“You’re serious about this?” Roy asked, his voice softer now, almost cautious.
I turned to look at him fully, my gaze unwavering. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
His eyes widened, disbelief flickering across his face before he slowly set the glass down on the counter.
“Manav Oberoi…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re telling meyou’re in love? And with my sister?”
“Roy…” I started, but he raised a hand to stop me.
“Wait.” Roy rubbed his temples, muttering something under his breath. “You know I’d trust you with my life. But Kiara…” He looked at me, his expression softening. “She’s been through a lot, and I can’t—no, I won’t—let her get hurt.”
I nodded, my grip tightening around my glass. “She deserves the world. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she gets it.”
“I can’t decide if I should hug you or break your damn nose,” Roy muttered, swirling his glass of whiskey as his sharp eyes bore into mine.
I smirked. “Feel free to choose either.”
“Does she know?” He asked, his tone softening slightly, though the underlying protectiveness was unmistakable.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
He studied me for a moment, then gave a small nod of approval. “Bro…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping an octave. “If I see even a hint of tears in her eyes, you’re as good as dead.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” My lips curved into a small smile. “She’s worth it.”
Roy raised his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. “Damn right she is. Now, go handle your business.” He downed the rest of his drink before setting the glass on the bar. Then, in an uncharacteristically warm gesture, he pulled me into a tight hug. “Just don’t mess this up,” he said quietly, clapping me on the back.
Tonight. Tonight, I’d finally tell her.
____________
“Dadi… It’s very late. I think you should rest now,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time, my voice gentle but insistent.
She had practically kidnapped me from the party hall earlier, insisting we go for a walk. We strolled through the garden, where she had enthusiastically lectured me on all the possible fruits I could grow if I ever decided to become a full-time farmer. And now, here we were, in her room, where she had made her way through a bottle of wine with no sign of stopping.
“Nope!” she declared with the determination of a queen. “The birthday girl needs to celebrate. But before you tell me when you two are getting married, you’re not leaving.”
I sighed, glancing at my phone. Twenty-three missed calls from Kiara. We were supposed to leave together for my place, but I’d been stuck here. Still, how could I say no toDadi?
“Dadi… we can talk tomorrow,” I tried again, this time gently reaching for the glass in her hand.
“Don’t you dare,” she swatted my hand away with surprising agility. Then, with a sly smile, she added, “Your grandpa used to sing this on every birthday.” She turned up the radio, and the room filled with the soft melody of a retro tune.
Her eyes closed, and she leaned back on the couch, her face serene as if she were lost in a world of memories. I watched her quietly, my lips curving into a soft smile despite myself. She always called me “farmer” with such affection—it felt oddly comforting, natural.
For a while, I just sat there, letting the music wash over us. Then, I noticed the faint shimmer of tears escaping from her closed eyes, trailing silently down her cheeks. My chest tightened, and I leaned forward, touching her hands.
She opened her eyes slowly, her gaze soft but filled with an overwhelming tenderness. “Now I know Kiara has you,” she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. “I can die in peace.”
My heart ached, caught between the truth and the lie we had spun. I can’t break hearts and trust.
“Dadi…” I began, my voice faltering. But she wasn’t finished.
She reached into a drawer beside her and pulled out a small packet of handwritten letters. Placing them in my hands, she whispered, “When Kiara was little, she used to ask me,‘Where is my mom, Dadi?’I didn’t know what to tell her, so I’d say, ‘Whenever you miss her, write her a letter, and she’ll come as an angel.”’Her voice broke, and she exhaled shakily. “She wrote every single day.”
My eyes fell on the letters, each one a tangible piece of Kiara’s heart and soul. I couldn’t breathe. Dadi continued, her voice soft and laden with love. “You are that angel.”
My voice was barely audible, my hands trembling as I held the letters. “I…”
