hello lovely readers,❤️
Congrats on crossing 1k reads and 100 votes I am so happy🎉🎉🎊🎊
As for some reason I guess you are not able to complete the target I am going to give you 3 options:
TARGETS:
VOTES- 40+
COMMENTS- 40+
OR
TOTAL OF 160 VOTES ON THE BOOK
as I have seen many just voting on the latest chapters
OR
REACH 1.5K READS ON THE BOOK
HAPPY READING!!!! ❤️❤️
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Author's POV
Virendra had just finished checking the last of the accounts, his eyes burning from the hours he had spent on numbers. The mansion had grown eerily silent, the kind of silence that usually wrapped the house only after everyone had gone to sleep. As always, his habit—his ritual—dragged him to check on each family member before finally retreating to his own room. It had become his responsibility ever since their mother had passed away.
He pushed open Kartiki's door quietly, expecting to find the little girl fast asleep. But the sight that greeted him was unsettling—the bed was empty. The blanket lay tossed aside as if she had tried but failed to sleep. His brows furrowed instantly, his chest tightening.
"Where the hell is she?" the thought punched his gut, panic seeping in despite his usually composed exterior.
That's when he heard it—a soft humming sound. Gentle. Melodious. Almost trembling. His feet carried him toward the balcony before his mind even processed it. And the sight that greeted him there made him freeze
FLASHBACK
Earlier that night, after Vijay had left her room, Kartiki had looked around, wide-eyed. The room was beautiful—grand in its own right—but more importantly, it carried warmth. The curtains were sheer, letting the moonlight pour in like liquid silver. The walls were painted a soft cream, shelves lined with books and small artifacts, a desk by the window, and in one corner, a hanging chair swayed gently in the night breeze.
But what truly captured Kartiki's heart was the balcony. It wasn't about the view or the size. It was about the air—fresh, crisp, alive. When she stepped outside, the night air brushed against her skin, and for the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe. It whispered freedom, a freedom she had long craved.
She had gone to the bed reluctantly. Sleep... that cursed word. For most, it was comfort. For her, it was a battlefield. The moment her head hit the pillow, the shadows returned. Screams. Shouts. The sting of harsh hands. The suffocating grip of fear. Her chest constricted as if dragged back into that nightmare of a past she wanted so desperately to escape.
She sat up abruptly, gasping, shaking her head violently as if she could fling the memories away. No. She couldn't do this. Not tonight. Not ever. Her small hands trembled as she slipped quietly toward the balcony, holding the railing like a lifeline.
The night sky above was breathtaking—the moon sat in full glory, scattering silver light across the landscape. Two tiny birds perched on a branch of a nearby tree, leaning close to each other as the wind rocked them gently. The sight melted something inside her.
Her mind wandered back to today. Virendra's scolding—not like the cruel shouts she had endured before, but the frustrated care of someone who expected better. Vedansh's stern words that hid genuine worry. Jeevansh's awkward, yet funny episode. Aditya's fiery defense, almost protective.
Her chest ached. Could it be? Could God have finally listened? Was she really... safe here? A place where people didn't want to use her, didn't want to break her, but perhaps... wanted to keep her?
"Maybe... just maybe, there's still hope," she whispered into the night.
Her lips parted into a faint, almost shy smile as she began humming. It was a lullaby. One her mother used to sing to her—a melody carved into her soul. Sweet, melancholic, soft as a prayer. Every note carried a fragment of her past, every line a promise of peace she longed for.
And that was the sight that met Virendra when he entered the balcony in search for her.
He stopped dead in his tracks. The sharp, battle-hardened mafia prince who feared nothing suddenly felt an odd, unfamiliar tug in his chest. There she was—this fragile little girl, standing in the pale moonlight, humming a tune that made the whole night feel holy.
But then she noticed him.
Kartiki's eyes widened in alarm. She stumbled two steps back, her back hitting the railing. Her body tensed, shoulders stiff, eyes darting like a trapped bird. His presence intimidated her, and her mind instantly ran to the worst possibilities—shouts, punishment, rejection.
Virendra's jaw clenched. He hated it—the way fear instantly coated her face at his approach. Was that what she thought of him? That he would hurt her? His voice, however, came out sharper than intended.
"What are you doing here at this time? It's already past midnight."
Kartiki flinched at the firmness in his tone. She fumbled, stammering, unable to form words under his piercing gaze. "W-wo... actually..." Her hands twisted nervously in the hem of her dress.
That was when he realized. She wasn't just nervous. She was scared. Of him.
Something in him snapped. His expression softened instantly, his eyes losing their edge. He took a slow step forward, lowering his voice. His hand, usually commanding, reached out carefully and rested gently on her trembling shoulder.
"Kya hua, bacche? Neend nahi aa rahi thi kya?" (What happened, child? Couldn't you sleep?)
His voice was no longer the voice of a mafia heir. It was soft, soothing, almost fatherly. An elder brother.
Kartiki's rigid shoulders relaxed slightly. Leaning into his touch, she whispered, "Actually... I get really terrifying nightmares. So instead of going through all that, I... I just stay awake for a while. Then when I get really drowsy, I fall asleep without thinking. It's easier that way." Her voice cracked with quiet sadness.
Virendra stared at her, stunned. Nightmares. A child shouldn't even know the meaning of such fear, let alone live in it every single night. His chest burned with rage at whoever had caused this. But mixed with that rage was something deeper—a protective pull. She shouldn't have had to carry this. Not alone.
He crouched slightly to meet her eye level, his voice steady. "You shouldn't have to fight this alone, Kartiki. Not anymore."
For a moment, he simply held her small hand in his larger one and guided her gently toward the hanging chair. He sat down and pulled her carefully onto his lap. She tensed at first but melted as his arm wrapped around her protectively.
"You know," he began softly, brushing soothing circles on her back, "I used to get nightmares too when I was a child. Monsters, dinosaurs, the whole world collapsing. You know what Ma used to do?"
Kartiki tilted her head, curiosity breaking through her fear. "What?" she asked softly.
He smiled faintly, though his eyes glistened with the memory. "She used to rub circles like this on my back... then make me warm milk, and I would fall asleep in her arms." His voice faltered at the memory.
Kartiki looked at him with wide eyes, her heart tugged. "She loved you all a lot, right?"
He nodded firmly, eyes drifting to the stars. "Yes. More than anything."
"Then she still loves you," Kartiki said with a conviction that made his throat tighten. "Even from up there. Because love doesn't end. It's infinite. Pure. If you ever truly love someone, you can't stop... not even death can change it."
Virendra froze. Her words sliced through every wall he had built around his grief. For years, he had locked away his mother's memory under duties, responsibilities, anger. But now, from this little girl's lips, came a truth so profound it left him breathless.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. "You don't know how much I needed to hear that."
He cleared his throat, standing. "Come on, let's go. I'll make you some milk. If you feel comfortable, you can sleep in my room tonight. huh?" He offered with a gentle smile .
Her face lit up instantly, a pure, childlike smile breaking through. She nodded eagerly, and the two walked down toward the kitchen.
Halfway, his eyes narrowed playfully. "And by the way, I haven't forgotten that you still haven't addressed me properly."
Kartiki blinked in confusion. "Address you...?"
"You can call me 'bhaiya,' like the others do."
She bit her lip, hesitant, then tried softly, "Bhaiyu?" Her tone was questioning, eyes wide, as if waiting for his reaction.
Virendra stopped dead in his tracks. His heart thudded strangely. Nobody had ever called him that before. The word sounded... innocent. Tender. Something only she could say.
She panicked at his silence. "Did you not like it? I'm so sorry, I'll call you bhaiya instead—"
But he cut her off, his voice unexpectedly firm, thick with emotion. "From now on, you will only call me 'Bhaiyu.' Nothing else."
Her lips parted in surprise before curving into a genuine smile. It had been so long since she had smiled like that. He felt the corners of his own mouth twitch, warmth flooding through him.
As they entered the kitchen, a sudden growl echoed. Kartiki's stomach. She froze, cheeks burning with embarrassment. She looked away, hoping he hadn't noticed.
But Virendra's sharp eyes missed nothing. He turned toward her slowly, his expression hardening. His voice, low and edged with stern authority, cut through the air:
"Last kab khaya tha, madam apne?" (When was the last time you ate, madam?)
Kartiki flinched at the tone, her lips parting. She swallowed before whispering, "In the jet... with Baba."
For a second, his jaw clenched, anger flickering in his eyes—not at her, but at the thought of her quietly starving herself without complaint. He exhaled through his nose, forcing his voice to steady, but the edge remained.
"From now on, you will eat properly. Understood?"
She nodded quickly, almost instinctively, but what surprised her was what came next—he reached out, ruffling her hair gently, his tone softening. "Tonight, Bhaiyu will cook for you."
Kartiki's head snapped upwards, panic flashing in her eyes.
"No, no bhaiya, there's no need for that. I'll just eat biscuits—" she blurted out hurriedly, her voice small, as if fearful she had asked for too much.
Virendra's brows furrowed, and his sharp tone cut her words.
"Let Vedansh hear that. He will lecture you for hours on how you have to eat a balanced diet, and eat healthy food, that too on time." His voice carried sternness, but beneath it was concern, the kind that demanded she value herself.
Kartiki froze, her lips parting in surprise at his tone. But before fear could settle in, his expression softened, and he added with a teasing smirk, "And don't worry, you'll like the food I cook. Rarely does anyone get the opportunity to eat from Chef Virendra's hands." He dramatically straightened his collar as though he had just declared himself the greatest chef alive.
Kartiki blinked at him, a laugh almost escaping her lips. She tilted her head in wonder. If his own brothers had seen Virendra Singh Rajput—their stern, commanding bhaiya—act this way, they would have surely fainted on the spot.
Her voice came hesitant, filled with the caution of old wounds. "Who taught you to cook? Chetna ma'am used to say boys don't even step in the kitchen..." Her words trailed, uncertainty shadowing her face.
Virendra stiffened at that. The mention of those people—the ones who had filled her mind with such backward poison—made his blood simmer with silent fury. How badly he wanted to storm out, confront them, and make them pay for every scar, every wrong belief they had pressed into this child. But he pushed the rage away. Tonight wasn't about his anger. Tonight was about her.
So he crouched down to her eye level, his voice steady, firm yet gentle.
"There is no such thing, bacha. Ma made sure that everyone knew how to cook—even Baba. She believed it was an important life skill. Do you know Baba used to cook whole dinners sometimes, especially when Ma was pregnant? He'd make dishes at midnight whenever she had cravings. And when we grew older, she made each of us cook when we were in college."
He paused, a faint chuckle escaping. "Well... except Jeevansh. He somehow managed to slip away most of the time."
Kartiki's lips curled into a small pout at the revelation, her big eyes widening in awe. "Oh..." she breathed out, her expression caught somewhere between admiration and curiosity.
Virendra smiled faintly, enjoying that look on her face. "So," he asked, standing up again, "what do you want to eat, bacha?"
Kartiki hesitated, her fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of her kurta. The war inside her was clear—wanting something but too afraid to voice it.
Virendra noticed immediately. Without another word, he gently scooped her up in his arms and placed her carefully on the cool marble of the kitchen platform. His tone was calm, patient, but carried the weight of an unspoken promise.
"Bacha, you can tell me whatever you want to eat or do, okay? No one is going to scold you here."
Kartiki's lips trembled before she whispered, almost shyly, "Actually... I wanted to make pasta. Can I... do that?"
Virendra blinked, caught off guard—not at the request, but at the fact that this little girl even knew how to cook. He didn't ask the questions that burned in his mind—how many times had she been forced to cook instead of being cared for? How often had she been treated as a servant instead of a child? His heart clenched, but he forced a smile.
"If you want pasta, we can order from outside, or I'll have the chef make it. You don't have to trouble yourself, bacha."
The moment the words left his mouth, he saw the light in her eyes dim. Her shoulders slumped, lips pressing into a thin line. That small flicker of joy she had shown just seconds ago—gone.
Virendra cursed himself inwardly. He didn't want to see that look on her face ever again.
"Or... why not this?" he quickly added, crouching down again, forcing his voice lighter, "Why don't we both make it together? I don't know how to make pasta, but I can surely help you."
Her head shot up instantly, eyes widening in disbelief. And then, slowly, her lips stretched into a smile so pure, so radiant, that Virendra felt something crack open in his chest.
"Really? Together?"
"Of course." He nodded, silently making a promise to himself. He would learn to make pasta. Properly. After all, it was his sister's favorite dish.
Kartiki and Virendra moved around the kitchen, laughter and warmth softening the midnight silence of the mansion. She gave him instructions—where the pasta was kept, how to boil it, how to add salt. Virendra, the intimidating lion of the Rajput family, stood awkwardly trying to measure out ingredients while Kartiki giggled at his clumsy efforts.
At one point, he dropped a spoon, and Kartiki burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. He pretended to scowl. "Don't laugh, madam. Chef Virendra is very serious about his craft."
"But you're doing it all wrong!" she teased, her voice filled with a childlike joy she had long been denied.
Together, they stirred the sauce, added vegetables, and finally poured the pasta in. Kartiki's little hands carefully guided his much larger ones, and the sight etched itself deep in Virendra's memory.
Finally, after what felt like a small victory, Kartiki scooped a spoonful, her face glowing with pride. "Done! Bhaiyu, taste this!"
She held the spoon up to him eagerly. Virendra leaned down, tasting it straight from her hands. His eyes widened. "Wow... this is delicious, bacha."
Her cheeks flushed with happiness, and for the first time in years, a giggle escaped her lips—unrestrained, genuine.
But before they could even serve, a teasing voice interrupted.
"Finally caught red-handed, Jeevansh—"
Vedansh's words trailed off as he stepped into the kitchen, stopping at the sight of Virendra and Kartiki, plates in hand, smiles on their faces.
Virendra arched a brow. "What were you saying about Jeevansh? And what are you doing up this late at night?"
Vedansh opened his mouth, frustration flickering in his eyes, but before he could answer, another voice boomed dramatically from the doorway.
"Betrayal!" Jeevansh's mock outrage filled the kitchen.
Vedansh muttered under his breath, "Lo... shetan ka naam liya aur shetan hazir." (Speak of the devil, and the devil appears.)
Ignoring him, Jeevansh strutted inside with exaggerated pouts. "Bhaiya! You all were having late-night snacks without me? Mujhe chhod ke?" (You left me out?) He sniffed the air theatrically, his eyes lighting up. "And that too... pasta? Ahhh, what an aroma!"
Kartiki giggled softly at his antics, the sound like a bell in the still night. Everyone turned toward her, their expressions softening. For Jeevansh, it was too much—he immediately reached out to pinch her cheeks.
"God, you're such a softy," he grinned.
Kartiki's face turned pink, overwhelmed by their sudden attention.
But Virendra wasn't distracted. His sharp gaze turned back to Jeevansh. "Leave the drama. First tell me—what do you do every night?" His tone was stern, demanding answers.
Before Jeevansh could reply, Vedansh jumped in, smirking. "Bhaiya, you don't even know what all our little Maharathi does at night—"
"Bhaiya, please!" Jeevansh whined, panic flashing across his face. "Don't expose me in front of Kartiki. I have an image to uphold!" He puffed his chest mockingly.
Vedansh rolled his eyes. "Oh really? What image?"
"Stop it now, Vedansh." Virendra cut in firmly. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Jeevansh sighed in relief, dramatically wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead.
"Now sit down," Virendra ordered, his voice softer now. "Let's have pasta."
The pasta had been served steaming hot, the aroma filling the dining room. The clatter of plates and the casual banter of brothers echoed in the late-night silence. Kartiki sat quietly between Virendra and Vedansh, her small hands clutching the fork nervously as if she wasn't sure whether she was even allowed to enjoy the meal she herself had cooked.
For a while, the brothers ate in relative peace—though "peace" in this household still included Vedansh's muttered scolding at Jeevansh for not washing his hands properly and Jeevansh's exaggerated sighs about "rules at midnight." Kartiki looked from one face to another, still overwhelmed by the warmth of being allowed to sit at the same table, share the same food.
Jeevansh, with his usual mischief, leaned back in his chair and remarked dramatically, "It's a miracle Rudra bhaiya isn't here tonight. Agar unhone pasta dekh liya hota na, toh yeh sab ek second mein khatam ho jata!"
("If Rudra bhaiya had seen pasta, it would've been gone in a second!")
The table erupted in laughter, Vedansh nodding in agreement. "Sahi kaha. Rudra aur pasta ka alag hi pyaar hai."
("True. Rudra and pasta share a very special love.")
Everyone chuckled, but Kartiki's small hands tightened around her fork. The laughter that tied the brothers together so easily made her chest ache. She lowered her gaze to her plate, a sharp pang of longing flooding her. They have their own bond, their own stories... She felt like a fragile thread trying to weave into fabric already complete. What if she never truly fit in? What if she was always an intruder?
Her throat tightened, but before the shadows of doubt could take over, Virendra's voice cut in—steady, calm, as though he'd read her thoughts.
"Rudra ko aaj office ki meeting late tak thi. Usne khana hamare saath hi khaya, bas thak gaya aur so gaya."
("Rudra had a late meeting today. He already ate with us, he was just tired and went to sleep.")
Virendra's eyes flickered toward Kartiki, his tone laced with quiet reassurance, as if the explanation wasn't just for the brothers but meant especially for her.
Kartiki glanced up at him, her lips parting slightly. The heaviness in her chest loosened. He hadn't let her spiral into the thought that she was the outsider here—he had reminded her, without even saying it outright, that this house was hers too, that these bonds could be hers too
But of course, Jeevansh couldn't keep quiet for too long. He leaned back dramatically, squinting his eyes at Virendra like a detective in an old Bollywood film, even putting two fingers to his chin.
"Vaise bhaiya," he began, his tone laced with mischief, "aapko toh pasta pasand hi nahi hai... and I am very sure you don't know how to make it. Toh phir yeh bana kaise? Aur yeh miracle hua kaise ki aap khud kha bhi rahe ho?"
("By the way, brother, you don't even like pasta... and I'm very sure you don't know how to make it. Then how was this made? And how come you're actually eating it too?")
His gaze narrowed comically as though he had stumbled onto a great mystery, and he leaned so close across the table that Virendra almost shoved him back with the serving spoon.
The table broke into chuckles, but Kartiki froze. She hadn't realized Virendra didn't like pasta. The fork slipped slightly from her fingers, her eyes dropping to her plate as a wave of guilt washed over her. Did she force him to eat something he didn't even like? Did she bother him?
Her chest tightened with worry, the old insecurities whispering in her mind: Maybe they're only humoring you. Maybe you're a burden.
Virendra noticed instantly. Her small shoulders had hunched in, her lashes trembled with the effort of holding back tears. And he understood—she must have taken Jeevansh's words in the wrong way.
Setting his fork down deliberately, Virendra turned to her, his expression softening. His voice cut through the laughter around the table, firm yet filled with warmth.
"Haan, mujhe pasta pasand nahi hai," he admitted openly, making everyone pause. Then, after a beat, he added with quiet conviction, his eyes locking onto Kartiki's, "Lekin meri behen ke haathon se jo bana ho, woh cheez mujhe pasand na aaye—aisa ho hi nahi sakta."
("Yes, I don't like pasta. But if it's made by my sister's hands, there's no way I could dislike it.")
The words hit like thunder in the silence that followed. Kartiki blinked at him, stunned, and for the first time in a long while, her lips trembled not with fear—but with the ache of feeling cherished.
Vedansh, of course, broke the silence with a grin. "Ohhh... someone is melting," he teased, raising his eyebrows at Virendra.
"Aur kaun nahi pighlega?" Jeevansh chimed in dramatically, clutching his chest like a proud elder brother. "Meri behen itni cute hai!"
("And who wouldn't melt? My sister is just so cute!")
Kartiki's chest constricted, this time in a completely different way. It felt good. Too good. The compliments, the warmth, the pride—it all wrapped around her like a blanket she hadn't realized she'd been shivering without. A feeling she had not known for so long flickered alive inside her.
But the moment of tenderness was shattered when Jeevansh's "detective instincts" returned. He slapped the table dramatically.
"Wait a minute! Bhaiya said Kartiki made the pasta. That means—oh my God!" His eyes widened theatrically. "You're a criminal! You should be arrested for child labour!"
The brothers snorted with laughter, Vedansh nearly choking on his bite, but the humor didn't land with Kartiki.
Her heart stuttered. Arrested? Leaving? The words spiraled into the dark corridors of her trauma. She clutched Virendra's sleeve, her voice breaking.
"Aap mujhe chhod ke jaa rahe ho?"
("Are you going to leave me?")
The room froze.
Virendra's chair screeched back as he instantly pulled her into his arms, cradling her as if shielding her from the world itself. His jaw clenched as he pressed her trembling head to his chest.
"Nahi baccha," his voice was rough, almost breaking, "aapke bhaiya kahin bhi nahi jaa rahe hain... aapko chhod kar toh bilkul nahi."
("No, child, your brother isn't going anywhere... and certainly not leaving you.")
His sharp glare shot across the table at Jeevansh, who had gone pale, guilt crashing over his usually mischievous face. His joke had backfired cruelly.
"Woh toh mazaak tha, Kartiki!" Jeevansh scrambled closer, his voice shaking. "Meri yeh matlab bilkul bhi nahi tha... please mat ro."
("It was just a joke, Kartiki! I didn't mean that at all... please don't cry.")
Vedansh sighed, rubbing his temple before adding dryly, "If anyone is going to be arrested for crimes, it's definitely this moron Jeevansh."
That, at least, earned a watery sniffle of laughter from Kartiki. Her tears slowly subsided as Virendra continued to rub circles on her back, murmuring reassurances.
When her breathing evened out, Virendra finally turned his head sharply toward Jeevansh, his voice steely.
"Aren't you going too much out of hand?" he demanded. "Late night you're awake, and then again you play these stupid detective roles. If you can't behave properly, it's fine—we'll just have the pasta to ourselves."
Jeevansh pouted immediately, shoulders slumping like a scolded puppy. "Bhaiyaaa..." he whined, earning a chuckle from Vedansh.
But beneath the lightness, the air still pulsed with the weight of what had just happened—Kartiki's tears, her fear of being abandoned, and Virendra's vow that he wouldn't let her go.
The brothers, each in their own way, tried to distract Kartiki from her breakdown. Vedansh told a deliberately exaggerated story about how Jeevansh once set a toaster on fire, while Jeevansh protested loudly, insisting it had been "an experiment." Even Kartiki giggled, the sound soft and almost unfamiliar to her own ears.
By the time the plates were cleared, the heavy midnight silence of the house had settled again. One by one, the brothers rose from the table. Vedansh leaned down, patting Kartiki's head gently.
"Goodnight, chhoti si troublemaker. Don't give Virendra bhaiya too much stress," he teased with a grin.
Kartiki smiled timidly, her lashes lowering. "Goodnight"
Then Jeevansh, looking uncharacteristically guilty, bent slightly toward her. His usual smirk was replaced by a hesitant smile.
"Goodnight, Kartiki... aur... I'm sorry. Next time, I'll make sure my detective jokes don't make anyone cry." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
Kartiki shook her head quickly, her small voice soft. "It's okay... Goodnight, appko bhi"
Satisfied that at least she didn't hate him, Jeevansh ruffled her hair lightly and followed Vedansh upstairs. Their voices faded into the distance, leaving the dining hall strangely quiet.
Only Virendra and Kartiki remained.
"Chalo," Virendra said gently, standing and offering his hand. His expression had softened again now that the others were gone. "Come on it's very late now. Let us sleep."
Kartiki hesitated, looking toward the dark hallway as though shadows lurked there. Virendra noticed instantly—the way her fingers fidgeted, her eyes darting nervously. Without waiting, he simply slipped his hand into hers.
"Main hoon tumhare saath."
("I'm with you.")
Her shoulders relaxed a little, and she nodded.
They walked in silence through the grand corridors of the mansion. The house, though filled with light and beauty, still felt unfamiliar to Kartiki—too large, too overwhelming. But Virendra's presence beside her was steady, like a lighthouse guiding a lost ship.
When they reached his room, he opened the door and gestured her inside. The room was spacious but warm, its muted tones reflecting Virendra's personality—organized, simple, yet strong. Kartiki stood at the threshold, shifting uncertainly.
"Yahan?" she asked hesitantly.
("Here?")
Virendra gave a small smile. "yes you wanted to sleep with me, na?"
She nodded slowly and walked in, clutching the hem of her dress. Virendra closed the door behind them.
He handed her a soft blanket, but as she tried to settle onto the bed, her movements were restless. Her eyes darted to the window, then to the shadows in the corners, as if monsters might leap out any second.
Virendra watched quietly for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
"Baccha, tumhe dar lag raha hai?"
("Child, are you scared?")
Her lips trembled, but she didn't deny it. Instead, she whispered, "Mujhe akela sone se... dar lagta hai."
("I'm scared of sleeping alone.")
Virendra's chest tightened. He didn't ask why; he didn't need to. Her past screamed through her silence.
So, without another word, he stretched out beside her, patting the space near his shoulder. "Yahan aao."
("Come here.")
She blinked at him, unsure, but when his steady gaze didn't waver, she slowly scooted closer. Hesitant at first, then with the sudden urgency of a child desperate for safety, she wrapped her small arms around him.
Her face pressed against his chest, and she clung tightly as though afraid he might vanish if she let go.
"Itna zor se pakad liya tumne..." Virendra murmured, brushing her hair back. "Jaise main kahi bhaag jaunga."
("You're holding me so tightly... as if I'd run away somewhere.")
Her muffled voice came from his shirt. "Aap jaoge toh?"
("What if you do go?")
His arms enclosed her fully, his voice dropping into a promise carved from steel.
"Main kabhi nahi jaunga. Tum meri behen ho, Kartiki. Jo bhi ho, main hamesha tumhare saath rahunga."
("I will never go. You are my sister, Kartiki. No matter what, I will always stay with you.")
Her grip loosened slightly, just enough for her breathing to even out. For the first time that night, the tension in her tiny frame melted bit by bit.
Virendra rested his chin lightly on her head, feeling the fragile weight of her trust. He could hear the faint hitch of her breath slowly turning into the steady rhythm of sleep.
Outside, the night stretched silent and vast, but within the four walls of his room, there was peace.
Kartiki's lashes finally fluttered closed, her body curling securely against him. A small sigh escaped her lips—the sound of surrendering to a blissful sleep she hadn't known in years.
Virendra looked down at her, his hand resting protectively on her back. His usually stern face softened, an unfamiliar tenderness shining in his eyes.
"So jao, baccha," he whispered so quietly it was almost a prayer. "Ab tumhe koi dukh nahi satayega."
("Sleep now, child. No sorrow will trouble you anymore.")
Her breathing steadied, calm and unbroken. For the first time since she had come into this house, Kartiki slept without fear.
And Virendra, though he did not allow himself the luxury of sleep yet, kept watching her, his resolve strengthening.
Whatever it took, however long it took—he would be her shield, until her nightmares were nothing but fading shadows.
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And here we come to an end to this chapter as you all wished it had virendra and kartiki's time together. So how was it???
also do tell me whom do you want to see next and tell me any tips or critiques you have. I would love to hear them
also about the picture do they feel interrupting in between if so do tell me I will avoid adding them.
also about the update the targets are mentioned in the starting and do try to complete thenm it trully means a lot.
Till then byeeeee❤️
author_nidhi_
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