Authors pov:
The ice-cream was starting to melt down Saanvi’s fingers, but she barely noticed.
At the corner of the market—past the vibrant stalls, past the laughter of children—four men surrounded a girl who looked no older than twelve.
Her terrified face was pale beneath the harsh sun, her tiny fists pushing, kicking, trying to escape. But their hands—greedy, dirty—kept reaching. When one of them grabbed her wrist, forcing her still, her tears finally fell.
That was the moment something inside Saanvi snapped. Her vision blurred, edges tinted crimson. Rage flared like fire in her veins, unrelenting and merciless. She wanted to tear them apart. She wanted to burn them where they stood.
But then—
“…and that’s why strawberry ice cream is my favorite.”
Aryan’s voice cut through her fury, light and careless, as he licked at his cone and grinned at her.
Her throat tightened as she forced herself to look at him. He was oblivious. Happy. Talking like nothing else in the world mattered. She couldn’t let him see. Not yet.
Instead, her hand slipped behind her back and she snapped her fingers.
A sharp crack split the air.
Screams followed.
The crowd spun toward the corner, horrified gasps filling the marketplace. The four men now writhed on the ground, clutching their arms—arms broken, twisted, useless. The same hands they had used moments ago to touch the girl.
Mothers rushed forward, shielding their children’s eyes. One woman quickly draped her scarf over the crying girl’s shoulders, pulling her close.
Aryan stiffened beside Saanvi. In an instant, he shifted, stepping in front of her, shielding her with his body. His hand brushed hers, tugging her just slightly behind him.
“Stay back,” he murmured without thinking.
The crack in her armor widened. He didn’t even know. He thought he was protecting her from the ugliness of the world—when she was the reason for those screams.
Before she could breathe, Rajveer was in front of them. His face was calm, but his eyes… sharp, scanning the chaos.
“Stay here, both of you,” he ordered, firm yet gentle.
He signaled to two of his men in the shadows. “Keep an eye on them.”
His hand landed briefly on both their heads, warm and grounding. “Don’t move, hmm?”
Both nodded automatically, Aryan still standing like a shield between Saanvi and the noise.
Rajveer strode toward the crowd. By the time he reached the girl, her sobs had softened under the scarf that covered her. His voice, low and soothing, carried across the commotion.
“Kya hua, beta?”
Through tears, the girl stammered, “They… they wouldn’t leave me… they kept—kept touching—and then… then something happened. I don’t know… their hands…”
Rajveer’s jaw tightened, but his voice never lost its calm. He dialed immediately.
“Commissioner. Send a team. Now. I'll message you the address.”
Within minutes, sirens blared. His connections had pulled the strings. The four men—still groaning, still holding their mangled hands—were dragged toward the police van.
But just before they were shoved inside, their heads snapped in unison.Without them knowing. Toward Saanvi.
Her lips curved into a smile. Cold. Dangerous. And in that instant, she decided their punishment wasn’t done.
A flicker of heat shot into their eyes. Their screams pierced the air once more, louder than before, hands clawing at their faces. And then… silence. Blindness.
They would never look at another girl again.
“Saanvi—” Aryan’s voice broke, and then suddenly, his arms were around her. Tight. Protective. His chest pressed against her face, shielding her from the sight of what he thought was horror.
“Don’t look,” he murmured, turning her head away.
“You don’t need to see that.”
But in his embrace, the fire inside her dimmed. The rage, the screams, the blood—they all blurred away until all that remained was warmth. Safety. The illusion of love.
Her arms circled his waist, clinging tighter than she meant to. He froze for a second, then melted into her, his chin resting gently atop her hair.
The world disappeared. The crowd faded. The girl was gone, the men taken away, the market returning to its noisy rhythm. And still—they held on.
By the time Rajveer returned, the police had left, the girl had been escorted home safely, and the vendors were back to calling out their wares as though nothing had happened.
But the sight that met him stilled his steps.
Aryan and Saanvi. Locked in an embrace, clinging to each other as though the rest of the world didn’t exist. His arms around her, her face buried against his chest.
Something stirred inside Rajveer. Something he hadn’t felt in years. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his phone. Quietly, without disturbing them, he clicked a picture.
For memory.
For proof that moments like this were real.
And for the first time in so long, his heart whispered—maybe this was the beginning of their healing.
Saanvi didn’t know how long they stood there. Long enough for the market noise to fade, for her pulse to slow against Aryan’s steady heartbeat. Eventually reality crept back in.
Aryan’s breath near her ear was uneven now, as though he’d just realised how close they were. Slowly, hesitantly, he loosened his arms. She did too, though her fingers lingered at the fabric of his shirt for a heartbeat longer.
When they finally pulled apart, her gaze stayed fixed on the ground. The half-melted ice cream dripped down her hand, sticky and forgotten.
Aryan cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair in that boyish way of his. “Uh… so… that was…”
“Unnecessary,” Saanvi said too quickly, her voice sharper than intended.
His lips quirked. “Right. Totally unnecessary.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, pretending to look around the market. “I mean, anyone would’ve done that. Hugging you like—like a human shield. Normal big-brother stuff.”
Her glance flicked up. His ears were red.
A strange warmth bloomed in her chest again, dangerous and addictive. She forced her voice flat.
“Your ice cream is melting.”
He looked down at his cone and laughed—too loud, too sudden.
“Oh no, the great tragedy of the day! Icecream massacre in broad daylight!”
People turned to stare, and he gave them a ridiculous bow, earning a few chuckles.
When he straightened, his grin was back in place—but his eyes, when they flicked to Saanvi, still carried the shadow of that moment.
And her own heart betrayed her, whispering what she refused to say aloud: that hug had been more than just “big-brother stuff.”
When Rajveer returned, his gaze lingered on them a fraction too long. But he said nothing—only smiled faintly and gestured.
Aryan stretched dramatically. “Yes, Baba sa. But first—we demand round two of ice cream. This time two scoops each!”
Saanvi scoffed, rolling her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched upward.
And just like that, the market returned to its rhythm—bright, noisy, ordinary. But inside her, nothing felt ordinary anymore. Because one hug had shaken the walls she thought unbreakable.
•°•°•°•
From a short distance, Rajveer walked behind them, letting the crowd swallow him so they wouldn’t notice his gaze.
Aryan was still chattering—louder than necessary, waving his half-melted cone around as though it were a royal scepter.
Saanvi walked beside him, trying to look unimpressed. But Rajveer saw it—the faint curl of her lips, the way she didn’t move away when his shoulder brushed hers. Small, subtle, monumental.
He remembered the embrace. Two children, both carrying storms inside them, finding unspoken shelter in each other’s arms. His phone was still warm in his pocket, the captured image fresh on the screen. In that frame, they weren’t broken. They weren’t scarred. They were whole.
For years, Rajveer had prayed for the laughter of his sons to return. For Aryan’s light to spark again. Today, it had. Because of her.
But as his gaze lingered on Saanvi’s guarded eyes, tension in her shoulders, an ache spread through his chest. No matter how much he wished it—she wasn’t his. Not yet.
Still, as Aryan nudged her playfully and she almost smiled, Rajveer whispered a quiet prayer:
If this is your way of bringing us back to life, Bhagwan ji… don’t take it away too soon.
When they finally reached the car, Aryan swung the door open with a flourish.
“Alright, madam, first-class seat reserved. Strawberry ice cream tax included.”
Saanvi shook her head, stepping back. “No.”
He blinked. “No…?”
“I’m not coming with you.” Her voice was even, though something twisted inside.
Aryan’s grin faltered. “What do you mean? Come on, it’s just a ride, we'll drop you. Baba sa won’t mind—”
She forced a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll manage.”
Rajveer stepped closer. His gaze was steady, searching. For a long moment, it seemed he might insist. But instead, he nodded once, patient as ever.
“As you wish, beta.”
The word hit her like a crack in the chest. She turned quickly before the ache could show.
Aryan leaned halfway out of the car, arms spread in protest. “Seriously? After everything? After your historic laugh and the Great Hug of Destiny?”
She rolled her eyes, masking the sting. “Don’t be dramatic.”
He gasped. “Me? Dramatic? Unbelievable. Fine then, little sister. But next time—you’re not escaping so easily.”
She turned before he could see her trembling lips. “We’ll see.”
And just like that, she walked away. Quick, determined. The noise of the market swallowed her until their car, their voices, their warmth—were all behind her.
Still, as the distance grew, she felt it. The echo of his arms. The weight of his father’s eyes. The taste of strawberry melting sweet and bitter on her tongue.
For the first time in years, walking away… hurt.
Rajveer watched her retreating figure until the crowd hid her completely. Aryan groaned, flopping into the seat.
“She’s so stubborn. Why can’t she just let us drop her?”
Rajveer didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on the empty street corner she had vanished into. His heart, heavy yet hopeful, whispered the truth:
Because broken birds don’t enter cages. Even golden ones. They have to find their way home… on their own.
He closed the car door gently, lips moving in another silent prayer—
Come back to us, child. However long it takes. Come back.
•°•°•°•
Inside the Car -
Aryan slumped back against the seat, arms crossed, sulking like a child denied candy.
“Unbelievable. She laughed with me, she hugged me, and now she just—poof—walks away like I’m a stranger again. Baba sa, what’s wrong with her?”
Rajveer glanced at him, calm as always, but his heart was still heavy from watching Saanvi disappear into the crowd.
“Nothing is wrong with her, Aryan. She’s… careful. People who’ve suffered don’t open their doors so quickly.”
Aryan groaned. “But she did open it. For one second, she was—she was real. Not guarded, not cold. Just… her. And now it feels like she slammed it in my face again.”
Rajveer’s hand rested gently on his son’s shoulder.
“Do you know why you’re upset?”
“Because she didn’t trust me.” Aryan’s voice cracked a little, more frustrated than angry.
“She hugged me like I mattered, Baba sa. Like I was someone she needed. And then…” he exhaled sharply, “…she left.”
Rajveer studied him quietly. There was so much of himself in Aryan—his heart always too open, too quick to claim people as his own. He smiled faintly.
“Sometimes, son, it takes more courage to walk away than to stay. Maybe she wasn’t ready yet.”
Aryan turned to him, frowning. “You talk like you know her.”
Rajveer’s gaze drifted back to the road ahead. “I don’t. But I know pain. And I know what it does to a child.”
Aryan fell silent, chewing on his lip, eyes softening.
Finally, he muttered, “Still doesn’t change anything. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Rajveer’s chest tightened at the words. He didn’t correct him, didn’t tease him. He only whispered under his breath, so quiet Aryan couldn’t hear—
She’s ours, Aryan. If only fate will allow it.
•°•°•°•°
Back at the Mansion-
The car rolled into the driveway of the mansion, its familiar silence swallowing them whole. Together, father and son walked to Meera’s room.
Rajveer carefully placed the roses in a vase by the window, their fresh fragrance filling the air.
Aryan, meanwhile, gently laid the gajra beside his mother’s head, arranging it as though she might wake up and wear it any moment.
Settling down, Aryan took Meera’s hand in both of his, his voice brightening with boyish excitement.
“Maa, you know I met a girl today. She was so cute—and sarcastic too.” He giggled, the sound bubbling with mischief.
Rajveer sat beside him, giving his son’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Aryan continued eagerly, “You know, Maa, she didn’t even want to tell me her name. But your son never gives up—I irritated her until she gave in. Saanvi. That’s her name.” He smiled softly, almost to himself.
“And Maa, today’s Rakshabandhan. The moment I saw her, I felt it—like I wanted her to be my sister. To call me bhaiya. She was so shocked when I said it.”
He chuckled, then his expression softened. “But… she feels lonely, Maa. I can sense it. She hides everything deep inside. And I want to protect her. From everything.”
His eyes lit up as he went on, “We even made a deal—she’d become my sister if I made her laugh. And guess what? Your son won! Not because of my lame jokes—she didn’t even blink at those—I clearly need practice.”
He laughed at himself. “But then, when I pretended to cry, she pushed the seesaw and I fell flat! She was laughing so much, Maa. It was… beautiful.”
He grew dreamy, his voice softening. “We even had strawberry ice cream—my favorite. And then… we hugged. Really hugged. Maa, it was magical. And now I want her in our lives.”
His tone turned playful again. “I told Baba sa, but he didn’t listen. He always brings boring logic I don’t understand. Scold him, Maa.”
Rajveer chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
Aryan’s voice turned pleading, his eyes glistening. “Maa, I want to be her big brother. Your and Baba sa’s daughter. I think… I think she doesn’t have a family. And if that’s true, can we adopt her? Please, Maa?”
Rajveer began gently, “Beta, I tol-”
But Aryan suddenly froze, his gaze dropping to his mother’s hand. His breath hitched.
“Maa… did—did you just squeeze my hand?”
Rajveer’s eyes widened. “What?”
Aryan’s voice trembled with hope.
“She did! She squeezed it! Maa… you want her too? Right?”
Meera’s fingers tightened again, faint but deliberate.
Rajveer gasped, his heart pounding. “Meera… can you hear us?”
Her hand squeezed once more.
Tears blurred Aryan’s eyes as he looked up at his father.
“Baba sa, she can hear us. Maa can hear us! She… she squeezed my hand.”
Rajveer’s own eyes burned, his voice thick. “Yes, Aryan. I know.”
He lifted his gaze skyward, silently thanking God for this miracle.
Then, as if struck by memory, Rajveer’s breath caught.
“Aryan… this is the second time. The second time Meera responded—and both times, it was because of Saanvi.”
Aryan’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, Baba sa?”
Rajveer swallowed, pointing gently to the peacock feather resting near Meera’s hand.
“Do you remember I told you about the girl who gave me that Mor pankh? It was Saanvi. When I placed it on Meera’s palm, her fingers twitched. And now… when we talk about her, Meera responds again.”
Aryan clutched his mother’s hand tighter, his voice breaking with conviction. “Baba sa… it’s a sign. Maa needs Saanvi. We all need her. Please, Baba sa… can we adopt her?”
Meera’s hand squeezed once more, firm this time.
Rajveer’s throat tightened as he whispered, “If this is destiny, Aryan… then I will not back off.”
•°•°•°•°
Location - America.
The warehouse reeked of money, fear, and sin. Every corner was crowded with the American mafia’s most ruthless men, loyal to a monster who had made a business out of darkness. He was cruel beyond imagination—kidnapping girls as young as ten, selling them like objects. Today, he had gone further: targeting children barely three years old.
Many had tried to stop him. Many had died. Anyone who dared to interfere vanished without a trace.
And yet—here she was.
Saanvi- walking in like she owned the place.
Teleporting power was one of her favourites. She doesn't have to travel or search for the crime location like the police.
Of course being the daughter of 'The father of the universe' comes with magical powers.
She stepped forward, eyes cold, lips curved in a smirk. “Let’s get started.”
Instantly, every gun was drawn. The men shouted, aimed, threatened—but before a single shot could fire, she snapped her fingers.
A horrifying sizzle filled the air. The guns melted in their owners’ hands, dripping metal like wax. Screams of confusion and fear erupted.
She moved forward, fluid, unstoppable. “You think fear protects you? No,” she whispered, her voice soft but deadly.
“It only exposes what you truly are.”
Suddenly, their minds betrayed them. Memories they’d buried—the screams of children, the pain inflicted, the faces of innocents pleading—played vividly in their heads.
Each strike they’d made, each cruelty they’d executed, echoed like a hammer on their souls. Their own sins clawed at them.
In a blur, she appeared behind the first guard, swiftly shoving him onto a strange pole that rose from the floor like a dark monument of justice. His eyes widened in terror.
“God gave you a chance to change,” she hissed. “But you chose repetition. I was sent… to end it.”
Another snap of her fingers, and the poles rose higher, capturing each guard in turn. Some were half-alive, some already dead each writhing in a mixture of agony and guilt.
“You will live with your sins… every scream, every tear, every innocent life you’ve destroyed will haunt you,” she said, voice ringing like a bell of judgment.
“Your mind will keep repeating them… until your soul is taken.”
•°•°•°•
The warehouse was suffocating with tension. Every guard incapacitated, every weapon useless, the air thick with fear. Only the mafia boss remained, towering and furious, stepped forward, rage blazing in his eyes.
“Who—what are you?!” he roared, fumbling for a weapon.
She tilted her head, almost curious.
“I am the reckoning you never imagined. And tonight… your chapter ends.”
But his mind betrayed him instantly. Memories flooded relentlessly. He was no longer the hunter—he was the prey. Every child he had hurt, every scream he had ignored, every innocent life stolen… he felt it all. Fear consumed him.
Before he could react, a cold, metallic pole shot up from the ground, slicing through his back and suspending him in midair. His struggles were frantic, futile.
Saanvi stepped forward, calm and unshaken. She picked up a cardboard sheet, wrote in bold, sharp letters:
“NO ONE WILL BE SPARED.”
With a swift motion, she looped the cardboard around his neck, letting it hang like a silent, deadly warning.
She paused, surveying the scene. “This… is just the beginning.”
The rest of the warehouse was quiet. Every guard, every accomplice of this cruel human-trafficking empire, lay defeated—none left alive. Only the children he had held captive remained, trembling but unharmed.
Saanvi started walking toward the exit, her steps light yet deliberate.
The ropes and blindfolds binding the children loosened as if by magic, and the doors clicked open.
She disappeared into the shadows, leaving the rescued innocents in stunned relief. Soon, one of them fumbled for a phone from a guard, calling the police and ambulance.
By the time the authorities arrived, the scene was surreal: the children were safe, the mafia men eliminated, and the boss a stark reminder of justice served.
And somewhere far away, in the seclusion of her hidden house deep in the woods, Saanvi sat quietly. A small, satisfied smile curved her lips as the night embraced her. Another nightmare ended.
Saanvi leaned back in her chair, the soft glow of the fireplace flickering across her face. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the shadows outside the windows.
Tonight, one evil had ended. But her instincts whispered that the world was far from safe. Somewhere, somewhere not too far away, others like him were plotting, waiting… testing the limits of cruelty.
A chill ran down her spine—not from fear, but from anticipation. She smiled faintly.
“Good. Let’s see who’s brave enough to try me next,” she whispered to the night.
The wind howled outside, carrying with it a promise: Saanvi was always watching, always ready, and no one—not even the darkest monsters—would escape her justice.
Ranawat Mansion — Next Morning
It was Sunday, a rare day when the
mansion felt alive with the warmth of family.
Kabir was supposed to be at the office for some urgent work, so his chair remained empty.
As always, Rajveer was the first to enter the dining hall after spending quiet moments with his wife. A wide smile stretched across his face, a lightness in his steps. Today, he himself had made breakfast—everyone’s favorites—each dish prepared with an extra pinch of love.
One by one, the rest began arriving.
Aditya came first, exhausted but relieved after a long, complicated surgery earlier that morning. He planned to rest until afternoon but couldn’t miss sharing a meal at home.
Then came Arjun, already dressed in his sharp office clothes. Even on a Sunday, he was restless—the kind of man who studied even after exams. Home and idleness never suited him.
Aryan bounded in next, his grin wide and bright, mirroring his father’s, and he instantly plopped down beside him.
Finally came Dev, his loud footsteps thundering down the staircase. His eyes were shining, his voice trembling with excitement.
“Baba sa! Bhai! Maa—she… she can hear us!”
Rajveer’s smile softened with pride. “Yes, I know, beta. She did that last night too.”
Aditya froze, his face tightening with anger. “Baba sa, why didn’t you tell me?”
Rajveer’s tone remained calm, patient. “You had a surgery, Adi. That too of a child. How could I disturb you? I was going to tell you after breakfast.”
Aditya exhaled sharply and muttered, “I’ll go check her.” He turned toward his mother’s room, already halfway across the hall.
But just then, Arjun’s phone rang. Kabir’s name flashed across the screen. Thinking it was some office urgency, he picked it up without hesitation.
The moment he heard the voice on the other end, his expression changed. Fear and fury burned in his eyes, his shoulders stiffened.
“I’m coming,” he said quickly, his voice breaking.
Aditya stopped mid-step, his hand still on the railing. The color drained from his brother’s face unsettled him.
“Bhai… what happened?” he asked, his voice low, tense.
Arjun swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Kabir… Kabir met with an accident.”
•°•°•
The first rays of sunlight slipped through the gaps in the curtains, but Saanvi’s eyes were already open. Sleep had long abandoned her—months, maybe years ago. She only allowed herself a few hours of rest, two or three times a month, when her body finally gave in.
But last night had been no different. Another hunt. Another monster erased. Another silence bought for the world.
She sat cross-legged on the floor near the window. The faint metallic scent of blood clung to her skin, though she had washed it away hours ago. Her mind, however, wasn’t so easy to cleanse.
The warehouse still played in her head like an endless reel—their screams, their begging, the terror in the boss’s eyes before the pole claimed him. She should have felt satisfied. And she did. But somewhere deep inside, it was never enough. There was always another demon hiding in shadows, waiting.
She touched her arm, pressing gently against an old scar. “No one will be spared,” she whispered, recalling the words she had left behind as her message.
But strangely, her thoughts didn’t stay there for long. They wandered—back to yesterday evening. Back to him. Aryan. His stubborn smile, the way he insisted she laugh. No one had done that in years. And she had—laughed. Genuinely.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her shawl. She didn’t know why that moment felt heavier than last night’s bloodshed. Why the thought of him and his warmth lingered stronger than the screams of men she had destroyed.
Shaking her head, she stood up, pouring water into a glass and sipping slowly. Her house was quiet, buried deep in the woods, safe from the world. Yet for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel completely alone. His words echoed in her mind—“Be my sister.”
A faint, almost reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
Saanvi shook her head, almost angry at herself.
Fool. You don’t get attached.
Not to strangers. Not to anyone.
But no matter how many times she told herself that, the memory of Aryan’s hopeful smile clung to her. For the first time in years, someone hadn’t looked at her like a shadow. He had looked at her like… light.
Her fingers brushed against the small pouch tied at her waist. Inside it, she had kept the mor pankh she once gave away, yet somehow fate had brought her face-to-face again with the man she gave it to—Rajveer. She hadn’t realized until yesterday how strange destiny’s games could be.
Frustrated, she slipped away into the woods and wandered until she reached an old lake. The place was far from the eyes of the world, quiet and untouched. For a moment, she felt peace. The water reflected the sky, the silence soothing.
But it didn’t last.
The sudden screech of tires shattered the calm. Saanvi froze, then slipped into the shadows, her senses sharp.
Two cars came into view, locked in a brutal chase. One rammed into the other with a metallic crunch, again and again, until finally—with a last violent shove—the smaller car veered off and plunged straight into the lake. The attacker sped away, leaving only chaos behind.
The sinking car disappeared fast beneath the surface. Saanvi’s body moved before her mind caught up. She ran, leapt, and dived into the freezing water. Her strokes were strong, fast, tearing through the current until she reached the drowning vehicle. She yanked at the driver’s side door—locked. Cursing under her breath, she swam to the passenger’s side. By luck, it gave way.
Inside, the driver was slumped forward, unconscious, blood streaking his temple. No time to think. She pulled him free and, with raw strength, dragged him upward through the water until they broke the surface. By sheer force, she carried him onto the shore.
Laying him flat, she pressed hard against his stomach, forcing the lake water out. For a terrifying moment, he didn’t respond. Then—finally—he coughed, air rushing back into his lungs.
Saanvi collapsed beside him, drenched, her chest rising and falling. Relief washed over her—then irritation.
She muttered to herself, “Why did I even bother dragging him out like a normal human? I could’ve just used my powers. This is all because of that stupid sugar candy— Ughhh!”
(She means Aryan 🤭)
Her groan turned into a short laugh, until her eyes finally fell on the man she had saved. Her smile vanished.
“Oh, great. Not again…” she muttered, exasperated. “Why does this Ranawat family keep coming my way?”
It was Kabir Ranawat.
Rolling her eyes, she crouched down to inspect him. Aside from the head wound, nothing looked fatal. He would live but was unconscious.
She slipped a hand into his pocket, fishing out his soaked phone. By some miracle, it still worked. She called Arjun Ranawat changing her voice into a man's, quickly reporting the accident and giving the location. Then she tucked the phone back into Kabir’s pocket.
“You’re lucky I was here, huh?” she said, standing.
“That stupid sugar-rush brother of yours will be so grateful. Don’t tell him I called him that, or he’ll get high on sugar again.”
A laugh slipped out of her, light but mocking. Then the faint growl of approaching engines reached her ears. She straightened, brushed the water off, and gave Kabir one last glance.
“Good luck, buddy.”
And just like she came—silent, unseen—Saanvi vanished into the woods.
She thought he couldn’t hear her… but Kabir did.
His head pounded, chest heavy with water, yet her voice—mocking, teasing—echoed in his ears. That stupid sugar-rush brother of yours…
Before he could even process it, the screech of tires and the slam of doors cut through the silence.
“Kabir!” Arjun’s sharp voice rang out as he and Aditya rushed forward.
Arjun immediately knelt beside him, his face tight with concern. “He’s breathing… thank God,” he muttered, quickly checking Kabir’s pulse and injuries.
Aditya bent down on the other side, his hands trembling as he supported Kabir’s head carefully. “We need to move him now,” he said, his tone urgent.
Without wasting a second, Arjun and Aditya lifted Kabir between them, careful but swift. His clothes were soaked, blood still trickling from the gash on his forehead, his body limp but alive.
Neither asked who had saved him, nor how he ended up here. There was no time.
The brothers half-carried, half-dragged him to the waiting car. Arjun slid in with Kabir in the backseat, holding him steady, while Aditya jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with trembling hands.
Gravel spun under the tires as the car sped toward the Ranawat hospital.
Kabir, barely conscious, let his head fall against Arjun’s shoulder. His breath was shallow, his body weak, but in his mind—clear as crystal—remained her laugh.
Ranawat Hospital — Emergency Wing
The car screeched to a halt outside the private entrance. Nurses and ward boys rushed forward the moment they saw who it was. Arjun jumped out first, shouting, “He’s hurt—fast!”
Kabir was lifted out, his shirt soaked, blood trickling from the cut on his forehead. Aditya was already in doctor mode, his voice sharp but controlled.
“Take him to Trauma Room Two. He inhaled water—check his lungs immediately. And get a CT for the head injury.”
Inside, the bright lights reflected off Kabir’s pale face. Nurses quickly hooked him to monitors, one checking his pulse, another setting an IV line. Arjun hovered by his side, his hand still clutching Kabir’s wrist as if afraid to let go.
Aditya bent over him, examining. “Head injury looks superficial, but we need to rule out concussion. Lungs are clear—for now. If we had been late by even ten minutes…” He didn’t finish, jaw tightening.
Kabir groaned softly, eyes fluttering. Arjun leaned close immediately. “Kabir? Can you hear me?”
Kabir’s lips moved. “...don’t… fuss.” His voice was hoarse, barely there, but typical Kabir.
Aditya let out a small breath of relief. “He’s conscious. Good sign. He just needs rest and observation. I’ll stitch the cut, but it’s nothing too deep.”
Arjun finally let go of his wrist, sitting back with a shaky exhale. “Scared the hell out of me, idiot.”
Kabir’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Tch… still… bossy.”
Aditya shot his brothers a warning look. “No talking. He needs rest. Arjun, you can yell at him later.”
Kabir shifted slightly, wincing at the pain in his head. His eyes closed again, but this time, it was just exhaustion pulling him under—not danger.
•°•°•°•
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor. Rajveer entered first, Dev and Aryan close behind him, both looking shaken. Dev’s face was pale, Aryan’s brows knitted tight.
Arjun has already informed them about his condition on the way to the hospital.
“Arjun,” Rajveer’s voice was steady but heavy, “How is he?”
Aditya, who had just stepped out after giving instructions to the nurses, answered before Arjun could. “He’s stable, Baba sa. It was close… but he was saved on time. The head injury is minor, no internal damage. He just needs rest.”
Aryan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Dev, however, wasn’t satisfied. His voice cracked as he asked, “Bhai… who saved him? Who pulled him out?”
Arjun glanced at him, his expression conflicted. “I don’t know, Dev. When Kabir called, it wasn’t his voice I heard—it was a man. He told me about the accident and gave the location.”
Rajveer frowned. “A man?”
Arjun nodded slowly. “Yes… but when we reached there, no one was around. No sign of him at all. It was as if he saved Kabir… and disappeared.”
Dev looked at his father, unease flickering in his eyes. Aryan, on the other hand, muttered under his breath, “Whoever it was… he came like a shadow. Just when Kabir bhai needed him most.”
Rajveer placed a hand on both younger sons’ shoulders, steadying them. “Whoever it was, he gave us Kabir back. That’s all that matters today.”
Aditya added firmly, “He’ll be fine. Just rest, medicines, and a few stitches. Nothing more.”
At the far end of the corridor, hidden in the dim light near the staircase, Saanvi stood silently. Her sharp eyes caught everything—the relief on their faces, the weight in their voices.
She told herself she didn’t care, that saving him was just an impulse. But as she saw Dev’s trembling hands and Aryan’s clenched jaw, her own chest tightened.
She didn’t understand why. She had no reason to feel this way. Yet, a corner of her heart felt… worried.
Biting her lip, Saanvi turned away before they could sense her presence. What’s wrong with me… why do I care? she thought bitterly, vanishing down the stairs like a shadow.
Two hours later.
Kabir’s eyelids fluttered open, the harsh white light blurring into shapes. His chest burned, head pounding as if the water was still crushing him.
“Bhai!” Dev nearly toppled from the chair, rushing to his side. Aryan leaned in, relief flashing across his face.
Aditya steadied Kabir’s arm. “Don’t strain yourself. You’re safe now.”
Kabir frowned, voice rough. “Hospital? …what happened?”
Rajveer’s calm voice filled the room. “You met with an accident, beta. But someone saved you before it was too late.”
Aditya added firmly, “Another few minutes and your lungs would’ve filled with water. But you were pulled out in time.”
Kabir shut his eyes, flashes of memory crawling back—the screech of metal, icy water dragging him under… then—strong hands, dragging him upward. And a voice.
Low. Mocking. Female.
'You’re lucky I was here, huh… that stupid sugar brother…'
Kabir’s eyes snapped open, his breath catching for a moment. That wasn’t his imagination. That voice was real.
“Who saved me?” he asked, sharper than intended.
Arjun shook his head. “We don’t know. I got a call—it was a man who gave me your location. But when we reached… there was no one.”
Dev added quickly, “It was like they disappeared right after saving you.”
Kabir’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He only leaned back against the pillow, letting his family believe the mystery was unsolved.
Inside, though, the words echoed like a haunting.
That same evening, Kabir was discharged. The perks of having a doctor brother, but even so, he was given strict instructions by the same brother, before being allowed to go home.
Once he settled down on his bed, with his father and only elder brothers around him, Rajveer finally spoke. His voice was steady but carried the weight of concern.
Rajveer asked “What exactly happened, Kabir? You were gone to sign a deal, right?”
Kabir answered “Yes, Baba sa. The client was leaving early in the morning, so I went early and signed the deal.
But when I was coming back, I noticed a car following me. I got suspicious and changed direction to a quieter road to see what they were up to. Before I could do anything, they launched straight at my car. They kept hitting it repeatedly, and before I could process anything, with one hard push, my car went into the lake.
I was already half-conscious because of the head injury in all this… then nothing. The rest is blank. I don’t even know who called you. You'll said it was a man, but… I remember hearing a female voice. Maybe a child’s. I don’t know if it was real or just my mind playing tricks while I was slipping away.”
Arjun rubbed his forehead, frustration clear in his tone. “I’ve told you thousands of times to take guards with you! See what happened now? Enough of this. I’m adding two extra guards with you, Kabir. I don’t trust you to be careful.”
Kabir tries to protest “But, Bhai—”
Rajveer says cutting him off, “Kabir, he’s right. We can’t take your security lightly. Thank God you were saved on time. Do you understand what could have happened if that person hadn’t reached you?”
Kabir exhaled and signed, nodding “Okay, Baba sa.”
Aditya, who had been silent till now, clapped his hands lightly, breaking the heavy mood.
“Alright, enough of these serious talks. Kabir, you need rest, nothing else. Baba sa, Bhai, you both should go and sleep too. I’ll stay with him in case he needs anything.”
Rajveer protest,“But—”
Aditya says smiling reassuringly, “No, Baba sa. You go. I’m here. I’ll look after him.”
Rajveer reluctantly nodded, giving Kabir’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving with Arjun.
The room fell quieter.
As Arjun and Rajveer stepped out of Kabir’s room, the calm mask on Rajveer’s face cracked. His eyes, usually steady, now burned with rage.
Rajveer’s voice was low, each word carrying the weight of command.
“Arjun, find out who was behind this. I want him in the warehouse… tomorrow.”
Arjun met his father’s gaze, unflinching. A faint, dangerous smile tugged at his lips.
“Don’t worry, Baba sa. He’ll be there by morning.”
•°•°•
That evening, as the mansion settled into its usual rhythm, Rajveer stepped out quietly. He hadn’t told anyone except Aryan where he was going. His car rolled down the quieter roads of the city, headlights slicing through the dusk.
On the surface, he looked as calm and stern as ever, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. But inside, his mind was restless.
Where do I even begin? I don’t know where she lives… who she lives with… what her life looks like. I only know she’s important. Important enough to bring my son this hope, important enough for Aryan to look at me with those pleading eyes…
Stopping near a local tea stall, Rajveer stepped out, his presence commanding enough that people turned to look. He asked a few questions, careful and measured, his deep voice leaving no room for hesitation.
I don’t know if she will agree… but I have to try. For Aryan. For Meera. For all of us.
After asking around in his usual composed yet intimidating way, Rajveer finally slowed his car near one of the quieter lanes of the city. The road was dimly lit, almost deserted, except for the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional bark.
And then he saw her.
Saanvi.
She was crouched on the roadside, a small plastic bag beside her, carefully tearing pieces of roti and feeding a group of stray dogs that wagged their tails eagerly around her. Her hair slipped forward as she bent, her face half-hidden, but there was a gentleness in her movements that struck Rajveer.
He stood there for a long moment, watching. He had come prepared for resistance, for questions, for a battle of words—but seeing her like this, so unaware of the storm her presence had brought into their lives, he found himself… pausing.
This girl… she doesn’t even know how much weight her single step could add to their family. She doesn’t know Aryan’s hope rests on her. Or that Meera’s silence might finally find a crack because of her.
Saanvi straightened, dusting her hands against her kurta, and Rajveer’s deep voice finally broke the quiet.
“Saanvi.”
She turned, startled, eyes widening at the sight of him standing there, tall and unreadable under the faint streetlight.
Rajveer's pov:
I walked toward her with slow, hesitant steps. She looked up, clearly surprised, and her brows knit together.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I was looking for you,” I replied honestly.
She huffed, frustration flickering across her face. “Now what does that sugar rush want?”
I paused, caught off guard. “Sugar rush?” I repeated.
She let out a sigh, waving it off. “Forget it. Why were you looking for me?”
I held her gaze for a moment, then asked softly, “Do you stay nearby?”
Her expression hardened, as if weighing whether I deserved an answer. Finally, she shrugged. “Nearby enough.”
I nodded slowly, not pushing. “And… your family? Do they live with you?”
The question made her pause. She glanced away, pretending to focus on a pup tugging at her shoelace. “I don’t have anyone, here” she said flatly, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed the effort to sound unaffected.
I felt the words settle heavily between us, and for a moment, I wanted to reach out—say something comforting. But instead, I kept my tone even, respectful. “That must not be easy.”
Her eyes flickered toward me, surprised by the gentleness in my voice, before she quickly looked away again.
Her words—I don’t have anyone—lingered in my ears longer than she intended. She said it like a shield, but I could hear the crack in the steel.
I crouched slightly, so I wasn’t towering over her. “Still,” I said gently, “it takes strength to stand alone. Not everyone can do that.”
She gave a short laugh, sharp, almost mocking. “Strength? Feeding dogs on a roadside isn’t strength, it’s just… passing time.”
I shook my head, watching the way the pups clung to her, tails wagging. “No. The world forgets the small kindnesses. But they matter. Even to these little ones.
She blinked at me, as though uncertain how to respond.
I didn’t press further, just let a small pause hang before asking quietly, “Tell me… do you at least have someone you can call your own? A friend, a relative… anyone?”
She looked down at her hands, silent for a long moment. Then, almost under her breath, she muttered, “People don’t stay.”
I felt a pang in my chest at that, but I only nodded slowly, my voice calm, fatherly. “Sometimes, they don’t. But sometimes… they do. You just have to give them a chance.”
Her eyes flickered up to me again, confused, wary—but not dismissive.
Her words—people don’t stay—hung between us like smoke, heavy and unspoken. For a heartbeat, I wanted to tell her she was wrong… that some people stay forever. But I saw the shadow in her eyes, the kind you don’t chase away with arguments.
So instead, I let a small smile touch my lips and shifted the silence. “You know,” I said lightly, nodding at the dogs, “these little ones are loyal in their own strange way. Leave for a week, they’ll still greet you like you’re the only person in the world.”
She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change, and one corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Maybe because they don’t expect much.”
I chuckled softly. “Or maybe because they know how to love without conditions. That’s something we humans forget too often.”
Her gaze softened, just for a moment, before she turned back to the strays, tossing them another biscuit. I didn’t add more. Sometimes… the quiet did more work than words ever could.
I didn’t rush her. Instead, I stayed by her side, watching the strays eat happily at her feet. She didn’t send me away, and for now, that was enough.
Minutes passed in quiet. The evening breeze played with the loose strands of her hair, and for a moment, she looked far too young to be carrying so much pain.
Finally, I drew a breath. My voice came out softer than I expected, almost careful.
“Saanvi…” I paused, waiting until she looked at me. Her eyes were guarded, but curious.
“Can you… be my daughter?”
Her body went still, her fingers frozen mid-motion with the biscuit in her hand. She blinked, once, twice, as if unsure she had heard me right.
I held her gaze, steady and honest. No pressure, no demand—just truth.
“I don’t ask this for myself,” I added quietly, “but for the home that has been waiting for you. For a mother who still listens, and sons who don’t even realize yet how much they need you.”
The strays barked, breaking the silence for a moment, but she didn’t move. She only stared at me, as if the world had shifted beneath her feet.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head and said honestly, “You know, Saanvi… Meera and I always wished for a daughter. But instead, we were blessed with five sons—annoying, stubborn, yet lovely in their own ways.”
For the first time, Saanvi’s lips curved into the faintest smile.
“Then… why me?” she asked, her voice hesitant, almost fragile.
My expression softened into something deeply genuine and I said, “Because you’re special, beta. The very first time I saw you, I wished you were mine. And then, by some strange coincidence, life made us cross paths again. Aryan himself said he wants you as his sister.”
I paused, my eyes glistening as I searched for words. “I don’t know if it’s destiny or something else, but I feel a connection with you. Maybe it’s selfish of me to want you as my daughter—selfish to ask you to become part of my family for my family’s happiness—but, Saanvi… I want you to be happy too.”
Her eyes flickered with a shadow of confusion, almost disbelief.
“I’ve seen through you, baccha,” I whispered, as though afraid to push her away with too much weight. “You and Aryan… you’re so alike. Both carrying wounds no one should have. Maybe yours run even deeper than anyone could imagine. But you deserve happiness. You deserve people to call your own.”
Saanvi lowered her gaze, her fingers trembling slightly.
“I know you don’t need anyone. I saw that fire in your eyes the first day. But life is long, beta. Sooner or later, there comes a time when even the strongest of us… need someone to lean on. And if that day ever comes…I want to be that someone for you.”
I leaned forward slightly, my tone carrying both promise and plea. “Give me a chance, Saanvi. I’ll earn your trust, I swear. Just… let me call you my daughter. Let me give you the family you were always meant to have. Will you?”
Saanvi's pov:
The way he laughed surprised me. It wasn’t forced, it wasn’t the kind of laugh powerful men use to mask their intentions. It was warm. Real. Almost… fatherly.
And then he spoke of daughters, of wishes unfulfilled, of five sons who were “annoying yet lovely.” For a second, against my will, I smiled. A tiny slip. I hadn’t meant to. But the word “daughter”… it dug into me like a thorn and soothed me like a balm at the same time. No one had ever wanted me in that way. Not really.
When he looked at me, there wasn’t pity in his eyes, only truth. It was strange. Disarming. People usually looked at me with curiosity, suspicion, or plain dismissal. Not this… this softness. He was telling me I was special, as if I mattered. As if I had value beyond what I could give.
But my heart clenched. Special? No. I wasn’t special. I was broken. A shadow stitched together by survival and silence. Every time someone had promised me something, it came with chains. Happiness was a fragile thing, and I had learned to live without it. It was safer that way.
Still… his words kept pulling at the threads I’d wrapped around myself. He spoke as if he could see through me, past the walls I thought were unbreakable. Comparing me to Aryan, saying we both carried wounds—he wasn’t wrong. Maybe mine were deeper. Maybe mine had never been allowed to heal.
And then came the ache. That unbearable ache in my chest when he spoke of family. Of wanting me to have one. Of leaning on someone when life became too heavy. My whole existence had been about standing alone, proving I needed no one. Yet for the first time, I felt the smallest flicker of what it might be like… to stop carrying everything by myself.
I hated that flicker. It was dangerous. It made me weak. But gods, it was tempting.
And when he said he wanted to be that someone—when he asked, silently, with eyes too sincere to ignore—I felt my defenses tremble.
I wanted to scoff. To walk away. To keep my armor intact. But somewhere deep inside, a younger version of me… the one who had once dreamed of a father’s hand resting gently on her head… she whispered back.
What if he means it?
What if, just this once, it’s real?
What should I do?
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