⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
I checked the time.
2 PM.
She had been at it since 10 in the morning — eyes fixed on files, flipping pages with quiet focus, her pen barely pausing.
For someone who never worked in an office before, she was doing too well.
Where the hell had she been hiding all this skill?
Probably... because of Tara.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes narrowing slightly.
She didn’t even realise how long she’d been sitting there. Or maybe she did — and chose to ignore it.
I checked the time again.
Her medicine time.
I looked up.
She was still lost in that file, brows furrowed in concentration, chewing on the back of her pen like a clueless intern.
“Ritvika,” I called out, voice firm.
Her head snapped up, startled.
God.
“You should go home now.”
She blinked at me, confused.
“It’s your medicine time. And you’ve been working nonstop. Go home, take your meds, and rest. Tara’s also tired,” I added, nodding towards the couch.
Tara was slumped against the cushions, her panda teddy squished in one arm, her little eyes half-closed, fighting to stay awake.
Why were they both like this?
Taking the world’s weight on such tiny shoulders.
“But abhi toh kaam nahi hua hai…” she said softly.
Unbelievable.
Does she think she has to finish the whole company’s work in one day?
“Ritvika, it’s enough for today,” I said flatly. “It’s your first day. There’s no need to burden yourself.”
She opened her mouth to protest again.
I didn’t let her.
“The medicines are in the top drawer. Take them. And give Tara rest too. The driver will drop you home.”
She looked hesitant.
“And dare you try to do any work at home— kuch kaam mat karne lag jaana.”
Her lips twitched — like she wanted to smile, or argue, or maybe both.
But she didn’t say anything.
She just gave a small nod.
And I… I looked away.
Because if I stared too long, I’d forget why I was supposed to keep my distance in the first place.
I sat in the car, Tara asleep in my arms — her little fingers curled around the soft ear of that panda teddy.
But my heart...
It wasn’t resting like hers.
It was loud. Uneasy. Messy.
He sent me home.
Forcefully, almost.
He didn’t scold.
He didn’t shout.
But his voice had that quiet authority. The kind that didn’t ask, just decided.
And the worst part?
He noticed.
He noticed the time.
He remembered my medicines.
He saw Tara was tired.
He even remembered to say the driver would drop me, and told me — warned me — not to work once I was home.
Why?
Why was he doing all this?
What was this?
Was it… concern?
Was it the way a husband is supposed to care?
Or—
Was it just pity?
Maybe he saw me as weak.
Maybe he thought I couldn’t handle a full day.
Maybe he didn’t want me there at all but was being civil because… well, we were technically married.
My fingers brushed against Tara’s curls.
No. He wouldn’t do that to her.
Whatever this was… it wasn’t fake. At least not when it came to her.
But with me?
I didn’t know.
Was it love?
No. No, no no. Stop it.
I looked out of the car window, gripping my purse a little tighter.
It was drizzling outside, like the sky itself didn’t know what it wanted to be — sunny or stormy.
Just like me.
I reached home and quietly tucked Tara into bed.
She was fast asleep, her thumb in her mouth, that panda clutched tightly in her arms like it was her whole world.
Just like he was hers.
I walked to the drawer, pulled out the strip of tablets Vidyut had mentioned.
Even now, I could hear his voice —
“Take your medicines. And dare you do any work at home.”
I sat at the edge of the bed and swallowed them slowly, one after the other.
Still thinking.
Still wondering.
Is this what care looks like? Or is it just a responsibility he’s forced to carry?
I didn’t know.
But I did know one thing:
It’s getting harder to not feel something.
And that scared me more than anything else.
The house smelled of cardamom and peace.
For the first time in a long time, I stepped into a home that didn’t feel like just walls and furniture — there was movement, warmth, life.
I dropped the keys in the bowl near the entrance.
Clink.
A small, messy chaos caught my eye — Tara’s toys were scattered all over the living room floor. A plastic duck, building blocks, a tiny red hairbrush… and in the center of it all sat my daughter — her hair a little frizzy, lips moving as she babbled some gibberish to her stuffed panda.
And then… her.
Ritvika.
In the kitchen.
Wearing that soft yellow kurti, her back to me, her hair loosely tied in a messy bun, strands falling near her nape as she poured tea into two cups.
She didn’t notice I was home.
But I watched her — the way her fingers moved slowly, carefully, like she wasn’t just pouring tea… she was pouring calm into a cup.
I walked in quietly.
She turned slightly as I entered the kitchen, startled just a bit, then offered a soft nod — almost a smile.
God.
I had to stop doing this.
Staring.
But I didn’t.
“We’ll be going to Rajvansh Mansion for a few days,” I said casually, reaching for a glass of water.
She blinked.
“Huh?” her voice came out soft, confused.
“Maa was insisting too much. I told her no a hundred times, but she pulled the emotional blackmail card. You know how she is…” I paused, sipping the water. “So yeah, I said yes.”
She was still looking at me, brows slightly furrowed.
“Pack clothes for at least a week,” I added. “For you and Tara.
She didn’t say anything. Just stood there, quiet — her hands frozen mid-air with the teaspoon still in one of them.
“It’s just for a few days, Ritvika,” I added, not wanting her to overthink it. “Don’t worry. No drama. You’ll be comfortable there.”
She nodded slowly, her voice finally finding its way out.
“Okay…”
I looked at her for a second longer.
Not just a nod this time — her eyes were unsure.
But not scared.
Maybe… just unsure about what we were becoming.
I stepped out of the kitchen, picked up a toy from the floor, and watched Tara as she giggled and crawled toward me.
For a moment, it felt like the three of us... were just normal.
?? ?
The city outside was slowly transitioning into a dusky gold, lights flickering on one by one. Tara was fast asleep in the backseat, her panda teddy hugged tight to her chest.
Ritvika sat silently, fiddling with her dupatta. She glanced at Vidyut once—his eyes were on the road, hands steady on the steering wheel, face as unreadable as ever. The silence stretched.
After gathering some courage, she finally spoke, her voice hesitant—
"Vidyut... please... don’t mention my illness in front of your family.."
His brows furrowed slightly as he flicked a glance at her before returning to the road.
"Kyun?" he asked, tone calm but pointed.
(Why?)
"Just... it’ll feel weird... and... I don’t want people to look at me differently... or pity me..."
Vidyut didn’t reply immediately. The grip on the steering wheel tightened just a bit before he exhaled through his nose.
"If I’m saying this, it’s for a reason. If they know, they can take better care of you."
Ritvika turned her face towards the window, trying to suppress the heaviness in her chest.
"Mujhe kisi ka extra khayal nahi chahiye..." she murmured softly.
(I don’t want anyone’s special care.)
Vidyut didn’t argue further. He simply looked at her once—brief, unreadable—and focused back on the road. The rest of the ride continued in silence, only the hum of the engine and Tara’s soft snores filling the air.
The grand iron gates of the Rajvansh Mansion opened slowly, and the black SUV rolled into the familiar driveway. The porch lights cast a soft glow on the stone pillars as Vidyut parked the car.
He stepped out first, walked to the other side, and opened the door for Ritvika, who carefully stepped down with a sleepy Tara in her arms.
As they moved toward the entrance, a voice rang out from the corridor—
"Bhaiya...?"
Aarush stood at the far end, frozen, a half-eaten apple in his hand. His jaw dropped.
He blinked.
Rubbed his eyes.
Blink again.
Still standing there.
"No... no no no no... this isn’t real! MUMMY!! CHACHI!!! KOI AAO YAAR!!! GHOST AAGAYA KYA!!!"
(MOM!! AUNTY!! SOMEONE COME!! A GHOST IS HERE OR WHAT!)
Before anyone could respond, he threw the apple aside like a cricket ball and ran — full speed — towards them.
His voice echoed through the hallway, dramatic as ever—
"VIDYUT BHAIYA AA GAYE!! FOR REAL!! WITH WIFE!! AND BACCHA!!"
He came to a skidding halt just before them and dramatically clutched his chest like he’d seen a miracle. Then, all of a sudden, like a devotee seeing a goddess, he bent and touched Ritvika’s feet.
Ritvika froze.
She didn’t know whether to stop him or just move aside. Her body tensed, Tara stirred in her arms.
"Bhabhi... asli waali bhabhi ho na aap? I swear agar yeh koi dream hai toh main khud ko wall se maar dunga!"
(Bhabhi... you're the real one, right? I swear if this is a dream, I’ll bang my head on the wall!)
Ritvika blinked—speechless.
Vidyut rolled his eyes at his younger brother's theatrics.
"Aarush. Zyada drama mat kar. Aur jaa sabko bula le."
(Aarush. Don’t overdo it. Go call everyone.)
But Aarush didn’t budge. He looked up at Ritvika with gleaming eyes.
"Bhabhi you really came! Did you cast a spell on bhaiya or what?"
Ritvika managed a small, awkward smile.
Inside, footsteps were already rushing their way.
As Aarush continued his overexcited banter, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hall.
Manisha and Parul appeared at the top of the staircase, eyes wide at the sight before them.
Ritvika quickly adjusted Tara in her arms and gently bent down to touch Manisha’s and Parul’s feet.
Manisha placed her hand softly on Ritvika’s head.
Parul smiled, overwhelmed.
Both women looked at Vidyut, a mix of shock and quiet emotion in their eyes.
Manisha stepped forward.
"Come in... come inside."
They entered the living room. The silence was warm, expectant.
Vidyut finally broke it.
“We’ll be staying for a week.”
Manisha nodded slowly, a smile spreading.
"That’s good. Go to your room and freshen up. I’ll send some juice there.”
But Vidyut immediately shook his head.
“No. We’ll stay downstairs.”
Everyone paused.
Parul looked confused.
“Downstairs? Why?”
Ritvika’s spine stiffened.
She looked down, afraid—is he going to tell them? About her condition?
But Vidyut's voice came in steady, composed.
“Because of Tara. It’s safer here for her. No stairs, no risk.”
Ritvika blinked.
That… was a lie. A convenient, protective lie.
Before anyone could respond, Aarush jumped in with a teasing grin.
“Wah bhaiya… pehle toh bacchon se allergic the, ab unki safety ka bhi dhyan!”
(Wow bhaiya… you used to be allergic to kids, now you care about their safety too!)
One cold glare from Vidyut—and Aarush shut up instantly.
Mouth sealed.
Eyes wide.
Everyone chuckled under their breath, including Parul.
Vidyut walked ahead silently. Ritvika followed him, still unsure of what this place would bring… but that quiet lie from him echoed inside her.
He protected her secret.
Everyone settled on the plush sofas of the grand living room. The warm lighting, the smell of fresh lilies, and the faint hum of the air conditioning created a calm backdrop.
Tara was comfortably sitting in Vidyut’s lap, her tiny hands playing with the collar of his shirt, completely unbothered by the unfamiliar environment. She looked home.
Aarush, who was sitting beside Parul, leaned forward, smiling.
“Come here, baby. Come to chachu…”
He stretched his arms toward her.
But the moment his hands got closer, Tara’s body stiffened.
Her small arms wrapped tightly around Vidyut’s torso as she clutched him with all her might.
And then—
A loud scream broke the soft air.
“NOOOO! BIGGG MANNN!”
The room froze.
Aarush stayed mid-reach, blinking.
Parul covered her mouth.
Manisha stared.
Hridhaan nearly choked on water.
“Did she just—?”
Aarush slowly leaned back, stunned.
Then—he burst out laughing.
“Seriously, bhai… BIG MAN? Even she figured out you’re ancient.”
He clutched his stomach, laughing like a madman.
“Big man!” he repeated, mockingly pointing.
“Not papa, not chachu… but big man! Bro, you’re done.”
Now even Manisha and Parul couldn’t help it.
Parul turned her face away, trying to control the giggles.
Manisha lightly hit Aarush’s arm, scolding half-heartedly, but her own laugh betrayed her.
Vidyut didn’t react.
He just sat there… calm, composed, with Tara clinging to him like a second skin.
Only his lips curved ever so slightly—a tiny smile that no one noticed,
except Ritvika.
She sat silently beside him, eyes soft… and heart, unexpectedly full.
?? ?
The morning sun filtered through the tall glass windows of the mansion, casting a soft golden hue on everything. The family gathered around the long dining table, enjoying a peaceful breakfast together.
Tara sat cozily in Vidyut’s lap, munching on a small bowl of paratha pieces. Her cheeks were smeared with ghee, and her innocent humming made the atmosphere even more cheerful.
Just then, Manisha looked up from her cup of tea.
“Wait… what? Ritvika beta, you’re working in Vidyut’s office now?”
Ritvika, who was quietly sipping her juice, gave a nervous smile.
“Uh… yes, Maa. I joined yesterday actually.”
“Yesterday?” Parul blinked.
“How come none of us knew?”
Vidyut, still calm, without looking up, said softly,
“Because it wasn’t your concern.”
Everyone exchanged glances.
It wasn’t said in his usual cold tone. Just… matter-of-fact.
And somehow, that single sentence hit them all differently.
Hridhaan, sipping his black coffee, smiled,
“Honestly, I think it’s a great idea. You both working together—it might help… understand each other better.”
But the real joy wasn't just about the job.
It was about something much deeper.
The way Vidyut had let Tara sleep on his shoulder last night.
The way he fed her quietly when she was too sleepy to eat.
The way he hadn’t flinched even once when she called him ‘Big man’ again this morning.
Small things.
But for this family, they meant everything.
They had never imagined Vidyut Rajvansh, the brooding, closed-off man, would ever accept Ritvika, let alone care for her daughter.
Yet here he was.
Sitting with Tara on his lap, wiping her mouth with his handkerchief, without a hint of discomfort.
A soft silence filled the room—until Aarush cleared his throat dramatically.
“Bhabhi, I have a request.”
Everyone looked at him.
“I’ve got a leave today. So, please let me take care of Tara. I want to spend some time with her... and you won’t have to take her to the office either.”
Ritvika’s eyes softened.
Before she could say anything, Aarush reached for Tara with a bright grin.
“Come, chhotu! Let’s go—masti time!”
But—
“NOOOOO!”
Tara shrieked and clung to Vidyut’s neck like a baby monkey.
Her fists clutched his shirt, her head buried in his chest.
“No big man! Big man!” she wailed.
Everyone burst into laughter.
Aarush dramatically fell back.
“Oh god! She rejected me!”
Manisha giggled, “Looks like she’s made her decision already.”
Vidyut sighed, adjusting her in his lap.
But before he could say anything, Ritvika gently leaned closer.
“Tara… baby… chachu wants to play with you. You’ll have fun, I promise.”
Tara peeked at Aarush with teary eyes.
Aarush made a funny face, then another, and another.
Tara blinked.
A small giggle escaped her lips.
Finally—after a lot of coaxing and a pinky promise from Aarush—she carefully shifted into his arms, still holding Vidyut’s finger until the very last second.
And just like that—the wall broke a little more.
Hridhaan, unusually calm, smiled and stood.
“I’m also taking off today. Let’s make it a full Tara-day.”
Aarush gasped, “Bhaiii! No stealing my chance—”
Everyone laughed again.
Tara, now in Aarush’s lap, grinned wide, completely unaware that in just one night, she had carved a space in every Rajvansh heart.
With Vidyut and Ritvika gone to the office, the mansion transformed into a playground.
Aarush and Hridhaan had turned the living room into a war zone of soft toys, building blocks, and crayons. Tara squealed in joy, running between them with wild energy. She tried to stick stickers on Hridhaan’s cheek and made him a crown out of her plastic cups. The two men adored her already.
While Hridhaan got busy drawing her a crooked cartoon, Aarush leaned close to Tara, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Okay listen, baby,” he whispered. “That Big Man thing is not cool anymore. He’s your... you know... your Dad. So you should call him Dadda. Say it with me—Dad-da.”
Tara blinked. “Daa—?”
“Yes! Come on, Dadda. Not Big Man.”
She paused, eyes narrowed in confusion, then suddenly her face lit up like she’d seen a chocolate cake.
“DADDAAA!” she squealed, clapping her hands.
“YESSS!” Aarush punched the air. “You’re a genius, Tara!”
All day, she kept saying it—first to the wall, then to her stuffed bunny, then pointing at the family photo on the wall that had Vidyut in it.
“Dadda!” she chirped again and again, and each time, Aarush giggled like a proud teacher.
Evening fell.
The soft sound of the main door opening made Aarush’s eyes sparkle with excitement.
“Come on, Tara!” he whispered. “Surprise time!”
Tara ran across the hall with her short legs and wobbly steps. The second Vidyut stepped into the house, she threw herself towards him with open arms.
“DADDAAAA!”
Everything stilled.
The room, once lively and warm, turned into a frozen painting.
Vidyut blinked, confused but not displeased. His arms automatically caught her, lifting her up, but before he could react—
“TARA!”
The voice cracked through the air like thunder.
Everyone flinched.
Ritvika stood frozen, her hands trembling, face pale. Her eyes wide in disbelief, her lips parted in sheer horror. The tray of files she was carrying slipped from her grip and scattered on the floor.
“T-Tara...” her voice wavered, throat dry. “You... you can’t... don’t call him that... don’t—”
Tara looked at her, startled and scared.
She didn’t understand.
She had done something wrong?
Manisha, Parul, and even Aarush stiffened.
Vidyut turned, his brow furrowed.
Ritvika’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “I—I didn’t teach her that... she—she shouldn’t call you that. I’m sorry... I just... I..... you wouldn’t want that.”
She looked down, unable to meet his eyes, shame flooding her expression.
Guilt. Panic. Fear.
But Vidyut said nothing.
Tara whimpered softly in his arms and clutched his collar again.
“...Dadda?” she whispered, confused why her new favorite word had made Mumma so upset.
And all that remained in the air was the weight of that one word—
Dadda.
She ran to me like always—those tiny feet thumping against the marble, her arms spread out, smile beaming. But today... today, her voice carried something different.
"Dadda!"
The word echoed in the room like a thunderclap.
And just like that, my world stopped.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.
She called me Dadda. Not big man. Not anything silly. Dadda.
My chest tightened—no, swelled. Something unfamiliar and warm coursed through me. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t shocked.
I was just... overwhelmed.
Me?
Dadda?
My arms automatically caught her as she leapt into me, her giggles loud, proud. As if she’d been waiting all day to say this. As if she knew I needed it.
And perhaps I did.
But before I could even react—before I could even give her that small smile she always brought out of me—
Ritvika's voice cut through the air. Sharp. Loud. Shattering.
"Tara! No! Don’t call him that!"
I felt her body stiffen beside me. I looked at her.
Her lips had gone dry. Her face pale. Eyes wide in fear.
Tara flinched, confused, staring up at her mother with quivering lips.
And me?
I just stood there, still holding that little girl who called me Dadda. My heart... still warm. Still full.
Ritvika thought I’d be angry. That I’d push the child away.
But she didn’t know.
She didn’t know that word didn’t scare me.
It made me feel... whole.
The warmth of that one word still lingered in my chest—Dadda. But before I could even process the meaning behind it fully, the room had changed. Ritvika’s voice, her panic, her sharp tone—it had sliced through everything.
Tara’s smile faded instantly.
Her lips trembled. Her big, teary eyes looked between us in confusion… and then they welled up.
Her tiny body began to shake slightly, and a whimper escaped her lips.
“Dadda…” she whispered again, clinging tighter to me, burying her face in my neck.
She was scared. Hurt.
“Ritvika, calm down—” Maa, moved quickly to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Shh… it’s okay, he didn’t get angry. Look at him,” she whispered gently, trying to ground Ritvika.
But Ritvika wasn’t breathing. Not properly. She was pale, her eyes frozen on me and Tara, her hands shaking.
“I didn’t mean to shout—” she mumbled under her breath, moving forward as if to take Tara from my arms.
But Tara flinched away.
“No! Dadda!” she cried out, her little hands clutching the collar of my shirt as if someone was going to rip her away from me.
And then she turned to Ritvika, eyes wide and furious.
“Baaal Mumma!” she screamed, her voice cracking.
I froze. So did everyone.
The room turned ice-cold in an instant.
Ritvika stumbled back a step, her eyes widening, lips parting in disbelief.
“T-Tara… baby—no, I didn’t mean to—”
I tried to soothe her, rubbing her back, whispering,
“Tara… princess, Mumma’s not bad. She was just scared, hmm?”
But Tara refused to look at her. Her soft sobs turned louder as she clung to me like a lifeline.
She kept muttering it—“Bad Mumma… Bad Mumma…”
And that was when Ritvika snapped.
Tears brimming, breathing ragged, she marched forward, her hand trembling as she reached for Tara.
“Give her to me.”
“Ritvika, she’s crying—wait, just calm—” I began, but she didn’t hear anything.
With sudden force, she snatched Tara from my arms.
“Noooooo!! Daddaaaaaa!!” Tara screamed in agony, fighting against her, fists hitting her shoulder, her little legs kicking.
“Tara, stop! You’re not supposed to call him that!” Ritvika’s voice was wild, broken, angry—and terrified.
She stormed off with her, and before I could react—
SLAM.
The bedroom door shut.
Locked.
We all rushed behind her.
“Ritvika! Open the door!” Maa knocked.
“Beta, please—let us talk—” Chachi pleaded softly.
“Ritvika! Open it now!” My fists hit harder.
“You can’t scare her like that!”
But she didn’t respond.
Only Tara’s wails echoed from behind that wooden barrier.
And every cry from her lips was like a dagger in my gut.
My hands curled into fists.
My jaw clenched.
She locked herself in with a crying two-year-old.
She wouldn’t even listen.
And something inside me snapped.
I had never felt this angry before.