The office was colder than the corridor outside—files stacked in neat, indifferent piles, the air humming with the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. Ishaan sat behind his desk, a file open, when his phone buzzed on the wood. He glanced at the number, a shadow passing over his brow. He closed the file with a slow, deliberate motion and picked up.

"Hello, Ishaan Mehra speaking," he said—flat, controlled.

A few words from the caller tightened his jaw; his eyes sharpened, eyebrow lifting. "Okay. I'm coming." He slid the phone into his pocket, snapped his blazer on, and walked out without looking back.

His secretary rose at once, surprised. "Sir—are you going somewhere? You had no meetings—"

Ishaan didn't answer with words. He only looked at him, pointed, and said, "Sunny—come with me."

They moved through the parking, into Ishaan's car, and drove. The ride was taut with quiet. Fifteen minutes later the car stopped outside Jiya's college. Ishaan stepped out, Sunny close behind, and strode toward the principal's office with the kind of presence that made people part like water.

Inside, Jiya sat upright in a chair, composed but shaken. Three boys stood nearby—faces swollen with bruises, hands bandaged—while the principal hovered, uneasy. Ishaan entered with a rigid, unreadable face and sat down beside Jiya. His gaze cut to the boys, then to the principal.

"What happened here?" he asked, voice flat as steel.

The principal swallowed, knowing instinctively which version of events to offer. "Mr. Mehra—your sister, Ms. Jiya, she... she beated these boys." with her freind Ansh; The words were forced, precise.

Jiya bristled. "Sir, I slapped them because—" she began, pain and anger both in her voice, and then explained. Her words tumbled out: how they had harassed her for weeks, how today they had cornered and tried to molest her. She pointed at two of them. "These two grabbed me and tried to slapped me. Then Ansh came and fought them off. They all attacked him and then—then we fought back."

Ishaan said nothing. He rose and walked straight to the bruised boys. When he reached them he asked only one question, quiet but cutting: "Who slapped you?"

Jiya pointed at one. Ishaan grabbed the boy's hand, twisted it hard—a sharp, painful correction. The boy screamed and let go, clutching his injured wrist. Without hesitation, Ishaan moved to the other two and slapped them—hard—each strike landing with a sound that echoed through the room. Both boys crumpled to the floor.

The office door creaked open. Their parents had arrived, faces blotched with confusion and anger. One of the fathers pushed forward. "What are you doing, Mr. Mehra? Why did you hit my son?"

Ishaan looked at them with an icy, unreadable calm. "If you can't control your sons, keep them at home," he said, voice low and final.

The principal, visibly sweating under Ishaan's glare, tried to regain composure. Ishaan slammed his hand down on the principal's desk—sharp, demanding attention. sir "I want those boys expelled. Now."

"Of course, Mr. Mehra. They will be suspended. They deserve punishment," the principal stammered.

Ishaan nodded once, curt. He turned to Jiya. "Let's go."

Jiya bowed slightly to the principal and stood. As they left the office, Ishaan paused. "Where is your friend ansh? I want to thank him." He scanned the lobby.

Jiya pointed discretely. Ansh stood in a corner of the lobby, watching—eyes fixed on them. Before she could move, Ishaan's phone rang. He answered curtly: "Okay — I'll be there in fifteen." He cut the call, his face unreadable.

"Go to your class, Jiya. I have an important meeting. I'll meet Ansh another time," he said, softer now.

Jiya managed a small, grateful smile. "Okay, bhai." Ishaan patted her head once—an absence of tenderness, but a small, possessive gesture—and then he walked away, just another shadow that left the corridor feeling colder than before.

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The Mehra mansion was unusually calm that evening. The chaos of the day had faded into a quiet rhythm—the workers were finishing their chores, the air filled with the faint hum of the ceiling fans and the golden warmth of the setting sun filtering through the tall windows.

In the kitchen, Aanya stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, softly humming as she washed dishes. The sound of clinking plates and running water mixed with her gentle voice, creating a moment of fragile peace.

Suddenly—
"Bhoo!"

A deep voice broke the silence, startling her. Aanya jumped, the dish slipping from her hands and crashing back into the sink with a loud clang. Her heart raced; she pressed a trembling hand to her chest and turned sharply.

"Oh my God, Jay!" she exclaimed, half shocked, half relieved. "You scared me!"

Jay laughed, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, clearly proud of himself.
"You're so easy to scare, Aanya di. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said, trying not to smile. "Just washing dishes. And you? Where were you?"

Jay shrugged. "Went to meet some friends."

"Oh, so... when your vacation's over, you'll go back to London, right?" Aanya asked, her tone light but curious.

Jay hesitated, looking thoughtful. "Actually... I'm thinking of shifting here permanently. I don't want to leave Jiya alone. Bhai's always busy with work, and Mom—her health is still not great. I just... don't want them to be alone."

Aanya smiled, warmth flickering in her eyes. "You know what, Jay? You're such a good brother. I'm proud of you." She gently patted his head, affectionately.

Jay chuckled. "Maybe. But I'll have to talk to Bhai about it first. I don't know how he'll react. Studying in London was my dream—he supported me in that. Now if I suddenly say I want to quit and stay here..."

"Don't worry," Aanya said softly. "I'm sure Ishaan won't mind. From what I've seen, he loves you and Jiya deeply. He'll understand."

Jay smiled faintly. "That's exactly why he'll say no. He'll tell me not to worry, that he'll handle everything here, that I should just chase my dreams. But I want to stay—for him, for Jiya, for Mom."

"Then talk to him once," Aanya said gently. "You might be surprised by his answer."

Jay nodded, smiling again. "Yeah... maybe you're right."

The mood lightened. "Enough serious talk," Aanya said playfully. "Now tell me—what do you want to eat?"

Jay brightened instantly. "White sauce pasta!"

Aanya laughed. "Of course! Ten minutes, and it'll be ready. Meanwhile, you can either watch TV or sit here and chat with me."

"Second option," Jay grinned. "Talking to you is more fun."

They both laughed.

—

From the corridor, Ishaan passed by, blazer slung over one shoulder, exhaustion etched into his features. He wasn't planning to go into the kitchen—but the sound of laughter stopped him. His steps slowed.

The laughter was warm, light, free... something this mansion hadn't felt in a long time.

He turned his head, just enough to see the scene—Aanya standing near the counter, talking animatedly, her face glowing under the soft kitchen lights. Jay said something funny, and Aanya burst into laughter. Her eyes sparkled, her smile wide, genuine.

And Ishaan froze.

For a brief, unguarded moment, he smiled—a small, rare curve of his lips. The sight of her laughing so openly... it stirred something unfamiliar in him.

What are you doing, Ishaan? he scolded himself silently, his expression hardening again.

He turned to leave—
But then Aanya looked up.

Their eyes met. The laughter faded.

She straightened, clearing her throat nervously. "Aapko... kuch chahiye, sir?"

Ishaan stopped. For a heartbeat, he didn't answer—just stared at her, unreadable.

Then Jay cleared his throat. "Bhai, you need something?"

Ishaan blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Y-Yes... coffee. Aanya, can you bring it to my room?"

And without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away.

What the hell, Ishaan, he muttered under his breath as he strode upstairs. Why did you freeze there?

Back in the kitchen, the warm chatter returned slowly. Aanya busied herself making coffee—one for Ishaan, one for Jay, and one for herself.

"Jay, you sit here. I'll take this to your brother first. Then we'll have pasta together, okay?"

Jay nodded, smiling.

Aanya picked up Ishaan's mug carefully, her fingers trembling slightly. Her heart raced—not from fear, but from a strange nervousness she couldn't explain.

Since she had come into this mansion, this was only the second time she'd entered Ishaan's room. The first was when he had been drunk, and she had helped him. This time, he had asked for her—by name.

She walked down the corridor slowly, the cup trembling just a little in her hand.

Why did he call me? she wondered. He doesn't even let me near his room or his office... and today, he asked me himself.

The hallway light flickered softly as she reached his door.

Aanya took a deep breath, tightened her hold on the coffee mug, and pushed the door open—
Her heartbeat loud in her ears.

The wooden door creaked softly as Aanya stepped inside.
The air of Ishaan's room was different—quiet, heavy, and faintly scented with coffee and cologne. The golden evening light slipped through half-drawn curtains, slicing shadows across the marble floor. His blazer hung on the arm of the sofa, and papers were scattered on the table beside his open laptop.

Ishaan stood near the window, his back turned to her, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone loosely. He wasn't speaking—just staring out, lost in thought.

Aanya hesitated at the door. "S-sir..." she said softly, her voice almost unsure whether to interrupt the silence.

Ishaan turned slightly, eyes landing on her.
Her heart skipped. His gaze—cold as always—met hers, but there was something quieter this time.

She walked in slowly, holding the tray with the steaming mug. "Your coffee, sir," she said politely, placing it gently on the side table.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The clock ticked somewhere in the background.

"Thank you," Ishaan said finally, voice low, detached.

Aanya nodded and turned to leave, but before she could reach the door, he spoke again—soft, almost hesitant.
"Aanya..."

She froze.
He had never said her name like that before—not as a command, not as an order... but like a thought escaping his guard.

She turned, her eyes wide. "Yes, sir?"

He looked at her for a long moment, as if searching for words he wasn't used to saying. Then, quietly, he asked,
"Jay was in the kitchen with you?"

"Yes, sir. He came just a while ago," she replied carefully.

Ishaan nodded, more to himself than her. "Hmm."
He turned away again, pretending to be focused on something else. But Aanya could feel his gaze even when he wasn't looking at her.

She shifted nervously. "If you don't need anything else, sir, I'll—"

"You laugh easily," Ishaan said suddenly.

Aanya blinked, startled. "S-sir?"

His eyes met hers again, and his expression was unreadable—cold, calm, yet somehow... tired.
"It's good," he said, looking away again. "People in this house don't laugh much now."

She stood there frozen, not knowing what to say. There was a weight in his tone—something almost sad, buried deep under his calm surface.

"I— I'm sorry if I disturbed you earlier," she said quietly.

"You didn't," Ishaan replied. "I was just passing by."

The silence stretched again. Aanya nodded, clutching the end of her dupatta nervously. "I should go. Jay must be waiting."

Ishaan gave a faint nod, his gaze still fixed on the city lights outside.

As she turned to leave, he spoke once more—his voice so low she almost missed it.
"Aanya."

She looked back.
For a moment, the mask on his face slipped—there was something human in his eyes, fragile and conflicted.

"Be careful... around Jay. He's too young to understand boundaries."

Aanya blinked in surprise but nodded softly. "Of course, sir. he is like brother to me."

And then, without another word, she left.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Ishaan exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked at the untouched coffee on the table, steam curling upward in the dim light.

He sat down slowly, staring at the mug—
and without realizing, a faint smile ghosted across his lips again.

"You laugh easily..."
The words echoed back in his head.

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Aanya walked back toward the kitchen, her steps light but her heartbeat uneven. The whole walk back, Ishaan's words kept replaying in her head—his tone, his eyes, that faint, fleeting softness she had never seen before.

"You laugh easily..."

She caught herself smiling faintly, then shook her head quickly as if to clear the thought. Why am I thinking about that? she scolded herself quietly.

As she entered the kitchen, Jay was already leaning on the counter, spoon in hand, tasting the pasta sauce. The moment he saw her, his lips curved into a teasing grin.

"Finally! I was about to finish the whole pasta alone," he joked.
Then his eyes narrowed playfully. "Aanya di... why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

Aanya blinked, trying to act normal. "What? No, I just—uh—gave coffee to your brother."

Jay raised an eyebrow, pretending to look serious. "Oh really? You look too nervous for someone who just gave coffee."

"Jay!" she said, half laughing, half embarrassed. "It's nothing like that. Your brother just... asked about you."

"Ohhh," Jay dragged the word, smirking. "Bhai asked about me, and you came back blushing? Interesting."

"I am not blushing!" Aanya said quickly, turning away to stir the pasta, but her ears betrayed her, turning pink.

Jay laughed. "Okay, okay, fine! But you should've seen your face when you came in—total red alert! What did bhai say, hmm?"

"Jay!" she glared at him, pointing the spoon his way. "If you don't stop teasing, I'll eat your pasta myself."

"Okay, okay! I surrender!" Jay raised his hands, grinning. "But still, it's nice to see you smiling, di. You don't smile like this often."

Aanya froze for a second at his words. She looked at him quietly, a gentle warmth filling her chest.
"You remind me of someone," she said softly. "Someone who used to say the same thing."

Jay tilted his head. "Who?"

Aanya smiled faintly. "my younger brother."

Jay didn't push further. The playful air softened into quiet comfort. The aroma of pasta filled the kitchen, and the two of them stood there—one teasing, one thinking—wrapped in the warmth of small, ordinary peace.

When the timer beeped, Aanya switched off the stove and served the pasta onto two plates.

The two of them kept talking as they ate their pasta. Aanya laughed freely, unaware of the storm—or perhaps something else—quietly making its way toward her. Something that would either shatter her completely... or finally give her the happiness she had always longed for.
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Thank you for reading 
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Bye bye take care. :D