???????? ????, ?????? ????, ?Your gaze, like the moonlight,
?? ?? ????, ?? ?? ??????? Ever radiant, ever longing.
?? ??? ???, ?????? ??? ????, In just one glance, I forget the world,
?? ?????...
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The room had stilled.
Not in the way of polite pauses or calculated silences, but in the way of something shifting beneath the surface—something inevitable.
Vikram's gaze darkened, the lines of his face sharpening. His mother, ever composed, observed quietly, her expression unreadable. But it was Shreya who stood the tensest of them all, her breath held like she wasn't sure whether to brace for impact or take a step back.
And Aarya—tiny, watchful Aarya—blinked up at him, her small hands still curled into the fabric of her dress. She didn't smile, didn't speak. But there was a flicker of something in her dark eyes. Something wary. Something curious.
It was Vikram who finally broke the silence. "Lakshay," he said, slow and measured, "don't let sentiment cloud your judgment."
Lakshay's gaze didn't waver. "Sentiment?" He let out a quiet breath, almost amused. "Funny. I thought we were talking about family."
Vikram's jaw ticked.
His mother, perhaps sensing the conversation teetering on the edge of hostility, stepped in. "Aarya, beta," she said gently, "would you like to sit with me?"
Aarya hesitated, looking up at Shreya first. At her mother's small nod, she stepped forward, careful and controlled. His mother took her hand, guiding her to a seat beside her, and smoothed a hand over the little girl's hair.
Lakshay watched the way Shreya's shoulders stayed stiff even as she exhaled.
He had meant what he said.
He wasn't a man who made wishes. He had built everything he had from nothing, relying on control, strategy, and a ruthless lack of attachment. But when he had been younger—when he had still allowed himself the indulgence of imagining something more—he had always thought, if he ever had a family, he'd want a daughter.
He hadn't expected that thought to resurface now, here, in this room, with this little girl and the woman who had been thrust into his life by circumstance.
But it had.
And for the first time in a long, long while, Lakshay Malhotra was willing to let go of control and see where that thought led him.
His mother patted Aarya's back, her voice warm but decisive. "Let the children talk in private. I'll take this angel for a walk in the garden."
Aarya glanced up at her, then at Shreya, as if seeking silent permission. Shreya hesitated, but at the gentle nod Lakshay's mother gave her, she exhaled and crouched down. "Go with Dadi, sweetheart," she murmured, brushing a hand over Aarya's hair.
Aarya nodded, slipping her tiny hand into his mother's without hesitation.
Lakshay watched the way his mother's face softened as she led Aarya away, her touch gentle but assured. For all her steel, she had always had a way with children—perhaps because she had once been a mother who had nothing but love to give, even when the world had given her nothing in return.
