Morning light filtered gently into the Pratap Singh villa, brushing over streamers, balloons, and half-tied ribbons scattered across the living room. The house was alive with quiet movement, yet wrapped in a careful hush—as if even the walls knew they were keeping a secret.
Bhoomi adjusted a string of fairy lights near the staircase, her fingers trembling just a little. Susheela stood beside her, holding a small box of candles, watching the decorations take shape. For a moment, neither spoke.
"He would have loved this," Susheela finally said, her voice soft, almost fragile. "Kiara always said ten is a special age."
Bhoomi's lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "She would have planned everything herself," she replied. "Themes, games… she never believed in simple birthdays." Her gaze lingered on the empty space near the doorway, as if expecting Kiara to walk in any second, laughing, arms full of surprises.
The silence that followed was heavier than words.
Yuvaan entered the room, pausing briefly as he took in the decorations. His eyes flickered—pride, sadness, resolve—all colliding quietly within him. He cleared his throat, grounding himself.
"One of you should go upstairs," he said, carefully casual. "Make sure Kiaan doesn't come down. This has to stay a surprise."
Before Bhoomi or Susheela could respond, Rani stepped forward, a gentle smile already in place.
"I'll go," she offered smoothly. "He listens to me. I'll keep him busy."
Yuvaan looked at her for a second, then nodded. "Alright. Thank you."
Rani turned toward the staircase, her steps light, almost eager. As she climbed, her smile lingered—but this time, there was something unreadable beneath it. Something hidden.
Downstairs, Bhoomi watched her go, her heart tight with memories. Upstairs, Rani disappeared into the corridor leading to Kiaan's room, the secret of the surprise still safe… for now.
Kiaan sat cross-legged on his bed, the room still quiet with early morning stillness. Sunlight crept in through the curtains, brushing the edges of the photo frame placed carefully on his study table.
Kiara's smile looked back at him.
He leaned closer, fingers resting near the frame but never quite touching it, as if afraid the moment would shatter.
"Happy tenth birthday to me," he whispered, his voice small but steady. "I know you would've said it first… you always did in my dreams."
A pause followed. His throat tightened.
"I wish you were here to say it yourself," he added, eyes glistening. "Just once. Even if it's only today." He swallowed hard, then looked up at her picture, hopeful in a way only children could be. "Can you grant this wish, Mumma? Just this one?"
The room remained silent, but the diya beside her photo flickered, its flame dancing softly, as if listening.
---
Across the city, Khushi stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the folds of her dupatta over a simple gown. The fabric felt unfamiliar, formal—almost like armor. She lifted her guitar, slipping the strap over her shoulder, then glanced down at the folded paper in her hand.
An address.
She exhaled slowly.
"This is just an apology," she reminded herself under her breath. "Nothing else."
Her reflection stared back, uncertain yet determined.
"I owe him one," she continued softly. "And the boy too."
She tucked the paper carefully into her bag and picked up the guitar again, her fingers brushing its strings instinctively. Music had always been her refuge—when words failed, melodies spoke.
"I'll sing," she decided quietly. "That's the only way I know how to say sorry."
She stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind her, unaware that the house she was walking toward was already dressed in celebration.
Unaware that today was not just any day.
Unaware that the boy she wanted to apologize to was waiting for a birthday wish his heart ached for.
To be Continued.....