•| FIVE |•
The silence in the hallway felt heavier than any argument that had filled the house minutes ago.
Krish was still standing there, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight, breathing uneven—not from anger anymore, but from guilt. The sound of Kiaan’s tiny, breaking voice kept replaying in his mind like an echo he couldn’t shut off.
“Dad don’t love Kiaan…”
It pierced deeper than anything else ever could.
Behind him, Mrs. Mehra walked out slowly from the kitchen, her anger now replaced with quiet concern. She stopped a few steps away from him, watching her son struggle with emotions he rarely allowed himself to show.
“Krish…” she called softly.
He didn’t turn, but he heard her.
“Please do it… just for Kiaan,” she said in a low, tired voice. “Not for me. Not even for yourself… just for him.”
Her words weren’t forceful this time.
They were gentle.
Heavy with truth.
Krish shut his eyes briefly.
For years he had resisted remarriage—not because proposals never came, but because he never let them reach him. The wounds left by his wife’s betrayal had turned into walls he refused to lower.
But Kiaan…
Kiaan was the one place where those walls cracked.
He exhaled slowly—long, defeated… but resolute.
“Fine,” he said at last, voice low but clear.
Mrs. Mehra straightened slightly.
“I’ll do it,” he continued. “I’ll marry her… just for Kiaan.”
Relief washed over her face instantly—relief mixed with gratitude she didn’t voice out loud.
But Krish didn’t wait for a response.
He was already walking toward Kiaan’s room.
The door was half-closed.
He pushed it open gently.
Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the small night lamp near the bed. Kiaan sat curled up on the mattress, hugging his stuffed toy tightly, face buried in it.
Krish’s chest tightened at the sight.
He walked slowly, carefully, as if approaching something fragile.
“Kiaan… baby,” he called softly.
The boy didn’t respond.
Krish sat beside him on the bed and pulled him gently into his arms despite the resistance.
“Dad is sorry,” he whispered, pressing his cheek against Kiaan’s hair. “Please forgive me.”
For a moment, Kiaan stayed stiff… upset.
Then his tiny hands slowly clutched his father’s shirt.
Krish hugged him tighter, kissing his temple, his cheeks—everywhere—as if trying to erase the hurt he had caused.
“I didn’t mean to shout at you,” he murmured. “Dad loves you the most… you know that, right?”
Kiaan sniffled softly before pulling back just enough to look at him.
“Promise me…” he said, voice still shaky.
Krish brushed his tears away gently. “What promise?”
“That… you’ll marry her,” Kiaan said. “And make her my momma.”
The innocence in his request hit Krish harder than any accusation could.
He stared at his son for a long second—seeing hope there… longing… the quiet absence of a mother he had tried so hard to fill alone.
Krish leaned forward and kissed Kiaan’s forehead slowly.
“I promise,” he said.
Then he kissed both his cheeks again, making the boy giggle faintly through leftover tears.
“I’ll marry her,” he repeated softly. “Just for you.”
Kiaan’s face lit up instantly, sadness dissolving like it had never existed. He wrapped his arms around Krish’s neck in a tight hug.
Behind the half-open door, Mrs. Mehra stood silently, watching the moment unfold.
Her eyes glistened—not from sadness, but from relief.
Because for the first time in years…
Krish had agreed to open the door he had kept shut.
Even if it was only for his son.
Even if his heart wasn’t ready yet.
Fate, however…
Was already moving faster than any of them realized.
Meanwhile, inside the modest Nair household, the atmosphere was far from calm.
The house was quiet, wrapped in the stillness that usually came after dinner. The ceiling fan hummed softly overhead, and the faint sound of utensils being washed in the kitchen echoed through the small living space.
But inside Samira's room…
Peace was far from present.
“Mom… how can you agree to this without my consent?” Samira asked, her voice trembling slightly—not loud, but heavy with disbelief.
Samira's mother didn’t answer immediately. She continued folding clothes as though the conversation was ordinary, as though she hadn’t just informed you about a life-altering decision.
“He’s a nice guy,” she said casually after a moment. “And rich too. I’m doing this for you only.”
The words stung more than comforted.
Samira stepped closer, frustration mixing with anxiety.
“But what about my studies?” you pressed, your brows knitting together. “I’m in my final year. My exams are coming. I can’t just—”
“Thank God they agreed for that,” your father interrupted from the chair where he sat reading documents.
You turned to him instantly.
“You can study further after marriage,” he continued calmly, as if that solved everything. “They promised.”
Your shoulders dropped slightly.
That was the one thing you had been terrified of losing—your education, your independence, your dreams.
“And… you’ll be living comfortably,” your mother added. “You won’t have to struggle like this anymore. No more part-time jobs, no more financial stress. Your life will be secure.”
Secure.
The word echoed in your mind.
Samira looked between them—her parents—seeing certainty in their expressions. Hope, even. As if this marriage was the answer to struggles they had never been able to solve for you.
A part of you wanted to argue more… to say you weren’t ready… that you didn’t even know the man…
But another part—the dutiful daughter raised to prioritize her parents’ wishes—held you back.
You exhaled slowly.
“…Okay,” you said quietly.
Both of them looked at you.
“I agree,” you added, though the words felt heavier than they sounded.
Relief spread across your mother’s face instantly.
“I knew you’d understand,” she said, cupping your cheek affectionately.
Your father nodded in approval.
“You won’t regret this,” he assured.
You gave a faint smile—but it didn’t fully reach your eyes.
Because while your mind had accepted the logic…
Your heart was still unsettled.
You walked back to your room slowly, closing the door behind you before leaning against it for a moment.
Marriage.
To a man you had never met.
Your mother had only told you fragments—
He’s rich.
He’s successful.
He runs a big company.
But what about his nature?
Was he kind… or cold?
Understanding… or dominating?
Would he support your dreams… or expect you to give them up despite promises?
The thought alone made your stomach flutter with nervousness.
You shook your head lightly, trying to push the spiraling thoughts away.
“This is useless…” you murmured to yourself.
Walking to your study table, you opened your books, forcing your focus onto your syllabus.
Your final exams were approaching fast.
No matter what was happening in your personal life… your future still depended on these results.
You picked up your pen and began revising, underlining notes, solving questions—
But every few minutes…
Your mind drifted back.
To the unknown man you were about to marry.
The night had settled deeply over the Mehra mansion, wrapping the grand estate in silence. Most of the lights were off now, the long corridors dim, the staff retired to their quarters. Only the soft glow from the upper balcony remained—where Krish stood alone.
He leaned against the cold marble railing, both hands gripping its edge as he stared out into the darkness. The city lights flickered in the distance, blurred by the heaviness in his eyes rather than the night air.
He closed them slowly, inhaling deeply.
The breeze was cool… calming… but it did little to quiet the storm inside him.
Marriage.
The word itself felt foreign now—almost bitter on his tongue.
“All women are the same…” he whispered to himself, voice low, roughened by old wounds. “They need only money… nothing else.”
His jaw tightened unconsciously.
Memories he had buried long ago stirred again—the betrayal, the abandonment, the humiliation of watching someone he had trusted walk away for someone richer, more powerful.
Love had died that day for him.
What remained was responsibility… and distrust.
He exhaled sharply and pushed himself off the railing.
“I’m doing it just for Kiaan,” he murmured, as if reminding himself of the only reason strong enough to make him agree.
Nothing else mattered.
Only his son.
He walked back inside, the balcony doors sliding shut behind him with a soft click.
The hallway lights were dimmed as he made his way to Kiaan’s room. He paused at the door for a second before opening it quietly.
Inside, the soft night lamp cast a warm glow.
Kiaan was already asleep—curled up under his blanket, clutching his stuffed toy, his tiny face peaceful… untouched by the complications of adult decisions.
Krish’s expression softened instantly.
He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a few strands of hair away from Kiaan’s forehead.
“I hope I’m doing the right thing,” he whispered—not expecting an answer.
He leaned down and kissed his son’s forehead gently, lingering there a moment longer than usual.
“I’m doing it just for you, champ.”
Carefully, he lay down beside him, pulling the blanket slightly higher around Kiaan to keep him warm.
The child instinctively shifted closer in sleep, tiny hand gripping his father’s shirt.
Krish wrapped an arm around him protectively, staring at the ceiling in the dim light.
His mind was anything but at peace.
A stranger would soon enter their lives.
A woman he didn’t trust… didn’t know… didn’t want—except for the role she would play for his son.
He closed his eyes slowly.
But sleep came late.
Because even as he lay there holding Kiaan close…
A quiet question lingered in the darkness—
Would this marriage heal old wounds…
Or reopen them?