"Ma... why did you wake me up so early?!"

Gauri groaned, pulling the thin blanket over her face.

She squinted at the wall clock.

8:00 AM.

"It's Sunday!" she protested dramatically.

"Help me in the kitchen," Kishori's voice came from outside.

Gauri sat up slowly.

"Maa... you woke me up on my only day off just to help you cook?"

"Yes, Gauri."

"Maa..." she whined like a child.

At Hriday's mansion she was "Cook."

Here, she was still the daughter who had no escape from kitchen duty.

"Get up, baccha... quickly," Kishori called again.

Their house was small — one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a little open space that served as a living area. But it was filled with something the mansion didn't have.

Warmth.

Gauri sighed, then got up.

Before stepping out of the room, she folded her hands before the small framed photo of Durga Maa on the wall.

"Give me strength," she whispered.

Then she walked into the kitchen.

Kishori was already kneading dough.

"You're tired?" her mother asked gently without looking up.

Gauri paused.

For a second she wanted to say yes.

But instead—

"No Maa, I'm fine."

Kishori glanced at her face.

"You didn't eat properly yesterday, na?"

Gauri froze slightly.

Mothers notice everything.

"I did eat!"

"You're lying."

Gauri smiled softly and hugged her from behind.

"I just missed you, that's why I'm hungry all the time."

Kishori laughed lightly.

"Drama queen."

They worked together in silence for a while.

Simple breakfast.

Simple life.

No orders.

No "Make it again."

Just the sound of oil sizzling and a mother humming an old song.

But even while rolling the dough—

A pair of sharp eyes.

A commanding voice.

And a red glare from last night...

Kept flashing in her mind.

And somewhere else—

In a quiet, luxurious bedroom—

Hriday Singh Shekhawat was awake earlier than usual on a Sunday.

For no reason.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Sunday morning.

Hriday was sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.

No meetings.

No files.

No "Make it again."

Just silence.

Until—

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

He groaned and dragged a hand over his face.

He loved Sundays exactly for this reason — no servants, no noise, no interruptions. Absolute quiet. He deliberately gave every staff member leave on Sundays.

He liked his space.

Though...

It was different in Chandigarh.

There, noise meant family.

Here, silence meant loneliness.

The bell rang again.

He walked downstairs barefoot and opened the main door.

And froze.

Gauri stood there.

Simple cotton suit. Hair tied. Holding a steel tiffin in her hands.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"Were you sleeping, sir?" she asked instead.

"Yes. I was. Work was a little heavy last night."

He absentmindedly ruffled his already messy hair.

She noticed.

Then held out the tiffin.

"Sir, I came to give you food."

His eyes dropped to the container.

"But... you're on leave."

"I know," she nodded. "But I thought... you don't have anyone to cook today. And you don't like outside food."

For a moment, he didn't speak.

This wasn't obligation.

She wasn't paid for today.

She came because she thought he would be alone.

Something unfamiliar stirred inside him.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She shook her head immediately.

"Please don't say thank you, sir. It's my duty."

Duty.

He almost smiled.

She turned to leave.

"Wait."

She stopped.

"Yes, sir?"

He inhaled once.

Then said it.

"I'm sorry for yesterday."

The words felt strange in his mouth.

He wasn't used to apologizing.

Gauri blinked.

Then a wide, genuine smile spread across her face.

"Finally," she muttered under her breath, "this rich brat understands."

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, sir."

He watched her carefully.

"So... did you forgive me?"

She looked at him.

"Yes."

No drama.

No condition.

Just yes.

Because Gauri forgave easily.

But she never forgot.

There was a difference.

She gave him a small nod and turned to leave again.

This time, he didn't stop her.

But he stood at the doorway watching her walk away.

The same narrow lane.

The same simple clothes.

Yet today—

She didn't look small.

And inside the silent mansion—

For the first time since he shifted to Kolkata—

It didn't feel entirely empty.