Meanwhile, in Kiaan's room…
Khushi stayed kneeling in front of him, her dupatta pooling softly on the floor, her voice gentle enough to not startle the storm inside him.
Kiaan looked away from her.
"I don't want to celebrate my birthday," he said after a long pause.
Not angry.
Just tired.
Khushi tilted her head slightly. "Why, hm?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Because I had a fight with my papa," Kiaan said quietly. "And… he doesn't love me."
The words fell heavy between them.
Khushi's smile didn't fade—but it softened, like sunlight filtering through clouds.
She reached out, not touching him yet. "Is that so?"
Kiaan nodded. His jaw tightened. "He always thinks I'm lying. He never believes me so I got angry and destroyed the decorations."
Khushi inhaled slowly, choosing her words with care.
"Tell me something," she said. "Do your two grandmas love you?"
Kiaan frowned, confused by the question. "Yes."
"Both of them?" she pressed gently.
"Yes," he said at once. "Dadi and Badi Dadi… they love me a lot."
Khushi smiled. "Good."
She shifted slightly closer. "Who else is there in your family?"
Kiaan counted on his fingers without thinking. "Uncle Aakash. Grand-uncle Vinod. Aunt Meera."
"And do they love you?" Khushi asked, her tone almost playful now.
Kiaan nodded. "Yes. They do."
Khushi's eyes softened further. She leaned in just a little, lowering her voice.
"And your mumma… Kiara?"
At the name, Kiaan stilled.
"Yes," he said firmly. "She loves me."
Khushi smiled—slow, warm, knowing.
"Then tell me something, Mr Kiaan," she said gently.
"If so many people love you…"
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"Why are you punishing all of them… because of a fight with just your papa?"
Kiaan blinked.
The question landed softly—but it landed deep.
His anger faltered, confusion creeping in where fury had lived moments ago. His fingers loosened at his sides.
"I'm not… punishing them," he muttered.
Khushi didn't argue. She simply looked at him—patient, kind, unafraid of his storms.
"Sometimes," she said quietly, "when we are hurt by one person… we unknowingly hurt everyone else too."
Kiaan swallowed.
The room felt quieter now. Not peaceful. But no longer on the verge of breaking.
Khushi stayed right there, giving him time—because some truths need space before they can be accepted.
Meanwhile, in Kiaan's room…
Khushi stayed where she was, still at his level, not towering over him—never that. She reached out now, gently straightening the sleeve of his shirt, as if grounding him back into the moment.
"Come here," she said softly. "Sit."
Kiaan hesitated… then obeyed, perching on the edge of the bed.
Khushi took a slow breath. Not to lecture. Not to scold. Only to make him see.
"Tell me something, Mr Kiaan," she said quietly. "Do you know how long it takes to decorate a house like this?"
Kiaan shrugged. "I don't know."
"Hours," she replied. "And not just hours of work—hours of love."
He looked up, uncertain.
"Your grandmas woke up early," Khushi continued, her voice calm, almost conversational. "They picked colours they thought you'd like. Balloons. Flowers. Lights. Every little thing placed thinking, 'Will Kiaan smile when he sees this?'"
Kiaan's fingers curled into the bedsheet.
"Your uncle and aunt helped too," she went on. "Everyone did something. Not because they had to. Because they wanted to. Because today… is the day their little boy turned ten."
Silence.
Khushi didn't stop—but she slowed.
"And then," she said gently, "because you were angry with your papa… you used that anger on the decorations."
She looked straight into his eyes now. Not accusing. Just honest.
"Were the decorations responsible for your fight?"
Kiaan shook his head. "No."
"Were your grandmas?"
"No…"
"Was your birthday responsible?"
Another pause.
"No."
Khushi nodded slowly. "Then tell me—who got hurt?"
Kiaan's lips trembled. His eyes flicked away.
"I… I broke everything," he whispered.
Khushi smiled—not in relief, but in understanding. "Yes."
She placed a hand over his small fist. "Being angry with your papa is okay. Feeling hurt is okay. Even shouting is okay."
Her thumb brushed his knuckles softly.
"But destroying something made with love?" she said quietly. "That… hurts the people who love you the most."
Kiaan's shoulders sagged, the weight finally settling in.
"I didn't think," he admitted in a small voice.
"I know," Khushi replied warmly. "Big feelings make us forget small hearts around us."
He swallowed. "Dadi was crying…"
Khushi nodded. "She was. Not because of the decorations. But because she thought you didn't want her love today."
Kiaan's eyes filled. He blinked hard, refusing to cry—but guilt had already found its way in.
"I didn't mean to ruin their hard work," he said.
Khushi smiled and gently tapped his forehead. "Then say it. To yourself first."
Kiaan closed his eyes.
"I made a mistake," he whispered.
Khushi's smile deepened, proud and tender. "There it is."
She stood slowly, offering him her hand. "And mistakes don't make bad children, Mr Kiaan."
He looked up at her.
"They make brave ones—when they accept them."
Kiaan slipped his small hand into hers.
For the first time that day, his anger loosened its grip… leaving space for something softer.
Regret.
Understanding.
And the possibility of healing.
To be continued…