiaan — sweet on the surface, calculating underneath.
The house felt different.
A quiet storm forming.
Slow, inevitable.
Unseen by many — but felt by two.
Yuvaan, torn between responsibility and a shadow of grief he never escaped.
Kiaan, guarding memories of a mother no one else could replace.
From here… nothing stays simple.
The hallway grew heavy with silence. Yuvaan's eyes were fixed on Kiaan, calm on the surface, but the storm beneath was undeniable. He took a step closer, voice measured, but every word carried weight.
"Kiaan… apologize to Rani," he said, the authority in his tone leaving little room for negotiation.
Kiaan's small frame stiffened. His lips pressed into a thin line, jaw tight. He looked up at Yuvaan, eyes blazing with defiance and unspoken grief.
"I… will not apologize," he said slowly, deliberately. "I told her—again and again—not to call me her son. She will never be my mother."
The words hung in the air like shards of glass. Rani blinked, her carefully maintained smile faltering for a brief second, only to be replaced by polite sweetness.
Yuvaan's gaze darkened. His voice dropped, calm but firm, every syllable weighed with the force of his will.
"She is my fiancée, Kiaan. She will become a part of this family. You will need to accept her."
Kiaan's eyes glistened, not with fear, but with anger and sorrow that no nine-year-old should carry. His voice quivered with restrained pain, yet each word cut sharp and deep.
"After taking Mumma from me… you want to force your lover onto me too?"
For a heartbeat, Yuvaan froze. The words hit him like a physical blow, stirring guilt, regret, and helplessness all at once. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, jaw tightening.
"Kiaan!" His voice rose, louder than intended, sharp with a mixture of frustration and desperation.
Kiaan flinched, but he did not step back. He met his father's gaze, unwavering, refusing to surrender—not to authority, not to reasoning, not to the world.
The room seemed to constrict around them, heavy with unspoken pain, love, and anger. Time slowed, every heartbeat amplified, every breath measured.
No one moved. No one spoke.
And yet, the tension said more than words ever could.
To be continued…