The first light of dawn filtered softly through the thin curtains, painting the bedroom in a gentle golden hue. Aarohi stirred violently, her body trembling as remnants of the nightmare clung to her mind. She bolted upright, gasping, her heart pounding.

“Ruhi… Ruhi!” she whispered urgently, her voice shaking.

Her tiny daughter, still curled up in the crib beside her bed, blinked sleepily. Aarohi scooped her up in one swift motion, pressing her face against Ruhi’s soft hair.

“why can't he leave me alone even after his death.,” she murmured, rocking her daughter gently. Her eyes, still misty with fear, softened as she looked at the innocent face staring back at her. Ruhi yawned, tiny fists clutching at Aarohi’s sari.

After a long moment, Aarohi placed her daughter back in the crib, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her gaze fell on the clock by the bedside—it was already 6:15 a.m.

“Shit… I need to get ready,” she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples. She hurried into the bathroom, the cool tiles grounding her as she splashed water on her face, trying to shake off the lingering dread from her dream.

Once dressed in her simple, neat kurti and leggings, Aarohi tiptoed into the kitchen. She hummed softly, a soothing rhythm to calm her nerves, and began preparing Ruhi’s favorite breakfast—soft, steaming idlis with a drizzle of ghee and a small bowl of fruit puree on the side.

“Here you go, Ruhi… for my little sunshine,” she said softly, placing the plate carefully on the table.

Aarohi poured herself a cup of hot tea, the aroma mingling with the faint scent of spices in the kitchen. She wrapped her hands around the warm cup and took a slow, steady sip, letting the liquid calm the anxiety still thumping in her chest.

Finished with breakfast preparations, Aarohi  heading back toward the bedroom. The little girl’s hair was tousled, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Time to wake up, my baby girl,” Aarohi said softly, brushing her hair from Ruhi’s face. “Mama has to go to work, and you need to get ready too.”

Ruhi stirred, blinking up at her mother with sleepy eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. Aarohi hugged her tightly, feeling the pulse of life and love in her tiny body—a reminder of everything she lived for.

“Let’s make today a good day, okay, princess?” Aarohi whispered. Her voice was calm now, steady. The nightmare was gone, replaced by determination, love, and the quiet courage of a mother ready to face the world for her daughter.

She drop ruhi at her playschool. Then left for her school..

The bell rang softly, and Aarohi Rao stepped into her classroom, her kurti neat and hair tied back in a simple braid. The chatter of students faded as soon as they saw her. She carried a stack of notebooks and smiled warmly at the eager faces.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said, her voice calm yet commanding enough to settle the restless students.

“Good morning, Ma’am!” the class chorused.

Aarohi placed her books on the teacher’s desk and looked around the room, letting her gaze linger on each student for a brief moment. She inhaled deeply, centering herself before beginning.

“Today, we’re going to discuss Chapter 7—The Indian Freedom Struggle and Its Leaders. But before we start, I want each of you to think about what freedom really means,” she began, walking slowly between the rows.

A boy in the front row raised his hand. “Ma’am, is it just about leaving the British rule?”

Aarohi smiled softly. “That’s part of it, yes. But freedom is also about courage, responsibility, and standing up for what is right—even when it’s difficult.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “It’s about making choices, and sometimes sacrifices, for the greater good.”

A girl near the back whispered to her friend, and Aarohi gently raised an eyebrow. The whispers ceased. She didn’t need to scold; her calm, assertive presence was enough to hold their attention.

“Now,” she continued, writing neat headings on the blackboard, “we’ll talk about the key leaders: Mahatma Gandhi, Subhash Chandra Bose, Rani Lakshmi Bai…” She paused and turned to face the class. “Can anyone tell me why these leaders are still remembered today?”

A boy with glasses raised his hand. “Because they fought for India and inspired people, Ma’am.”

“Exactly,” Aarohi said, nodding. “They didn’t just fight for freedom—they fought to make a difference in society. And that is something each of us can learn from. Courage, integrity, and compassion are timeless qualities.”

She moved closer to the window, sunlight highlighting her gentle features. For a moment, she allowed herself a small, private thought—If only life had been that simple, just courage and choices. If only Ruhi had never had to face fear the way I did.

Shaking off the memory, she turned back to the class. “Now, we’ll do a small activity. Each of you will write a short paragraph about a freedom fighter who inspires you the most, and explain why. Focus on their struggles, their courage, and the lessons we can apply in our own lives.”

The students pulled out their notebooks eagerly. Aarohi walked between the desks, offering quiet encouragement.

“Good, Priya… yes, that’s a very thoughtful point,” she said to one girl, nodding approvingly. “Ravi, I love how you connected Gandhi’s patience to your own life.”

She paused near a quiet boy in the corner, whose handwriting was messy, and bent slightly to his level. “Don’t worry about perfection, Arjun. What matters is your thoughts, your honesty. That’s what makes your work valuable.”

The boy looked up at her, a small smile forming. Aarohi smiled back, her heart quietly warming. These children… they trust me, and I’ll do everything to guide them right.

Once the students finished writing, she collected their notebooks and read a few aloud. “Priya, your paragraph on Rani Lakshmi Bai was beautiful. I loved how you highlighted her bravery despite all odds. And Arjun, your reflections on Bose’s leadership were insightful—well done.”

The class was silent now, but Aarohi could feel the energy—curiosity, engagement, and the small spark of learning she always aimed to ignite. She paused at her desk and poured herself a sip of water, letting the calm wash over her.

“Alright, everyone,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “remember your homework now, watch any freedom fighter movie then we will discuss that in next class.”

The bell rang again, signaling the end of the period. Students packed their bags and filed out, chatting excitedly about the activity. Aarohi watched them leave, adjusting her braid and smiling softly.

Alone now, she leaned against her desk for a moment. 

With a deep breath, she gathered her books and prepared for the next class, the quiet determination of a mother and teacher guiding every step she took.

______________________________________

The first rays of dawn barely touched the edges of the massive bedroom, yet Shaurya Rajvansh was already awake. The clock read 5:00 a.m., but he didn’t need it—his body had long been trained to follow the rhythm of discipline.

He swung his legs off the king-sized bed, bare feet meeting the cool marble floor. The room was vast and minimalistic, adorned with tasteful art and sleek furniture, reflecting the power and elegance of the Rajvansh empire. His eyes, sharp and alert even in the half-light, swept over the space for a second before he moved toward the door.

A few minutes later, he was already in his private gym, the sound of weights clinking softly as he began his rigorous morning routine. Every movement precise, every muscle engaged—he pushed himself to the limit, sweat glistening on his broad shoulders, the rhythm of discipline echoing in the spacious gym.

An hour later, Shaurya returned to his room, chest heaving slightly, the faintest sheen of sweat highlighting the contours of his well-built frame. The private shower was a sanctuary—warm water cascading down his body, washing away the fatigue, leaving him renewed and focused.

Stepping out, he wrapped a crisp towel around his waist, drying his skin methodically before dressing in a perfectly tailored suit. Navy blue, pinstripe, with a sharp crease that spoke of power and authority. Polished leather shoes, cufflinks gleaming subtly, every detail meticulous.

For a few seconds, he paused, his gaze drawn to a portrait on the wall—a framed image of his late wife Vaani , captured in a fleeting moment of laughter. Shaurya’s jaw tightened slightly, a rare flicker of vulnerability crossing his otherwise stoic expression. He inhaled deeply, straightened his shoulders, and let the thought of his family fuel his resolve.

“arav ,” he murmured softly, almost to himself, before turning toward the door.

The Rajvansh heir’s world was a kingdom of order and power, but now it was time to step into the softer realm he cherished most  his son, Arav. Shaurya’s strides were long, confident, and purposeful as he walked through the corridor, adorned with family photographs and trophies—silent reminders of legacy, love, and duty.

Reaching the nursery, he gently pushed open the door. The room was painted in calming hues of cream and blue, sunlight spilling softly through half-drawn curtains. There, Arav lay sleeping, his tiny chest rising and falling peacefully, a light blanket tucked around him.

Shaurya crouched down to his son’s level, his large hands resting lightly on the crib’s edges.

“Good morning, little prince,” he said softly, his deep voice low and tender. “Time to wake up, Arav. and we have a big day ahead.”

The boy stirred, tiny hands reaching toward his father, eyes fluttering open. Shaurya’s face softened instantly, the commanding presence of the CEO and king melting into the gentle, devoted father Arav knew.

“Papa…” the little voice mumbled sleepily.

“Yes, Arav, it’s me,” Shaurya whispered, lifting him gently into his arms. The boy nestled against his chest, and Shaurya held him firmly yet lovingly, feeling the heartbeat of his son—a rhythm that grounded him more than any empire ever could.

He stood there for a moment, the quiet intimacy of morning light, the soft sighs of his son, and the portrait on the wall lingering in his mind.

Shaurya straightened, determination etched into every line of his face. “Let’s get ready for today, little prince ,” he said, turning toward the wardrobe, the day ahead waiting to be conquered.

Shaurya gently placed Arav on the changing table. The little boy’s eyes were still sleepy, but a shy smile tugged at his lips when he saw his father.

“Alright, champ,” Shaurya said in his low, calm voice, “time for your morning bath.”

Arav giggled, clapping his tiny hands. “Splash, Papa!”

Shaurya chuckled softly and filled the baby bathtub with warm water, testing it with his wrist. “Perfect,” he murmured, guiding Arav into the shallow bath. The little boy squealed with delight as his tiny hands splashed the water.

“Whoa! Careful, little man,” Shaurya said, laughing quietly as he cupped water gently over Arav’s head, washing away the sleepiness. ”

Arav babbled happily, reaching for his father’s face, water dripping down. Shaurya leaned close, brushing a wet strand of hair from Arav’s forehead. “You’re my little warrior, aren’t you? Strong, brave…”

Once bath time was over, Shaurya wrapped Arav in a soft, fluffy towel and carried him to the changing table. “Now, let’s get you dressed.”

He picked out a tiny outfit—a crisp white baby  clothes suspenders, paired with soft beige trousers and tiny brown shoes. Arav wriggled and laughed, clearly excited about the little costume.

“You look cute, Arav,” Shaurya said, fastening the buttons carefully. “Papa’s little prince.” He brushed Arav’s hair gently into place, ruffling it softly. “Ready to show the family how handsome you are?”

Arav clapped his hands excitedly and babbled, “Yes, Papa!”

Shaurya scooped him up, carrying him down the grand staircase of the Rajvansh mansion. The polished marble reflected the morning light, and family portraits lined the walls, silent witnesses to their daily rituals.

As they reached the dining room, the scent of fresh fruits, tea, and breakfast delicacies greeted them. Around the long, elegant table, family members were already seated: grandparents, aunts, and uncles chatting softly, waiting for their little heir.

“Papa! Papa!” Arav squealed, pointing excitedly. Shaurya smiled, lowering him into his chair at the head of the table.

“Good morning, everyone,” Shaurya said, his deep voice carrying authority, yet warmth.

Arav waved his tiny hands, giggling as his grandmother leaned forward, scooping him into her arms for a brief hug.

“Look at him! So grown up, Shaurya,” she cooed. “Our little Arav is going to rule hearts one day.”

Shaurya nodded, smiling softly. “Yes, ma. He’s got a lot of learning ahead… and I’ll make sure he grows strong, kind, and brave.” He ruffled Arav’s hair affectionately.

Arav pointed at the plates, impatiently squealing, “, Papa! Pancake!”

Shaurya chuckled, placing a small portion of breakfast in front of him. “Patience, aru. Eat, and then you can tell everyone all about your adventures this morning.”

As the family began eating, Shaurya watched his son devour his breakfast, small hands clutching the spoon with concentration. A soft, protective warmth filled him, melting some of the steel that the world had forced him to wear.

No empire, no crown, no power matters more than this, he thought quietly, stealing a glance at the little boy who had captured his heart completely.

Arav was playing with his toy cars on a soft rug nearby, humming happily to himself. Shaurya’s mother, Rajmata Meera Rajvansh, stayed behind, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze steady on her eldest son.

“Shaurya,” she began cautiously, her voice calm but carrying weight, “have you thought about… the future? About… your second marriage?”

Shaurya stiffened, setting down the polished silver fork he had been absently holding. His jaw tightened, and his deep brown eyes hardened.

“Mother, please,” he said, cutting her off before she could continue, “let’s not talk about this right now.” His tone was firm, bordering on cold.

Rajmata meera ’s gaze didn’t waver. She leaned forward slightly, her voice gentler but firm, “Shaurya… I need you to listen. It’s about Arav.”

Shaurya’s eyes flickered to his son, who was now stacking the toy cars into a neat line, unaware of the weight of the conversation about to unfold.

“Yesterday,” Meera began, her voice softening with memory, “our Arav was playing in the living room. The palace maid had brought her daughter—five years old, cheerful as ever. And Arav… he saw her calling for her mother.”

Shaurya’s hand clenched into a fist, knuckles whitening.

“He… he started mimicking her,” Meera continued, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Calling ‘Mama… mama…’ in his small, uncertain voice. But then… he realized… he had no one to call like that. He didn’t have the warmth to hold onto, the arms of a mother to cry into. And, Shaurya… he started crying. Right there, in front of everyone, longing for something he didn’t even know he missed until that moment.”

Shaurya’s chest tightened. He leaned back, staring blankly at the polished floor, the weight of his son’s little heartbreak pressing against his chest.

“maa …” he said quietly, almost choked, “you don’t understand. I…”

Meera shook her head gently, her eyes soft but unwavering. “I do understand, Shaurya. I understand better than you think. You have given him a father’s love, protection, and strength… but a child also needs a mother. Someone to comfort him, to nurture him, to teach him warmth. He’s already noticing the gaps, the missing pieces in his life.”

Shaurya’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the armrest of his chair. “I… I can’t just marry someone… for appearances, Maa. That’s not fair.”

“Shaurya,” she said firmly, placing a hand over his, “this isn’t about you. It’s about Arav. He is growing, and he is sensitive. He feels the emptiness, even if he doesn’t understand it fully. He needs someone he can call ‘Mumma’… someone who can love him, and love you in return. You cannot be selfish and deny him that. You cannot assume he will always be fine with only half the love a child needs.”

Shaurya swallowed hard, the raw honesty in her voice breaking through the wall of control he always maintained. He looked down at Arav, now quietly hugging one of his toy cars, lost in his own little world. A pang of guilt, of realization, and of protective instinct struck him all at once.

Meera’s voice softened, almost pleading now. “Shaurya… for him, for Arav… think beyond yourself. Think about his little heart. You’ve given him so much already… now, give him a mother. Don’t let him grow up feeling this absence any longer.”

Shaurya closed his eyes, his mind replaying the scene Indira described. His son's, crying quietly, yearning for the arms he had never known. A lump formed in his throat, and for the first time, the thought of opening his heart to someone else—someone gentle, trustworthy, nurturing—felt not like a concession, but a responsibility.

After a long pause, he looked up, his eyes meeting his mother’s unwavering gaze. “I… understand, Maa. I… I will think about it. For him… for Arav.”

Meera  nodded, a small smile of relief touching her lips. “That’s all I ask, Shaurya. For him. For the family… and maybe, for yourself too.”

Shaurya remained silent for a moment, watching Arav play, feeling the quiet weight of a father’s duty pressing softly, insistently on his heart.

Arav sat in his high chair, happily munching on his pancake or say playing, while Shaurya’s mother,  left from there

Murmurs of excitement and approval rippled through the table. His brothers and sister amrita and his aunt whispered, exchanging knowing smiles, while Arav, oblivious to the family politics, chewed happily on his pancake.

He glanced at Arav, his little boy’s eyes sparkling innocently. Yes… for him, he thought quietly, feeling the weight and responsibility of fatherhood settle firmly in his heart.

The family continued their breakfast, conversation flowing with excitement about the upcoming proposal, but Shaurya remained quiet, lost in thought, his resolve firm. For Arav, the Rajvansh heir would now step into a new chapter—not just as a father, but as a protector, a provider, and soon, a husband.

The sleek, black Rolls Royce glided to a stop in front of the towering glass headquarters of Rajvansh Empire Pvt. Ltd.. The building stood tall against the Jaipur skyline, an unmistakable symbol of power and legacy.

Shaurya stepped out, clad in a sharp three-piece navy suit, his sunglasses reflecting the morning sun. His stride was purposeful, shoulders squared, every inch of him radiating authority. The staff waiting at the entrance bowed their heads slightly as he passed, the atmosphere shifting immediately with his presence.

Inside, the lobby bustled with activity—phones ringing, employees hurrying about—but the moment Shaurya walked in, the noise seemed to hush. His aura demanded silence, discipline, respect.

“Good morning, sir,” his secretary, Meera Kapoor, greeted, rushing to his side with a tablet in hand. She was efficient and sharp, one of the few who could keep up with his pace.

Shaurya’s expression was unreadable, his voice cold and precise as he strode toward the private elevator.

“Schedule. Now.”

Meera clicked open the tablet, reading quickly, matching his brisk steps.

“You have a board meeting at 10 a.m. with the foreign investors regarding the Rajvansh–Dubai collaboration. At noon, there’s a contract signing with the Sharma group. After that, a lunch meeting with the finance minister’s office. And in the evening—”

Shaurya cut her off, his deep voice commanding. “Cancel the evening. Shift it to tomorrow.”

Meera blinked but quickly adjusted. “Yes, sir. Shall I inform the minister’s office?”

Shaurya stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft chime. His gaze was sharp, calculating. “No explanations. Just inform them. If they want this deal badly enough, they’ll wait.”

“Yes, sir.” Meera typed swiftly, not daring to question his authority.

The elevator ascended, its mirrored walls reflecting Shaurya’s steely demeanor. Gone was the father weighed down by emotion at the dining table. Here stood the King of Rajasthan in the corporate world—unyielding, ruthless, and impossibly precise.

As the doors opened onto the top floor, employees waiting outside straightened instantly. Some bowed their heads; others quickly cleared the corridor. Shaurya walked past them without a glance, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor.

“Send the financial reports for review in my office in the next fifteen minutes,” he ordered coldly, not breaking stride. His tone left no room for excuses.

“Yes, Mr. Rajvansh,” a junior executive stammered, rushing off with files clutched tightly.

Shaurya entered his private office—a sprawling space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, every corner exuding power and discipline. He set his briefcase down, removing his jacket with practiced precision.

Meera placed the tablet on his desk, waiting silently.

Without looking up, Shaurya spoke in his clipped tone, “Bring me the investors’ files. And Meera—”

“Yes, sir?”

His gaze lifted, sharp as a blade. “No interruptions today. If anyone wants my time, they will earn it.”

Meera nodded quickly. “Understood, sir.”

As she left, Shaurya leaned back in his leather chair, his expression unreadable. For a moment, his gaze drifted toward the family portrait hidden in the corner of his office—a rare glimpse of softness in his otherwise steel-like presence. But within seconds, the mask of the cold CEO slipped firmly back into place.

“Let’s begin,” he murmured to himself, flipping open the first file.

And with that, the ruthless king of the boardroom reclaimed his throne.

________

The golden rays of the evening sun filtered through the glass doors of the local toyshop. The faint sound of chimes rang as Aarohi stepped in, holding Ruhi’s tiny hand. The faint scent of new plastic and soft toys filled the air, colorful shelves stacked with dolls, cars, puzzles, and teddy bears.

It was the 5th of the month—salary day. Aarohi had carefully budgeted every rupee, but today she had allowed herself one indulgence: to pamper her daughter.

“Ruhi, my princess,” Aarohi whispered with a soft smile, crouching to her daughter’s level. “Mama got her salary today. So, you can pick any toy you want. Just one, hmm?”

Ruhi’s big eyes lit up, though she kept her tiny face serious. She nodded, gripping her mother’s hand tightly as she scanned the aisles like a tiny queen on a mission.

Aarohi chuckled under her breath. Just like her  shadow… always serious, she thought, her chest tightening with the fleeting memory. She quickly shook it away, her focus entirely on Ruhi.

The little girl finally stopped in front of a shelf full of plush toys. Her tiny fingers reached out, brushing over a fluffy white bunny, then a bright white teddy bear. She tilted her head, considering deeply, lips pursed like a grown-up.

Aarohi teased softly, “Arey, my Ruhi madam… itna sochna? It’s just a toy, .”

Ruhi glanced up at her mother with her serious little expression. “Mumma… this one hug me more?” she asked, holding up the teddy bear with both hands, her voice innocent but careful.

Aarohi’s heart melted instantly. She knelt, smoothing Ruhi’s soft hair. “Haan, baby… this one will hug you whenever Mama can’t. It’ll keep you warm at night.”

Ruhi hugged the teddy to her chest tightly, nodding as if sealing her choice. “Then this one.”

Aarohi smiled warmly, her throat tightening. She kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Done. My Ruhi deserves the best.”

They walked hand in hand to the counter, Ruhi proudly carrying the teddy almost bigger than herself.

At the counter, Aarohi stood with Ruhi, the little girl hugging the bright white teddy to her chest as the cashier reached for the packaging paper. Aarohi smiled faintly, her fingers already slipping into her small purse, ready to pay from her hard-earned salary.

Just then—

A deep, commanding voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Wait.”

Aarohi froze, her hand halfway out of her purse. The cashier paused, startled. Slowly, Aarohi turned toward the source of the voice.

Shaurya Rajvansh stood there—tall, broad-shouldered, immaculately dressed in his tailored black three-piece suit. His sharp jawline and intense eyes seemed to dominate the room without effort. He reached forward with gloved precision, plucking the teddy bear from the counter before it could be wrapped.

Ruhi’s little arms fell empty, her lips parting in confusion. She looked up at her mother with wide eyes. Aarohi instinctively stepped closer to her daughter, her brows knitting.

Shaurya examined the toy carefully, his cold eyes scanning it as though even a child’s teddy had to pass his scrutiny. Then, without so much as a glance at Aarohi, he pulled a sleek black card from his wallet and placed it on the counter with authority.

“I’ll take this,” he said, his voice deep and decisive, leaving no space for argument.

The cashier blinked, torn between Aarohi, who had already asked for the toy, and the imposing man before him whose presence alone demanded compliance.

“Excuse me,” Aarohi spoke up, her voice soft but laced with quiet steel. “That toy… it was already for my daughter.”

Shaurya finally turned, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. The world seemed to still around them. Her soft, fragile presence clashed with his powerful, commanding aura. For a moment, his gaze lingered on her pale but determined face, then on the little girl clutching at her mother’s dupatta with tear-brimming eyes.

His expression remained unreadable. “Children don’t choose for themselves,” he said flatly. “Parents choose what’s best. And this”—he gestured to the teddy—“is for my son.”

Ruhi whimpered softly, tugging at Aarohi’s hand. “Mumma… mine…” she whispered, her big eyes watering.

Aarohi bent down, cupping her daughter’s face tenderly. “Shh, baby… Mama’s here. You’ll get your teddy.” Her voice was soothing, but when she straightened, her eyes met Shaurya’s again, and this time there was fire in them.

“With all due respect,” she said quietly but firmly, “money doesn’t give you the right to snatch joy from another child.”

The cashier shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two.

For a brief second, something flickered in Shaurya’s eyes—something that almost looked like surprise at being spoken to so directly. But it was gone in an instant, replaced with his usual cold detachment.

He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over her, his voice dropping low and commanding. “I don’t repeat myself. Pack it.”

The cashier hesitated, glancing at Aarohi, then at the intimidating figure of Shaurya.

Aarohi straightened her shoulders, her protective instincts blazing even though her heart raced. She placed her modest stack of notes firmly on the counter. “No. This teddy is for my daughter. She chose it. She deserves it.”

The room fell silent, the tension crackling in the air.

For the first time in years, someone had directly defied Shaurya Rajvansh.

The tension at the toy shop was just beginning to thin when suddenly—

Ruhi wriggled down from Aarohi’s arms with surprising determination. The tiny girl marched her little feet across the floor, her pigtails bouncing as she reached Shaurya.

She looked up at the towering man with her round, teary eyes, her small hands balling into fists.

“You… bad uncle!” she shouted, her tiny voice echoing in the shop.

Aarohi’s eyes widened. “Ruhi!” she whispered sharply, trying to pull her back, but the little one was already on a mission.

Ruhi stomped her foot on the ground, glaring at Shaurya with the fiercest expression her little face could muster. Then she turned her attention to his polished leather shoes—storming her tiny legs against them with adorable kicks.

“Bad uncle! Bad uncle! Stealing Ruhi’s teddy!” she declared, her voice cracking in indignation.

The entire shop froze for a beat—and then a few muffled chuckles rose from bystanders who pretended to browse toys.

Shaurya, who was used to boardrooms falling silent at his single look, blinked in disbelief. He lowered his gaze to find the miniature whirlwind clinging to his leg now, her tiny fists tugging at his trousers.

His jaw tightened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of… amusement?

“Let go,” he said evenly, his deep voice commanding.

Ruhi only pouted harder, shaking her head furiously. “Nooo! Bad uncle say sorry first!”

Aarohi rushed forward, her cheeks flushing crimson. “Ruhi! Leave his leg right now. This is not—”

But Shaurya lifted a hand, stopping Aarohi mid-sentence. For the first time in years, someone’s audacity didn’t irritate him—it intrigued him. He crouched down to Ruhi’s level, his expensive suit stretching perfectly as his sharp gaze met hers.

“Bad uncle?” he repeated slowly, arching one dark brow.

Ruhi crossed her tiny arms, jutting out her lower lip. “Yes! Bad uncle take Ruhi toy. Good uncles don’t take toys!”

The corner of his lips twitched. Was this… a child scolding him?

He leaned closer, his deep baritone unusually soft. “And what should this ‘bad uncle’ do to become good, hmm?”

Ruhi tapped her chin dramatically, just like she had seen Aarohi do. Then she said with full seriousness, “Say sorry… and buy ice cream!”

A couple of shoppers outright laughed this time, quickly turning away when Shaurya’s eyes flicked toward them.

Aarohi covered her face, mortified. “Ruhi, bas… stop this right now…” she pleaded.

But Shaurya… he actually let out the faintest huff of laughter, more like a sigh than sound, but still enough to surprise even himself. He stood back up to his full height, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced grace, though his eyes lingered on the bold little girl.

“Keep your toy,” he said curtly, though his voice lacked its usual frost. His gaze flicked toward Ruhi once more. “And the ice cream… we’ll see.”

Ruhi gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “See, Mumma? Bad uncle not so bad!” she whispered loudly, as if Shaurya couldn’t hear.

Aarohi’s ears turned red as she scooped her daughter back into her arms, giving Shaurya a flustered nod. “I apologize for her behavior. She’s just a child.”

Shaurya’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second as he looked at Ruhi, now grinning proudly in Aarohi’s arms. But when his gaze rose to Aarohi, the softness vanished behind the icy CEO mask again.

The bell above the toyshop door jingled softly as Aarohi hurried out, Ruhi still nestled in her arms, the little girl waving her tiny fist at Shaurya one last time.

“bye meanie uncle!” her voice echoed faintly, though this time it was laced with a mischievous giggle.

The shop returned to its quiet hum, customers going back to their browsing. Shaurya stood still, his tall frame commanding attention without effort, his sharp eyes fixed on the empty doorway.

For a man who dealt with billion-dollar contracts and ruthless boardroom wars, it was absurd—how a two-year-old had managed to rattle him.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, the faintest trace of amusement ghosting his lips.suddenly, reality returned.

Arav’s tiny voice from last night tugged at his memory.

“Papa… Arav want teddy. Big one. Sleep with teddy.”

Shaurya’s chest tightened. That toy—the very one Ruhi had clutched so fiercely—was the same Arav had pointed at from a catalogue. The reason Shaurya had stopped here in the first place.

He turned to the shopkeeper, his deep voice cutting through the air.

“Do you have another of the same toy?”

The man adjusted his glasses nervously under Shaurya’s piercing stare. “I—I’m afraid, sir, that was the last piece in stock.”

Shaurya’s jaw flexed, the muscle ticking as his mind spun. His empire stretched across continents, but here, for his son, he stood powerless in a small toyshop.

“Check again,” he ordered flatly, his tone allowing no argument.

The shopkeeper fumbled with the computer. “Sir… truly, that model is sold out. But I can place a special order. It may take two weeks—”

“Too long.” Shaurya’s voice was clipped, final.

Two weeks of Arav waiting, asking, reaching for something his little arms couldn’t have. The thought clawed at Shaurya’s chest.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply. For years, he had fulfilled every need of his son—clothes, toys, a gilded childhood inside palace walls. But now, he realized with an ache he couldn’t name—sometimes it wasn’t just about toys.

Arav had asked not just for a teddy. He had asked for comfort. A warmth Shaurya could never replicate, no matter how fiercely he tried.

His gaze lingered on the door again—on the memory of that fiery little girl calling him bad uncle and then hugging her mother like the world began and ended with her.

His throat tightened.

Arav needs that too.

“Find me that toy,” Shaurya said at last, his tone low, decisive. “Search every supplier in the city. I don’t care the cost. I want it delivered to Rajvansh Palace tonight.”

The shopkeeper nodded furiously, scribbling notes.

Shaurya turned, his long strides echoing across the marble floor as he exited. The black SUV waiting outside hummed to life the moment he opened the door.

Sliding into the backseat, Shaurya leaned back, one arm resting on the leather seat, his eyes shutting briefly. For just a moment, he let himself see Arav’s bright little face when he would finally get the toy.

And yet—behind that vision—was another face.

Ruhi’s, scrunched in anger, calling him bad uncle with stubborn fire.

For the first time in years, Shaurya Rajvansh allowed himself the ghost of a smile.

“Let’s see who wins first, Arav,” he murmured under his breath. “Your papa or that lit

tle tigress.”

The car drove away, but the weight in his chest remained— part something he wasn’t ready to name.

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