My lips twitch despite myself. “You? Making hot chocolate?”
He shrugs, settling back into the seat beside me with his own cup. “What can I say? I have hidden talents.”
I glance at the cup, then back at him. “And dangerous levels of confidence.”
“Confidence is half the recipe,” he says smoothly, taking a slow sip of his own drink, eyes glinting at me over the rim.
I lower my gaze to my cup, fighting the small smile that threatens to escape. The heat seeps into my palms, thawingsome of the chill inside me. Carefully, I take a sip. Sweet. A little too sweet. The chocolate clings thick on my tongue, and yet... it’s good. Comforting.
“Well?” he prompts, tilting his head at me.
I roll my eyes lightly, pretending to focus on the drink. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?” He feigns mock offence. “That’s all I get?”
I risk a glance at him, and he’s watching me with a half-smirk. Something inside me softens. “Okay,” I admit quietly, “it’s good.”
His smirk shifts into a real smile, brighter, softer. “Knew it.”
I sip again, hiding behind the cup, because if I don’t, I might betray too much. This is how it always is with him—small moments that sneak past my defenses, that make me forget the storm outside, the storm inside.
He leans back, stretching his legs out, as if the tension from earlier never happened. His ease only unsettles me more. How does he do that—slip so easily between distant and tender, guarded and giving?
The jet continues to cut through the clouds, steady and relentless, carrying us toward his mother. My stomach knots again, but when I glance at him, he’s watching me in a way that almost makes me believe I can face it.
Almost.
And maybe—for tonight, for this small stretch of sky between where I was and where I am going—that’s enough.
CHAPTER 24
Old Walls, New Truths
VIHAAN
It has been years since I last walked through these gates.
The villa stretches out before me, vast and timeless, its white stone walls kissed golden under the early evening light. Even now, it looks the same as it did when I was a boy. Summers here were different—less scorching than the merciless desert sun of Rajasthan. The air here carries a softness, a calm, like the house itself was built to give us rest from the world.
Baapu-sa would bring us here every summer. I can still hear the echoes of our laughter running down the long corridors, Sitara’s lehenga swishing as she chased after Bhai-sa and me, Veeraj forever sneaking away into the gardens, thinking no one would find him. Childhood seems closer in this house, as if these walls remember me.
Now I am back. Older. Heavier with everything life has carved into me, and not alone.
Poorvi is upstairs, in the guest room we will share for the four days we are staying here. I left her there to unpack, though I know she is probably too tense to even open her suitcase. Thisplace is new to her. My mother is new to her. And though I want to make it easier, I know this meeting cannot be rushed. And I know she’s too tense.
I take a steady breath before walking down the familiar hallway toward Maa-sa’s quarters. Every step drags up memories—her voice calling me to lessons, her laughter at the terrace when the monsoon broke, the silence that grew later, colder.
The door opens before I knock. And there she is.
“Vihaan,” she breathes, a smile breaking across her face before I can say a word. She pulls me into her arms, and for a moment, I am ten years old again, burying my face in her shoulder.
I smile back, holding her tighter than I expected. “It’s been a while, Maa-sa.”
“It has,” she whispers, her arms firm around me. “Too long.”
When she finally lets go, her eyes roam my face as though she’s counting the years she missed, even when it’s only been a year. She gestures for me to sit, and we settle onto the low couches by the window. The staff arrive silently, placing down two cups of steaming tea on the carved wooden table between us.
For a while, there is only the quiet clink of porcelain and the soft whir of the ceiling fan. Then she speaks, her tone gentle but edged with curiosity. “I saw your marriage images.”
