CHAPTER 33! RUHI #2
Tara: I hate that she's right all the time.
Arjun: That's because she's not right. She's annoying.
Myra: You're literally agreeing with her.
Arjun: That's not the point.
The siblings looked up at each other, a collective breath of relief passing through them as the tension broke.
Then, exactly two seconds later, the bottom of the screen updated.
Read by Aryav Rai Shinghania.
The entire chat went dead.
Aarush stared at the screen, his face draining of color.
Aryav Rai Shinghania is typing...
Nobody breathed.
Five pairs of eyes stared fixedly at the blinking dots.
Aryav Rai Shinghania stopped typing.
Nothing. Total, absolute silence.
Aarush silently locked his phone, dropped it into his pocket, and cleared his throat, suddenly looking very invested in the structural integrity of the ceiling.
Nobody said another word as they scattered in opposite directions, disappearing into the corridors.
Down in the garden, the winter wind rustled the leaves of the flowering trees.
Ruhi laughed at a small, self-deprecating comment Aadhira made about her own morning clumsiness.
The sound was light, bubbling up naturally before Ruhi paused, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.
For seven years, Ruhi had carried her love like a wound.
That afternoon, for the first time, it felt less like an injury and more like a scar. Still there.
Still a part of her.
But finally beginning to heal.
The heavy, lingering fog of Aadhira's conversation with Ruhi cleared the exact second the familiar rumble of the school bus echoed through the grand gates of the estate.
Ayaan.
The exhaustion that had weighed down her bones all afternoon vanished. Standing up, her gaze locked onto the small figure in a navy-blue blazer who had just erupted from the vehicle, already sprinting across the manicured stone pathway.
Aadhira laughed, the sound bright and entirely unburdened as Ayaan crashed straight into her.
She stumbled back half a step under the impact, her boots clicking against the gravel before she wrapped both arms tightly around him, burying her face in his hair.
"Arre, slow down! You'll break a bone."
"No," his answer came muffled, his face buried determinedly against her shoulder.
Aadhira rolled her eyes, smoothing down the collar of his blazer. "Haan haan... meri baat toh kabhi maanoge hi nahi. Chalo, ab btao kya hua aj school mein."
From her spot on the stone bench, Ruhi watched quietly.
Ayaan immediately launched into a breathless, rapid-fire explanation about school politics that sounded far more cutthroat than a corporate board meeting.
Apparently, an elite eraser had been stolen during third period.
There had been high-stakes accusations, questionable witnesses, and defensive counter-allegations.
Aadhira listened to the entire saga with complete, unwavering seriousness, nodding at the critical plot twists.
Ruhi's lips curved into a faint, genuine smile. She had spent her entire life surrounded by people who treated children as heirs to be molded or accessories to be displayed.
She had never seen anyone make a child feel so entirely important.
By evening, the sharp winter chill had driven everyone indoors.
After a quiet dinner, the family naturally gravitated toward the grand living room-a massive space wrapped in dark wood and polished marble, softened tonight by the crackling roar of the fireplace.
The peace lasted exactly until Tara sat upright, a predatory gleam in her eyes.
"Suno... bore ho rahi hoon main."
A collective, synchronized groan echoed from Reyansh, Myra, and Arjun.
"To main kya nachu," Arjun muttered, leaning back against the cushions.
"Ignoring the blatant disrespect," Tara said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "sab phone neeche rakho. Aur meri baat suno."
Aarush pointed an accusing finger.
"Pichli baar tujhe boreiyat hui thi na, Reyansh ki aadhi eyebrow gayab ho gayi thi. Teen mahine cap pehen ke ghooma tha."
"Arre ek accident tha," Tara shot back.
"Nahi yeh bachpan se hota aa raha hai," Reyansh corrected calmly from his armchair, not looking up from his glass.
With a flourish, Tara dumped a heavy crystal bowl onto the center table.
Dozens of tightly folded white chits spilled across the dark mahogany.
"The game is called Red Chit, Blue Chit."
Sitting cross-legged on the rug near Aadhira's feet, Ayaan gasped, his eyes widening. "Maar-peet hogi?"
From a massive leather armchair slightly separated from the circle, Aryav finally lifted his eyes from his tablet.
Silence spread through the room so quickly it felt rehearsed.
Nobody in the Rai Shinghania family feared shouting.
They feared quiet.
And Aryav was deadly quiet.
"No," Aryav said. His voice was a low, velvet baritone that instantly commanded the room.
Ayaan slumped, his small shoulders dropping. "Phir maza kya hai?"
Aadhira pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her amusement, giving her son a look that said we will discuss your thirst for blood later.
"The rules are simple," Tara announced. "Blue chit means you're safe. You get to pass or watch. Red chit means you draw from the secondary deck-Truth or Dare. If you refuse the prompt, the entire cousin circle gets exclusive blackmail material over you forever. No exceptions."
The first few rounds dissolved into chaotic amusement.
Aarush drew a red chit and was dared to speak exclusively like a melodramatic, weeping 1970s Bollywood mother.
He accepted with entirely too much enthusiasm, wringing his hands and wailing about his khoti kismat.
Reyansh drew a truth chit.
When asked who cries during movies, he didn't hesitate: "Only documentaries."
"Which documentary?" Tara scoffed.
"IPL Final."
Arjun's dare required him to read his last three phone searches aloud, ending in a panicked query about removing permanent marker from a designer leather jacket before his grandfather noticed.
Amidst the noise, Aryav's phone vibrated discreetly against the armrest.
He glanced down at the encrypted screen.
Security Update: Warehouse breach confirmed. One survivor.
Aryav: Which hand opened the gate?
Reply: Left.
Aryav: Break right one. He breathes until I arrive.
Aryav set the device down, stepping seamlessly back into the role of the domestic family man.
When the bowl reached Ruhi, she pulled a slip. Blue. A quiet breath of relief escaped her lips.
Then, the bowl landed in front of Aadhira.
Aadhira reached in, pulled out a small, tightly creased slip of paper, and peeled it open.
Red.
The atmosphere in the immediate circle shifted instantly.
A slow, synchronized smirk spread across Myra's, Tara's, and Reyansh's faces.
"I don't like those faces," Aadhira narrowed her eyes.
"Bhabhi... congratulations," Tara purred.
Aadhira frowned. "What?"
"You just lost."
Aadhira instinctively glanced toward the corner of the room.
Aryav wasn't even playing. He remained seated in his armchair, one tailored trouser leg resting casually over his knee, appearing entirely detached.
Reyansh leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Aadhira with the ruthless focus of a strategist spotting an open flank.
"Bhai ki lap reserved hai. Aaj aapki booking ho gayi."
Absolute, suffocating silence dropped over the living room.
The crackle of the fireplace suddenly sounded deafening. Aadhira choked on her own breath, her face instantly flushing a furious, burning crimson.
Pagal ho gaye kya hai yeh log.
Myra buried her face in a pillow to muffle her hysterical laughter, while Ruhi covered her mouth in shock.
From his seat across the room, Rajendra Vikram slowly lowered his tablet, an intensely amused gleam appearing in his ancient eyes.
But the true center of the room didn't move.
Aryav didn't look up from the tablet.
"You all became very quiet," his thumb moved calmly across the screen. "So I assumed my name was involved."
Aadhira slowly turned her head toward him, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She cleared her throat, trying to retain her composure. "Aapo kaam nahi hai? Yahan kya kar rahe hai aap?"
"I have," Aryav said, his voice entirely flat.
"Until everyone decided to involve me."
The sheer psychological weight of the statement pinned her to her spot.
He didn't need to yell; the unshakeable assumption of his control did all the work.
"Boooooo!" Tara led the chant, her laughter echoing a bit too loudly.
"No quitters allowed in the Rai Shinghania house! Sit on bhai's lap bhabhi! Rules are-"
"Tara."
Aryav didn't raise his voice.
He didn't even look at her.
The laughter died instantly.
Tara straightened.
"Main mazak kar rahi thi."
Aryav regarded her for two silent seconds. "Good. Keep it that way."
Tara immediately looked away, her hands coming to rest neatly on her lap. "Sorry, Bhai."
Aadhira's jaw set.
Her pride flared to life beneath the embarrassment.
She wasn't going to let Aryav think he intimidated her, nor did she want permanent blackmail material.
But first, she looked down at the little boy sitting near her feet, whose eyes were bouncing back and forth between them like a high-stakes tennis match.
"Ayaan," Aadhira said, her voice dropping into a firm, maternal tone. "It's past your bedtime. Go up to your room and sleep. Right now."
Sensing the shift in the air, the little boy sighed, scrambled to his feet, and walked over to kiss her cheek.
"Goodnight, Mumma." He then cast a wary, deeply intelligent glance toward his father's imposing figure.
"Papa... Mumma ke sath ladai mat karna."
Aryav looked up. "Hmm?"
Before anyone could break the spell, Ayaan turned and quickly slipped out of the room.
A heavy, poignant silence froze the room. Even the oldest members of the dynasty didn't breathe.
As the cousins let out a collective breath and the forced laughter resumed, Aryav's gaze briefly flicked past the circle, tracing the shadows near the grand archway of the corridor.
Roshni stood there, entirely alone in the dim light, her eyes fixed heavily on Ruhi's profile.
She didn't step forward.