Bonus Chapter Between two hearts
Thank you for giving them - and me - a reason to come home again. And to those still worried about Ivikaa... yes, she's still balancing two Veds, and no, she still doesn't get a manual.
Follow on insta - empty_your_feelings
Adwait stepped into the marble foyer of the Agnivanshi Palace, his boots silent against the polished stone. The scent of sandalwood lingered faintly in the air-familiar, grounding. Martin approached from the side, stiff in posture, but his face-
Adwait's eyes narrowed.
He was about to ask when Maya came sprinting down the hallway, her dupatta slipping off her shoulder, feet barely touching the floor.
"Jay-Vedansh," she gasped, eyes wild, chest heaving.
Adwait froze. Vedansh?
He tossed the car keys onto the side table with a sharp clatter. "Vedansh?" he repeated, voice low but lethal.
"He's nowhere to be found," Maya said, barely above a whisper now, and with that-
-the color drained from his face.
The room shifted. The light became too harsh. His pulse slowed, sharpened.
"Since when?" he asked, his voice devoid of panic, but edged with steel.
He was already moving.
Maya followed, stumbling over her own words now. "An hour-maybe more. I-I picked him from the school myself. He came in quiet, like always. Said nothing. Went straight to his room."
Five years old.
A ghost of his own mind.
Gone.
He exhaled-once. Slow.
Then his eyes sharpened.
"I want the palace locked down," he said to Martin without looking at him. "North gates sealed. No vehicle leaves without my permission."
Maya stammered, "Jay-"
"Not now," he cut in. His voice wasn't angry. It was exact. Cold enough to freeze the air around them.
Adwait didn't search. He tracked.
He moved up the stairs, not in panic but precision-his eyes reading the space like code. The angle of the curtain cord near Vedansh's door. The faint scuff mark on the marble floor. The absence of something that should be there-a toy tiger Vedansh always tossed aside at the same corner. Gone.
The door to Vedansh's room was half-open. Adwait stepped inside.
The room was still.
Too still.
He scanned: books out of order. Chair slightly moved. A single sheet of white paper on the desk with nothing written-just pressed down in the center, as if someone sat there a long time, thinking.
Adwait walked to it and placed his hand where the pressure mark was. Still warm.
"He didn't run," Adwait muttered to himself. "He withdrew."
He stood straight.
Which means... Vedansh didn't leave because he was afraid. He left because he needed to escape.
Adwait's jaw clenched.
He knows that kind of silence.
Because he was that kind of silence.
The panel gave way with a soft hiss.
He moved into the narrow passage without hesitation, ducking slightly under the low beam. Dust coated the air like forgotten memory. The silence here wasn't ordinary-it was designed. Sterile. Protected.
He reached the end of the passage and stopped in front of the reinforced steel door.
It was ajar.
Someone had been here recently.
He pushed it open-and there, in the soft light of a single desk lamp-
Vedansh.
Curled on the floor beside a pile of books too advanced for most scholars. Eyes open. Breathing calm. Staring at the blank cement wall as if it held answers the world refused to give him.
Adwait didn't speak. He didn't move immediately.
He watched. A child's posture. But the stillness - that was not of a child.
That was Adwait, reflected back at him.
The boy's fingers twitched against the floor.
Left hand clasping the edge of a sketch: lines of a machine half-drawn.
A mind unraveling itself in silence. Not from fear. From overwhelm.
Adwait finally stepped forward.
"Vedansh."
The boy flinched-then turned.
And the moment their eyes met, something cracked.
"Papa..." Vedansh whispered, voice trembling.
Then-he ran.
No hesitation. No thought. Just instinct.
Straight into Adwait's arms.
Adwait knelt just in time, catching him.
Vedansh clung to him fiercely, fingers digging into his coat. His small frame shook with silent sobs. He didn't speak. Didn't explain.
And Adwait?
He held him.
Awkwardly. Tightly. Like someone gripping something they were never taught how to hold.
Vedansh's voice was a whisper, almost inaudible.
"They laugh when I speak."
Adwait said nothing.
"I just wanted it to stop."
Adwait closed his eyes briefly. That sentence cut deeper than it should have.
He opened his mouth to speak-
But behind them, footsteps.
Hurried. Uneven.
Ivikaa.
Ivikaa burst into the room, her eyes wild-until she saw them. Vedansh in Adwait's arms.
She stopped. Her breath hitched.
And then the tears came.
"I've been looking everywhere," she said, her voice breaking. "I thought-God, I thought we lost you."
Vedansh looked up. His lips wobbled.
"Mama..."
Ivikaa sank to her knees beside them, reaching for him.
Vedansh unwrapped himself from Adwait and threw himself into her arms.
And this time-it wasn't quiet.
He sobbed.
Loud. Shaking. The kind of cry that only comes from a child too young to carry what he's been carrying, and too smart to explain it.
Ivikaa held him, tears streaming.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," she whispered through her sobs. "Not for the world. Not for anyone. Especially not for us."
Adwait said nothing.
Because the truth was simple, and cruel:
She looked with her heart. He looked with his mind. And the boy? Was made of both.
The woman who once looked at him like he was her entire sky, and the boy who bore his brilliance like a curse. Both of them crying.
Because of him.
He reached out.
And pulled them both into his arms.
He gave Vedansh his fire. But forgot how fire burns.
His parents had suffered because of him. Now his wife wept for the man he'd become. And his son-
His son was five years old, and already carrying the weight of a mind that would never feel safe in the world.
You did this.
Not out of cruelty.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice barely audible.
He didn't know who he was saying it to. To Ivikaa, whose tears had stained her strength? To Vedansh, who trembled in her arms?
Or maybe to himself.
He felt her shoulders trembling against his chest-silent sobs, the kind you hold back for too long until they break you from the inside.
Then-suddenly- Vedansh stirred.
He leaned back in Ivikaa's arms, looked up at her tear-streaked face. His little hand reached up and brushed her cheek.
Tiny fingers. Big eyes. A quiet voice.
"Mumma, no."
Ivikaa froze.
Her lip quivered.
"Vedansh ki Mumma, don't cry," Vedansh whispered, curling into her again. "You found me."
Ivikaa kissed his forehead, still crying, but smiling now, too-shaking her head as if to say how are you this small and this big all at once?
Adwait lowered his forehead to rest lightly on both of them.
He didn't speak.
There were no strategies here. No logic to calculate the depth of this moment.
Just a little boy, wiping his mother's tears.
And a man, who finally understood:
This is what legacy means.
Not the empire.
Not the IQ.
But this.
The breaking.
The mending.
The love that makes it worth surviving.
He let the corner of his mouth lift, leaned in slightly, and said-
"Vedansh ki mumma, haan?"He paused, eyes narrowing with mock offense. "Nope."
He shook his head once, deliberate.
"She's Adwait ki jaan."
Ivikaa looked up, startled-then broke into a disbelieving laugh, part gasp, part glare.
"Ved," she said mockingly, dragging out his name like a warning.
Both of them- The grown one and the small one- Immediately said in sync:
"Sorry."
Adwait raised a brow. Vedansh giggled, hiding his face again.
Ivikaa sighed, dramatic. "Seriously... you both are just too much."
Adwait smirked. "Genetics are ruthless."
Then, gently, he reached out.
Ivikaa let go, and he took Vedansh into his arms. The boy clung to his shoulder, legs loosely wrapped around his side, the kind of hold that only exists between a child and someone who has always been safe - even if unspoken.
They stepped out together.
No ceremony. No grand music.
Just a quiet family, walking out of a silent room.
Vedansh looked like his mother - that softness around the eyes, the expressive brows. But the stillness, the intensity, the way he scanned the world even while being held?
That was Adwait. Completely.
The boy rested his head on Adwait's shoulder, sighing - not tired, but finally calm.
Adwait carried him all the way to the dining room and set him down at the head of the table.
"King seat," he said.
Vedansh gave a sleepy smile.
Then- Footsteps.
And a voice that pulled him upright.
"Vedansh!"
Shravani.
He turned sharply, eyes lighting up. Then jumped from the table and bolted.
"Daaaadiii!"
Shravani opened her arms and caught him mid-run, lifting him slightly as he threw his arms around her.
"Oh ho ho, my lion cub," she whispered into his hair, kissing his cheek again and again. "You gave us all such a scare."
Vedansh smiled into her shoulder. "I remember the shlok."
Shravani leaned back slightly, eyes twinkling. "You do?"
He nodded.
And then, with steady breath and glowing pride, he recited it:
Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana,
Ma karmaphalahetur bhurmatey sangostva akarmani.
Shravani's eyes shimmered.
"Do your duty. Not for reward, not out of fear, not for applause... but because it's yours to do," she said softly.
Vedansh beamed.
Adwait leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
Ivikaa came to stand beside him, brushing her hand against his.
"How did you know?" she asked quietly.
Adwait looked back at Vedansh.
"Because he's mine," he said.
Ivikaa stepped into the room, slowly, her eyes never leaving her son.
"But he's also mine, Adwait," she whispered. "And I didn't know where to look."
Adwait said nothing.
Not right away.
Because what could he say?
That he had known not because he was calm - but because he had been there? Because the moment he heard Vedansh was missing, the air had vanished from his lungs, and he knew what kind of silence follows a mind that thinks too much and feels too fast?
That he didn't search like a father.
He searched like a mirror looking for its broken reflection.
And found it.
In the one place he knew would hurt the most.
Alone.
"I didn't know either," he admitted finally. His voice was flat. Controlled.
"But I knew where he'd go if he ever felt... like me."
Ivikaa turned her face away.
Not in anger.
But in pain.
In understanding.
Adwait looked at her - really looked. The woman who had chosen him despite his scars. The woman who had fought beside him, loved him with fire, and still cried when their child hurt.
He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You didn't fail," he said.
She didn't respond. Not in words.
But she stepped closer, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
──────── ☆ ────────
"Blue... then white... twist corner-ha!" Vedansh's fingers turned the Rubik's Cube faster than most adults could blink.
Adwait leaned back against the headboard, one brow raised. "That's your third solve tonight."
Vedansh looked up, smirking. "Maybe you should try harder."
"Maybe I should swap you out for a slower kid."
"Too late," Vedansh said, flopping against his father's side with the confidence of someone who had already conquered the universe - or at least the 3x3 cube. "I'm your only one."
Adwait smiled, ruffling his hair. "That you are."
They sat in silence for a while, the soft ticking of the antique clock filling the room. Vedansh turned the cube again, slower this time - not solving, just fidgeting. Thinking.
Adwait knew that silence. He'd lived in it as a boy.
He didn't press.
Then the door opened gently.
Ivikaa stepped in, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing one of Adwait's oversized shirts - soft cotton, pale, familiar. She didn't say a word.
She didn't need to.
Vedansh looked up.
The cube stilled in his hands.
And without hesitation, he slid off the bed and walked to her. Quiet. Certain. Like gravity.
Ivikaa opened her arms, and he melted into them.
She sat on the couch by the window, pulling him onto her lap. No words - just the faint hum of her voice as she rocked him gently. Her fingers moved through his hair in slow, steady circles. His eyes fluttered shut, breath slowing, limbs relaxing.
Adwait watched from the bed, elbows on his knees, heart so full it ached.
He didn't interrupt. Just watched.
Eventually, Ivikaa looked over and nodded.
Adwait rose, padded across the room, and carefully lifted Vedansh from her arms. The boy didn't stir - too safe, too loved.
He placed him on the bed, pulled the covers up, and sat beside him for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from his son's forehead.
Ivikaa joined him a moment later, resting her chin on Adwait's shoulder.
"He always finds his way back to you," Adwait murmured.
Ivikaa smiled softly. "He finds his way back to us."
They sat there, quiet and content, while their son - half fire, half calm, all theirs - dreamed peacefully between them.
"Come with me," Ivikaa whispered.
Adwait nodded, rising. They moved quietly down the hall to Vedansh's room. The walls were alive with photographs - Vedansh at the beach, Vedansh in the garden, Vedansh asleep on Ivikaa's lap - his entire little world frozen in moments.
Adwait's gaze traced over them. "He's totally a mumma's boy," he said, half-smiling. "Always clinging to you."
"Just clingy?" She smirked. "He loves me more than he loves you."
He gave her a look, but she was already crossing to Vedansh's study table. She picked something up - a small, wilted marigold.
"He gives you flowers?" Adwait asked, genuinely surprised.
"Daily," she said, her voice softening. "Just like you do."
She pulled open a drawer, rummaging for a moment before producing a folded sheet of paper. "See this." She handed it to him.
It was a crayon drawing - simple, messy, heartfelt. Three stick figures holding hands under a crooked sun. Above them, in uneven, childlike scrawl:
"How about we give him a sibling?" Adwait murmured, pressing a light kiss to her lips. "Probably a Vedika."
"One is enough to handle," she said, smirking before her expression shifted, turning serious. "I don't know how his mind works. It's so difficult for me... seeing my Vedansh like this."
"Hey," he said gently, tightening his hold on her.
"I was just kidding." He searched her eyes.
"I know his mind is... different. And I know it's hard for you - handling business and him.
You get exhausted. But you're doing better than you think, Iva.
You might not always understand his mind.
.. but you know his heart. You take care of his heart. I'll take care of his mind."
She didn't answer - just looked at him, something unspoken flickering between them.
Adwait leaned in, brushed another quick kiss against her lips.
"Aah, Mr. Agnivanshi," she teased, her voice low, "properly."
This time, he didn't hold back. His hand slid to the back of her neck, and he kissed her - deep, slow, and certain, the kind of kiss that left the night warmer than it had been before.
"Mummaa-"
Adwait broke the kiss the moment he heard his son's voice.
"Haan, Iva ki jaan," Ivikaa answered instantly, and they both stepped out.
Vedansh stood in the hallway in his tiny nightclothes, clutching his shawl, hair mussed from sleep. Adwait bent to pick him up, but before his arms could reach, the boy padded straight to his mother and climbed into her embrace.
"I'm hungry," he mumbled.
"Just like his mumma," Adwait muttered under his breath, earning a soft laugh from Ivikaa.
They ended up in the kitchen - Ivikaa and Vedansh perched comfortably on the slab while Adwait pulled out bread and vegetables.
The grill hissed as he worked. He glanced over once and saw his son twirling a strand of Ivikaa's hair around his fingers, utterly absorbed in her.
She let him, smiling like the world outside that moment didn't exist.
By the time the sandwiches were ready, something in Adwait's chest ached in the best way. He placed the first plate in front of her.
"Here for you... Adwait ki jaan," he said, deliberately feeding her the first bite.
Then he turned to Vedansh with the second plate. "And here for you... Adwait ki jaan ki jaan."
Vedansh froze, then broke into a small, dimpled smile - the exact same one Adwait saw in the mirror every morning - as if his most guarded secret had just been exposed. He quickly hid himself in his mumma's embrace.
They ate together in the soft light of the kitchen, the air warm with the smell of toasted bread and the low hum of quiet conversation. Vedansh swung his legs idly against the counter, Ivikaa's hand resting protectively on his back.
Adwait stood opposite them, leaning on the counter, watching without intruding. His world - alive, laughing, and safe - sat right there in front of him.
Ivikaa caught him staring and shook her head with a smile. "Blessed with two Veds," she muttered under her breath, "and neither comes with a manual."
Adwait's gaze lingered on her. "That's because you wrote it."
She laughed softly, feeding Vedansh another bite.
Adwait leaned back against the counter, watching the two of them - his jaan, and his jaan ki jaan - and thought,
Two brilliant minds, two stubborn hearts... and somehow, she carries both without ever dropping her smile.