⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
Tara was now comfortably sitting on the kitchen slab, her tiny feet swinging in the air, babbling random words only she could understand.
One of her little hands was holding the edge of Vidyut’s t-shirt as if to make sure he wouldn’t disappear anywhere. The other hand? Busy pointing at things she had no names for —
“tooto…pam…bup!”
Vidyut stood at the stove, sleeves haphazardly pushed up, flipping a paratha in the pan.
This wasn’t how he planned his afternoon.
But life, lately, had been anything but planned.
Just a while ago, this two-foot-tall tornado had climbed into his lap, hijacked his laptop, and made him play some ridiculous cartoon with a dancing elephant.
And when her stomach had grumbled loud enough to shake the room, she’d looked at him with those puppy eyes as if he was responsible for her hunger.
And somehow — now he was in the kitchen.
“What do you want to eat?” Vidyut asked without looking back.
Tara’s eyes lit up.
“Phata!” she chirped proudly, clapping once.
Vidyut turned slightly, arching a brow.
“Phata?” he repeated.
She nodded furiously. “Phata… phata!”
He stared at her for a second, then sighed.
“You mean paratha, don’t you?”
She giggled, completely unaware of the chaos she brought into his once-silent life.
“Phata!”
“Of course.” He mumbled under his breath, flipping the paratha in the pan again.
“Phata it is, Your Highness.”
Tara was now sitting on the dining table.
And guess where?
Nope, not on the chair.
She was happily settled in the lap of none other than Mr. Rude, Grumpy, Arrogant Vidyut Rajvansh — the man who claimed he didn’t give a damn.
And what was he doing?
Feeding her paratha — not just feeding, but literally giving her the tiniest pieces in the whole world, carefully tearing it up like he was handling a glass doll.
Tara was munching on them, her cheeks puffed adorably, her legs swinging back and forth in joy.
Can you believe it?
Vidyut Rajvansh — the man who didn’t tolerate a single sound in his space — was now sitting with a tornado in his lap, matching her pace, even wiping her chin every time she got messy.
But then she coughed, just a little.
And Vidyut, in a flash, placed her gently on the dining table, her tiny frame stable and still giggling, and walked towards the kitchen to get water.
No shouting. No drama. Just concern.
???????
On the other side, the front door opened.
Ritvika entered the house — not with happiness, not with a smile. Just silence.
Her eyes were tired, her face pale, but the only thing her eyes searched for, the only thing that mattered — was Tara.
Her eyes scanned the room desperately.
“Tara… taruu baby, where are you?”
Ritvika’s voice echoed through the hallway, her tone desperate, breath uneven.
She had just stepped in, her heart still aching, her mind shattered, but her first instinct—her only priority—was her daughter.
From inside the dining area, a tiny voice immediately responded,
“Mummaaaa!”
Tara stood on the dining table, trying to descend with her tiny legs struggling to find balance.
In a heartbeat, Ritvika rushed and caught her mid-fall, wrapping her tightly in her arms. Her heart thudded wildly as if it would leap out of her chest.
“Betu! Kya kar rahe the aap?” she asked, still catching her breath, scanning her daughter’s face for signs of injury.
(Betu! What were you doing?)
But her eyes fell on something else—a stark red bandage wrapped around Tara’s knee.
Her world stopped.
“Bacchu… yeh… yeh kya hua?” Ritvika asked again, her voice now shaking, her hands gently touching the bandage with concern.
Tara scrunched her nose and pointed toward the floor with her tiny finger.
“Mumma… bal. Flor.”
[Bad. Floor.]
Ritvika’s brows furrowed in confusion, trying to understand her words, her chest tightening.
Just then, footsteps echoed.
Vidyut entered, holding a glass of water in his hand.
Ritvika immediately turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mixture of panic and protectiveness as she clutched Tara tightly.
His eyes met hers—calm, unreadable. But before anything else, the unspoken storm lingered between them.
Ritvika held Tara tightly in her arms, worry clouding her face. Her eyes scanned the bandage again before flickering toward Vidyut as he walked out of the kitchen holding a glass of water.
Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper,
"Yeh... yeh chot kaise lagi?"
(How did this... how did this injury happen)
Vidyut placed the glass on the table, letting out a sigh as if already irritated,
“She was running around like she owns the damn house. Slipped near the hallway—nothing major.
I cleaned the wound and put a bandage. She's fine.”
Ritvika lowered her eyes, nodding slightly. She didn’t dare question him further.
But Vidyut wasn’t done.
He looked at Tara—who was now happily poking her finger on Ritvika’s chin—and then back at Ritvika with visible frustration in his jaw.
“By the way,” he started, his voice sharper now, “your daughter turned me into her full-time servant today.”
Ritvika looked up, confused but silent.
“I mean, are you sure she’s just two?” he snapped, eyeing Tara with mock suspicion. “Because she doesn't act two.”
He folded his arms and continued with exaggerated annoyance.
“She climbed into my lap while I was working. Hijacked my laptop like some tech boss. Then she started yelling some weird words—‘olen it’, ‘tholo’—and I was just sitting there like a fool trying to figure it out.”
He mimicked Tara’s voice mockingly and pointed toward the now-smiling toddler in Ritvika’s arms.
“Turns out, she was ordering me to open her chocolate. And when I didn’t obey fast enough, she gave me a look. A look, Ritvika. Like I’m her damn employee.”
Ritvika stood frozen, tightening her hold on Tara, unsure of how to respond. She nodded faintly, avoiding his gaze.
But Vidyut kept going, letting his frustration vent out,
“Then she made me play some stupid animal cartoon and when her highness got hungry, guess who had to cook paratha? Me. Again.”
He pointed to himself.
“I swear,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead, “next time she gives me that stare, I’ll just run out of the house before I lose my mind.”
Tara, still in Ritvika’s arms, blinked at Vidyut and in her innocent voice said,
“yummm… para…tha…” and clapped.
Vidyut stared at her for a second, blinking.
“Great,” he muttered sarcastically. “Now she rates my cooking too.”
Ritvika lowered her eyes again, clutching Tara gently to her chest.
No smile.
No warmth.
Just quiet fear… and confusion about what kind of man she was now tied to. This house was nothing like the hell she came from — but he still scared her.
???????
It was 2 a.m.
The whole mansion was drowned in a deep silence, except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the gentle, rhythmic breathing of two souls sleeping in perfect sync—Vidyut Rajvansh and Tara.
Yes, Tara. Curled into his chest like she belonged there. Her tiny fingers fisted the fabric of his t-shirt, her head resting against his heart, as if this had always been her home.
Two nights. That’s all it took.
Two nights of silent acceptance, of bedtime after dinner where Vidyut didn’t need to say anything anymore.
He just quietly picked her up in his arms and walked to the room, and Tara?
She followed with her giggles and random stories, babbling about cartoon elephants, dancing frogs, and “cho-chos” (chocolates), as if the man who once scared everyone was her secret best friend.
Ritvika, who once trembled in fear thinking he’d lash out at her child, now stood in the balcony — broken, torn, but oddly… relieved.
Not because everything was okay, but because her daughter was safe. At least for now.
But she wasn’t okay.
The panic from the hospital visit hadn’t left her. The word surgery had clung to her like a curse, and the congenital hole in her heart had now cracked something inside her own spirit.
She hadn’t shed a single tear in front of Tara. Not even in front of herself.
But now, standing under the cold breeze at 2 a.m., her body numb and her mind choking under the weight of thoughts, she pulled out her phone.
Scrolling through the contacts, her trembling fingers paused on one name — Roohi.
A friend. Perhaps the only person she had left to talk to.
She typed slowly:
“Hey… can you call me?”
She didn’t expect a reply at this hour. But within a minute, her phone lit up.
Incoming Call: Roohi.
Ritvika stared at the screen for a second before quietly answering, bringing the phone to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Ritu? Is everything okay? Why are you awake this late? Tara’s alright, na?” Roohi’s voice was filled with concern.
Ritvika took a deep breath, steadying her tone.
“Haan sab theek hai… Tara bhi theek hai…” she replied, her voice calm and even.
(Yes, everything is fine… Tara is also fine…)
There was a pause on the other end, as if Roohi was waiting for something more.
But Ritvika didn’t offer it.
After a moment, she spoke again, a little hesitantly,
“Roohi… voh… I actually wanted to ask for a favour.”
“Haan haan, bol na. Tu keh toh sahi.”
“Kya… kya tu mujhe kuch paise de sakti hai? Around… 10,000?” Ritvika asked carefully, her eyes fixed on the sleeping form of her daughter inside the room.
“Oh… okay… kuch urgent hai kya?”
“Nahi… bas thoda zarurat tha. If it’s not possible, it’s okay, really…”
“Pagal hai kya? Don’t be formal with me, yaar. I’ll transfer it by morning. Thoda late ho gaya hai abhi, bank app login ka issue aa raha hai. Par kal subah first thing, pakka.”
(Are you crazy? Don't be formal with me, friend. I will transfer it by morning. It is a bit late now, I am facing issue with bank app login. But first thing tomorrow morning, for sure)
A soft, almost invisible sigh left Ritvika’s lips.
“Thank you, Roohi… really. I’ll return it soon.”
“Chup kar, yaar. Tu hamesha aise kyun bolti hai? And agar kuch aur chahiye ho toh bas bata dena. Okay?”
(Shut up. Why do you always talk like this? And if you need anything else, just tell me. Okay?)
“Haan… good night.”
“Good night.”
Ritvika disconnected the call and stood silently under the stars.
Ritvika rushed into the room, the dim light barely guiding her steps. Her eyes immediately fell on her daughter, Tara, sleeping peacefully on the bed—at least that’s what she thought.
As she moved closer to tuck the blanket properly, her hands brushed Tara’s cheek… and her heart nearly stopped. Her body was burning. Burning with heat.
She froze.
Her instincts roared louder than her thoughts. She quickly placed her palm on Tara’s forehead again.
No… no no no… she’s burning up!
“Tara baby…” she whispered, her voice trembling. She gently shook her.
“Taru utho bacche…” (“Tara, wake up baby…”) she said again, more urgently this time.
Panic clawed her chest.
She scooped Tara in her arms, holding her close while her eyes scanned the room frantically. Where’s the medicine box? Where’s the thermometer?
The sudden sound of shuffling and movement caused Vidyut’s eyes to shoot open. His brows furrowed, still blinking from sleep as he saw Ritvika pacing near the dresser, holding Tara.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, sitting up straight.
Ritvika flinched at his tone, but fear overtook her hesitation.
“Voh… voh aap… thermometer kaha hai?” (“Um… where is the thermometer?”) she asked desperately, her eyes pleading.
That one question was enough to make Vidyut’s expression turn serious. He stood up instantly, the edge in his voice replaced by urgency.
“What happened?” he asked, stepping closer now, noticing Tara’s limp posture in her mother’s arms and her flushed face.
Ritvika could barely speak, her voice breaking—
“Fever… bohot tez hai… please, please bataiye kaha hai… thermometer…”
(“She has a high fever… please tell me where it is… the thermometer…”)
The urgency in Ritvika’s trembling voice made Vidyut snap out of whatever irritation was left in his system.
She was clutching Tara tightly, her voice shaking, her eyes wild with fear.
He moved closer, no longer the grumpy man of iron—but something else entirely. Without saying a word, he gently placed his palm over Tara’s forehead.
And that was enough.
She was burning.
His jaw clenched.
“Shit.”
Without wasting a second, he rushed to the drawer near the vanity, yanked it open and started throwing things out. Where the hell is it?!
Finally, his fingers gripped the digital thermometer.
He strode back to Ritvika, his expression hardening—not in anger, but in sheer panic.
“Give her to me.”
Ritvika hesitated for a second but then handed Tara over, her arms shaking.
Vidyut laid Tara down gently on the bed, cradling her head, and turned on the thermometer.
Seconds ticked like hours.
BEEP.
103.8°F.
His eyes widened. His body tensed.
“KAAKIIII!” he roared, loud enough to shake the walls.
“brING COLD WATER AND A CLOTH RIGHT NOW!”
He didn’t wait for her reply.
“I’m calling the doctor,” he muttered, already dialing, his other hand gently rubbing Tara’s burning arm as if it could reduce the heat.
Ritvika stood frozen, her hands over her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes.
Tara whimpered, her cheeks flushed red, her breath uneven.
And for the first time since she’d entered that house, Ritvika saw it—
The great, grumpy, terrifying Vidyut Rajvansh… trembling.
Not out of fear for himself…
But out of fear for a tiny little girl curled in his arms.
Vidyut’s thumb was pressed hard on the green button, the phone glued to his ear.
Ring… Ring… Ring…
No answer.
He cut the call and dialed again.
Still no answer.
He was holding Tara against his chest, her tiny body blazing like fire, her little fingers barely clinging to his shirt.
Every second felt like a curse.
“Why the hell isn’t he picking up?!” Vidyut gritted, his voice dark and low.
Lata Kaki rushed in, a bowl of cold water and cloth in her hand. Without even looking at her, Vidyut took it and started pressing the cold cloth against Tara’s forehead.
Her skin was scalding. Her face red. Her lips slightly dry.
He dialed the doctor again.
This time, someone picked up.
“Doctor Mehta here.”
“WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!” Vidyut’s voice exploded through the phone, loud enough for Ritvika to flinch again.
“Sir, I was—”
“There’s a two-year-old girl here burning with 104 fever. I don’t care where you were. If you’re not here in the next ten minutes, I’ll make sure your license gets revoked.”
His voice was sharp as a blade.
“Do I make myself clear?”
A pause on the line.
“Y-Yes sir. I’m coming. Right away.”
Vidyut cut the call.
He looked at Tara, her tiny face squirming.
He was trying to remain calm, but it was impossible.
“Ritvika,” he said, not shouting—but his voice still firm, still full of tension.
“She’ll be fine. Just keep talking to her. Keep her awake.”
Ritvika nodded and knelt beside them, her hand on Tara’s small foot.
“Tara baby… dekho mumma yahan hai… aapko kuch nahi hoga, theek hai?”
(“Mumma’s right here… nothing will happen to you, okay?”)
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she whispered calming words to her daughter.
Meanwhile, Vidyut soaked another cloth, wrung it harshly, and pressed it to her neck, his jaw clenched tight.
His mind kept racing.
“If anything happens to her—God, please don’t let anything happen to her…”
And in that moment, all his anger, all his frustration, all his resistance…
Was gone.
All that remained was fear.
For a child who wasn’t even his…
Yet somehow, meant everything.
?? ?
Exactly nine minutes later, the silence of the night was broken by the screech of tires outside the house.
The main door burst open.
Doctor Mehta, still in half his scrubs, rushed in with his stethoscope swinging around his neck and his bag in hand.
“Where’s the patient?” he asked, slightly breathless.
Vidyut didn’t waste a second.
“Here. She’s burning. 104. I kept the cloth. She’s been crying, but now she’s quiet. What the hell is happening? Why is she not reacting properly? What does this mean? Is it normal? What should we do now? Why did the fever spike so fast?”
Doctor Rahul blinked, overwhelmed.
“Mr. Rajvansh—please… let me first examine her.”
Vidyut moved back just a little, his hands still resting protectively on Tara’s tiny body, like he’d pounce if anyone dared hurt her.
Ritvika was sitting behind, eyes swollen, her hands folded near her lips, whispering soft prayers to herself, her breath hitching every few seconds.
The doctor pulled out his thermometer again, checked the readings, placed his stethoscope against Tara’s chest, checked her throat, eyes, breathing.
Then he gently tapped Tara’s cheek.
“Baby… can you open your eyes for me?”
Tara whimpered.
Her forehead wrinkled.
But her eyelids fluttered weakly.
Vidyut took a sharp breath.
That tiny reaction was enough to calm the storm trembling in his chest.
Doctor Mehta nodded, speaking calmly.
“Okay. It’s a viral fever. A strong one. Kids this age often catch it during weather transitions, especially when they’re exhausted or overexposed to temperature changes.”
Vidyut’s questions came again, rapid-fire:
“Will she be okay? How long will it take? Do we need to take her to the hospital? Can this get worse? Will her brain be affected by this fever? Should we run some tests?”
Doctor Rahul offered a faint smile — tired, but understanding.
“I’ve treated hundreds of babies, Mr. Rajvansh.
I promise — she’ll be fine. You did the right thing by keeping her sponged with wet cloths; that’s helped a lot.
No hospitalisation needed right now.
I’ll prescribe a syrup and a fever reducer.
Keep checking her temperature every hour.
Give her sponge baths if needed. And most importantly—keep her hydrated. ”
Vidyut was still watching him like a hawk.
“And if her fever increase?”
Doctor Rahul looked directly into his eyes.
“Call me. Instantly. I’ll come again.”
There was a moment of silence.
And then finally, Ritvika’s voice broke through, small but clear:
“C-Can I… hold her now?” she asked, almost pleading.
Doctor Rahul gave a nod.
“Yes. Keep her close. That will help.”
Vidyut gently shifted Tara into Ritvika’s waiting arms.
The moment Tara nestled against her mother’s chest, she let out a tiny hum and clutched her tightly.
Ritvika closed her eyes, her hand running softly through Tara’s hair as if just the warmth of her daughter’s skin was enough to keep her heart from collapsing.
Vidyut finally exhaled — a sound that landed somewhere between exhaustion and relief.
Doctor Rahul packed up his bag, then paused at the door.
“And Mr. Rajvansh?” he said, turning back once more.
“You asked a hundred questions. That’s not a complaint. In fact… not every child is this lucky.”
And with that, he left.
Vidyut stood still, staring at the closed door for a few seconds, then turned to look at the mother and daughter curled up on the bed.