Mital House, Early Morning
The Mital house had always been a place of chaos wrapped in warmth — peeling walls, a leaky faucet, and a squeaky wooden gate that had resisted oil for years. But it was home.
As Aakash Mital stepped out of the car that morning, a tiffin in one hand and a dusty file in the other, he looked at the house with new eyes. Not just as a place where he'd grown up—but as a space that now quietly protected someone else's wounds.
Someone named Vivaan Madhvan.
Inside, the aroma of chai and burnt toast wafted through the air. His Chachu (uncle) was reading the newspaper, glasses sliding down his nose, his Dadi muttered to herself, looking for her spectacles which were—once again—on her forehead.
"Aakash?" Chachi called out, surprised. "You're early!"
"I had something to discuss," he said, offering a polite smile.
"Another promotion?" Chachu teased. "Or a proposal finally?"
Aakash chuckled, shaking his head. Then, quietly, he pulled out a folded sketch from his file and placed it on the table.
"I want to renovate the house," he said.
Everything stopped. Even the kettle on the gas hissed as if stunned.
"Renovate?" Dadi asked, blinking. "With what money?"
Aakash sat down.
"I'll take care of the cost. The wiring is old. Pipes are leaking. The roof creaks in the rain. We deserve better. And so does… he."
Chachu's eyes narrowed slightly.
"He?"
Aakash tilted his head, signaling his uncle to step outside.
On the Balcony – Aakash and Chachu (uncle)
The rusted railing still bore the names Aakash and Dev had etched in their childhood. Morning sunlight filtered through the neem tree that shaded the side of the house.
Aakash leaned in.
"Uncle, I need to tell you something. About Vivaan."
Uncle raised an eyebrow. "The boy renting the back room? What about him?"
Aakash hesitated, choosing each word with care.
"He's not just a freelancer. He's Vivaan Madhvan. Riyansh Madhvan's younger brother."
Uncle blinked. His grip on the railing tightened slightly.
"You're saying that boy, who fixes his own fan and sweeps the corridor every Sunday… is from that Madhvan family?"
Aakash nodded. "He left everything behind. No staff, no car, no privileges. No one here knows. He doesn't want them to. He chose this house to disappear quietly."
Chachu (Uncle) stared ahead at the quiet street, the morning newspaper still folded in his hand.
"Then why tell me?"
Aakash's voice dropped.
"Because someone needs to know. Someone who'll understand why I'm suddenly spending money on paint and pipelines. Someone who'll make sure the others don't question it too much."
Chachu sighed.
"So the renovation… isn't just for us."
Aakash smiled faintly. "It's for the boy who doesn't want to be seen, but deserves dignity all the same."
A long silence stretched between them. Then Chachu placed a hand on Aakash's shoulder.
"You've grown up, beta (son). Your father would've been proud."
Aakash looked down.
"And what about Vivaan?"
Chachu's voice was quiet, but kind.
"I won't say a word. But I'll make sure he's safe. Let the world think we're just fixing the house. But we'll be building a little shelter for a lost prince."
Mital Residence, Three Days Later
The sun had barely cleared the rooftops of Rajendra Nagar when the first knock came — a team of electricians in faded blue overalls, carrying toolboxes and tangled coils of new wiring.
Inside the house, Dadi (Grandmaa) dropped her knitting needles. Aunt looked up from cutting vegetables. Dev, bleary-eyed from a long night in his music studio, peeked from behind a curtain. And Vivaan, brushing his teeth on the terrace, tilted his head in mild confusion.
"Who called him??" Aunt asked sharply.
"Me," came Uncle's calm voice as he walked in, clipboard in hand, adjusting his spectacles like a man on a mission.
"You?" Dadi asked, blinking. "What for?"
"We're rewiring the house. And repainting. New plumbing too. Aakash has arranged everything."
There was a moment of stunned silence before Dadi erupted into joy.
"Haye Ram"! Finally! After thirty years, someone is listening to me! This house has been leaking like my knees for years!"
She hobbled to the kitchen door and called out to no one in particular, "Wash the sofa covers! Hide the money under the mattress! Guests are coming!"
From the terrace, Vivaan watched the workers below, eyes narrowing slightly. He returned to his room to find his leaky tap had already been replaced. His rusty window frame was now smooth, freshly painted. Someone had even fixed the door latch that never closed properly.
He stared for a moment.
Then walked out.
"Uncle?" he called softly from the stairway.
Chachu looked up, brushing dust off his kurta. "Hmm?"
"All this... it's too much. You really didn't have to."
Chachu smiled without breaking stride. "It's not too much, beta. It's long overdue. This house stood by us during worse times. Now we're just standing by it."
Vivaan nodded slowly, but didn't press further.
Still, something in his chest tightened. He wasn't used to care that came without questions or explanations.
Later that night, Dev sat cross-legged in the verandah with his laptop, mixing vocals. The new wiring had stabilized the electricity—no more random surges. His studio finally felt less like a gamble and more like a dream.
He saw Aakash walk in quietly, tie loosened, tired from the office.
"Yo," Dev called out. "You win the lottery or something?"
Aakash chuckled. "No. Just figured the house deserved some attention."
Dev closed the laptop.
"The house? Or the tenant in the back room?"
Aakash's smile froze for a second. "What?"
Dev leaned back, folding his arms.
"Come on. You think I haven't noticed? Since when do we call electricians, masons, and repaint the water tank—just for plumbing? And Vivaan suddenly has a better mattress, his guitar case got stitched, and his window has mosquito nets now? That's not a renovation. That's personal."
Aakash sighed, sat beside him.
"You always see too much."
Dev shrugged. "It's the artist's curse."
Then softer: "Who is he really, Aakash?"
There was a long pause.
Finally, Aakash said: "Someone whose past is heavier than he lets on. Someone who chose to be ordinary in a world where he never had to be. And someone I promised to protect. That's all I can say."
Dev looked at him. "And do you trust him?"
Aakash nodded. "I do. And maybe he needs this house more than we realize."
Dev was silent for a moment, then said: "Then I'm in. Just… don't let him leave without finishing that melody we started."
They laughed quietly, the sound of hammers and drills still echoing faintly in the background.
The next morning, Dadi cornered Aakash near the fridge.
"Beta, tell me the truth. Are you getting married?"
Aakash nearly choked on his chai.
"What? No! Dadi, why?"
She pointed to the fresh paint, the plumber, the tiles being replaced in the washroom.
"This only happens when a boy is in love… or hiding something from his Dadi."
Aakash smiled.
"Maybe it's both."