Saanvi's pov:
The night was heavy, wrapped in the silence of sleeping streets… except for him.
I saw him standing there—eyes red, face streaked with tears he probably didn’t want anyone to see.
I don’t know why my feet carried me closer.
"Aap ro kyu rahe ho?"
The words left my lips before I could stop them.
He looked at me… not with suspicion, not like the world usually does, but with something softer. Something I had almost forgotten existed.
When his gaze fell on the small wound on my leg, he gasped—pulling me closer, lifting me with such care, as if I were made of glass.
His hands trembled as he cleaned the blood and dressed the wound.
I sat there, silent… shocked.
No one on this cursed earth had touched me with kindness in years. I never accepted the idea of love or care here—this world was full of monsters wearing human faces.
The only love I ever knew… was from my Pita Vishnu and Mata Lakshmi. Even that felt like a lifetime ago.
But this man…
I could see through him. I could feel the weight his family had carried, the wounds they bore without bleeding.
Then I don't know why, I gave him the only precious thing I have - the peacock feather my father had given me in my childhood. The one that always reminded me of his Krishna avatar. And for some reason—one I couldn’t explain—I smiled. Just a little.
"Sab theek ho jayega."
I whispered it, meaning it.
I didn’t wait for his reaction. Didn’t look back.
And just like that… I disappeared into the night.
Next Morning
This morning… it felt different.
A strange warmth in my chest, something I haven’t felt in years—though I’m only fourteen, my soul feels centuries old.
I last saw my Pitashri… and Mata…
on the day I was born.
Their smiles… soft as the morning sun.
Their embrace… the safest place in the universe.
And then… they were gone.
In the next breath,
I was sent to Earth.
I do not blame them.
Vidhi ke vidhan… koi nahi tal sakta.
Every warrior is forged in loss.
Mine began… with the loss of a mother’s warmth,
and a father’s love.
All I carried… was a single Mor pankh in my tiny hand —his only memory.
Now… I gave it away too.
An old woman found me at her doorstep.
She had no family left,
but she gave me love as if I was her own child.
She called me… her magical child.
And truly… that is what I am —
The Daughter of Vaikuntha.
But when I turned five…fate took her away too.
Since then…I have walked alone.
I have seen cruelty.
I have seen darkness.
And yet…
there is a part of me that longs —
For a father’s protection,
A mother’s care,
The teasing of siblings,
The strength of a family’s embrace.
But I cannot allow weakness.
I cannot afford vulnerability.
Because love… cannot win the battle I was born to fight.
And I… will not stop until my purpose is fulfilled.
••••
I walked further, the streets buzzing with life.
The market was overflowing—people rushing to buy gifts, sweets, and those vibrant threads that tied hearts together.
It was Rakshabandhan today.
The day every brother and sister waits for.
I watched from the corner, their smiles lighting up the whole street.
Little sisters tugging at their brothers’ hands, brothers pretending to be annoyed but secretly cherishing every second.
Something in my chest… shifted.
Warmth spread in a place I had buried long ago.
Didn't I deserve the same love?
No.
I scolded myself internally.
No feelings.
You have a task to complete, and feelings are obstacles… distractions that weaken you.
I turned away sharply, trying to walk faster, to push the sight out of my mind.
But the laughter, the joy, the simple purity of their bonds…
It followed me.
And for reasons I couldn’t explain… it didn’t hurt. It healed.
I turned into a quieter lane, away from the bustling market, hoping the silence would drown this strange ache in my chest.
But fate… doesn’t work on my rules.
A familiar figure stepped out of a shop ahead—tall, broad-shouldered, his presence carrying a quiet strength.
Rajveer Ranawat.
Beside him walked a boy of about fifteen—bright-eyed, happy for some reason , but his eyes tell a different story, he's handsome in the unpolished way of youth, his every step brimming with energy. Aryan Ranawat. Two bodyguards trailed in the shadows, their presence almost invisible.
Rajveer didn’t notice me at first, but I saw the faint traces of yesterday’s grief still lingering on his face.
Something in my steps faltered.
Why did this man’s care felt so different from anything I’d ever known?
Before I could turn away, his gaze found me.
There was no surprise—only a quiet recognition.
He took a step forward, and my first instinct was to run…
But my heart whispered—stay.
He stopped a few feet away, scanning me as if making sure I was truly there.
“You… disappeared yesterday, is your leg ok now, baccha? ” he said quietly, his tone more curious than accusing.
I didn’t answer.
Instead, my gaze fell to the small paper bag in his hand—fresh flowers. Mogra and roses.
“For someone?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He gave a faint smile. “For my wife. She… loves flowers. At least… she used to.”
I tilted my head, feigning casualness though my heart sped up. “Used to?”
His jaw tightened, eyes shadowing for a moment. “She hasn’t… opened her eyes in a long time. But I still bring them. You never know what little thing might bring someone back.”
“You believe she’ll wake up?” I asked.
“I have to,” he replied simply. “Without hope, there’s nothing.”
Before I could respond, The boy stepped forward. His gaze locked on me, filled not with suspicion, but innocent curiosity. Then, to my utter shock, he gently cupped my cheeks and squished them as if I were some doll he’d just discovered.
Aryan's pov:
This morning when Maa’s fingers twitched, it was like the whole world shifted for me. Six years I’ve waited for her to move, to open her eyes, to just… come back.
Adi bhai is a brilliant doctor, but even he couldn’t give us hope. Yesterday’s doctor had been the last one, and after seeing everyone’s faces, I thought maybe there was nothing left to hope for.
But when I saw those fingers move, I felt alive again. Maybe Maa is coming back. Maybe my wait won’t be endless.
You know, among all my brothers, I got the least of Maa’s love. Not because she didn’t love me, but because I was too little when she went away. I’m selfish—I admit it. I want her to fuss over me, to scold me, to take my side when I fight with my brothers. I want to be her favorite, just once.
I was only nine when it happened. She slipped into a coma and no one told me why. Even now, I don’t ask. Maybe I don’t want to know. All I know is that I miss her.
Sometimes I sneak into her room at night and sleep beside her, just to feel close. Every morning I wake up praying she’ll smile at me, pat my head like before… and every morning, I wake up disappointed.
But today… today I was happy. For the first time in years. I told Baba sa that I would buy something for her myself. Every day he brings roses, her favorite, but I know she loves gajras too. So I decided, today Maa will have one from me.
We went to the market. Baba sa bought roses while I carefully picked out a gajra from an old lady—the one that smelled the sweetest.
I was busy paying for the gajras when I heard a squeaky voice behind me.
“Bhaiiii! Mujhe yeh wali chahiye!”
("Brother! I want this one!")
I turned slightly and saw the cutest little scene unfolding. A girl, maybe seven or eight, was tugging at her brother’s sleeve, pointing at a ridiculously pink doll.
The elder brother looked tortured.
“Par Sia… tumhare paas already itni saari dolls hain. Yeh wali bhi waise hi hai.”
("But Sia...You already have so many dolls. This one is the same as them.")
The younger one snorted, and said teasingly,
“Arrey bhaiya, tumhe kya pata! Iske baal alag hain. Dekho… golden curls. Royal wali doll hai yeh.”
("Arey brother, you don't know! Her hair is different. See... Golden curls. It's a royal doll.")
The little girl pouted dramatically, folding her arms. “Royal ho ya normal, mujhe yeh chahiye!”
("Royal or normal, I want it!")
The elder brother groaned, rubbing his forehead like some old businessman dealing with losses. “Sia, hum Rakshabandhan ki shopping kar rahe hain… aur tumhe sirf doll chahiye?”
("Sia, we are shopping for Rakshabandhan… and you only want a doll")
“Arrey Rakhi bhi toh le loongi!” she declared proudly.
“Par sabse pehle doll. Bhaiya, agar nahi laoge na… toh main tum dono ko aisi rakhi baandhungi jo chipkegi zindagi bhar.”
("Arey I'll also take the Rakhi!")
("But first the doll. Brother, If you won't bring it... then I will tie a Rakhi to both of you that will stick to you for life ")
The younger brother burst out laughing. “Chipkegi? Matlab Fevicol wali rakhi banayegi kya?”
("It will stick? Meaning will you make a Rakhi with fevicol?")
“Bilkul!” she said, puffing her tiny chest.
("Yup!")
I couldn’t help it—I laughed out loud. The three of them turned to look at me. The elder brother rolled his eyes like not another commentator, but the little girl’s eyes lit up.
“Bhaiya, dekho na! Ye bhaiya bhi has rahe hain. Aap log hamesha mujhe ignore karte ho.”
("Bhaiya, look! This Bhaiya is also laughing. You people always ignore me.")
I raised my hands in a mock surrender. “Arrey main toh bas… sach bolun toh tumhari demand sahi hai. Bhaiyon ka kaam hi hota hai behen ki zidd puri karna.”
("Hey, I am just… To be honest, your demand is right. It is the duty of brothers to fulfill their sister's demands.")
The elder one sighed, muttering something about being bankrupted, but I could see it—he was already fishing out money for the doll.
“Dekhaaa!” the little girl beamed at me, sticking her tongue out at her brothers.
As they walked away, the doll in her arms, still bickering like kittens, I felt this weird twist in my chest.
I have four brothers. And I love them, sure. But they’re always busy—Aditya bhai with his hospital, Arjun bhai and Kabir bhai with meetings and deals for the business, Dev bhai with college and his projects…
Sometimes I feel like… maybe if I had a sister, things would be different. Someone I could pamper, fight with over silly things, protect like a hero in some movie. Someone who would tie rakhi on me and demand dolls, ice cream, and crazy stuff.
For a second, I stood there, gajra in hand, imagining it. A little sister tugging my sleeve, calling me “bhaiya” with that same sparkle.
My throat tightened before I shook it off.
“Pagal ho gya Aryan,” I muttered. “Sapne dekhne ka time nahi hai.”
("Aryan you've gone mad,”)
(“There is no time to dream.”)
I went closer. “Baba sa, who are you talki—”
And then I saw her.
For a moment, everything froze. My heart, my thoughts, even my legs. She was standing there, looking so small, so lost… and so beautiful. Her eyes—God, her eyes—like they could hold a thousand secrets.
I don’t even know when my feet carried me toward her. The next thing I knew, my hands had cupped her cheeks, squishing them until her lips formed the cutest pout I’d ever seen.
I laughed, because honestly, how could I not? She looked shocked, but that only made her look cuter.
“Oh my God, you’re so cute!” I blurted out. Yeah, I know, it sounded cringe. But what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t stop myself.
And right then, without thinking, I turned to my father and said the first thing that came to my mind.
“Baba sa, I want her.”
For a second, Baba just blinked at me, and then—he laughed. Loud. The kind of laugh I hadn’t heard in years. People in the market stopped to stare, but I didn’t care. Because for the first time in so long, my Baba laughed.
And for the first time in so long, I was happy too.
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