Epilogue 2.0
The morning was a blur of tiny socks, undone ribbons, spilled milk, and a pink backpack bigger than the little girl carrying it.
Ambika malhotra — dressed in her neatly pressed uniform, her hair braided with butterfly clips, and her shoes gleaming like a soldier ready for war — stood at the door with her hands on her hips.
“Mumma, Papa is crying again,” she said with the disapproval of a five-year-old who already knew she ran the house.
Ira sighed and turned from the mirror where she was applying her bindi. “Oh God, again?”
“I’m not crying,” came Aarav’s very hoarse, very suspicious voice from the hallway.
Ira peeked out and found her six-foot-two husband standing near the staircase, hiding behind the curtain with actual tears in his eyes, clutching his daughter’s old unicorn plushie like a wounded soldier.
She walked up to him, arms folded. “What exactly are you doing, Mr. Malhotra?”
He sniffled. “Just... just remembering when she fit in my arm. Now she’s going to school. What if she needs water and forgets her bottle? What if a boy tries to talk to her? She’s too tiny to handle this world, ira. We could wait another year—”
“Aarav Malhotra,” ira narrowed her eyes, “you’re the same man who made arms deals across continents without blinking. You once threatened a man in five languages at once.”
He blinked innocently. “And I’ll do it again. Especially if that little brat jay from the play area tries to talk to her again.”
“Aarav Malhotra!”
“She said he touched her crayon!”
“IT’S A CRAYON!”
Meanwhile, ambika walked up, holding a juice box. “Papa, if you cry one more time, I’m taking Mumma’s last name.”
Aarav gasped, properly wounded now. “You wouldn’t…”
Ira couldn’t hold her laughter anymore. She bent down and hugged her daughter tightly, adjusting her ID card. “Okay my baby, first day of school, are you excited?”
Ambika beamed. “Yes! But I think Papa should take the day off and go nap.”
Aarav wiped his eyes. “I will follow the school bus.”
“No, you won’t,” ira and ambika said at the same time.
—
As the school bus finally pulled away, ambika waved enthusiastically through the window.
Ira waved too.
Aarav?
He was already searching her backpack photo album again.
Ira slid her hand into his and whispered, “Want me to make your favorite chai when we go home?”
He looked at her like a puppy abandoned by his favorite human. “Will there be cookies?”
Ira smiled. “Only if you stop crying.”
He nodded solemnly. “Okay. But only until 2:00 PM. That’s when she comes back.”
2:00 PM sharp. The school gates opened.
Parents waited calmly. Quietly.
Except one.
Aarav Malhotra stood dead center at the gate in a black suit, sunglasses on, holding a water bottle, a hand towel, an umbrella (despite no sun), a juice box, and a bouquet of flowers. Yes, flowers. For his daughter.
Other parents looked at him like he was from another planet.
Ira stood a few feet back, holding her laughter behind her palm. “Aarav… she went to school, not war.”
“She’s my princess. I had to prepare.”
“You brought flowers!”
“What if she missed me?”
Before ira could reply, ambika came running through the gates, her bag bouncing behind her, arms wide open, hair messy, cheeks flushed with joy.
“PAPAAAAA!!”
He bent down, catching her like he’d waited years instead of a few hours. “My baby! Did anyone trouble you? Are you okay? Were the teachers nice? Did you eat all your lunch?”
Ambika, breathless, giggled. “Papa, chill! I’m not a baby.”
Aarav held her tighter. “You’ll always be my baby.”
She grinned and kissed his cheek before grabbing the juice box. “Thank you! This is my favorite!”
He looked like he won the lottery. “You remembered…”
Ira rolled her eyes but smiled. Her whole world, wrapped up in these two.
After some weeks, It was a quiet evening. Ira was in the kitchen with sunita maa, chopping veggies. Aarav, Kabir was on the floor, trying to help ambika with her coloring homework, even though she was bossing him around.
“Use sky blue, Papa. Not ocean blue. Do you even know the difference?”
“I'm the one who created you,” he muttered.
Shut up bhai she is a kid, Kabir said
Suddenly, ambika looked up with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Papa?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I have a boyfriend in school.”
The crayon in Aarav’s hand snapped in half.
Ira’s knife paused mid-chop.
Aarav blinked once. Then twice.
“…what?”
"Who is he? "Kabir ask
“He gives me cookies from his tiffin. And shares his crayons too. He says he’ll protect me from Aditya who pulls hair.”
Silence.
“What’s his name?” Aarav asked, deadly calm.
Ambika smiled sweetly. “Rohit.”
Aarav stood up.
Ira grabbed his hand mid-motion. “Sit.”
“She said boyfriend, ira darling! What does she mean by boyfriend?!”
Ambika sipped her milk. “It’s okay, Papa. I told him you’re scarier than the principal.”
Aarav froze… then sat back down, trying not to cry.
Ira chuckled, kissed his forehead and said, “Welcome to fatherhood. Stage two begins.”
Later that day,
Aarav sat at the head of the dinner table, rubbing his temples.
“I told you both to stay calm,” he muttered.
Kabir stood dramatically. “Calm?! Bro, a man gave our princess a cookie. A homemade cookie. That’s intimate.”
Vivian was already pulling out his phone. “Give me the school CCTV footage. I’ll run a background check on his parents.”
Ira dropped her spoon. “You’re kidding, right?”
Kabir turned to her, eyes wide. “Bhabhi, he gave her his crayons. That’s childhood-level commitment. Next, he’ll be passing her love letters on napkins!”
Vivian nodded gravely. “This is how it starts. First, it’s snack time. Then it’s teenage heartbreak. We must stop this at the root.”
Ambika peeked into the dining room just in time to hear Kabir say, “I’m going to school dressed as a clown and ruin snack break for him forever.”
Her eyes widened. “Mumma!” she yelled, rushing into ira’s arms. “They’re going to kill Rohit!”
Ira whispered, “No, baby. They’re just… stupid.”
Aarav looked up, deadpan. “I’m still voting for military school.”
Vivian handed his phone to Kabir. “Look at this. Rohit’s dad once posted a tweet saying ‘Pineapple belongs on pizza.’ He’s unstable.”
Kabir gasped. “It runs in the family.”
Ira groaned. “You three are being dramatic.”
Ambika tugged Simran’s hand. “Can I still give Rohit a cookie tomorrow?”
All three Rathore men said in unison: “No.”
Ambika huffed. “Then I’ll marry him!”
A fork dropped.
Aarav nearly choked on water.
Kabir gripped the table.
Vivian fainted.
Ira calmly picked up her daughter and walked away. “We’re going to grandma’s for the weekend. You three need therapy.”
The next day, chaos was suspiciously absent from the malhotra mansion.
Vivian and Kabir were quiet. Too quiet.
That meant trouble.
They were hunched over a document on the dining table, whispering like two overgrown teenagers plotting mischief.
“Bro, add a clause about no eye contact with boys until she’s thirty,” Kabir said, scribbling like a madman.
Vivian nodded. “Also no exchanging lunchboxes, and if she ever says ‘He’s just a friend,’ we launch a background check.”
Once the sacred "No-Boyfriend-Until-30" document was ready, they needed the final piece of the puzzle: Ambika malhotra’s signature.
She was five.
She also had no clue what they were up to.
Kabir walked into the playroom, holding the rolled-up paper like it was a golden scroll.
"Princess," he said sweetly, kneeling beside her. "We need your autograph for... a secret superhero club."
Vivian chimed in dramatically, “Only special girls can join. But only if they give their thumbprint too.”
Ambika’s eyes sparkled. “Wow! Okayyy!”
With all the seriousness of a queen signing a royal treaty, she grabbed a crayon, wrote “Ambika” in her adorably wobbly handwriting, and gave them a big thumbprint in pink glitter ink.
Kabir and Vivian exchanged victorious smirks, then exploded into the living room like they’d just won the IPL.
“WE DID IT!” Kabir screamed.
Vivian spun the signed document in the air. “SHE CAN’T HAVE A BOYFRIEND UNTIL SHE’S THIRTY!”
They high-fived. Twice.
Aarav, lounging on the couch with a book, looked up slowly. “What did you two do?”
Kabir slapped the document into his hands like a contract straight from the heavens.
Aarav read it once. Then twice. His lips twitched.
“You tricked a five-year-old into signing a lifelong boyfriend ban?”
Vivian nodded proudly. “And she thumbprinted it. Legally binding. Glitter ink.”
Aarav stared at them. “You both need a job.”
“I have a job!” Kabir protested.
“I mean one that doesn’t involve emotionally blackmailing toddlers,” Aarav said dryly.
Just then, ira walked in and asked why the entire house was echoing with maniac laughter.
Aarav silently handed her the document.
Ira blinked. Then raised an eyebrow. “You’re aware she can’t even read ‘boyfriend’ yet, right?”
Vivian and Kabir grinned.
“That’s the point.”
After months later,
The school auditorium buzzed with light chatter—parents seated in neat rows, some kids hanging around the back, teachers prepping presentations.
But Aarav Malhotra?
He was scanning every single 5-year-old boy like they were criminal suspects.
“Aarav, please,” ira whispered through clenched teeth. “They’re children. Toddlers. Not arms dealers.”
“That’s what they want you to think,” he muttered, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses like he was in a Mission Impossible film. “Where’s this… Rohit?”
Ira facepalmed.
Suddenly, a cheerful, chubby boy came bouncing up to ambika at the juice table.
“Hi ambika!” he grinned, handing her a cookie.
Aarav tensed like someone had slapped him.
Ira instinctively held his arm down. “Don’t.”
But it was too late. The Alpha Dad was already approaching.
He knelt down in front of Rohit, smile calm—but terrifying. “So... you’re Rohit?”
Rohit, unaware of death staring him in the face, nodded cheerfully. “Yes, uncle!”
“Do you like cookies?” Aarav asked.
“Yeah! I give ambika cookies every day!”
Ira watched with a mix of horror and amusement as Aarav leaned in.
“You know, Rohit… cookies cause cavities. And cavities mean the dentist. And dentists have needles. Long, scary needles.”
Rohit blinked. “Oh…”
Ambika, arms crossed behind her, suddenly stepped in.
“Papa! Stop threatening my friend!”
Rohit looked horrified. “I’m her boyfriend!”
Aarav stood straight, jaw twitching. “Friend.” He turned to ira. “I’m calling the principal.”
Ira held his hand. “You call the principal, and I’m calling your mother.”
Aarav paled. “Fine.”
—
Later that evening, at home:
Ambika was showing ira her drawing.
Aarav sat in the corner, staring at the wall.
“She defended him, ira baby . In front of me. With hands on her hips and everything.”
Ira patted his head. “She gets that from me.”
“She used the tone.”
Ira nodded proudly. “Definitely me.”
Aarav sighed dramatically, “I want another baby. A boy. One I can train. One who won’t betray me for crayons.”
Ira snorted. “Fine. But only if you behave at the next PTA.”
He looked hopeful. “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”
“God help Rohit if you come next time.”