Chapter 21
Viya
The two weeks in Japan had been like a dream.
What was supposed to be a business training trip had transformed into something else entirely.
Our honeymoon. Armaan and I had stolen every moment we could, exploring Tokyo together, sharing meals at tiny restaurants, walking through ancient temples, and spending every night wrapped in each other's arms.
But now we were home, and reality was waiting for us.
Ramesh pulled the car into the driveway, and I felt a mixture of relief and nervousness wash over me.
I had missed Dadi terribly. Missed the familiarity of home.
We got out of the car and walked toward the front door, our suitcases in hand.
Before we even reached it, the door opened and Dadi appeared, her face lit up with joy.
"You are back! Finally! The house has been so quiet without you both."
I rushed forward to hug her, careful not to squeeze too tight. She was still recovering, after all.
"How are you feeling, Dadi? Did you take all your medicines? Were the nurses taking good care of you?"
She laughed and patted my cheek.
"Yes, yes, beta. I am fine. Stop worrying so much. But come inside, come inside. We have a surprise for you."
Armaan and I exchanged curious glances as we followed Dadi into the living room.
And there, standing near the window with his back to us, was a man I had never seen before. He was tall, with silver streaked hair and the same broad shoulders as Armaan. When he turned around, I saw where Armaan got his sharp features and intense eyes.
This was Armaan's father.
Armaan froze beside me. I could feel the shock radiating from him.
"Papa?" His voice came out rough with emotion.
His father smiled, and it transformed his entire face. He looked younger suddenly, the years of sadness lifting away.
"Hello, son. I hope you do not mind an unexpected visit."
Armaan moved forward quickly and embraced his father. They stood there holding each other, and I saw Dadi wipe tears from her eyes. This reunion was clearly something she had been hoping for, praying for, for many years.
When they finally pulled apart, Armaan's father turned his attention to me. His eyes were kind as they took me in, and I suddenly felt very nervous under his scrutiny.
"Papa, this is Viya," Armaan said, pulling me forward gently. "My wife."
I immediately bent down to touch his feet in a gesture of respect. His hand came to rest on my head in blessing.
"May you always be happy, beta. May you and Armaan have a long and blessed life together."
When I straightened, he was smiling at me with genuine warmth.
“Thank you, Uncle.”
"Call me Papa, please. You are my daughter now."
The simple words made my eyes prick with tears. It had been so long since I had a father figure who looked at me with such open acceptance.
"Thank you, Papa," I managed to say.
He pulled me into a gentle hug, and I felt Armaan's hand rest on my back. A united front. A family.
"Come, come," Dadi said, ushering us all toward the sofa. "Sit down. You must tell us everything about Japan."
I blushed and glanced at Armaan, who was watching me with that soft expression he reserved just for me.
We spent the next hour talking about Japan, about the trip, about the beautiful places we had seen. Armaan's father asked about my work, about my background, showing genuine interest in getting to know me.
Eventually, I excused myself to go to the kitchen. It was getting late, and everyone would need dinner soon.
I found Mamta already there, preparing vegetables.
"Mamta ji, let me help. We have a guest, and I want to make something special."
"Viya beta, you just got home from a long journey. You should rest."
"I want to do this. Please."
She smiled knowingly and stepped aside.
I cooked with care, making all of Armaan's favorite dishes. Butter chicken, dal makhani, fresh rotis, pulao. I wanted this meal to be perfect. This was the first time I was cooking for Armaan's father, and I wanted him to see that his son had married someone who could take care of him.
When everything was ready, I called everyone to the dining room. We all sat together around the table. Dadi at the head, Armaan beside me, Papa across from us.
As I served food to everyone, starting with Papa and Dadi, I felt a warmth spread through my chest. This was what family felt like. Real family. Not the strained, obligatory meals at Uncle's house, but genuine connection and love.
Papa took his first bite and his eyes widened.
"Viya, this is delicious. Armaan, you are a lucky man."
Armaan reached under the table and squeezed my hand.
"I know, Papa. I remind myself of that every day."
Throughout dinner, I watched Armaan and his father talk and laugh together.
There was healing happening here. Years of distance and pain being slowly bridged.
And somehow, my presence seemed to be helping.
Papa kept looking between Armaan and me with satisfaction, as though seeing his son happy had lifted some long carried burden from his shoulders.
After dinner, we all sat in the living room and talked late into the night. Papa told stories about Armaan as a child, embarrassing tales that made Armaan groan and me laugh. Dadi shared memories of happier times when the family had been whole.
It was almost midnight when we finally said goodnight and retreated to our bedroom.
I changed into comfortable pajamas while Armaan did the same. When we climbed into bed, he immediately pulled me close, tucking me against his chest where I fit perfectly.
"Thank you," he murmured into my hair.
"For what?"
"For making tonight so perfect. For accepting my father without question. For fitting into this family like you have always been here."
I tilted my head back to look at him.
"This is my family now. Where else would I belong?"
His arms tightened around me.
"Did you see how happy Papa looked? I have not seen him smile like that in years. Maybe ever. He kept telling me how lucky I am, how perfect you are."
"He seems like a wonderful man. I can see where you get your kindness from."
Armaan laughed softly.
"Kindness? Most people would describe me as cold and ruthless."
"That is just what you show the world. I know the real you."
We lay there in comfortable silence for a while, my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. His fingers traced absent patterns on my back.
"Everything feels perfect right now," he said quietly. "You, me, Papa coming home, Dadi healing. Like all the broken pieces are finally coming together."
I knew what he meant. Despite everything, despite the strange circumstances that had brought us together, this felt real. This felt like exactly where I was meant to be.
"I love you," I whispered.
"I love you more," he whispered back.
"Not possible."
"Definitely possible."
I smiled against his chest and let my eyes drift closed. Safe. Loved. Home.
This was happiness. Pure and simple and perfect.