The car eased to a halt. From its hushed interior, Abhi and Aarav stepped into the soft light. Their footsteps echoed along the stone walkway to the mansion's grand doors, where silence waited like a dignified host. Only a faint rustle of curtains and the muted clatter from the kitchen hinted at life within.
Before they could enter, footsteps approached—deliberate, unhurried, carrying presence without needing to announce it.
Mr. Singh emerged, Mr. Raj a step behind. Both men were in impeccable formals—sharp lines, steady poise. Mr. Singh's phone rested in his hand, his posture as composed as his gaze.
His eyes found the brothers—not with suspicion, nor the chill of authority, but with something quieter. Warmer. Perhaps approval. Perhaps welcome.
"Hello, Uncle," Aarav greeted, his tone respectful, warm.
Abhi echoed him with a gentle bow. His gaze lifted slowly, hesitation clouding his eyes—an unspoken apology, and something softer still.
Mr. Singh's gaze lingered on him a moment longer. A faint tug at his lips suggested a smile, though his calm never shifted. "He's in his room, if you're here for him."
No name was spoken. None was needed.
Abhi's throat tightened. He drew a slow breath. "I'm sorry… for misunderstanding you, Uncle." His voice was quiet, carrying regret, edged with humility.
Mr. Singh let his hands fall to his sides. His tone softened—not indulgent, but understanding. "We're not so different," he said thoughtfully. "We all still have much to learn about one another."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full—thick with thought, heavy with what remained unsaid.
Then he added, "And... love doesn't make you weak." His voice steadied, layered with meaning. "It makes you brave. Brave enough to sacrifice everything—without flinching."
The words sank deep. Abhi's eyes flickered, a small nod following—quiet, but carrying the weight of a promise.
Footsteps echoed from above.
All turned. At the top of the sweeping staircase stood Ayan. His clothes were simple, his hair damp from quick shower, yet he carried an effortless elegance. His eyes searched, found Aarav—and softened at once.
Mr. Singh raised an eyebrow, faintly amused at his son's rush. Then, with a subtle nod, he invited him down.
Ayan descended, composed and quiet, offering a polite greeting when he reached them.
"I'm going out," Mr. Singh said, turning to him. "Ask the kitchen to prepare lunch for two more."
Ayan blinked, surprised by the sudden ease, but caught the rare glint of warmth in his father's tone. "Okay, Papa," he answered softly.
Mr. Singh gave the trio one last glance before turning toward the door, his presence trailing behind him like a regal, worn cape.
Mr. Raj followed close—always a step behind, yet never out of rhythm.
As they passed, Mr. Raj leaned slightly toward Abhi, a quiet smirk curving his lips. "All those little ideas… and our plans, meant to bring Ayan and Aarav closer. But in the end—you used them for yourself." He murmured, voice threaded with amusement
He paused, letting the words settle, then offered Abhi a soft smile. "Best of luck, by the way."
With a final nod to the brothers, he stepped into the morning light. The door clicked shut behind them, and the mansion seemed to exhale—the silence no longer heavy, but warm.
Abhi gave Aarav a last glance before turning toward the staircase, ascending without a word.
Meanwhile, Aarav crossed the space to Ayan—slow, unhurried. No grand declarations. Just his warm presence.
He reached for Ayan's hand, threading their fingers together like something quietly claimed. "How's everything?" he asked, voice low, careful.
Ayan's eyes softened as he looked up. "Brother's still not okay… and Papa…" He hesitated, a fragile smile tugging at his lips. "He hasn't completely softened… but he's trying now. And I'm happy with that."
There was a shimmer in his gaze—relief, touched with wonder.
Aarav's smile was faint, tender. He tucked a stray strand behind Ayan's ear, fingers lingering a heartbeat longer than needed. Then he leaned in.
A kiss—soft, unhurried—landed on Ayan's forehead. Warm. Certain. Love without words.
Ayan's breath caught. His eyes fluttered closed, and when they opened again, they gleamed with something quiet and deep—the kind of love that blooms in silence.
Flustered, he pulled back slightly, murmuring, "There are servants around, Senior…"
Aarav leaned closer, voice low with mischief. "Then drag me to your room."
Color rushed to Ayan's cheeks, he turned away with a small, embarrassed smile, "Do you want coffee or tea?" And guided Aarav instead toward the central hall.
...
[ Arun's room ]
Arun sat hunched on the edge of his bed, the faint glow of his phone screen painting shadows across his face. His thumb hovered over Abhi's contact—one press away from either mending everything… or shattering what remained.
Surprisingly—A soft creak of a door broke the stillness.
He turned. With a puzzled look.
Abhi stood in the doorway.
Time faltered. Arun froze, breath caught in his throat. His posture straightened, hope rushing up too quickly, too recklessly.
"Abhi?" he whispered, disbelief and longing tangled in his voice.
Abhi didn't answer. He stepped in quietly, almost like a stranger unsure of his welcome. In his hand, he held a crumpled file, gripped so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"This…" he began, but the words collapsed before they could form.
Arun rose, confusion flickering across his face as he closed the space between them. Abhi's gaze never lifted—fixed on the file, anywhere but Arun.
Arun took it, pages fluttering open beneath his fingers until his hands stilled. His voice cracked as he asked, "Are you here… just to give me this?"
The hurt slipped through.
"Abhi…" His throat tightened around the name. "Do you… hate me?"
That question made Abhi finally look up. And with that one look, everything unraveled. His eyes, heavy with guilt and torment, brimmed—then spilled. Silent tears slid down his cheeks, hot and uncontainable.
Arun's breath hitched. The file slipped from his hands, thudding forgotten onto the floor. Instinct moved him forward—his palms cupping Abhi's face, thumbs brushing away tears with a touch both fragile and grounding.
Abhi leaned into it, clinging to the warmth like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. His fingers curled around Arun's hand, holding him there.
"I hate myself," he sobbed, voice raw. "I never tried to understand you... Even when you reached out… when you tried to explain… I pushed you away. Every time."
His voice cracked, breaking open. "I told you to stay away because I was terrified—terrified of how much I felt. What if I hurt you again. I thought distance would protect you. But all I did was lose you. And now I'm afraid to face it."
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it thrummed with all the things Abhi never said.
Arun just looked at him, drinking in every fracture of his face, every shadow of regret. Then, in a voice so soft it felt like a secret, he whispered, "I was always yours."
Abhi froze. His breath caught, eyes widening—as if those words had broken the dam inside him.
Arun stepped closer. "Yes… you left me, but I never stopped loving you. Not for a moment. I waited—hoping you'd walk back through that door."
The honesty cut deeper than anything else. Abhi's eyes shimmered, his face turning slightly away—as if being needed was too heavy to bear.
"I don't know if I deserve you," he whispered.
"Shh…" Arun whispered, then closed the gap between them until only a breath remained. Their foreheads nearly touched, the air fragile and warm, as if the whole world had folded into just this. "I wish you knew how much you mean to me. Maybe then you'd stop doubting your worth."
A hush fell—not empty, but full. Sacred. Alive.
Then Arun's voice dropped even gentler, his breath brushing Abhi's lips. "Abhi… will you call me 'young master' again? Just once… like you used to."
Abhi's eyes lifted to his. His lips curved faintly, and in a voice soft and reverent, he breathed, "I love you... Young master."
The sound sank into Arun like sunlight on winter skin. His breath stuttered, chest aching sweetly, eyes lowering—toward Abhi's lips.
And then he leaned in.
Their lips met in the softest touch, like two halves finally finding their way home. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just pure feeling—years of waiting, longing, sleepless nights, unspoken prayers—poured into one slow, sweet kiss that felt like forever.
They moved together in quiet sync, warm and sure. Gentle, yet deep—like a vow without words.
When they parted, their foreheads stayed pressed, breaths mingling in the hush. Eyes closed—wet, smiling, full. Like spring returning to a heart that had forgotten how to feel.
Arun's fingers brushed Abhi's cheek with aching gentleness before sliding down to his shoulders. Then he pulled him in—tight, full—like someone who had been waiting his whole life for this moment. "I love you too."
And Abhi let go. Of fear, of guilt, of walls. His arms wrapped around Arun, his head resting against his chest. He listened—steady rhythm, true and unshaken.
Then—buzz. Buzz.
The vibration of Arun's phone cracked through the hush, a ripple disturbing the fragile calm.
Arun pulled back just enough to answer, his tone frayed with tenderness that quickly hardened.
"Yes, Annaya... Do you follow him." The word landed heavy, but steady. There was alertness in his tone.
Abhi searched his face, unease stirring. That fragile peace they'd just rebuilt—already threatened by a shadow creeping closer.