A single, deliberate clap echoed through the quiet garden, stretching the silence like a drawn-out note. Khushi's heart lurched, her hand instinctively tightening around Kiaan's. She hadn't expected anyone else to appear, and certainly not someone whose presence could command the air itself.
Yuvaan emerged slowly from the shadows, his tall frame rigid with authority. The afternoon light caught in his eyes, sharp and unwavering. Khushi froze, her mind racing. He… he's Kiaan's father? The realization hit her in a quiet, crushing wave, leaving her momentarily speechless.
"Mom… Aunt Susheela…" His voice was low, deliberate, carrying the weight of both disappointment and unspoken anger. "What exactly are you doing here?"
The elderly women looked at each other, caught between fear and the need to explain. Yuvaan's gaze narrowed. "Have you started lying too? How could you even think it was okay to tell such a lie?"
His words hung in the air, slow and deliberate, pressing against the warmth of the garden. "Do you understand the consequences if the school finds out? Kiaan… he could be repelled. And more than that…" His voice softened slightly, but the edge remained. "Encouraging him to lie? That is not the way."
Kiaan opened his mouth, small and determined. "Papa, I—"
"Shut up," Yuvaan cut him off, his tone firm, unyielding, leaving no room for argument. He stepped closer, the shadow of authority palpable. "Go to your class, Kiaan. Now."
Kiaan's shoulders sagged under the weight of both guilt and the sting of disappointment. His small hands fiddled with the hem of his shirt, eyes downcast, a mixture of frustration and longing shimmering in them.
Khushi remained still, caught in the delicate tension between fear, awe, and the strange, inexplicable pull she felt toward both father and son. The wind whispered around them, bending the leaves as if carrying a silent witness to the fragile moment.
Every heartbeat felt slower, every breath deliberate, as the weight of trust, authority, and innocence stretched the seconds between them.
"I said, get to your class!" Yuvaan's voice cut through the tension like a whip, final and uncompromising.
Kiaan's small legs moved quickly, almost tripping over themselves as he dashed toward his classroom. His backpack bounced with every hurried step, the echoes of his father's words following him like shadows.
Khushi remained rooted in place, her eyes tracking him until he disappeared around the corner. She swallowed hard and looked up at Yuvaan, her voice soft but firm. "Sir… please… don't be mad at Kiaan. He only lied… to help me."
Yuvaan's eyes narrowed, the afternoon sun catching the stern lines of his face. "And that justifies lying? Do you honestly think that a lie, no matter the reason, is acceptable?" His voice was calm, but each word carried the weight of judgment. He stepped closer, examining her as if trying to read the truth behind her eyes. "And what kind of teacher are you? What will you teach these children here? And what kind of character do you even have, lying to get a position?"
Khushi's jaw tightened. Her hands clenched the strap of her bag. "Please… don't judge me," she said, her voice gaining strength. "You don't know me. You don't know why I lied. You don't know what I've been through… or why I had no choice."
Yuvaan paused, letting her words hang in the air. His gaze softened fractionally, but the shadow of authority remained. Khushi met his eyes, steady, unafraid, though her chest heaved from the quiet storm of emotions inside her.
The wind rustled gently around them, carrying a sense of unresolved tension—a slow-burning fire between justice, innocence, and necessity.
Yuvaan's eyes met hers, sharp and unyielding. The air between them seemed heavier, charged. "I don't care what your situation or compulsion was—or is," he said slowly, letting each word land, "but get one thing clearly. Stay away from my son. I don't want you having any bad influence on him. Understand?"
Khushi's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. She tilted her head, studying him carefully. Her dark eyes glinted with quiet curiosity. "What's your name?" she asked softly, almost innocently.
Yuvaan blinked, caught off guard. His chest tightened. "What?"
"I asked," she said again, stepping just a fraction closer, her gaze steady, "what's your name?"
He straightened, jaw tightening, a faint frown crossing his forehead. "Yuvaan," he said, his voice clipped, controlled.
Khushi's smile deepened, sly, teasing—but her eyes never wavered from his. "So… Mr. Yuvaan Pratap Singh," she said slowly, almost savoring the words, "is your son a terrorist?"
For a moment, Yuvaan froze. The words hung in the air. Huh? he thought, disbelief flickering across his features.
Bhoomi and Susheela stood a few steps behind, quiet, exchanging small, knowing smiles, careful not to interfere but clearly amused.
Khushi lowered her voice, almost conspiratorial, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Is your son… a walking bomb?"
Yuvaan's brows furrowed, confusion and irritation mixing in his expression. "What… what nonsense is this?"
Khushi shrugged lightly, tilting her head, her tone soft but insistent, almost teasing herself as much as him. "Because… if your son isn't any of that, then… how could I possibly stay away from him?"
He stared at her, jaw still tight, disbelief warring with a faint, begrudging curiosity. So… she won't listen to me, he realized, his voice low, almost a growl. "So… this means you won't listen to me?"
Khushi shook her head gently, letting a pause linger before speaking. Her gaze never left his. "No. Absolutely not." Her voice grew firmer, carrying a quiet conviction. "Only a stone-hearted person can stay away from a child like him. And I… am definitely not stone-hearted—because my name is Khushi."
There was a brief silence. The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Yuvaan's eyes softened just slightly, though he would never admit it. Her words… there was weight in them. A stubborn, unshakable warmth that made him momentarily speechless.
The tension lingered in the corridor, a slow, simmering ember between authority and innocence, caution and courage. Neither moved. Neither spoke. Both were aware, deeply, of the quiet charge that had settled between them.
To be continued…