Later — Meera and Aakash's Room, Pratap Singh Villa
The evening light spilled softly through the curtains, casting warm gold across the polished floor. Aakash stood by the wardrobe, shirt half-buttoned, when Meera approached, her steps light, teasing.
"You know," she murmured, slipping behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders, "Kiaan is insufferable sometimes. Did you see how he behaved today?"
Aakash chuckled softly, a calm contrast to her playful energy. "He's a kid, Meera. Kids will push boundaries. You've been through this—you know how to handle him."
Meera leaned closer, brushing her cheek against his back. "Oh, I know. But imagine if Yuvaan married Rani soon… then she could put Kiaan in his place properly. Maybe the boy would finally understand boundaries."
Aakash sighed, turning slightly to catch her gaze in the mirror. "Rani is sweet, yes, but Kiaan is still grieving. He needs time… patience. You can't force him to accept her. He's just nine."
Meera pouted playfully. "Time? Patience? Bah! He's a stubborn little brat. Sometimes, I think the only way to make him behave is… well, you know, a little pressure from us adults." She smirked, a sly glint in her eyes.
Aakash shook his head, smiling softly, a mix of amusement and sentiment. "Meera… he's your nephew by heart. You love him, but you have to guide him gently. You can't control his feelings. We have to nurture him."
Meera sighed dramatically, resting her forehead against his chest. "You and your sentiment. Always talking about nurturing and patience."
Aakash wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, feeling the warmth of her body. "And you, my dear, are always trying to speed up life. But sometimes… slow steps, small victories—they mean more than anything."
Meera tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Hmm… maybe you're right. But you'll convince Yuvaan to marry Rani soon, won't you?"
Aakash kissed the top of her head gently. "I'll do what's right… for Kiaan, for the family. And for you."
Meera laughed softly, leaning into him, resting her hands on his chest. "Promise me you'll always keep me close… even if the family is full of chaos."
"I promise," Aakash murmured, holding her as they stood quietly, the evening around them settling into a calm warmth. For a fleeting moment, the world outside—the arguments, the grudges, the children's rebellion—didn't exist. There was only them, laughter, and gentle understanding.
Night — Pratap Singh Villa, Kiaan's Balcony
Kiaan crouched on the edge of his balcony, the cool night air brushing against his face. His small hands gripped the metal pipe running down the side of the villa. The moonlight caught the silver bracelet on his wrist, faintly gleaming.
He stared at it, tracing the delicate chain with his fingers. "Why do you hold me back… when all I want is to go to her?" he whispered under his breath. The bracelet—meant to keep his powers contained, to make him 'normal'—felt like a cage tonight, heavy and suffocating.
He hoisted his backpack higher, checking the straps, making sure his few precious belongings were secure. Inside were letters, small trinkets, and a photograph of Kiara. He clutched it tightly, as if holding her memory close enough could bring her back.
His gaze drifted over the dimly lit villa below. The distant laughter of adults, the soft clinking of dinnerware, the faint glow of lights in the halls—they all reminded him that the house wasn't his anymore. Not truly.
Kiaan took a deep breath, his small chest rising and falling with determination. "I can't stay here… not with her taking my place… not with Papa forcing her on me. I'll find a way… I'll bring Mumma back," he whispered fiercely, voice trembling with a mix of fear and resolve.
He adjusted his grip on the pipe and began the slow descent, careful, silent, every movement deliberate. The bracelet glinted as it caught the moonlight again, reminding him that the power inside him was always close—contained but restless.
Step by step, he moved down, the villa behind him, the world ahead—a nine-year-old boy with the weight of grief and hope pressing on his small shoulders.
Tonight, Kiaan Pratap Singh wasn't just a child. He was a son, a seeker, a storm waiting to rise.
To be continued.....