•| FORTY TWO |•
The entire car ride back to the mansion felt suffocatingly silent, the kind of silence that presses against your ears and makes every unspoken word heavier.
Kiaan sat in the back seat, turned slightly toward the window, his small arms folded stubbornly across his chest, his tear-streaked face reflected faintly in the glass.
He didn’t look at his father even once. Not when Krish glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
Not when he cleared his throat nervously.
Not even when he softly called out, “Kiaan… champ?” His voice was cautious, fragile. There was no response.
The only sound inside the car was the faint hum of the engine and Kiaan’s occasional sniffle.
Krish swallowed hard. “I know you’re upset,” he tried again, forcing steadiness into his tone.
“But papa is here… hmm? We’ll talk, okay?
” Still nothing. Kiaan’s jaw tightened, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the seat.
After a few moments, he muttered under his breath, barely audible, “You made mumma cry.” The words were simple, but they struck Krish harder than any accusation could. His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, more to himself than to his son.
“I never wanted to hurt her.” But Kiaan had already turned his face completely away, refusing to engage further. Every attempt Krish made after that—soft apologies, gentle questions, promises to explain—fell into the void.
Soon, the tall gates of their mansion came into view, opening automatically as the car approached.
Krish parked without another word, stepped out, and handed the keys silently to the driver who had just arrived to take the car to the garage.
He walked around to open the back door for Kiaan, but before he could say anything, the little boy jumped out on his own and marched toward the entrance, his tiny shoulders stiff with hurt.
As they stepped inside, the grand doors swung open to reveal Mrs. Mehra standing there with a warm smile.
“Welcome back!” she greeted cheerfully. “I just came back in the evening and didn’t find you all at home.
I was wondering where my family disappeared to.
” Her smile, however, faltered when she noticed the tension hanging between them.
Before she could say anything more, Kiaan rushed past her without even offering his usual hug. “Kiaan?” she called out in surprise. “What happened to him?” But the boy was already running upstairs. The sound of his bedroom door slamming echoed through the hall.
Mrs. Mehra turned back to Krish, confusion turning into concern when she noticed his swollen, red eyes and trembling lips. “Krish…?” she stepped closer, cupping his face lightly. “Did you cry?” Her voice softened immediately.
“Wait… where’s Samira? Didn’t she go with you?
Samira?” she called out instinctively as if her daughter-in-law might appear from behind him.
When there was no answer, her brows furrowed deeply.
“Krish, why are you not saying anything?” His chest rose and fell heavily as he tried to gather the courage to speak.
Finally, in a broken whisper, he said, “She… she left us. Because of my fault, mom.” His voice cracked completely at the end, tears spilling over despite his attempt to hold them back.
Mrs. Mehra froze. “W-what?” she stammered, her hand slowly dropping from his cheek.
“What do you mean she left? What happened? Did you both fight? Krish, tell me clearly.” He shook his head weakly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“She saw something she shouldn’t have… and now she thinks I betrayed her.
” His breathing became uneven. “I tried explaining, but she didn’t believe me.
She went to her parents’ house. She said she needs time.
” Mrs. Mehra stared at him in disbelief.
“You let her go?” she asked softly, pain evident in her voice.
“I didn’t stop her,” he admitted, guilt written all over his face.
“Because I knew she needed space. And… Kiaan thinks I made her cry. He won’t even look at me.” His shoulders slumped as though the weight of the entire world had settled upon them. Mrs. Mehra’s eyes filled with tears as well, her heart aching for her son yet worried sick for her daughter-in-law.
“Krish,” she said gently but firmly, “marriages don’t break because of misunderstandings…
but they can break because of ego and silence.
You need to fix this. Before that child loses both his parents emotionally.
” And standing there in the grand hallway of a house that suddenly felt painfully empty, Krish realized that the absence of one person could make even the biggest mansion feel like a hollow shell.
He sat on the floor beside his mother like he used to as a child, resting his head on her lap while she stroked his damp hair gently, her saree pallu absorbing the silent tears that slipped from his eyes.
“I really didn’t mean to do it, mom,” he whispered brokenly, staring blankly at the marble floor.
“I would never hurt her intentionally. You know me… I’ve made mistakes before, but not this.
Not with Samira. She’s… she’s my life.” His voice trembled at the last words.
Mrs. Mehra kept caressing his hair in slow, soothing motions.
“Shh… it’s okay,” she murmured softly, though her own heart felt heavy.
“I know my son. And I know my daughter. This is a misunderstanding, not the end.” He closed his eyes tightly, clinging to her reassurance like a drowning man to a lifeline.
“She looked at me like I was a stranger,” he confessed.
“Like everything I ever said to her meant nothing.” His mother tilted his chin up slightly so he would look at her.
“Then prove to her that it meant everything,” she said gently.
“Bring her back—not by force, not by pressure—but by earning back her trust. I know you’ll bring my daughter back.
” Her words carried both hope and quiet command.
Krish immediately nodded, almost desperately.
“I will. I will get back her trust. Even if it takes time. Even if I have to start from zero.”
Later that night, after sitting alone in his room for what felt like hours, staring at the empty space beside his bed where Samira usually slept, he picked up his phone and dialed her number.
Once. Twice. Five times. Each call rang endlessly before disconnecting.
He pressed his lips together, trying not to let frustration overpower his patience.
“Just pick up once… please,” he whispered to the silent screen.
When she still didn’t answer, he hesitated before scrolling to another contact—Mr. Nair.
His fingers hovered for a moment before pressing call.
The ringing felt louder than usual in the quiet room.
After a few seconds, the call connected.
“Hello?” came her mother’s warm but slightly cautious voice from the other end.
Krish swallowed nervously. For a moment, words failed him.
“Krish?” she asked again, recognizing the silence.
“Y-yes, mom… it’s me,” he replied quickly, his tone respectful yet strained. He paused, gathering courage.
“Is Samira there? She’s not picking my calls, so I thought maybe—” “Yes,” her mother interrupted gently, “she’s here.
I think she’s sleeping right now. She was very tired.
” The underlying meaning in her voice didn’t go unnoticed.
There was a small pause before she continued softly, “Krish… I know you both fought.” He let out a long breath.
“Mom, I can explain—” “You don’t have to,” she said calmly, surprising him.
“I trust you.” The simplicity of those three words made his throat tighten.
“Thank you, mom,” he whispered sincerely, relief washing over him for the first time that night.
After a few more polite exchanges, the call ended. He stared at the blank screen for a moment before a faint smile appeared on his face. At least someone believed him.
At least someone hadn’t doubted his intentions.
But the fragile comfort quickly faded when his mind drifted to Kiaan—the way his son had refused to look at him, the accusation in his tiny voice: You made mumma cry.
Krish leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes as the weight of it all settled again.
Winning back Samira’s trust would be hard—but rebuilding the faith in his child’s eyes might be even harder.