He brought US back

Third person's pov~

Ravi sat on the couch, arms still around his younger brother, who clung to him as if letting go would shatter him completely.

Rohan's fingers clutched the fabric of Ravi's shirt in trembling fists, his forehead buried in his elder brother's chest. And then-without warning, without holding back-he broke.

Years of silence. Years of guilt. Of regret, anger, distance, confusion. It all burst out in one long, aching sob.

Rohan Mehra-who always forced a smile, who pretended he was okay, who brushed off pain with sarcasm and noise-was crying like the little brother he still was in Ravi's heart.

Tears soaked through Ravi's shirt. His chest heaved with every shuddering breath Rohan took. And still, Ravi didn't move. Didn't rush him. Didn't hush him. He just held him tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his brother's head.

"I'm here," Ravi whispered, voice thick but steady. "I've always been here."

Rohan didn't respond-not with words. Just a deeper, tighter grasp. A broken gasp. A soft, muffled: "I'm sorry..."

"Shhh," Ravi soothed, his own throat burning. "You don't have to be. You came back. That's what matters."

Time slowed. The grand mansion was silent around them, but this moment filled every corner of it. Two brothers. One carrying too much, the other refusing to let him fall.

For the first time in years, Rohan allowed himself to feel-not just guilt or fear or anger, but everything. And for the first time in years, he didn't feel alone doing it.

Because Ravi was still there.

Still his bhaiya.

Still his safe place.

And nothing-not betrayal, not distance, not false accusations-could ever change that.

.........

The front door of the Mehra Mansion creaked open gently.

Aarav stepped inside, clutching the straps of his tiny backpack, his little shoes pattering softly on the floor. His eyes scanned the empty hallway, puzzled. Usually, either Ravi or Rohan was already waiting for him with open arms and a smile. But today... it was only the driver who had picked him up, and now the house felt oddly still.

He tiptoed through the foyer, curiosity pulling him toward the living room.

And then he saw them.

His Rohan bhaiya-his brave, funny, loud Rohan bhaiya-curled into Ravi's chest, his eyes swollen, his face wet with tears.

Aarav froze, his mouth slightly open, clutching his water bottle tightly. He had never seen Rohan cry. Never. Not even when he scraped his knee or lost at a board game. He was always the one to make others laugh, the one to joke about everything.

Ravi noticed him first.

He turned his head, lips parting softly. "Aarav..."

At the sound of his name, the little boy blinked, confused and hesitant. "Rohan bhaiya...?" he whispered, his voice small, his feet slowly stepping forward.

Rohan quickly wiped his face, sitting up straighter but failing to hide the tremble in his jaw. He gave a shaky smile. "Hey, champ. You're home early."

Aarav didn't say anything. He dropped his bag, walked straight to Rohan, and climbed quietly into his lap-no questions, no jokes.

Just a soft, warm cuddle.

He wrapped his small arms around Rohan's waist, resting his cheek against his chest. "Don't cry, bhaiya," he whispered gently, "I don't like it when you cry."