I’m not convinced. Neither is Raghav.
One look at him tells me he’s seconds away from dragging the doctor here himself if she doesn’t arrive in the next few minutes. Mom notices it too. She glances at him, then at me, clearly surprised by how worried he seems.
“You’re not going anywhere until we know you’re fine,” he says to Mom, checking his watch as if personally keeping track of every minute the doctor is late. “You’re staying home and resting.”
Mom opens her mouth to argue, but he cuts her off before she can say anything.
“We’re flying to Mumbai in two days. The last thing I need is for you to exhaust yourself or fall sick. I’m not taking any chances with your health.”
“And who exactly are you to order me around?” she scolds him.
The question barely leaves her mouth before he answers.
“I’m your son-in-law, Mrs. Vardhaan. And even if I wasn’t, I would still make you stay in bed and rest.”
I watch Mom’s expression closely and realise she hears the unspoken part too. She only felt dizzy for a few seconds. It wasn’t anything serious. Yet Raghav is behaving as though nothing else matters until he’s sure she’s perfectly fine. There is a son’s concern in every word he says, every order he gives, every restless glance towards the door waiting for the doctor. The kind of concern Mom hasn’t received from Samarjeet in years. The same son she spent her entire life protecting, loving, and putting before herself.
Over the years, my brother never asked if she had taken her medicines. He never noticed when she skipped meals. When Dad died, Mom had lost her husband. I still remember those days of grief and endless nights when she cried herself to sleep. And through all of it, Samarjeet barely looked back. He had buried himself in the empire Dad left behind.
For him the business mattered, the power mattered, the throne mattered.Mom didn’t.That’s why this moment feels so strange. Because the man standing beside us now is not her son. He’s the man who forced his way into our lives. The man we’ve still not forgiven. And yet, here he is, taking her dizziness more seriously than her own son ever would.
Raghav had said he would protect us and take care of us. He hadn’t been making empty promises. He has been quietly fulfilling them, one day at a time, one action at a time.
Maybe that’s why the stubborn argument forming on Mom’s lips as Raghav orders her to restslowly disappears and is replaced by a tiny smile. But Raghav is too busy glaring at her, like she’s already planning to escape the room.
“Don’t even think about getting up,” he warns. “The doctor should be here any minute.”
The smile on Mom’s face widens. And for the first time since we arrived at RK Estate, I swear she almost looks...pleased. With him.
A few minutes later, the resort’s in-house doctor finally arrives. Judging by the dark look Raghav gives the doctor, one would think she was hours late rather than five minutes. Only after she enters does he step aside and allow her to examine Mom. Even then, he remains in the room throughout the check-up, keeping a watch on her. After a thorough assessment, Dr. Mehta finally straightens and looks up.
“It’s nothing alarming, Mr. Kundra,” she says reassuringly. “Her blood pressure is slightly unstable, and from what Mrs. Vardhaan has told me, she hasn’t been eating properly for the last few days. Skipping meals and stress can easily cause dizziness at her age.”
She writes a three-day course of medication and advises a low-sodium diet, meals at proper intervals, plenty of fluids, and adequate rest. Only after the doctor leaves does some of the tension finally leave the room. Mom looks completely fine again.
“I’ll instruct the chef to put you on a low-sodium diet immediately,” he says. “And you’re not stepping into the kitchen for the next few days.”
For a second, it feels like he’s the son and I’m the outsider.
“You are worrying too much,” Mom replies. “I know how to take care of myself.”
“People who say that are usually the first ones who don’t,” he counters.
I clear my throat. “Mom, maybe he’s right. Just rest for a few days.”
She sighs, narrowing her eyes at me. “Since when did you team up with him against me? We have so much shopping to do for the Mumbai trip. I’m not letting you go alone.”
I smile, helping Mom settle against the pillows and then squeeze her hand in assurance.
“Don’t worry about Meher’s gift. I can manage alone.”
Before she can argue, Raghav interrupts. “I’ll take you.”
I look up.
“No thanks. I’ll take Esha.”
“I said I’m taking you.”
