Happy Reading 🤗
---

The air in the apartment was still, as if holding its breath. Rudran had barely closed his notebook when Roopa's phone rang, its shrill tone slicing through the quiet.

Roopa answered it with a calm voice, but as the seconds passed, her hand trembled, her face fell. She turned away slightly, as if bracing herself against a gust of wind.

"Nanna..." she whispered. Her voice cracked.

Rudran rose immediately. "What happened, Amma?"

Roopa hung up slowly. "It's your grandfather. He's... not doing well. The doctor says it could be any moment now."

For a second, Rudran stood still. His mother had spoken of her village, of her father, rarely and carefully. It was never hatred, but regret. An old pain wrapped in silence.

"I'll apply for leave," he said without hesitation. "We'll go now."

Before they could leave, Nivedita appeared from the guest room, her dupatta draped neatly, her eyes wide and alert.

Of course she knew what was happening and would go with them.

Roopa looked at her briefly, nodded, and they packed in silence.

The car journey to the town in Karnataka was long, threaded with memories. Roopa remained quiet for most of it, staring out at the green fields flashing past. Rudran, turned his gaze from the road studied the lines on her face—etched deeper than he remembered.

The town had changed over the years—once a sleepy village, now buzzing with local commerce, well-laid roads, and gated bungalows. Her family was well-off, respected. Roopa's father had been a high-ranking government officer, and his retirement hadn't dulled his influence.

The ancestral house stood grand and well-kept, shaded by neem trees and wrapped in old-world grace.

Inside, Roopa's father lay on a wooden cot in the central hall. His body frail, skin paper-thin, but his eyes—those eyes—held the spark of recognition as they met Roopa's.

"Roopa..." he rasped.

She dropped to her knees, clutching his hand, tears breaking free. Rudran stood behind her, unmoving. Watching. Feeling.

The room held more people than just memories.

Vikas Gowda, Roopa's elder brother, stood near the bookshelf, arms folded across his chest. He was tall, commanding, his face unreadable—but his disapproval hung heavy in the air. He had never truly forgiven Roopa for leaving them behind, for choosing love over family. Yet, beneath the stern expression, his gaze flickered with something else—a buried affection for the sister he never stopped missing.

He didn't speak to Roopa. Not yet. Not directly.

Beside him, his wife Leelavathi adjusted her expensive silk saree, casting a calculated glance toward Rudran. Her eyes sparkled with quiet ambition—the woman behind the engagement talks, the one who insisted Nivedita stay as a guest, who spoke sweetly but played sharply.

Nivedita hovered near the doorway, oddly silent. She looked at her grandfather, and then back at Rudran, eyes searching for signs.

The old man motioned weakly, asking for Rudran.

He stepped forward, kneeling beside his mother.

"You've grown into your father's eyes," the grandfather murmured. "Kind. Quiet. Strong."

Rudran bowed his head.

"I was angry once. When she left. When she chose him, She still haven't forgiven for that" the old man said, gesturing weakly to Roopa. "I thought I'd lost a daughter. But I realized later... if I'd held on tighter, she wouldn't have been happy. And I wouldn't have had you."

Roopa wept silently beside him, holding his hand to her forehead.

"He was a good man, your father," the old man continued. "Ram Chandra Reddy. Stubborn like me... but better. Better because he made her smile."

Rudran closed his eyes. This was the version of family he hadn't grown up with, but always longed for—uncomplicated, forgiving, whole.

The old man turned to him again, his voice faint but clear. "If you've found your happiness, don't waste time. I wasted too much of it. Don't let silence make choices for you."

Vikas Gowda turned his head slightly at that. His gaze met Rudran's, something softening—but just for a flicker. He didn't speak, but the message was there. His affection was silent, hidden beneath layers of pride and wounded loyalty.

Behind them, Leelavathi's face had darkened. Nivedita's lips parted as if to speak—but no words came.

That night, Rudran stepped outside, walking past the well and into the backyard where silence grew thicker than the trees.

He pulled out his phone.

Aarna.

He typed. Paused. Deleted.

Then finally wrote:

"Sometimes, family is what we fight to build—not what we inherit. I want mine to start with you."

He hit send.

In another corner of Bangalore, Aarna sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by untouched files and a now-cold cup of coffee. Her mind had been spiraling for days, tugged between dignity and heartbreak.

She had wondered—about Nivedita, about Roopa, about all the things unsaid.

But most of all, she had wondered if Rudran would choose her again. Not because of convenience, or rebellion—but for love.

Her phone buzzed.

Her fingers trembled as she opened the message. She read it once. Twice.

And then again.

The world didn't stop, but something inside her shifted. She placed the phone gently on the table beside her, not replying.

But for the first time in days—she felt something close to peace.

And maybe, just maybe... hope.