Five Years Later — London

The morning air in London had a different kind of chill. It wasn’t the quiet calm of his old Delhi Sundays — this was crisp, brisk, and bustling. The city moved fast, always a beat ahead.

But Taniskh had learned to keep pace.

He zipped up his jacket, the collar rising against the October wind, and slipped his phone into his coat pocket. The streets were familiar now — rows of old brick buildings, coffee shops that knew his name, the faint rumble of buses in the distance.

His apartment was just five minutes from the office, but he always walked. Rain or shine.
It helped him think — or helped him not think, depending on the day.

Today was one of those not thinking days.

He passed the florist on the corner — the same woman who always waved at him on Fridays. She was just setting up her stand of marigolds and daffodils. Strange how even flowers followed him here.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, screen lighting up with a name:

Martin (Office)

He picked up.
“Yeah?”

Martin’s voice was unusually tense.
“Taniskh. You need to get here. Fast.”

Taniskh stopped in his tracks, sensing the edge.
“What happened?”

A pause.
Then Martin said, “Just come. Now. You'll want to see this yourself.”

The line went dead.

Taniskh stood still for a moment, the wind curling past him.

Something in Martin’s voice unsettled him — it wasn’t panic. It wasn’t trouble. It was something else.

Something unexpected.

He turned, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, and began walking faster.

Taniskh pushed open the glass door of the office building, the warm hum of the morning rush buzzing through the space. People were at their desks, coffees in hand, screens flickering.

Martin was already waiting at the front — tall, broad-shouldered, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“Finally!” Martin said, clapping him on the back. “Took you long enough.”

Taniskh raised a brow. “You said it like someone died. What’s going on?”

Martin pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and held it up to Taniskh.

On the screen was an official email — crisp, formal, and unmistakably real:

"Finalist: Business Excellence Award — International Innovation in Mobility Services."
Nominees: Martin Clarke & Taniskh Chandravanshi.

For a beat, Taniskh just stared.

Then a slow smile spread across his face — not loud, not flashy — just deep and real.

“No way…” he murmured.

“Yes way,” Martin grinned. “We’re in, mate. All those sleepless nights? Worth it.”

Taniskh laughed, then pulled Martin into a hug — the kind that said thank you for believing in me when I didn’t.
It wasn’t just the award. It was everything it stood for.
Survival. Reinvention. A second life.

“Congrats, partner,” Martin said, patting his back. “You deserve this.”

Taniskh smiled, the glow in his chest quiet but steady.
“So do you.”

A little while later, he stepped into his cabin, dropped his bag on the chair, and sank into the leather seat. The city’s skyline stretched beyond the glass windows — but his eyes drifted to his phone, as if on instinct.

Right on time, it lit up.
Shree (India) Calling...

A smile touched his lips before he even pressed ‘Answer.’

He picked up.
“Hey.”

Her voice came through, warm and cheerful, with that usual spark.
“Good Morning!”

He leaned back in his chair, letting her voice wrap around the edges of his morning.
“I am in the office.”

“And i am in office too.”

His smile softened.

They fell into an easy rhythm — updates, jokes, little nothings that somehow felt like everything.
They talked like this every day — morning and night. Without fail. Without labels.

They just… existed.
Two people carrying different kinds of pain, choosing to be each other’s peace.

What neither of them realized — or maybe refused to say — was that they had become something more than comfort.
Something that crept in slow, quiet, and unannounced.
Love, waiting patiently to be noticed.

“By the way,” Taniskh said, as she told him about her upcoming fashion week project, “We got nominated for the Business Excellence Award.”

She gasped.
“What?! That’s huge!”

“Yeah… it is,” he said, feeling the smile in his voice.
“And I think you’re the first person I wanted to tell.”

There was a small pause on the line. Not awkward. Just full.

Then she said softly,
“I’m proud of you, Taniskh.”

YES SHE STOPPED CALLING HIM SAHIB.

Now they share a friendly contact.

And somehow, in all the chaos of London, awards, and second chances — that one sentence meant the most.

The conversation flowed like it always did — easy, like water over familiar stones.

Shree was still breathless from the chaos at work, words spilling out in rapid-fire.

“—and then the tailor had the audacity to say he needed two more days. Two! As if we didn’t have the client screaming on speakerphone like some Bollywood villainess!”

Taniskh chuckled, resting his elbow on the armrest as he leaned further into the chair.
“Remind me again why you don’t have your own reality show?”

“Because the world isn’t ready for this level of drama,” she shot back.
He could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

Then came the faint rumble of wind through the line.
A horn blared in the background.

“Wait… are you on the road right now?” he asked, straightening up.

“Yeah, just left the boutique. On my scooty. I’m heading to my apartment — needed to breathe before I finish these last-minute sketches.”

He blinked, frowning slightly.
“You’re calling me while driving?”

“Multitasking is a skill,” she teased.

“Shree.”

Her name came out quieter this time, the smile fading from his lips.

“Don’t. Not while driving, okay?”

A beat of silence. She knew that tone.

“Fine, fine,” she gave in. “Boss-mode activated again. I’m hanging up.”

He exhaled — part amused, part genuinely concerned.

“Good. Call me the second you get home. Promise?”

“Promise,” she said, softer now.

“Alright. No stunt riding. No chatting with random uncles at red lights. Helmet on. Both straps.”

“Yes, sir,” she laughed, and the call ended with that familiar sound — her voice, bright and teasing.

He looked at the phone screen for a moment longer than necessary.

It was always like this — quick, effortless, wrapped in care neither of them dared name.

He set the phone down but didn’t open his laptop.
His eyes lingered on the city skyline outside.
London looked the same.

But somehow… something in his world had started to feel different.

The Next Day

The soft clatter of keyboard keys echoed in the cabin. Outside the glass wall, the office buzzed with quiet productivity — phones ringing, coffee being sipped, conversations murmured in corners.

Taniskh sat hunched over his laptop, headphones half-on, working through the week’s analytics dashboard. He was deep into a spreadsheet when his phone buzzed, vibrating against the desk.

Incoming Call — Maa sa
 

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and pulled the phone to his ear with a quiet,

“Hello?”

Her voice came through sharply — like it always did when she was pretending not to care.

“Still too busy to call your mother, I see.”

Taniskh rubbed his temple and smiled faintly. “You still call exactly when I don’t. I think you plan it.”

“I am angry, you know,” she said, a little too loud. “But I also know you won’t eat properly unless someone nags you twice a week.”

He chuckled under his breath. “I’m fine, Ma. I’m eating. I promise.”
A pause.
Then gently, “How are you?”

Her voice softened slightly, like she’d been waiting for him to ask.

“Getting old. My knees hurt. I’m still tolerating father. So… same as always.”

He smiled at that, but it faded quickly when she asked, “When are you coming back, Taniskh?”

He paused. That question always hung heavy.

“I will,” he said. “When the time’s right. Right now… I need to be here.”

Another pause.

Then her voice dropped, just a notch lower.

“Your father’s not doing well.”

Silence.

Taniskh looked out the window.
The clouds over London had darkened — or maybe it just felt like they had.

“He’s… what happened?” he asked, his voice flat, unreadable.

“Nothing sudden. Just… not well. You know how he’s been. The coughing’s worse. Doctor’s talking about his heart now.”

Taniskh clenched his jaw.

“I’m busy today, Maa sa.”
His voice was tighter now. Cold. “We’ll talk later.”

“Taniskh—” she started, but the call ended.

He let the phone drop beside his laptop and stared at the screen, though the numbers and charts now blurred into meaningless lines.

His throat burned with something he didn’t want to name.
He wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t care.

He hated that man.

For how he made his mother feel small.
For how he tore him and Kasish apart with silence and expectation.
For how he never once stood up for his son — only judged, only demanded, only pretended.

And yet… something inside him twisted.
Not out of love. Not yet.
Just the sharp, inconvenient ache of history refusing to stay buried.

India 

The soft jingle of anklets echoed gently through the grand, sunlit hallway of the Malhotra mansion. The marble floor reflected golden light streaming in through tall windows, casting a serene glow across the space.

A young maid, holding a silver tray with a tall glass of fresh orange juice, walked carefully beside a woman with quiet grace — her steps slower, more protective.

“Madam, please drink this. Doctor ne kaha hai na, you need to eat something every two hours. If sir finds out you skipped lunch again, he’ll be very angry…” the maid said in a low, cautious tone.

The woman said nothing at first — she was too focused on the phone in her hand.
Dressed in an elegant, flowing white maternity frock, her long hair loose around her shoulders, she looked ethereal — like a painting brought to life.

But more than beauty, there was calm strength in the way she stood.
One hand gently cradled her seven-month baby bump, protectively, instinctively — like she was already guarding the little life growing inside her.

Her other hand was busy dialing.

She frowned as the call went unanswered again.

“He’s not picking up...” she murmured, more to herself than to the maid.

The caretaker shifted nervously. “Maybe sir is just busy at the office—”

Before she could finish, the sharp, familiar sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupted them.

Her eyes lit up instantly.

She rushed — well, half-rushed, half-glided — toward the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony, careful not to slip. Her heart fluttered as she peered over the edge.

Below, the black SUV’s door opened.

And there he was.

Her husband stepped out, loosening his tie, glancing up instinctively — and the second his eyes met hers, his tired face broke into a soft, boyish smile.

She waved, barely hiding her relief and joy. He’d come.
He was home.

He jogged up the steps and entered the foyer just in time for her to meet him near the staircase. He opened his arms — and she walked right into them without hesitation.

His arms wrapped around her shoulders gently, careful of her belly.
He kissed the top of her head, lingering a second longer than usual.

“How’s my jaan?” he whispered into her hair.
“And how’s our little champ today?”

She leaned back slightly, her eyes sparkling.

“We missed you.” she said softly, resting her palm on her bump.
“A lot.”

He grinned, placing his hand gently beside hers over the curve of her belly.

“I missed you both more.” he said.
“But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Rajveer’s gaze flicked toward the maid still standing quietly, holding the glass of juice.

He gently walked over, took the glass from her hands, and nodded with quiet authority.
“Go ahead and serve dinner. We’ll join in a bit.”

The maid bowed slightly and stepped away, leaving them alone in the soft, golden living room.

Rajveer turned back to Kasish and gently guided her to sit on the couch.
He sat beside her — close but careful, his hands steady as he brought the juice glass to her lips.

“Drink this, Jaan. How can you ignore your health like this?”
His voice was soft, but the concern was real — clear in the furrow of his brows and the way he brushed a loose strand of hair from her face.

Kasish sighed, leaning slightly into his touch.
“Veer… please. I’m just not feeling like eating.”

He didn’t argue.
He never did when she spoke like that.

Instead, he just lowered the glass and smiled, eyes searching hers.

“Alright. But let me ask one thing. Will you at least have dinner if I do too?”

Kasish looked at him — her eyes were tired but full of emotion, as if still surprised by how gentle he could be with her every single day.

She stood up slowly, holding her belly with one hand for support, and started walking toward the dining area.

“Fine,” she said over her shoulder, voice playful now.
“But… I’m craving something spicy. Remember the Chinese fried rice and Manchurian you made last time? I’m a fan now.”

Rajveer, who had followed her like a shadow, paused at her words — then broke into a low, warm chuckle.

“Seriously? That was me throwing together whatever I found in the fridge.”

“It was perfect.” she insisted, eyes glowing. “Better than any restaurant. I want that again.”

He smirked, walking toward the kitchen like it was his personal mission.

“Then it shall be made.”
He was already rolling up his sleeves.

But before he could step in, Kasish gently tugged his arm.

“First… at least sit and eat something. You’ve had a long day too.”

He turned to her, eyes crinkling with a smile only she could pull out of him.

“How can I eat, when my Jaan is hungry?”
He kissed her forehead lightly.
“Tonight, the chef is on duty. You sit. Feet up. Relax. The baby and I have it covered.”

Kasish laughed softly, placing a hand on her bump.
“You really think our baby’s helping you cook?”

Rajveer looked down at her belly with exaggerated seriousness.

“Moral support. That’s equally important.”

As the sounds of chopping and sizzling filled the warm kitchen, Kasish leaned against the doorframe, watching the man she once met through fate — but stayed with by choice.

She wasn’t just carrying life inside her.

She was living again.

The aroma of garlic and soy sauce filled the kitchen as Rajveer stirred the vegetables with the effortless ease of someone who knew exactly what he was doing — not just in the kitchen, but in life.

Kasish leaned against the doorway, her hands resting protectively on her belly, watching him with a soft, faraway smile.

Her gaze wasn’t just on the man before her — it drifted into the past.

Five years ago.

It had been her birthday — a quiet one. She hadn’t expected anything, let alone him.

But Rajveer had shown up that night, awkwardly holding a bouquet of white lilies — her favourite — and a small velvet box that clearly hadn’t come from a big store, but was chosen with care.

He had looked nervous, uncharacteristically so.

“Kasish,” he had said, eyes earnest, voice steady.
“I don’t know if this is the right way. Or the perfect time. But I do know one thing — I want you in my life. Every day. Every moment. Will you… will you let me be your forever?”

She remembered the silence that followed — not from hesitation, but because her heart had paused just long enough to realise:

She loved him.

And in the way that mattered most — he loved her back. Steady. Whole. Without conditions.

From that day to this one, Rajveer hadn’t let her tears fall — not even once.

Well… except once.

The day they found out they were going to be parents.

Kasish had cried, yes — but not out of fear or grief.

And yet, Rajveer had cried more.

Big, clumsy, disbelieving tears — the kind only a man completely overwhelmed with joy could shed.
She had laughed through her own tears, holding his face in her palms.

“Veer, stop crying — you’ll make me cry more!”
But he’d just kissed her hands and whispered, “I can’t help it… I’ve never felt this lucky in my entire life.”

Now, as she stood here watching him cook her favourite food with that same goofy concentration, her heart felt full in a way she had only once dreamed — back when she used to stare out of temple courtyards wondering if love like this even existed.

It did.

She was living it.

And Rajveer had made sure of that — every single day since.

Her thoughts broke gently at the sound of his voice.

“Jaan?”
He turned, a wooden spoon in one hand, the faintest bit of flour on his cheek.
“Where were you lost again? I’m talking to the wall here. What did you do today?”

She blinked, smiling, eyes warming.

“I was watching you, Chef Rajput.” she teased. “And remembering how lucky I am.”

He grinned, exaggeratedly smug.
“Well, of course you are. But you still haven’t answered me — what did you do today?”

She walked over, rested her chin lightly on his shoulder and whispered,
“I made a whole human. What did you do?”

He burst into laughter, gently bumping his forehead against hers.

“Touché, Mrs. Rajput. You win. Again.”

Sneak peek- Chapter 44

The television buzzed softly in the background while Kasish absently flipped through channels, not really watching anything — just trying to keep her restless thoughts occupied.

But then her fingers paused.

The voice of a news anchor broke through the silence, clear and somber.

“Business tycoon and royal head of the Chandravanshi family, Mr. Angad Chandravanshi, also known as the Raja sa of Jaisalmer, has passed away late last night after battling prolonged illness. He was known not just for his sharp business mind but also his deeply rooted influence in political and royal circles…”

Kasish froze.

The remote slipped slightly from her hand and hit the floor with a soft clink.