CHAPTER 64! HIS FAMILY #2
"Okay! Now you will do what I say." Ayaan pointed a commanding finger at the desk. "Give me a pen."
Aryav reached over, picked up a heavy Montblanc pen from its stand, and placed it in his son's small hand.
Satisfied, Ayaan reached inside the front of his pajama top and pulled out a tightly folded piece of paper he had hidden against his stomach.
Unfolding it with great care, he laid it over the leather blotter on the desk and pushed the pen back into Aryav's fingers. "Sign it."
Aryav picked up the paper, his gaze dropping to the top margin.
Printed in red ink was a primary school logo, followed by the bold heading: Class 2 - Weekly Mathematics Assessment.
It was Ayaan's test from three days ago. Printed clearly beside the red checkmarks was his final score: 15 / 20.
Aryav looked down at the child sitting in his lap, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "I would have signed this even without being hypnotized, Ayaan."
Ayaan froze, his dramatic setup collapsing instantly. "Are you not hypnotized?"
"No," Aryav said calmly.
He tapped the top of the paper with his knuckle. "Why did you try all this?"
Ayaan's triumphant posture vanished. He pulled his hands back, dropping his chin until his chest almost touched his knees, his fingers knotting together in his lap. "Because I got bad marks."
Aryav set the paper down. Reaching out, he placed his large palm under Ayaan's chin, gently lifting the boy's face until their eyes met. "Fifteen out of twenty is not bad, Ayaan. It's good."
Ayaan frowned, looking thoroughly confused. "How is it good?"
"What did you get on the last test?" Aryav asked.
Ayaan swallowed softly. "Twelve."
"And this time you got fifteen," Aryav pointed out, his voice steady and grounding. "That means you learned. You made progress, and that is the only thing that matters."
Ayaan stared at him, processing the words. "That means... I did great?"
"Yes," Aryav said quietly. "You did great."
A light seemed to switch on behind the boy's eyes, the anxiety draining from his small shoulders.
Aryav leaned back, resting his hand against the back of Ayaan's neck. "Now tell me-where did you learn this hypnosis trick?"
Ayaan reached out, twisting the fabric of Aryav's dark shirt between his fingers. "Reyansh Chacha was watching a movie. I saw it on the TV."
Aryav's jaw set slightly at the mention of his brother's questionable movie choices. "Stop spending so much time around the TV. And tell your uncle to keep his movies to himself."
Ayaan nodded quickly. "Okay." He paused, looking up at Aryav with hesitant, uncertain eyes. "You are... really not gonna scold me?"
Aryav looked down at him. "Have I ever scolded you, Ayaan?"
"No," the boy admitted softly.
"Then why did you think I would start now?"
Ayaan glanced down at the floorboards. "My friend got seventeen marks. He told me his dad was going to beat him with a belt. So I thought..."
Aryav cut him off smoothly before the thought could finish. "So you thought I would beat you?"
Ayaan gave a tiny, reluctant nod.
Something dark and protective stirred deep in Aryav's chest.
The memories of his own brutal childhood-the cold discipline, the physical expectations, the absolute lack of grace for mistakes-surged behind his eyes.
He tightened his arms around the boy, pulling Ayaan closer until the small frame was pressed firm against his chest.
"Ayaan," Aryav said, his voice dropping into a deep, absolute register. "Listen to me very carefully. If you ever make a mistake, or if you ever do something wrong, never be scared to come to me. I will never beat you."
"Really papa."
"Really, I will never scold you just for failing. My job is to teach you what is right and what is wrong. Understand?"
Ayaan rested his cheek against Aryav's shoulder, absorbing the promise. "Okay. I will never lie again. And I won't hide anything from you, Papa."
"Not just from me," Aryav corrected gently. "From your Mamma, too. She loves you more than anything."
"I know," Ayaan murmured. He reached down, picking up the paper and placing it directly under Aryav's hand again.
"Now sign it, Papa. My teacher said she needs a father's signature by tomorrow."
Aryav uncapped the pen and signed his firm, sweeping signature across the bottom of the page.
Ayaan watched the ink dry, then turned in Aryav's lap, wrapping his arms tightly around his father's neck. "Papa... I love you."
Aryav's hand stilled on the desk, the simple declaration hitting him with a quiet, unyielding weight.
Before he could speak, Ayaan buried his face in the crook of Aryav's neck and whispered, "I miss you."
Aryav lifted a hand, resting it against the boy's back. "I am right here, Ayaan. How can you miss me?"
"Not right now," Ayaan explained, his voice muffled against Aryav's shirt.
"When Mamma and I were living at Shourya Mamu's house. I missed you every day."
Ayaan pulled back slightly, looking straight into Aryav's dark eyes.
He held out his tiny pinky finger, his expression entirely serious.
"You won't leave us again, right? Promise me."
Aryav looked at the tiny finger. He extended his own calloused pinky, locking it securely with his son's. "Never."
Ayaan smiled, satisfied with the contract. Then, as if sharing a completely ordinary piece of information, he added softly, "Mamma missed you too."
Aryav's eyes locked onto the boy. "Hmm?"
"When she thought I was sleeping," Ayaan whispered conspiratorially, "she used to go out to the balcony at night. She would cry and say, 'Aryav, I miss you.'"
The study went completely still.
The words didn't erase the month between them. They simply made them hurt in a different way.
A heavy, suffocating emotion rose in his throat. Unable to speak, Aryav gently wrapped his large hand behind Ayaan's head, pressing the boy's temple firmly against his chest, right over his heartbeat.
Ayaan didn't fight the embrace. Reassured by the steady rhythm beneath his cheek, the tiredness finally caught up with him.
Within minutes, his small frame went heavy, his breathing turning slow and rhythmic as he drifted off to sleep in his father's arms.
Aryav didn't move. He sat there in the quiet golden light of the study, holding his son tight against his chest, staring out into the dark hallway for a long time-until he, too, rested his chin against the boy's head and let his eyes close.
.
.
.
Aadhira looked at the wall clock again.
Then at the empty space beside her on the bed.
Then back at the clock.
"Five minutes, Mumma," she muttered under her breath, pulling the blanket off her legs.
That was exactly what Ayaan had promised before sneaking out of the bedroom in his superhero pajamas.
Papa se baat karke aata hoon. Bas paanch minute, Mamma.
(I will come after talking to dad , just five minutes mom.)
It had been a full hour.
Aadhira pushed herself up with a heavy sigh, her slippers quiet against the wooden floor as she prepared the lecture she was going to give her son.
Ayaan had school in the morning. His uniform was already neatly ironed, his shoes were resting near the cupboard, his water bottle was filled, and his school bag was packed.
Yet, apparently, sleep was entirely optional tonight.
She walked down the hallway, her eyes fixing on the dim golden light spilling out from the study door.
What on earth were those two doing at this hour? Knowing Ayaan, he had probably dragged Aryav into some elaborate, ridiculous game, or convinced his father to ignore his bedtime altogether.
Reaching the heavy oak door, Aadhira pushed it open without knocking, her voice already prepared. "Ayaan, how many times do I have to tell you that it's bedtime-"
The rest of the sentence died in her throat.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
The study was silent, save for the hum of the desk lamp.
Aryav was fast asleep in his broad leather chair, his sharp, formidable features softened by the quiet shadows of the room.
One of his heavy arms was wrapped securely around Ayaan, while his other hand rested instinctively against the boy's back, shielding him even in sleep.
And Ayaan was completely out, curled tight against his father's chest. His small cheek was pressed flat against Aryav's dark shirt, one tiny fist loosely clutching the fabric near his collar.
For a long moment, Aadhira just stood there, unable to move.
She had seen Aryav in every iteration imaginable over the years.
Cold. Dangerous. Exhausted. Ruthless. Broken. But this version of him was entirely foreign.
There was nothing intimidating or calculated about him now. He was simply a tired father who had fallen asleep holding his son.
Something warm and aching bloomed in Aadhira's chest. A soft smile touched her lips before she could catch herself. "Oh..."
she whispered to the empty room.
She stepped quietly into the golden circle of light.
Her initial instinct was to wake them-Ayaan had school in the morning, and Aryav was going to wake up with a terrible back ache if he slept in that chair all night.
She reached out toward Ayaan, but her hand paused in mid-air. They looked too peaceful, too unbroken, to disturb.
Instead, Aadhira reached into her pocket and carefully pulled out her phone. She raised it, framing the two of them in the screen.
Click.
The quiet shutter sound made her freeze, her eyes darting nervously to Aryav's face.
Neither of them stirred. Relaxing her shoulders, she took another picture, then lowered the device to look at the screen.
Her heart squeezed painfully against her ribs. It was such a simple, ordinary photo.
No staged smiles, no professional lighting-just a father sleeping in his study chair with their boy in his arms.
Yet it felt inexplicably precious, like a quiet piece of evidence she would want to keep forever.
As she turned to slip her phone away, a sudden vibration buzzed across the desk. Aryav's phone was lighting up with an incoming call.