F I V E     Y E A R S      L A T E R

The sun filtered through the lace curtains of a quaint little shop nestled on a quiet street corner. The scent of warm cinnamon rolls and freshly baked muffins mingled with the soft fragrance of roses and lavender. Outside, the wooden sign swung gently in the breeze:

“Bloom & Crumb – Flowers. Coffee. Healing.”

Inside, the space was a dream of calm colors pastels, whites, and warm wood tones. A soft melody played in the background as delicate fingers tied a pale pink ribbon around a bouquet of peonies.

The girl stood behind the counter, apron dusted in flour, her hair in a messy bun, a tiny smear of cream near her cheek. She moved with purpose, grace… and silence.

Her eyes, once bright with mischief and laughter, now held stories they didn’t speak aloud.

Arvi.

She had built this place from the ashes of pain, piece by piece. A flower for every loss. A cupcake for every scar. A shelf in the corner held handmade cards with quiet affirmations:

“You survived.”

“Healing is not linear.”

“Even shattered hearts can bloom again.”

Customers came in often some for pastries, some for petals, some for peace.

And Arvi gave it all quietly.

She didn’t talk much about the past. But sometimes, when she watered the daisies or wiped down the glass display, her fingers would linger like she was remembering someone.

Someone who had once looked at her like she was the world.

Someone who had once turned his back.

Just then,

The bell above the door jingled again.

But this time, it wasn’t a customer.

It was a voice.

Tiny. Sweet. Full of life.

“Mumma! Mummaaa!”

Arvi turned around, her eyes softening instantly.

A little girl no older than five ran into the shop, pigtails bouncing, a flower crown slightly crooked on her head, and a vanilla muffin clutched tightly in one hand.

Her other hand reached for Arvi’s apron, tugging it with urgency.

“Mumma, look! I made a butterfly from frosting! See? See?”

Arvi knelt down, wiping her hands on a towel, and smiled a full, real smile.

She brushed a crumb off the girl’s chin and kissed her forehead.

“You did, huh? Let me see, Miss Artist.”

The little one beamed, holding out the lumpy but adorable creation. It was barely a butterfly, more like a blob with wings, but Arvi looked at it like it was art worthy of a museum.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, voice catching slightly.

The little girl giggled, wrapping her arms around Arvi’s neck.

“You’re the bestest Mumma ever.”

Arvi held her tight for a moment, breathing her in, grounding herself.

Because this this warmth, this tiny heartbeat, this innocent love was her anchor.

Her reason.

Her second chance.

She rose, lifting her baby into her hip. Behind them, the bakery hummed with life, the flowers danced in soft air, and the world outside went on.

But inside Bloom & Crumb, time paused.

Because broken hearts can bloom again.

And from the ashes of loss… sometimes, love is born a new.

The evening breeze followed us as I unlocked the door to our cozy little apartment above the bakery. My baby skipped ahead of me, her schoolbag bouncing on her back, still humming the jingle from the cartoon she’d been watching earlier.

I closed the door behind us, flipping on the warm lights that bathed our small living room in a soft golden glow. The scent of lavender and vanilla our usual hung in the air.

"Shoes off, baby," I reminded gently as I slipped off my flats.

She kicked them off with a dramatic sigh, arms flopping to her sides.

"Mummaaa, my legs are soooo tired."

I stifled a smile, brushing her hair away from her face. "You’ve been running around the bakery for the last hour. That’s why.”

She stuck her tongue out playfully.

I crouched down to her level, cupping her face. “Go freshen up now. I’ll heat the dinner, and then we’re going straight to bed. Big day tomorrow school starts early.”

She pouted again but nodded. “Okayyy, but can I wear my pink pajamas tonight?”

"Of course, but only if I see a squeaky clean face in five minutes."

"Done mumaa!" she yelled before rushing off into the bathroom, her little feet thumping against the floorboards.

I stood there for a moment, watching the space around me. The bookshelf filled with bedtime stories. The handmade crayon drawings on the fridge. The tiny slippers near the door.

This place these walls they weren’t big or fancy.

But they held our whole world.

I turned to the kitchen, opened the lid of the casserole, and the scent of warm dal and rice wafted out.

“Dinner in ten minutes!” I called.

“Okayyy, Mumma!” she shouted from the bathroom, her voice echoing back with the sound of water running.

And in that moment, despite everything I’d lost, I realized something.

I had gained something far more precious.

I tucked the blanket gently under her chin, brushing back the silky strands of hair from her forehead. Her tiny fingers were curled into the corner of her pillow, her breathing soft and even deep in the kind of sleep only children are blessed with.

“Good night, my baby,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

I sat at the edge of the bed, the soft glow of the night lamp lighting her little face, and slowly… the past crept in. Like a wave I thought I had long outrun.

Flashbacks

Five years ago, I left everything.

The Oberoi Mansion. The people I thought were my own.

Rayaan.

I had nothing not even a change of clothes. Just guilt, and the unbearable weight of Vanisha’s last words.

I wandered for hours… and then, I found myself on a bridge.

The river below was merciless. The night was cold. My hands trembled as I stood there, looking down.

And I thought maybe this was justice.

Maybe the world would be better without me.

I climbed up onto the edge.

I was ready.

But then a voice sharp, terrified cut through the silence.

“Arvi?! What are you doing?! Get down!”

I turned.

It was Rahul.

He worked in Oberoi Industries. A junior. We  knew each other,he had found me. He rushed forward, pulling me down before I could even resist.

I broke down in his arms. All the grief, the guilt, the shame I collapsed under it.

“I have nothing left,” I remember whispering.

But he didn’t let go. He held me until sunrise.

Rahul brought me to Shimla. He had an old apartment there small, quiet, safe. He didn’t ask for anything in return. Just told me to breathe again. Just told me to survive.

Four days later, I found out I was pregnant.

I laughed. I cried. I screamed.

How could life be growing inside me when I was barely alive myself?

The doctor had been blunt,

“Her uterus is too weak. There are severe complications. She might not carry full term.”

Rahul had asked quietly, “Is there a chance to save the baby?”

“Maybe. But it’s slim. And even slimmer for her.”

I should’ve been terrified.

But something inside me shifted.

I wasn’t ready to give up not again.

I fought. For months, I survived on water and soup. Anything solid, I’d throw up. I was bedridden. Admitted for six straight months. Rahul never left my side. He worked during the day, brought flowers and comic books at night. He reminded me life could be soft again.

And on the delivery day, the nightmare returned.

The doctor had told rahul,

“We can save only one. The baby or the mother.”

Rahul, eyes filled with tears, looked at me through the glass window and said, “Save Arvi.”

But fate… for once, was kind.

We both survived.

And when I held her my daughter my ray of hope my Vani, in my arms, I knew what her name would be.

Vanisha.

My second chance.

My redemption.

My light.

Rahul cried too that day. He became her godfather her protector.

I told him I wanted to work. To stand on my feet again. He helped me find a job at a small company I saved every rupee. Every spare minute. Opened my own little bakery & flower shop a year later. Enrolled Vani in a school. Bought our apartment with slow, hard earned joy.

And now, here we are.

In a quiet home.

With warmth.

With laughter.

With peace.

Vani stirred a little in her sleep, hugging her stuffed unicorn closer. I gently dimmed the light and stood up, heart full.

I survived the storm.

And now I live for the sunshine that calls me Mumma.

Maa was the only one who brought me into that house, into that family. The only one who smiled like a mother when I had no one.

And yet, she was the same one who told me to leave…

Flash back ends

Vani was fast asleep, curled up like a little ball, her soft breathing filling the quiet room. I sat beside her, brushing her hair back gently, my heart heavy.

If I had known what Vanisha was trying to do… I would’ve never let her do it. Never. I should’ve seen the signs, should’ve stopped her. But I didn’t. I failed her.

It was supposed to be a wedding. The house decorated, filled with music and light Nia and Vivaan’s wedding day.

It was supposed to be laughter and love.

But instead

It turned into her funeral.

One moment she was smiling beside me, and the next gone.

I still remember her laugh, her smile, her warm hugs. Sometimes, I imagine her voice calling my name like she used to. I miss her. Every day.

Sometimes Vani looked up at me and asked, “Mumma, where’s my Dad?”

I smiled. Lied. Told her, “You’ll meet him one day.”

But deep down… I hope she never does.

He doesn’t deserve to meet her. To know her. To see the light that came into my life when everything else was dark.

Vani is my everything. My hope. My strength.

I kissed her forehead, tucked the blanket around her tighter, and whispered, “I’ll protect you, always.”

Even if that means hiding the truth.

That day when I walked out of the Oberoi Mansion blood on my hands, grief in my chest, and silence trailing behind me. No one stopped me. No one said a word.

But what broke me the most… was him.

Rayaan.

He didn’t stop me.

Not once.

He just stood there, fists clenched, eyes burning, and let me leave like I was nothing. After everything we had been through… he let me go without a single word.

Not a “why,” not a “wait,” not even a “goodbye.”

And that silence God it still haunts me more than any slap, any accusation, any scream that echoed in that mansion that day.

Sometimes I wonder… did he ever regret it?

Or was I always that easy to discard?

But then I look at Vani… my baby girl, my whole world. And I know, no matter how he left me this little light was worth every tear, every wound.

Still… the ache lingers.

Because he let me walk away when I was already broken.

And I’ve been stitching myself back together ever since.

He didn’t even see her.

He never saw our daughter or I should say my daughter.

He doesn’t know how tiny she was when she was born how fragile, how quiet, how she fought with every breath just to stay.

He never saw me lying in that hospital bed for months, surviving only on water and soup, because I couldn’t keep food down. He didn’t see the needles, the panic, the silent prayers every night.

He wasn’t there when the doctor said only one of us might survive.

And he wasn’t there when, by some miracle, we both did.

He doesn’t know how her fingers first curled around mine. How her first cry felt like the first sound of life in my dead heart.

He doesn’t know her laughter.

Or how she says “Muma” with that sweet little pout.

He doesn’t know our daughter at all.

And maybe… maybe I don’t want him to.

Because he let me go when I needed him the most. He turned his back, not just on me, but on the life we created together.

And now… this little life? She’s mine.

All mine.

A/N

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R A Y A A N

It’s been five years.

Five damn years, and I still wake up with her name on my tongue and blood in my memories. This penthouse quiet, dark, empty it suits me now. No noise. No family. No love. Just silence. Just survival.

They say I’ve changed. That I’ve become cold. Rude. Heartless.

Good. That’s the point.

Five years.

People say time heals everything.

They lie.

Grief doesn’t heal it just mutates. From screaming pain to silent bitterness. From heartbreak to cold, numbing indifference.

I used to live in a mansion filled with chaos, love, noise… family.

Now I live in a glass tower above it all. Alone. By choice.

Because the man I was died the day Vanisha did.

She was just a girl. My little sister. Full of life. Light. She used to drive me insane with her teasing, her drama, her endless chatter. And now? Nothing. Just a framed picture on a shelf I can’t even look at.

All because of her.

Arvi.

The woman I loved. The woman who promised forever. The woman who walked into my home and shattered everything I held close.

I told her not to go. I warned her.

She laughed. Said it would be fine. Said nothing could happen in broad daylight.

And then Vanisha took a bullet meant for her.

My sister died because of her arrogance.

That day, I saw her covered in Vanisha’s blood. Standing there, shocked, shaking, hollow. And I couldn’t even look at her without wanting to scream.

She said nothing. Not a single word of apology that could undo what she’d done. And I… I didn’t stop her when she left.

I let her go.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Since then, I’ve built walls so high no one can climb them. I don’t attend family dinners. I don’t celebrate birthdays. Hell, I haven’t stepped foot inside the Oberoi Mansion since her funeral.

What’s the point?

Every corner of that house smells like grief. Every photograph is a reminder of what I lost. Of who I lost.

And all of it… because of her.

People tell me to move on. To forgive. To heal.

I don’t want to.

Because healing feels like letting her off the hook. And I want her to suffer. To carry that guilt like I carry my rage.

If she ever shows her face again, I won’t be civil. I won’t be calm.

I’ll remind her what she did. Every damn second.

She didn’t just walk out of my life.

She took my sister with her.

Riaan told me Mom cries now. Every time she sees Vanisha’s picture. Every time Ansh,Vivaan and Nia’s three-year-old son laughs in a way that reminds her of the daughter she buried.

She called me last year and broke down like her soul was cracking  “She was just a girl, Rayaan,” she whispered through sobs. “And I slapped her. I told her to leave. I didn’t even let her hold Vanisha one last time.”

I didn’t say a word.

“Find her,” she begged. “Please. I can’t sleep at night. She’s alone somewhere, and she thinks we all hate her.”

“You slapped her out of grief, Mom,” I said coldly. “Not guilt. Don’t mix the two. You did what any mother would’ve done when she saw her daughter shot dead. Don’t try to fix it now just because time has made your conscience itch.”

She sobbed harder. “But I was wrong. We were all wrong.”

I snapped back

“I wasn’t.”

Choti Maa tried to track Arvi through old contacts. Chote Papa hired investigators, asked NGOs, even traced her phone records. Dad silently poured money into private detectives every search came back empty.

Why?

Because she wanted to disappear.

She wanted to leave us in our guilt.

And she did it perfectly.

I won’t lie I admired that. Disappearing isn’t easy. Not when you’re carrying the blame of a death and the weight of a family that won’t forget.

I run Oberoi Industries like a machine. Ruthless. Cold. Powerful.

No one dares challenge me.

I’ve turned into something else.

Something untouchable.

Because weakness died the day Vanisha did.

And love? I buried that the day Arvi walked away.

Now I don't celebrate. I command.

I don’t belong to anyone.

Not until I decide she does.

Because Arvi may have vanished like smoke...

But I never forget the fire she left behind.

The phone buzzed, interrupting the only thing I had left silence. I looked at the screen. Dad. I should’ve ignored it. I almost did. But instinct won over indifference, and I picked up.

“Come home tomorrow,” he said. No greeting, no warm-up. Just a demand wrapped in guilt. “It’s Aleesha’s wedding.”

I didn’t respond. What was I supposed to say? Congratulations?

He kept going. “Aleesha asked for you. She really wants you there. So does Riaan. It would mean a lot.”

Of course it would. Because no one knows how to pretend like the Oberois. Like everything’s okay. Like the air in that mansion doesn’t still reek of blood and loss. They want me to come home and smile. Toast champagne. Dance. Celebrate. While I’m still dragging the corpse of my sister’s memory behind me every damn day.

And Arvi… she would’ve loved this.

She probably planned this wedding in her head years ago,

I told her not to go that day. I warned her. But she never listened. Arvi always thought she knew better. Always thought nothing could touch her. And Vanisha paid the price for her arrogance.

And then she had the audacity to stand there shaking, drenched in my sister’s blood without saying a single damn word. No apology. No tears. Just silence.

Then she disappeared.

Like a coward.

And now? Everyone’s trying to find her. Like she’s the one who got hurt. Like she deserves a second chance. They’re fools. Every one of them.

“I’ll come,” I said finally, my voice clipped and cold.

Not for Aleesha. Not for Riaan. Not for whatever fantasy the rest of the family is trying to dress up in wedding colors.

I’ll show up because I said I would.

That’s it.

Don’t mistake that for healing. Don’t mistake my presence for peace.

I’m not the same man she left behind.

That man died with Vanisha.

And what’s left?

Doesn’t forgive.

Doesn’t forget.

They all think I’m angry because there’s justice left to serve. That somewhere deep inside, I’m still waiting for closure. That’s the thing about people they like tying things up in neat little bows. They think grief works on a timer. That revenge fixes the cracks.

Let me clear it up.

I already killed the man who shot Vanisha.

It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t clean. I didn’t want it to be.

He begged. Pleaded. Told me it was a mistake. That Arvi was the target. That Vanisha was just collateral damage. Just.

I broke his jaw for that word.

Then I broke everything else.

By the time I was done, he couldn’t beg anymore.

So no, I’m not angry because he is not breathing.

My eyes shifted on my phone and Its all dark like me, I removed her photo, every damm photo of her.

—

The Oberoi Mansion hadn’t changed.

Still spotless. Still grand. Still full of the kind of warmth that used to mean something.

I hated it.

The moment I stepped through those doors, memories hit me like a blade Vanisha’s laughter echoing through the hallways, her voice calling my name from the top of the stairs, her ridiculous playlists blasting through the speakers. Every corner screamed of what I’d lost.

And yet… everyone smiled.

Vivaan was the first to spot me. His grin widened, and before I could even react, a small body launched into me Ansh. Nia’s and Vivaan’s little boy.

“Raay” he beamed, arms tight around my legs. I froze for a second, then patted his head once, stiffly.

Vivaan’s voice cracked with emotion. “You came,” he said. “You actually came.”

I gave him a nod. That was all.

Riaan pulled me into a one-armed hug. “About damn time you remembered you’re part of this family.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to. Aleesha came next, dressed like a dream, her eyes wet as she smiled through her mehndi. “Thank you, bhai,” she whispered. “For coming.”

Arekha crying “ We missed you.”

The wedding went on. Vows were exchanged. Flowers thrown. Laughs shared. And I stood there like a statue, watching the world move around me like I didn’t belong in it.

As soon as it was over, I turned to leave. I’d done what they asked. I showed up. I played my part.

That should’ve been enough.

“Rayaan,” Mom’s voice broke from behind me.

I didn’t stop.

“Please don’t leave us again,” she said, louder now, her voice shaking.

I turned, jaw clenched.

Her eyes red, swollen met mine. And then she crumbled.

Fell to her knees.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I ruined your family. I ruined everything. Vanisha… you… all of it. I destroyed our home with my anger. With my hate. I didn’t just lose a daughter, I destroyed my son.”

The room froze.

Everyone turned.

I stared at her. The woman who raised me. The one who slapped Arvi and threw her out. The one who hadn’t stepped into my penthouse once in five years.

“You didn’t ruin me,” I said flatly. “She did.”

Mom’s lips trembled. “Rayaan, she didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what she meant,” I snapped. “She was warned. She was told. And she still walked into that street like nothing could touch her.”

I stepped closer.

“She took Vanisha from me. And then she walked out of this house like she wasn’t dragging my heart with her.”

Mom choked on her sobs. “I know. I know it was wrong. But we all pushed her away. Maybe she—”

“I hate her,” I said coldly, each word like ice. “Not just for Vanisha. But for turning me into this. For leaving and never looking back. For making you cry like this.”

Mom covered her face, shaking.

“She ruined everything. And now she’s just a name I spit out when I want to feel rage. That’s all that’s left of her.”

The room stayed silent.

No one dared say her name.

Because they all knew this wasn’t grief anymore.

This was war.

And I wasn’t ready to surrender.

Everyone stared like I’d just shattered a glass in the middle of a celebration.

Good.

They needed to be reminded that grief doesn’t dissolve in glitter and garlands.

I looked down at Mom on her knees, broken, sobbing and felt nothing. No sympathy. No guilt. Just exhaustion. From carrying five years of silence while they all pretended to move on.

“You want apologies?” I said, voice low, razor-sharp. “Forgiveness? Redemption?”

I stepped closer. My shoes echoed on the marble like gunshots.

“Then find her. The woman you all drove out. The woman who walked into our lives and lit the match. Because she’s the reason we’re standing in the ashes.”

Mom looked up at me with bloodshot eyes, lips trembling. “Rayaan, please…”

I straightened my shoulders. “I don’t forgive her,” I said, voice steady but brutal. “I hate her. I hate what she did. I hate what she left behind. And I hate that this family still speaks her name like she deserves a place here.”

Everyone flinched.

Good.

“You all want to heal? Do it without me.”

I turned without waiting for a response.

No hugs. No blessings. No tears.

I walked out of the Oberoi Mansion the same way I walked in alone.

And this time, I didn’t look back.

Because looking back is for the weak.

And I buried that part of me the day Arvi walked out…

And took my sister with her.

A R V I

“Mommy, where’s my other sock?”

I smiled, trying not to laugh as I pulled open the drawer. “The sock didn’t run away, baby. You just flung it under the bed last night while dancing like a tornado.”

Vani stood with her hands on her hips, already dressed in her school uniform except for the one missing sock. Her hair was half tied, her ribbon dangling off one pigtail.

I found the sock, slightly crumpled, and tossed it to her. “Gotcha!”

She caught it like a cricketer and beamed. “You’re the bestest, Mumma.”

“I try.” I winked, kneeling to fix her hair and tie her ribbon properly.

She leaned into me, her warm cheek brushing mine. “Can I take two muffins today? One for me, one for Aiara?”

I kissed her forehead. “Yes, but only if you promise to share your crayons too.”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

I packed her lunch, tucked the muffins in carefully, and handed her the little pink bag she’d insisted on getting with sparkles and cartoon cats. Then, I helped her into her shoes, zipped up her hoodie, and we stood by the door.

Her small fingers slipped into mine. “I love you, Mumma.”

“I love you more, my butterfly.”

After dropping her off at school, I walked back down the cobbled lane to Bloom & Crumb. The sign above the door swayed gently in the morning breeze.

I pushed open the door, the warm aroma of cinnamon and coffee welcoming me like an old friend.

“Alright, let’s get to work,” I murmured to myself, tying my apron and switching on the lights.

The flowers looked fresh and vibrant, and the display case was ready for the day’s batch of muffins, cupcakes, and cream puffs. I rolled up my sleeves, about to start setting the trays when the bell over the door jingled.

“Don’t tell me you started without me!”

I turned and grinned. “Sofi.”

Sofi walked in, her curly hair bouncing, a bright scarf knotted around her neck, and a huge smile on her face. She carried a box of fresh strawberries in one hand and a bag of supplies in the other.

“You’re late,” I teased, walking over to hug her.

“And you’re too organized,” she shot back, squeezing me. “Also, Vani told me yesterday I’m her official masi now. I demand privileges.”

I laughed, “She already calls you masi. What more do you want?”

Sofi dropped her bags and plopped down on a stool. “A lifetime supply of strawberry tarts and an emotional award speech where you thank me for surviving your baking disasters in the beginning.”

“Oh please,” I rolled my eyes. “You nearly burned down my kitchen trying to toast marshmallows.”

“But I stayed,” she said, her tone softer now. “I stayed, and I’ll always stay.”

I looked at her my fierce, loyal, loud, kind Sofi. The friend who found me in Shimla when I was just learning to breathe again. Who braided my hair on nights when I couldn’t sleep. Who loved Vani like her own blood.

“You’re family,” I whispered.

She smiled, reaching for an apron. “Now let’s bake some healing.”

We got to work, the shop slowly filling with the scent of sugar and love, with laughter and music.

And even though life had once torn me apart, in this little corner of the world, surrounded by warmth and women who stayed

I was whole again.

—

I stepped into the house, setting my bag down quietly. The lights were dim, and the air felt heavier than usual.

“Vani?” I called out gently.

No answer.

I slipped off my heels and walked toward the living room.

There she was.

Curled up on the couch like a little ball, her school uniform still on, bag tossed beside her. Her unicorn plushie clutched so tightly I could see the strain in her knuckles.

My heart immediately dropped.

I rushed over. “Vani? What happened?”

She didn’t look at me.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared blankly at the TV that wasn’t even on.

I knelt beside her, brushing her hair back. “Baby, talk to me. Why do you look so sad?”

Silence.

Then suddenly, like something cracked wide open inside her, her lips wobbled and tears spilled down her cheeks.

She sat up and wrapped her arms around my neck so tightly, it felt like she was trying to hold herself together through me.

And then, between sobs, she whispered the words that broke me,

“Tomorrow is Father’s Day… they’re having a function at school… but I don’t have a dad, Mumma. Everyone else does. Where is mine? Why isn’t he here with me?”

I froze.

I had played this conversation a hundred times in my head. Practiced the words. Imagined the timing. Hoped it would come much later.

But now, nothing could prepare me for the weight in her voice.

I pulled her into my lap, holding her like she was three again, rocking her gently as she cried against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” she kept whispering, “I’m sorry I asked…”

“No, no, my love,” I said, pressing kisses to her damp cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re allowed to ask. You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to cry.”

Her hands gripped my kurti tighter.

“But why did he leave me?”

I closed my eyes, swallowing the ache in my throat.

“Sometimes, baby,” I said carefully, “people walk away… not because you did something wrong, but because they aren’t strong enough to stay. Your papa didn’t know how to love the way you deserve.”

“But I want him, Mumma. I want to know what it feels like to have a Dad too.”

She looked at me then those big, teary eyes searching mine like I had answers that could fix her broken world.

I gently wiped her tears. “I know, sweetheart. I wish I could give you that. I really do.”

She buried her face into me again, hiccupping. “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay. We won’t go. Or… if you want, I’ll come with you. I’ll be your ‘Dad’ for the day. We can show them that love doesn’t need a title.”

She looked at me for a second. “You’ll dance with me?”

I smiled softly, even though my chest felt like it was burning. “I’ll dance. I’ll cheer. I’ll do whatever makes you smile.”

And for the first time that evening… she did.

A small one.

Crooked, tired, but it was there.

I held her for a long time after that, long after the tears dried and the questions faded.

After her tears dried and the ache in her eyes softened just a little, I ran my fingers through Vani’s hair and said with forced cheer, “You know what we need right now?”

She looked up, sniffling. “What?”

“A little sugar, a little flour… and a whole lot of magic. Let’s bake something together, hmm?”

Her eyes lit up just a bit. “Cupcakes?”

“Cupcakes,” I nodded, smiling like my heart wasn’t tearing in half.

We went to the kitchen. I tied the apron around her tiny waist and rolled up her sleeves. She giggled as I dusted her nose with flour.

I laughed too loud, animated, like the sound would fill the empty spaces in my chest. She stirred the batter like a pro, declaring herself “Head Chef” while I was demoted to “Helper.”



Them♡

The kitchen smelled of vanilla and something warmer something like love.

She licked frosting from the spoon, her laughter echoing off the walls. I kept my smile on, feeding off her happiness, bottling every second of it like sunshine in a jar.

But inside?

Inside I was breaking.

Because while she stood there, glowing under the soft kitchen lights, with a smudge of chocolate on her cheek and hope trying to return to her heart I was thinking about the man who gave her those blue eyes but not his name.

I thought of the school function.

Of the dance she would do tomorrow, still holding a little ache behind her smile.

Of all the questions I’ll have to answer one day with more than just a hug.

She deserved more.

More than just a mother trying to play both parts.

More than quiet apologies in the form of cupcakes.

“Mumma,” she said suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Yes, baby?”

“This is the best cupcake ever.”

I smiled, my throat tight. “Because you made it.”

She beamed. “We made it.”

Yes, we did.

And maybe that’s what we’ll keep doing baking joy out of heartbreak, love out of absence, and magic out of nothing.

The morning sunlight slipped through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the floor. I was braiding Vani’s hair, her head tilted slightly as she hummed under her breath some silly rhyme she made up about unicorns and cupcakes.

“Hold still,” I said, smiling as I secured the second braid and reached for her ribbon. “We don’t want one braid doing dance while the other does garba.”

She giggled. “Mummaaa, that makes no sense.”

“Neither does your playlist, but here we are.”

She stuck her tongue out at me through the mirror, and I tapped her nose. “Go get your shoes, butterfly. We’re running late.”

She skipped out of the room, singing loudly. I could hear her rummaging through the shoe rack, grumbling about how her left shoe was always the one playing hide and seek.

I stood up, smoothing the creases in her uniform, adjusting the tiny collar like I always did, when the doorbell rang.

Odd. It was early for anyone to

Before I could reach the door, it opened.

“Rooo!!!”

Her squeal made my heart stop.

I watched from the hallway as she ran barefoot and breathless and flung herself straight into Rahul’s arms.

He caught her mid-air, laughing as she wrapped her arms tight around his neck.

“I missed you soooo much!” she cried, burying her face into his shoulder.

He pulled her in tighter. “I missed you more, cupcake.”

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them like some scene out of a life that used to scare me one where I wasn't alone anymore. My heart was a confusing mess of warmth and... something I didn’t have time to name.

Vani finally pulled back, grinning up at him. “Where were you? I drew you a unicorn card and everything.”

“I was in Mumbai for work, sweetheart,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But I told your mum I’d be back in time for something very special.”

Vani blinked. “Special?”

He looked at me for a second, his eyes soft, asking permission without words.

I nodded.

Rahul turned to her again. “I’m coming with you to school today. For the Father’s Day function.”

Vani’s eyes widened. “You are?!”

“Yep. If you’ll let me.”

She launched into another hug. “You’re the BEST!”

And just like that just like that my little girl, who had cried herself to sleep last nights  asking why she didn’t have a dad, was now dancing in the living room with her arms around a man who never tried to replace anyone… just stood beside us when the world got too heavy.

I turned away, swallowing the lump in my throat. Rahul caught my eye over her shoulder and smiled gently. Not a single word passed, but I knew he understood.

I blinked the tears away.

There wasn’t time for tears today.

Only ribbons, shoes, cupcakes in paper bags and a little girl who finally felt seen.

A/N

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