Chapter 14 A Recipe for Almosts
The Ambani family basked in quiet celebration. With a new member added to their lives, joy found a fresh rhythm in their routines. To share the happiness, Viren Ambani proposed a private outing with the Agnivanshi family-just close bonds, no media frenzy.
When Devaki Agnivanshi suggested a forest camping trip, it felt perfect.
Raha had been begging for an escape into the wild for months, and Sasan Gir-with its sacred silence and primal beauty-offered just that.
Besides, the Agnivanshis owned secluded patches of land within the region, complete with secure villas and private patrols.
It made the idea not just exciting, but safe.
And so, the plan was made. Two powerful dynasties-bound by legacy and wealth -would meet beneath the canopy of Gujarat's oldest forest.
The Ambanis arrived just as the late afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting golden streaks across the forest floor. Their convoy of sleek black SUVs curved through the winding paths like a quiet procession, swallowed by the vast green wilderness.
Sasan Gir was unlike any place Ivikaa had ever seen. It was ancient, alive, and hauntingly beautiful. The air here carried the scent of earth and silence, a far cry from the polished marble corridors of their city life.
Teak and flame-of-the-forest trees stood tall like guardians of time, their rustling leaves whispering forgotten legends.
The dry deciduous forest stretched endlessly, dappled with sun and shadow.
Occasionally, the sharp cry of a chital deer or the distant growl of a lion broke the calm, reminding everyone that Gir was still wild-still ruled by its primal laws.
As the Ambani convoy rolled to a gentle stop near the secluded Agnivanshi estate, the forest seemed to part respectfully, revealing a scene that looked straight out of an old-world epic.
The Agnivanshi family stood waiting beneath a canopy of banyan trees that framed the villa entrance. Rudra was the first to step forward-dressed in a casual shirt, his posture regal, eyes unreadable as always.
"Welcome to Gir," Rudra said with a nod to Viren Ambani, whose smile was equal parts warmth and diplomacy.
Raha squealed with excitement when she spotted Iva, rushing to hug him. "IVAAA! You're finally not on a Zoom call!"
Iva chuckled and picked her up effortlessly. "Only for you And the lions."
Her eyes scanned the forest around her, then the Agnivanshis. Her gaze lingered a moment longer on Rudra-just long enough for something unspoken to rise between them and vanish again.
"You've made this place more beautiful than I imagined," Viren said, addressing Devaki.
A team of attendants appeared to help with luggage, but no one seemed in a rush. Time moved differently in the forest-slower, deeper, more deliberate.
As everyone moved toward the villa, a distant call of a lion echoed faintly through the trees-a low, ancient rumble that seemed to stir something primal in the air. It was not a threat, but a reminder: this land belonged to the wild.
Later, after freshening up, Ivikaa made her way to Maya's room. She found her standing by the window, phone held high in a futile attempt to catch a network signal.
"Leave it, Maya," Ivikaa said gently.
"It's important," Maya muttered, not looking away.
"We'll do it later-tonight. For now... just breathe a little," Iva replied, though the advice felt more like a message to herself than anyone else.
She stepped outside soon after, the air carrying a faint hint of sandalwood. The forest had its own scent, its own mood-like a breathing thing that responded to emotions.
Near the veranda, she spotted Maria seated with Meera Agnivanshi.
Of course. Everyone was here. Family members and close allies were already settling in, their laughter mixing with the rustle of trees.
Martin appeared moments later, carefully placing extra pillows behind Meera Dadi's back so she could sit comfortably on the outdoor sofa.
Ivikaa stood still for a moment, watching the scene. Then Martin turned. He saw her-but said nothing. His gaze lingered for a second too long before he turned away, heading down the corridor with silent steps.
"He's here," Ivikaa said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Martin froze mid-step. But he didn't turn. Didn't speak.
He didn't need to. Ivikaa knew. He was here.
Somewhere in the depths of this forest, cloaked by shadows and silence-the man who haunted her memory like the echo of a song unfinished.
Just as Ivikaa was about to join the others near the patio, Rudra appeared before her. "Iva," he said, voice calm, carefully measured. "Could we talk tonight after dinner? Alone. There's something I want to say."
Of course there was.
She already knew what this was. He wouldn't say the words "I love you," but he would imply just enough to keep her orbiting his gravity. That same unspoken drama cloaked in the illusion of restraint.
So romantic. So tragically noble. So fake.
Ivikaa flashed him a perfectly polite smile, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Sure," she said, her tone sweet as syrup. "Tonight."
Then she walked away without waiting for his reaction. Whatever it was he planned to say, she already knew the script-and she wasn't auditioning anymore.
She joined her brothers by the bonfire, where the mood was mercifully lighter. Raha and Maya were debating whether the marshmallows were burning or caramelizing. Ritika passed around drinks while Virya and Vayu argued over who had better survival skills (neither of them did).
The forest glowed in soft amber light, the fire crackling and the night alive with insects, distant howls, and bursts of laughter.
Inside the villa, the elders dined with civility and silverware. Out here, the younger generation let their guards down. They sipped wine, poked fun at each other, shared inside jokes and half-forgotten memories.
After dinner, the group slowly began to break up. Some wandered toward the forest edge for a short night walk, others stayed near the bonfire, lost in their own quiet conversations. Ivikaa, however, had a mission-and only one person could help her pull it off.
"Maya," she said, catching her just as she was about to sneak a second helping of dessert from the buffet table. "I need you to keep Rudra busy tonight."
Maya blinked. "Why?"
Iva raised an eyebrow, her voice dropping to a sarcastic murmur.
"Because he's about to 'confess' his undying love for me.
Or whatever emotionally manipulative version of that he's rehearsed in his head.
Families are together, forest air is thick, emotions are dramatic.
.. of course he'll use this setup. I will take care of his feelings later. "
Maya gave a nervous glance toward the villa. "There's no network here, Iva. I can't even fake a crisis."
Ivikaa sighed and tilted her head, feigning deep disappointment. "So Maya is not as intelligent as she claims to be."
Ouch.
That landed exactly where she wanted it to.
Maya narrowed her eyes and gave a smirking salute. "Consider it done."
Maya tossed her hair back dramatically and strutted off toward the villa with the over-the-top determination of someone going on a spy mission. "Wish me luck," she whispered under her breath, vanishing into the shadows with a mischievous grin.
Iva stood still for a beat, watching her go. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
Next day -
Earlier that afternoon, the families had gone for a lion safari, their jeeps rolling cautiously through the sun-dappled tracks. Though the lions kept their distance, the thrill of spotting a paw print or hearing a roar had left Ivikaa bubbling with excitement.
By evening-Iva went near the window with her phone and got a signal for a few seconds and found an email from Alex. Urgh, some emergency.
She went outside the villa and started searching for network for her phone. She didn't realise when she started moving west and carefully stepping on stone. She could hear river flowing voice and then she got a bit closer as she heard melody. His melody.
Her feet moved on their own, guided by the music. The same effect that melody is having-which it left when she heard him first time from the terrace.
She went near and saw a swing was tied between two giant trunks and a rucksack bag was placed under the tree.
And then her eyes went up-
He was sitting on the tree and playing flute.
She stood frozen for a moment. The flute melody faded into silence as Adwait opened his eyes.
She forced herself to turn. He was no one to her now. She didn't want to talk. Not tonight. Not ever, maybe.
As she spun on her heel, her foot caught on a rock.
"Sambhal ke," his voice came, soft-almost instinctive.
(Be careful)
But she had already slammed her foot hard onto the stone, hissing through clenched teeth. Pain shot up her leg, but anger drowned it out. She didn't stop. She climbed onto a larger rock, fueled by fury. One wrong step, and-
"Ah-damn it," she hissed as she lost balance and fell hard on her side.
"Ivikaa.," Adwait shouted and jumped down from the tree in an instant, landing silently like the wild itself. He rushed toward her, hand outstretched-but Iva pulled herself away before he could touch her.
He paused a second, watching her with unreadable eyes. "Aap gussa hain?" he asked softly.
(Are you mad at me?)
Iva looked at him with a bitter smile. "No, I'm thrilled. I collect betrayals now-right between my luxury handbags and bad life choices."
Adwait let out a small, dry laugh despite himself, but his gaze dropped to her scraped ankle, already turning red.
"Maine pehle hi kaha tha-mere paas aane ka matlab sirf dard aur takleef hai. aaj bhi dark ke sath khoon nikal gaya.", he said like once again he blamed himself.
(I told you before-coming close to me only means pain and suffering. Even today, along with the darkness, there was blood.)
Ivikaa didn't say a word. Her silence was louder than any accusation, wrapped around her like a shield.
Adwait didn't push. He gently took her hand and led her towards the river.
She sat on a smooth rock, still fuming, still unreadable.
He knelt before her and gently took her foot in his hands.
First, he checked her ankle for any injury, his brows furrowed in concern.
Then, without a word, he slipped off her flip flops and set it aside.
He dipped his handkerchief in the river, wrung it out, and began cleaning the blood on her ankle.
His touch was gentle, reverent-like he was trying to erase not just the wound, but every moment of pain he had ever caused.She still didn't speak.
Her eyes looked past him, into the forest's darkness, refusing to meet his.
But something was breaking.
He was careful. Too careful. And that made it worse.
She hated how his care still reached the places his words could never touch.
And then, in the sacred silence between them-
Growl.
Her stomach betrayed her anger with a loud, awkward protest.
Adwait looked up, startled. A slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.
Ivikaa rolled her eyes, arms crossed. "Great. Even my stomach has no loyalty."
He chuckled under his breath. She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the corner of her lips from betraying her.
Adwait walked over to a small cooking pit, its embers still warm from earlier.
He placed a blackened pan over the fire, the metal catching the last gold of the setting sun.
Without a word, he reached into his rucksack, pulled out a packet of Maggi, tore it open, and poured the contents into the pan.
Water followed, then the spice mix. The familiar scent began to rise-warm, nostalgic, heartbreakingly simple.
Ivikaa sat still, a statue of silence, her scraped ankle tucked beside her. She didn't look at him, but she felt everything-every movement, every unspoken apology stirring in the air between them.
The sky melted into hues of burnt orange and lavender. Somewhere, a bird called out before nightfall. But the only sound here was the gentle bubbling of noodles and the quiet ache of things left unsaid.
Adwait stirred slowly, then poured the Maggi into a small steel bowl. From the same bag, he took out a fork and walked toward her.
He knelt, held it out without saying anything-an offering, maybe a peace treaty, maybe just dinner.
But Ivikaa didn't take the bowl. Her arms remained folded, jaw clenched, eyes distant.
Still mad.
Adwait let out a soft sigh-part patience, part silent apology. He twirled a little Maggi onto the fork and held it out to her, his hand steady, gaze soft.
She didn't move at first. Then her eyes found his-searching, holding, accusing-and lingered for a beat too long. Something cracked. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But hunger, perhaps, or the familiarity of him.
Without a word, she opened her mouth.
He gently fed her, one bite at a time, like they were somewhere outside time-outside betrayal, outside anger. Just him and her and a sunset.
She kept eating slowly, not meeting his eyes. And he kept feeding her, forkful after forkful, like penance.
The Maggi was warm. The silence warmer.
And maybe, just maybe, the walls around her heart didn't fall-but they shifted a little.
"Aap kyun gussa hain?" he asked again, puzzled. He thought feeding her might've calmed her down-her tummy was full, after all.
(Why are you mad at me?)
"Seriously? You're actually asking that?" she shot back, her voice sharp. "I don't want to force myself on you. I better go." She began to rise.
He stopped her, voice low but steady.
"Main aapki zindagi mein roshni toh nahi laa sakta, par itna zaroor koshish kar sakta hoon ki andhera bhi na doon. Main aapki duniya ka hissa nahi hoon. Main waha nahi aa sakta."
(I cannot bring light into your life... but at the very least, I can try not to bring darkness either. I am not a part of your world. I cannot step into it.)
His words were raw, honest-a quiet confession of why he'd never tried to reach out.
She stared at him, eyes blazing.
"And what about me? Am I part of your world?"
There was a pause before he whispered, "Yeah... you can be. Until it harms you-or your reputation."
He stood up and walked towards the river. Kneeling down, he cupped his palms to gather water and drank slowly, trying to mask the storm inside him.
She followed, stood beside him, watching. She bent down, tried to collect water in her palms-but it kept slipping through.
"You shouldn't drink this water," he said softly.
She ignored him, glaring, stubborn. He sighed, then gathered water again and brought his hands close to her lips.
She hesitated. Then leaned in and drank from his palms.
Moments passed in silence.
"What are you cooking for dinner?" she asked suddenly, as he bent down to get her another round of water.
She drank again. He didn't answer her question. Instead, he said quietly,
"You should go back. They'll be worried about you."
She didn't reply. She simply stood up, turned away, and walked off-without looking back.
She returned to the villa and found everyone laughing, music playing softly in the background. The mood was light-too light for the storm she carried within.
Rudra caught sight of her and smiled, hopeful. She walked straight up to him.
"Once we're back in Mumbai, I want to talk to you," she said, her tone neutral but firm.
Rudra's face lit up, a little too eagerly.
She didn't smile back. It wasn't the kind of talk he was hoping for. She needed to end this-whatever he thought existed between them. Whether it was real or just a delusion he enjoyed pretending was mutual.
She left him there and walked into the kitchen, where she was about to tell the chef her dinner preference when she overheard Maria asking Martin what to make for Adwait.
"Make pasta," Iva said sharply, interrupting. "I'll be taking his dinner at exactly eight. And Martin, you'll handle my absence like the skilled liar. Make up whatever excuse fits the evening's vibe-and FYI, Adwait's updated his privacy policy."
Martin raised an eyebrow, leaned on the counter with exaggerated flair.
"Oh lovely, I always wanted a full-time role in Iva's Cover-Up Chronicles," he said with a smirk. "Should I add 'Data Privacy Officer' to my resume while I'm at it?"
Iva gave him a dry look. "Please do. Benefits include selective memory and pretending not to see things after 8 p.m."
They exchanged a knowing glance before she turned on her heel and walked out.
Martin cooked the pasta just the way Adwait liked it-light on the sauce, a hint of chili flakes, and perfectly al dente. He packed it neatly into a container, slid in the note with a dramatic flourish, and handed the bag to Iva as she prepared to leave.
At exactly 8 PM, Martin walked into the living room where the rest of the group was still lounging-laughing, sipping wine, and reminiscing about past travels.
With his usual calm and a touch of theatrical concern, he said,
"Miss Ambani has a slight headache and has retired early for the evening. She's requested not to be disturbed."
There were nods of sympathy and a few murmurs of understanding. Rudra looked vaguely disappointed, but said nothing.
Martin, of course, didn't bother adding that she was, in fact, on her way out-with pasta, a purpose, and eyes that gave away far more than she intended.
Ah yes, the ancient love language-carbs and avoidance.
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