CHAPTER 64! HIS FAMILY #3
Aadhira moved instantly, reaching across the blotter to silence it before the vibration could wake them.
She pressed the side button, but as she went to lay the phone back down, the screen background caught her eye.
It was a photograph of her and Ayaan. In the picture, Aadhira was laughing, her face turned slightly away from the lens, while Ayaan was leaning in, aggressively planting a messy kiss on her cheek.
She remembered that day clearly-she had been laughing because Ayaan had deliberately ruined her pose.
A tiny, fond smile touched her lips as she stared at the glowing display. "How did he even get this..." she murmured under her breath.
She studied the image for a moment longer, her smile slowly softening into something deeper, laced with a quiet ache.
He could have at least set a proper family picture as his wallpaper, she thought naturally.
Something with the three of them together. Something simple that belonged to all of them.
Then the thought hit her, stalling her breath.
There wasn't one.
Not a single picture existed of the three of them together.
There were scattered photos of Ayaan, pictures of her, and countless photos of Ayaan in her arms-but not a single frame contained all three of them.
And Aryav had never asked for one. He had never complained, never demanded a photograph to keep in his office, never asked her to pose beside him.
He had simply taken this picture of her and their son, set it as his wallpaper, and remained completely content with it.
Aadhira looked at the sleeping man, a quiet confusion settling in her chest.
Who are you really, Aryav?
Because every time she thought she had finally understood him, she discovered another version of the man entirely.
Setting the phone down gently, Aadhira stepped closer and reached out, resting her hand lightly on Aryav's shoulder. "Aryav..."
His reaction was instant. His eyes snapped open, completely devoid of sleep.
Before Aadhira could process the blur of movement, Aryav's hand shot forward, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip while his other hand whipped a concealed blade from beneath his jacket, stopping the sharp metal mere inches from her throat.
Aadhira gasped, her entire body locking up in shock.
Aryav stared at her, his breathing heavy, his eyes fierce-until recognition cleared the instinctual fog in his mind.
The tension drained from his frame in a second. He immediately lowered the knife, setting it onto the wooden desk with a dull clatter.
"I'm sorry," he rasped, his voice rough and deep with sleep.
Aadhira stood frozen, looking down at the gleaming blade on the desk, then back at his face, her eyebrows slowly raising in disbelief. "Ghar mein kiska dar hai?"
Aryav rubbed a broad palm over his face, dragging his fingers through his mess of dark hair. "Habit," he muttered simply.
There was no pride or defensive edge in his tone-just a stark statement of fact.
Aadhira knew what that single word meant coming from a man like him.
It meant years of waking up to violence, years of training his body to react before his mind could even register where he was.
Her sharp look softened, the initial fright yielding to a quiet, somber understanding. "Still," she murmured softly, "you scared me."
A flicker of genuine regret passed across his face. "I know."
Aadhira turned her gaze down to the child sleeping peacefully against his chest. "If you both sleep like this, He's going to wake up with a stiff neck if you stay in this chair, and your back isn't going to thank you either."
Aryav looked down at his son. Ayaan hadn't even stirred during the sudden commotion; his small face remained completely relaxed against Aryav's chest, feeling entirely safe.
The lethal edge in Aryav's eyes melted away completely, replaced by a quiet, fierce tenderness.
Aadhira smiled faintly, stepping back toward the doorway. "Come on. Let's go to bed. Ayaan has school tomorrow."
Aryav gave a silent nod. Gathering his footing, he carefully adjusted his hold under the boy's weight and stood up from the leather chair.
Aadhira expected him to gently wake the boy so he could walk, but Aryav simply lifted Ayaan higher against his shoulder, carrying him.
Ayaan stirred for a brief second, his little head shifting to burrow deeper into the crook of Aryav's neck. "Papa..." he mumbled sleepily.
Aryav's arm tightened slightly around the boy, his voice dropping into a low, protective murmur. "I'm here."
Satisfied, Ayaan went completely still again, falling back into a deep slumber.
Aadhira turned and led the way down the quiet, shadowed hallway, her mind drifting between the photograph on Aryav's phone and the two pictures she had just saved on her own.
Behind her, Aryav walked slowly, matching his heavy strides to her pace. As he carried their sleeping son through the quiet house, the words Ayaan had whispered earlier in the study kept echoing in his mind.
Papa... I love you.
I miss you.
You won't leave us again, right?
And then, the revelation that had sliced straight through his long-held defenses: Mamma missed you too.
She used to go to the balcony... She would cry and say, "Aryav, I miss you."
Aryav glanced down at the small head resting against his chest. His son. Their son.
His grip tightened just enough to feel the warmth of the boy's breathing, reassuring himself that this moment was real.
For years, he had convinced himself that staying away, controlling from the shadows, and keeping his distance was the only way to keep her safe.
He had believed isolation was his duty.
Aadhira paused near the bedroom door, turning her head slightly to look back at him.
When her eyes met his, she offered him a small, tired, soft smile.
Aryav held her gaze, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.
Tomorrow meant waking up early. It meant morning chaos and missing school shoes. It meant complaints about vegetables, listening to Ayaan negotiate bedtime all over again, and going to the amusement park like a normal family.
And to a man who had lived his entire life in the cold, shadows, that ordinary, noisy life was extraordinary.
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