•| TWELVE |•
The next day felt strangely heavier than usual — as if the air itself knew your life was about to change forever.
The college campus that once felt like your safe space suddenly seemed temporary, fragile…
like something that was slowly slipping out of your hands.
You were walking beside Riya through the corridor, your bag hanging loosely on your shoulder while your thoughts remained tangled in last night’s dinner, Krish’s nod, and the wedding talks that followed afterward.
“You’re going to get married… I’m gonna miss you so much,” Riya suddenly said, her voice turning overly emotional as she hugged you tightly from the side, almost crushing your arm against you.
You groaned loudly in irritation, rolling your eyes as you tried to pry her off.
“Can you please shut up?” you snapped, though there was no real anger behind it — just frustration, nervousness, and denial all bundled together. “I’ll continue my studies after marriage, okay! I’m not dying!”
Your sudden outburst made her flinch dramatically as she placed a hand on her chest.
“Wow… attitude already. Marriage hasn’t even happened yet and madam has changed.”
You scoffed, pushing her lightly.
“Yeah yeah, don’t yell at me. Now come on, let’s go to the canteen. I’m starving.”
You stopped mid-step and turned to her with disbelief written all over your face.
“You’re always hungry. Do you even study or just eat?”
“Food is emotional support,” she replied proudly, flipping her hair.
You shook your head helplessly, but a small smile finally crept onto your lips as both of you headed toward the canteen stairs — the familiar noise of students, laughter, and clattering plates slowly easing your mind.
But just as you reached near the entrance —
A man in a perfectly tailored black suit stepped in front of you, blocking your path politely.
Both of you blinked in confusion.
He looked completely out of place — formal, composed, holding a huge bouquet of fresh red roses wrapped in glossy paper.
For a second, you thought he must’ve mistaken you for someone else.
Then he spoke.
“This is for you, Miss Samira.”
Your brows knitted instantly.
“Me?” you asked, pointing at yourself, while Riya’s jaw slowly dropped in curiosity.
You both looked at each other in synchronized confusion before turning back to him.
“But… I didn’t order anything,” you said cautiously.
The man gave a professional smile.
“It’s from Mr. Mehra. He asked me to deliver this to you personally.” Your brain froze.
“Mr… Mehra?” you repeated slowly.
And before you could even process that —
He extended another luxury bag toward you.
“And these chocolates as well, ma’am.” Riya gasped loudly beside you like she’d just witnessed a movie proposal scene.
You, however, stood there stunned — staring at the roses… then the chocolates… then back at the suited man — your mind replaying Krish’s arrogant face from yesterday.
That old uncle sent me roses?
A few moments ago — back at the Mehra mansion — the morning had started far less peacefully than it should have.
Krish was standing near his study table, sleeves folded up to his forearms, reviewing some important company documents on his laptop while mentally preparing for the long chain of meetings lined up for the day.
His face, as always, carried that cold, disciplined sharpness — the same intimidating aura that made his employees nervous and his business rivals cautious.
But the moment he sensed a tiny presence hovering near the door… he didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.
Kiaan.
Krish leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly before closing the laptop halfway.
“What do you want now, little man?” he asked, though his tone had already softened a fraction.
Kiaan walked in with slow, deliberate steps — far too calm for a four-year-old — his tiny hands clasped behind his back like he was about to present a business deal.
Krish narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
That smile on Kiaan’s face?
Dangerous.
“Send flowers… and chocolate… to mommy.”
Krish’s pen froze mid-signature.
Slowly, he looked up.
“Excuse me?”
Kiaan smiled wider, repeating innocently, “Send flowers and chocolate to mommy.”
Krish leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he stared at his son with narrowed eyes.
“You want me to send a flower bouquet… and chocolates… to Samira?” Krish repeated slowly after hearing his son’s demand.
Kiaan nodded immediately, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his face as if he’d just suggested the most brilliant idea in the world.
Krish blinked once.
Then twice.
Then he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back further, staring at his son in disbelief.
He shook his head firmly before pushing his chair back and crouching down in front of him so their eyes were level.
“Listen here, little boy,” he said, raising one brow in warning. “I’m not going to do that.”
His tone wasn’t harsh — but it was final.
Or at least… he thought it was.
Because Kiaan didn’t argue.
He just… kept smiling.
That made Krish suspicious instantly.
“Why are you smiling like that?” he asked slowly.
Instead of answering — Kiaan slowly brought his hands from behind his back.
And Krish’s entire expression froze.
In Kiaan’s tiny grip… was his external hard disk.
The hard disk.
The one containing confidential company files, project blueprints, financial reports — months of irreplaceable work.
Krish’s eyes widened.
“Kiaan…” he said carefully, voice dropping an octave. “You’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”
Kiaan tilted his head innocently… then raised his brows — copying his father’s exact expression.
“Please, Dad,” he said sweetly. “Or else…”
He dangled the hard disk slightly over the edge of the study table.
Krish shot up to his full height immediately.
“Okay — okay — STOP.” He ran a hand down his face in disbelief before pointing at his son.
“Put that down. Gently. Slowly. Like a civilized human being.” Kiaan giggled but didn’t move.
Krish groaned, rubbing his forehead in frustration.
“Fine… I’ll do it. I’ll send the stupid bouquet and chocolates. Happy?” Kiaan’s face lit up instantly like a festival lamp.
He carefully placed the hard disk back on the table and clapped his hands in victory.
Krish stared at him in betrayed disbelief.
“Why are you like this, huh?” he muttered, still massaging his temple.
Kiaan puffed his chest proudly, “Because I’m your son. I’m just like you.” Krish froze for a second… then let out a soft laugh despite himself.
He bent down again, cupping Kiaan’s cheeks gently.
“Yes… you’re my son,” he murmured, eyes softening in a way the world rarely saw. “Thank God you didn’t get your chea—” he stopped mid-sentence.
The unfinished word hung heavy in the air.
A shadow flickered across his face — the ghost of a past he hated remembering.
Before Kiaan could even notice the shift… Krish pulled him into a tight hug, pressing the child’s head against his chest.
“You’re my son,” he repeated quietly, kissing his hair.
Kiaan hugged him back just as tightly, completely unaware of the storm his father had just swallowed back inside.