Chapter 30
Aditi's Perspective
I watched Kabir take a piece of brownie and bring it in front of my mouth, his eyes soft and understanding. I hesitated for a second, my thoughts swirling with everything I'd just shared about my parents. But then, almost instinctively, I opened my mouth and took a bite.
The rich chocolate melted on my tongue, and for a brief moment, the sweetness distracted me from the heaviness that had settled in my chest. But as I chewed, the emotions I'd been holding back for so long started to rise. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision until I couldn't see anything clearly anymore.
I tried to swallow the bite, but instead, my breath hitched, and the sobs I'd been choking down for years came rushing out. Before I knew it, I had turned to Kabir, burying my face in the crook of his neck. The weight of missing them—my real parents, my mom and dad—hit me harder than it had in a long time, and I couldn't stop the tears from falling.
Kabir didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He just held me, one hand running through my hair, the other resting gently on my back. The warmth of his presence grounded me, and the feel of his fingers softly combing through my hair calmed me, even as my sobs grew heavier.
He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering for a moment, and somehow, in that simple gesture, I felt safe. I felt like I didn't have to hold it all together anymore.
"Shhh," he whispered, his voice soft against my ear. "I'm here."
After what felt like an eternity, my sobs quieted, but my body was still shaking from the intensity of it all. Kabir shifted slightly, his arms wrapping around me more tightly. And before I could stop him, he gently lifted me off the floor.
I gasped, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Don't do it, Kabir," I muttered through the last of my tears, my voice still shaky. "I'm heavy."
But he didn't reply. He just held me as if the weight of the world didn't matter, his arms strong and steady, and gently carried me toward the sofa. Without saying a word, he made me sit beside him, his hand still resting lightly on my back.
For a long moment, we sat in silence. The room felt peaceful now, the only sound coming from the occasional creak of the house and the muffled buzz of the outside world. It felt like we were in our own little bubble.
"Do you wanna share something about them?" Kabir asked after a while, his voice gentle and coaxing, as though he knew I needed to let it out.
I blinked, trying to catch my breath as I thought back to the memories I held so close to my heart. Memories of my real parents, the times when everything was simple, and their laughter filled our home.
A small, tearful smile tugged at my lips as I began speaking, my voice a little stronger now. "I remember... there was this one time when we went to the beach." I sniffed, wiping away the lingering tears. "I was really young, maybe five or six. It was one of those rare days when my mom had the day off. My dad, he was always the one planning these spontaneous trips, and this time he said we were going to the beach just for ice cream."
Kabir smiled, nodding for me to go on.
"We drove for hours just to get to this tiny, run-down ice cream stand on the beach," I continued, my voice growing a little softer as the memory unfolded in my mind. "My dad was so excited because they had this weird flavor—something with coconut and pistachio, I think—and he made my mom try it even though she hated coconut." I laughed lightly at the memory. "She took one bite and made the most dramatic face, like it was the worst thing she'd ever tasted."
Kabir chuckled softly beside me, his arm still wrapped protectively around me.
"And my dad, he couldn't stop laughing. He thought it was the funniest thing in the world. I remember sitting there between them, just watching them laugh together, completely in love and happy." I paused, the bittersweetness of it all filling my chest. "It was one of those perfect days. Just us. No hospital shifts, no worries. Just ice cream and laughter."
A tear slipped down my cheek, but this time it wasn't from sadness. It was from the warmth of the memory. From the love I could still feel, even though they were gone.
Before I could say anything else, the door creaked open, and I heard the soft shuffle of feet. I looked up to see my chacha walking in, cradling a sleeping Anaya in his arms. My chachi followed behind him, her face soft and tired from the day, but her eyes full of love as she looked at us.
"She's out like a light," Chacha whispered, carefully walking toward the hallway that led to Anaya's bedroom. My chachi paused for a moment, coming over to me, her hand reaching up to gently smooth my hair like she used to when I was little.
"You alright, beta?" she asked softly, her voice full of concern.
I nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I'm okay."
She smiled back at me, though the worry didn't fully leave her eyes, before following my chacha down the hall to put Anaya to bed.
Once they were gone, I leaned back into the sofa, still feeling the weight of everything I'd just shared. Kabir stayed quiet beside me, his presence a comforting constant.
A few minutes later, Chacha returned, his expression calm but thoughtful. He walked over and sat down on the armrest of the sofa beside me, his hand resting gently on my shoulder.
"Papa," I whispered, my voice trembling again as I looked up at him. "I don't want to be the CEO of your company."
He frowned slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"I just... I just want to be an advocate. Like my real dad. I don't want to take over the company. You have Anaya," I continued, my words coming out in a rush as the tears started to build up again. "She can do it. She's so much better at that kind of stuff."
My chacha's face softened, and he took my hand in his, squeezing it gently. "Aditi," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. "You can be whoever you want to be. I've never expected you to take over the company."
"But you... you keep talking about it," I muttered, my voice breaking. "Like it's what you want."
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. "I suggested it because I thought you might be interested. But if you want to be an advocate, like your dad, then you should go ahead and follow that path. I would never stop you, beta."
I blinked, trying to absorb what he was saying.
"Look," he continued, his voice growing more tender. "All I want is for you to be happy. If being an advocate is what makes you happy, then I'm behind you every step of the way. The company will be fine. You don't need to carry that burden."
Tears filled my eyes again, but this time they were tears of relief. I leaned into my chacha's side, feeling the warmth of his love and support wash over me. He had always been there for me, ever since the accident, and now, hearing him say that he just wanted me to follow my own path—it lifted a weight I hadn't realized I'd been carrying.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his hand resting protectively on my shoulder. "You're my daughter, Aditi. That's all that matters."
Before I could respond, I felt the sofa shift. I looked up and saw Chachi coming toward me, her eyes filled with tears. She sat down beside me, reaching up to smooth my hair once again, her touch gentle but trembling.
"You're so much like her, Aditi," Chachi whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her tears began to fall freely now, and my heart twisted painfully at the sight of her grief. Chachi rarely spoke about my mother, her elder sister, even though I knew how deeply she had felt the loss.
"Every time I look at you, I see my sister," she continued, her voice breaking. "You have her eyes, her smile... even the way you laugh. It's like she's still here with us. It's like a part of her stayed behind in you."
Her words pierced through me, and I felt a flood of emotions rise to the surface—grief, longing, and love all tangled together. I reached out to her, holding her tightly as tears streamed down both of our faces.
"I miss her so much," Chachi sobbed softly, burying her face in my shoulder. "She was my best friend, my strength. After she was gone... I didn't know how to go on. I didn't know how to be strong without her."
I could feel her body trembling as she spoke, the weight of her words filling the room. "But then I had you, beta. You and Anaya... you gave me a reason to keep going, a reason to be strong. Every time I look at you, I see the best parts of her, and I'm reminded of all the love we shared."
I held her tighter, feeling the warmth of her love and grief pour into me. It was overwhelming, but in a way that felt healing—like finally opening a wound that had been festering for too long.
"I love you, Chachi," I whispered, my voice breaking with emotion. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, beta," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're my heart. You've always been my heart."
We sat there, holding each other in the quiet of the living room, Kabir and Chacha watching us with soft, understanding smiles. The air was heavy with emotion, but it was also filled with love—a love that had been carried through loss and pain, but had never faltered.
As the emotional silence in the room began to settle, my chacha shifted a little, a playful glint appearing in his eyes that made me curious. He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter, and gently tapped my knee.
"You know," he began, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, "I've been thinking..."
I looked up at him, wiping the last of my tears, already sensing he was about to say something mischievous. "What now, Papa?" I asked, a small laugh escaping despite the heaviness still in my chest.
"Well," he said, leaning back against the armrest with a casual air, "I've been watching you closely over the years. And I have to say, Aditi, I see a lot of your dad in you."
My heart clenched a little at the mention of my real dad, but the way chacha said it—lighthearted and affectionate—made it feel comforting rather than painful.
"Really?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, not quite sure where he was going with this.
"Absolutely," he continued, nodding sagely. "You've got Sameer's brains, for sure. Quick thinker, sharp as a tack—just like your dad. But it's not just that." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "You've got something else he had in spades."
I tilted my head, waiting for him to finish, though I could already tell he was building up to something cheeky.
"Mischief," he said, grinning widely now.
"Mischief?!" I spluttered, half-laughing, half-offended. "Me?"
"Oh yes, you!" he replied, chuckling at my reaction. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you handle things. Always finding creative solutions to problems, sometimes bending the rules just a little bit to get what you want." He wagged his finger at me playfully. "That's pure Sameer—your dad through and through."
I felt a mix of embarrassment and pride bubble up inside me, remembering all the times my dad had gotten us out of trouble with his charm and quick thinking. He had always been a little bit of a rule-breaker, but in the best way possible. The fun way.
"Okay, maybe a little mischievous," I admitted, laughing as I wiped my eyes again. "But nothing compared to him."
"Don't sell yourself short!" Chacha said, shaking his head, his grin widening. "You've got that same spark. I've seen you work your magic in meetings, turning things around with a quick joke or a clever remark. Just like Sameer. And let's not forget the pranks you've pulled on poor Anaya over the years." He raised an eyebrow, as if he were trying to be stern, but the amusement in his eyes gave him away.
I couldn't help but laugh at that. "Oh come on, she gives as good as she gets."
"True," Chacha conceded, laughing along with me. "But you're always one step ahead. Just like your dad was."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning a little more serious, though the warmth in his voice never faded. "That's what makes you a natural leader, Aditi. You're not just smart—you've got that spark, that charisma, and a knack for bringing people together. Sameer had it, and so do you."
I looked down, feeling a rush of emotions again, but this time, there was more warmth than sadness. I had always admired my dad's leadership qualities, the way he could make anyone feel at ease, how he could inspire people without even trying. Hearing Chacha say that he saw those same qualities in me—it meant the world.
"But don't worry," Chacha added with a wink, breaking the moment before it got too heavy again. "I'm sure Anaya will keep you on your toes if you ever get too big for your boots."
I laughed, imagining my little sister throwing some sass my way. "Oh, she already does. You've got no idea."
"Oh, I have some idea," Chacha said with a knowing smile. "She's inherited the mischievous gene too, I'm afraid."
We both laughed at that, the heaviness in the air lifting as we shared this lighter moment. It felt good, like a release after everything I had just let out. I leaned back into the sofa, feeling more at peace now, surrounded by love and laughter.
And as I looked at Chacha, I could see it—the way he truly believed in me, the way he saw me not just as his daughter, but as someone with the potential to lead, to carve my own path. Just like my dad, Sameer, would have wanted.
"Thanks, Papa," I said softly, smiling up at him. "For believing in me."
He smiled back, his eyes full of pride. "Always, beta. Always."