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Virat was two when he first saw the boy standing beside his father. He was older—maybe seven or eight—dressed in a slightly torn shirt and worn-out shorts, his bare feet dusty from the long walk to their home. His eyes were red, as if he had cried not too long ago, but now they were empty, cold, unreadable.

Virat, clutching his favorite bunny plushie, peeked up at his father, his small lips trembling. His father had missed his birthday. Again. The cake had been cut, the guests had left, and Virat had waited—waited with a hope that had slowly melted into disappointment.

"Virat beta, come here" his father called, his voice warm but firm. "Meet Mahendra."

Virat sniffled, rubbing his damp eyes with his chubby fists before looking at the strange boy. He was taller, skinnier, and his face had no smiles, no warmth. He was nothing like the cheerful uncles and aunties who usually visited.

Still, Virat toddled forward, staring up at him with big, curious eyes. He wanted to say his name—like Papa did—but it was too hard. So instead, his tiny voice chirped, "Mai?"

His father chuckled. "No, beta. Mahendra."

Virat blinked, pouting as he tried again. "Maiii."

Mahi—Mahendra—remained silent, staring down at the little boy who was looking at him like he was something to be figured out, something unfamiliar yet interesting. He didn’t react, didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge the baby talk.

Virat, however, took that as permission. He waddled closer, holding out his bunny plushie with tiny fingers. "Bun'ee. Sof'! You wan’?"

Mahendra didn’t take it. Didn’t move.

Virat frowned, then turned to his father. "Papa! Mai no take bun'ee!"

His father placed a hand on Mahendra’s shoulder, voice gentle yet firm. "He’ll be staying with us from now on, Virat. Be nice to him, okay?"

Virat didn’t understand much. He didn’t understand why this boy was here, why his father looked at him with something heavy in his eyes, why he hadn’t come to his birthday. But he did understand one thing—this “Mai” was different. And for some reason, he wanted him to smile.

So, determined, he pushed the bunny plushie into Mahendra’s hands. "Mine" he declared, then quickly added, "but mai hol'."

This time, Mahi's fingers curled around the soft toy, hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. So he stood stiffly, the bunny plush clutched awkwardly in his hands. He didn't know what to do with it. It was soft—too soft, too clean, too… not his.

But virat was still staring at him with big, expectant eyes, so he didn’t let go. His chubby fingers reached out, instinctively grabbing onto Mahi's shorts, holding tightly as if anchoring himself. His tiny hands barely wrapped around the fabric, but he clung on anyway.

Mahi glanced down.

Virat was still dressed in his birthday outfit—a little royal blue sherwani embroidered with gold thread, making him look like a tiny prince. His cheeks were still slightly puffed from the cake he had eaten earlier, his lips a little wobbly from missing his father. But right now, he wasn’t upset. He was just… curious.

Before anything else could happen, a soft voice interrupted.

"Vikram?"

Virat turned at the familiar warmth in his mother’s tone.

She stood at the top of the grand staircase, dressed in an elegant saree, her gold bangles gently clinking as she walked down. There was no harshness in her eyes, only concern and confusion as she took in the scene before her.