Love Me Tonight
Chapter 27: Just Us

The lounge was bathed in the quiet warmth of the afternoon sun. Light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass, soft and golden, stretching long across the polished floor and settling gently over the curved lines of the semi-circular sofa. The city beyond moved in its usual rhythm – distant, muted, almost irrelevant inside this enclosed stillness.

It was a space designed for pause. For thought. For decisions that needed silence more than noise.

And right now, it held both of them. Naina sat beside Sameer on the sofa, her saree falling in soft folds around her, one hand resting lightly in his. The remnants of their lunch lay undisturbed on the table, forgotten in the quiet that had settled after everything that had been said.

Sameer turned slightly toward her, his gaze steady – measured in a way it always became when something mattered more than he was willing to show.

“Tum sure ho?” he asked quietly. “Samajhti ho iska matlab?”

He didn’t want to sound dismissive or doubtful. But he needed to be careful. Their relationship had found its rhythm – yes. But it was still fragile in places. Moments like that morning had shown him just how easily things could unravel. He wasn’t sure if what they were building was ready to withstand the scrutiny, the pressure, the relentless attention of the outside world. And yet… If she was truly ready, he wouldn’t be the one to hold her back.

Naina met his eyes without hesitation, “haan. Main samajh rahi hun.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back just a fraction, his fingers interlocking loosely as if grounding his thoughts before speaking again. He needed to be sure she understood everything.

“Naina… yeh sirf ek chhoti party nahi hai,” he said. “It’s one of the biggest business events. Poore country se log aayenge – top businessmen, media, sab.”

She didn’t look away.
“Wahan jaana matlab… sirf 5-10 logon ko batana nahi,” he continued. “It means going public. Press hogi. Coverage hoga.”

His voice grew firmer, not in resistance – but in responsibility.

“Mere business pe articles toh aate rahe hain… lekin meri personal life hamesha controlled rahi hai. Agar tum mere saath wahan aayi… toh uss control ko maintain karna mushkil ho jayega.”

A brief pause.

“And most importantly…” his tone shifted, quieter now, more personal, “Ahmedabad mein bhi sabko pata chal jayega. Tumhare ghar walo ko bhi.”

The words lingered between them.

For a fleeting second, something flickered across her face.

Memory. Fear. History.

But it didn’t stay.

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. “Pata hai,” she said. And this time, there was no tremor in her voice.

“Phir bhi?” he asked.

She nodded. “Phir bhi.” Then, softer – almost as if she was answering something within herself, “har baar dar ke wajah se rukte rahenge toh… kabhi aage badh hi nahi paayenge na.”

He studied her for a moment, then tried, gently, to give her an out, “Naina… Koi compulsion nahi hai. I am ready to wait. Waise bhi… Tumko pata hai ke mujhe sirf Nanu ko batana tha. Baki kisiki koi parwah nahi hai. Khud ko force mat karo.”

She smiled faintly, shaking her head, “main khud ko force nahi kar rahi. Aur yeh bhi janti hun ke tum mujhpe zor nahi daloge… Lekin yeh main chahti hun. Maine tumse shaadi karne ka faisla khud liya hai… Toh phir isme chupane wali koi baat nahi hai. Main chahti hun ke puri duniya ko pata chale ke tum mere husband ho.”

He tried once more, “lekin Naina…”

She didn’t let him finish. Raising her hands, she gently cupped his face, pulling him down just enough to meet her. For a second, he stilled, caught off guard. His heart thumped harder as he watched her move closer. Then her lips touched his forehead in a soft lingering kiss. Just like that night in October.

“Main sure hun”, she reaffirmed, looking into his eyes, “I am ready.”

And before he could respond, she leaned in again, this time pressing a gentle kiss right between his eyes. His breath hitched. His hands came up instinctively, covering hers where they still rested against his face. He swallowed, something warm and overwhelming rising in his chest – at her words, at her certainty, at the quiet way she had chosen him.

Composing himself, he drew her into his arms, holding her close. “Theek hai…” he murmured against her hair. “Agar tum ready ho… toh main bhi ready hoon.”

For a few moments, neither of them moved. Then, almost inevitably, his mind shifted gears. 

Planning. Execution.

“Suno…” he said, pulling back slightly. “Event se pehle ek press release karna padega. Warna wahan press ko control karna difficult ho jayega.”

She listened quietly, her head still resting lightly against his chest, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Hum dono ka ek photo bhi chahiye hoga,” he continued. “Court wale nahi… kisi neutral setting mein. Aur…” he paused, thinking ahead, “shayad Nanu ko bhi invitation mila ho. Mujhe unse baat karni padegi.”

She nodded, absorbing it all. Then after a moment, she asked, “aur Rohan?”

He paused, “Rohan?”

She drew back from his arms, “haan… Ab toh tumhara relationship achcha hai na Rohan ke saath.”

He thought for a moment, “relationship ka pata nahi. Lekin usko jitna maine bola usne suna… I didn’t expect it. But…”

“He respects you”, Naina completed gently, “aur tumhe bhi uski aur Deepika dono ki fikar hai.”

That was something he couldn’t deny. Once the sharp edge of his anger had dulled and a little distance had settled in, he had begun to see things more clearly. Blaming them for what Vishakha had done had never truly been fair. How many times had he listened to the tales of allergic reactions and worried that two innocent lives will be sacrificed for Vishakha Somani’s selfish reasons.

Before he could respond, there was a knock on the door. Naina instinctively pulled back from his arms, sitting upright, while Sameer frowned slightly. Aman wouldn’t interrupt him unless it was important.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened, and Aman stepped in, his expression tense. “Sorry, sir… disturb nahi karna chah raha tha, lekin kuch important news mili hai.”

Sameer’s attention sharpened instantly. “Kya hua? Hamari latest delivery mein toh kuch—”

“Nahi, nahi,” Aman cut in quickly. “Yeh SJM se related nahi hai. Aapne mujhe Maheshwari Industries aur Vivek Somani pe nazar rakhne ko kaha tha na…”

Sameer sat up straighter, tension returning to his posture. “Haan… kya hua wahan? Nanu theek hain?”

Aman nodded, “aapke Nanaji theek hain. Lekin company ko ek recent consignment mein bahut bada loss hua hai.”

“What the f…” Sameer stopped himself mid-sentence, glancing briefly at Naina. Then, more controlled, “Aisa kaise possible hai? Puri baat batao, Aman.”

Aman continued, “initial information yeh thi ki jo truck fabrics leke aa raha tha, uska accident ho gaya aur saara stock jal gaya. Isliye loss hua.”

He paused, then added, “Lekin kuch match nahi kar raha tha. Itna bada accident hota toh news aati. Maine hamare network mein check kiya… kisi ko kuch pata hi nahi.”

Sameer nodded slowly. It made sense. SJM Enterprises sourced raw materials from across the country – their network was extensive. Incidents of that scale didn’t just disappear.

And if there was no accident… Then the story itself was false.

“Reality kya hai?” Sameer asked, his voice quieter now, more controlled. “I’m guessing tumhe puri story pata chal gayi hai.”

Aman gave a tight nod. “Accident wali story cover-up thi. Vivek Somani ne Thailand ki ek shady company se fabrics import karwaye. Aur poora stock customs mein pakda gaya – around 1.5 crore ka.” A brief silence. “Proper paperwork nahi tha – probably trying to evade taxes. Ab na woh stock claim kar sakte hain – kyunki technically illegal hai – aur na hi unke paas extra funds hain naye stock ke liye. Aur woh Thailand wali company bhi farzi nikli.”

Naina looked between them, trying to piece everything together. She didn’t understand every detail, but the impact was clear.

This wasn’t just a business issue. This would affect Nanu.

Sameer had gone completely still, his tone hardening. “Stupid man… I can’t believe this. How can someone like him even run a business?”

Aman sighed. “Yeh pehli baar nahi hai, sir. Pehle bhi losses hue hain. Har baar kisi na kisi connection se manage kar liya. Lekin iss baar… Yeh bahut bada hai. Chhupana mushkil hai. Isiliye fake accident ka drama.”

Sameer exhaled sharply, frustration evident. “Nanu ko sach batana padega. He deserves to know.”

“There’s more,” Aman added quietly.

Sameer’s expression tightened further. “Aur kya?”

Aman continued, “Shareholders already nervous hain. Openly nahi… lekin background mein dheere-dheere shares bech rahe hain.”

“Buy them,” Sameer ordered immediately. “Jitne bhi market mein aa rahe hain – sab kharid lo. Maheshwari Industries mere Nanu ki company hai. Main usse barbaad hote hue nahi dekh sakta.”

“I’m already on it,” Aman assured him. Then, after a brief pause, “Ek aur baat hai… Mr. Somani ne iss loss ko cover karne ka ek tareeka nikala hai.”

Sameer frowned. “Itna bada loss… kaise cover kar raha hai?”

Aman hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “Ek supplier mila hai… jo materials dene ko ready hai. Lekin exchange mein…” He exhaled. “Woh apni beti ki shaadi Mr. Maheshwari ke navase se karwana chahta hai.”

Sameer blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Mujhse?”

Naina gasped softly. Aman immediately shook his head. “Nahi, sir.”

Sameer’s throat tightened. “Rohan?”

Aman nodded. “Haan. Aur upar se dahej bhi dene ko ready hai.”

For a second, there was complete silence. Then Sameer stood up abruptly, anger flaring. “What nonsense is this!” He began pacing, agitation evident in every step. “Apne hi bete ke saath aisa kaise kar sakta hai woh? Dimag kharab ho gaya hai kya unka?”

Naina’s fingers tightened around the folds of her saree, unease settling deep within her. She knew how important Nanu was in Sameer’s life. And they had just been talking about Rohan and Deepika; about his concern for them. Now it felt as though one of them was about to be pulled into something far more serious.

Sameer kept pacing, his steps measured but restless, his mind already running through possibilities – scenarios, contingencies, ways to contain what was unfolding. He needed to steady himself. Needed to think like SJM – the businessman – not Sameer, the grandson… the brother.

Drawing in a deep breath, he stopped, then moved to the armchair and sat down, crossing one leg over the other, his posture shifting into something more composed.

“Aman… dig deep,” he said, his voice firm. “Mujhe iss incident ke saare details chahiye – with evidence. Aur jo bhi itne saalo ka connection hai… jitna nikal sakte ho, sab.”

Aman nodded, already making notes in the small notebook he always carried.

Sameer continued, “aur ensure karo ke jitne bhi shares market mein aa rahe hain, sab hum kharide. Main Nanu se baat karunga… mujhe lagta hai unko business community meet ka invitation mila hoga. Agar nahi mila, toh arrange karna padega. Nanu aur Rohan – dono ko yahan laana hai.”

He paused briefly, his tone turning more deliberate. “Somani se door. I want them here when we talk.”

Aman slowed his writing for a second, looking up. “Business community meet?”

Sameer gestured toward the navy invitation lying on the table. “Haan… wahi annual event. Jiske liye tum subah mujhe force kar rahe the.”

“Aap jaa rahe hain?” Aman asked, glancing at Naina and then back at Sameer, slightly surprised.

Before Sameer could respond, Naina spoke, “hum dono jaa rahe hain, Aman.”

A wide smile spread across his face. “Really, bhabhi? Aap bhi jaa rahi hain? Maine hi bola tha sir ko ke aapko le jaaye.”

“Jaanti hoon,” she smiled. “Thank you… yeh suggest karne ke liye. Aaj… zaroori tha yeh hum dono ke liye.”

Aman looked mildly puzzled, but Sameer continued, already shifting back into work mode.

“Iske liye bhi kaam hai, Aman…”

He ran through the plan – press release before the event, a proper photograph in a neutral setting, and a structured approach to handling the press.

Aman noted everything down quickly, his energy returning. “Main expected questions ka ek list bhi bana deta hoon, sir… taaki agar bhabhi se kuch poocha jaaye toh unko answer dene mein aasani ho.”

Naina nodded in approval. “Aur ek cheez chahiye, Aman…”

He looked up.

“Pichle kuch saalon ke common attendees ka list milega? Unke names, businesses… jo bhi information ho. Mujhe thoda samajhna hai – networking mein help milegi.”

Sameer frowned slightly, “Naina, tumhe networking ki tension lene ki zaroorat nahi hai. I can handle that.”

She shot him a look. “Main tumhari arm-candy nahi hoon.”

“Agar main tumhare saath aa rahi hoon,” she continued, steady but firm, “toh mujhme itna confidence toh hona chahiye na ke koi baat kare toh main theek se respond kar paun. Aur logon ko jaane bina woh confidence kaise aayega?”

Aman nodded immediately. “Bhabhi sahi keh rahi hain, sir. We need her to be prepared.”

Sameer rubbed his forehead, letting out a small sigh. “Ab tum dono milke mujhpe hi chadh jaoge toh main kya bolun…”

There was no real irritation in his tone – just concern. “I’m just worried,” he added quietly. “I don’t want her to stress.”

“Problems se chup nahi sakte, Sameer,” Naina said gently. “Better hai prepared rahein.”

He looked at her for a moment longer… then gave in with a faint nod. He had an internal meeting to get to, so after a few final instructions, he left them there – one planning for the storm ahead, and the other… learning how to stand beside him when it arrived.

After wrapping two back-to-back meetings, he returned to his private lounge, and paused mid-step at the sight before him.

Naina was asleep.

Curled slightly on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting loosely near her stomach. A cushion had been pulled under her head – improvised, inadequate – but she seemed too tired to have cared. A few loose strands of hair had fallen across her face, rising and falling gently with each soft breath.

For a moment, he simply stood there. Watching.

The sharp edges of the day – the tension, the decisions, the urgency – faded quietly into the background. In their place came something far softer. Something grounding.

She looked smaller like this. Peaceful. Safe. And somehow… completely his.

A faint shiver passed through her, almost imperceptible, but he caught it. The air-conditioning was set too low. He preferred it that way.

Moving quietly, careful not to disturb her, he slipped off his suit jacket and draped it gently over her. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary as he adjusted it around her shoulders, making sure she was properly covered.

She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake. A small smile tugged at his lips.

His gaze shifted around the lounge – the sleek furniture, the glass walls, the aesthetic precision of the space. And for the first time, it felt… incomplete.

He made a mental note.

More cushions. Proper pillows.

A recliner, perhaps.

And blankets, soft throws. The kind she loved. The kind she would curl into, seeking that quiet, comforting warmth she always gravitated toward.

Something that would make this space feel less like an office… and more like a place she belonged. So that the next time she came here, she wouldn’t have to make do. She would feel at home.

He moved back to his office desk, careful not to disturb her sleep, and dialed Nanu’s number. Jaiprakash Maheshwari had a splitting headache. Since morning, he had been on call after call – clients, suppliers, shareholders – trying to piece together what had gone wrong and how to recover from it. More than the loss itself, it was the way things had unfolded that unsettled him.

And beneath it all, one thought weighed heavier than the rest – He would not let his grandson pay the price for this.

Rohan was already buried in files, trying to understand the situation despite his lack of experience. The boy was trying… and that, in itself, made Jaiprakash’s chest tighten. This wasn’t his burden to carry. Not yet. Not like this.

And Vivek’s proposal… Unethical didn’t even begin to describe it.

The idea that Rohan should marry to compensate for a business loss… it made his blood boil. He couldn’t even imagine what the boy must have felt hearing it.

Just as he stood up, thinking of calling Rohan for a cup of tea, to give both of them a moment of relief, the phone rang. He sighed, already exhausted, but picked it up anyway. It was probably another call about the company.

“Hello,” he said, his voice heavy with fatigue.

“Nanu.”

The moment he heard it, something shifted. The tension eased. The headache dulled.

“Sameer…” he breathed, relief washing over him. “Beta… kaise ho?”

A soft sigh came from the other end. “Yeh sawaal toh mujhe aapse puchna chahiye. Kaise ho aap, Nanu? Aur mujhe phone kyun nahi kiya? Business alag hai toh iska matlab yeh toh nahi ke aap apni pareshani mujhse share nahi kar sakte.”

Nanu closed his eyes briefly.

“Aisi baat nahi hai beta…” he said gently. “Jabse yeh sab hua hai, theek se kuch sochne ka waqt hi nahi mila. Subah se laga hua hoon yeh samajhne mein ke yeh accident kaise hua… aur jo nuksaan hua hai uski bharpai kaise karun.”

The truth about Vivek’s proposal rose to his lips. It would have been so easy to say it. To let Sameer take over. But he stopped himself.

This was Rohan’s truth to share – not his. And more importantly… If Sameer found out everything right now, the fallout wouldn’t remain limited to business. It would be far bigger. And he wasn’t sure they were ready for that yet.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Sameer asked, “Rohan kaisa hai? Aapke saath hai?”

“Nahi,” Nanu replied. “Apne cabin mein hai. Woh bhi iss matter ko samajhne ki koshish kar raha hai… lekin experience nahi hai ab tak.”

Sameer paused briefly, weighing his words. He didn’t want to add to Nanu’s stress – not yet.

“Kuch na kuch rasta nikal aayega,” he said calmly. “Main bhi try kar raha hoon.”

Then, after a beat, “Achha Nanu… iss baar Annual Business Community Meeting ka invitation aaya?”

Nanu frowned slightly at the shift in topic. “Pata nahi beta… kyun?”

“Main soch raha tha,” Sameer said, “iss baar meeting Mumbai mein hai. Agar aap aur Rohan aa sakein toh achha hoga.”

“Rohan bhi?” Nanu asked, surprised.

“Haan,” Sameer confirmed. Then, after a pause, “Nanu… hum event se pehle ek press release karne wale hain. We’re announcing our wedding. Naina bhi mere saath event mein aana chahti hai.”

For a moment, the weight of the day lifted. A smile spread across Jaiprakash Maheshwari’s face – genuine, warm, proud. This was no small step.

He knew that something about Ahmedabad still troubled Naina in ways she had never fully spoken about. He knew how that had shaped their relationship. And now… she was ready to stand beside Sameer, in the open, before the world.

It was everything he had hoped for.

And yet… the happiness was shadowed by the crisis at hand. Still… This was something he would not miss.

“Yeh bahut achchi khabar di tumne, beta,” he said, his voice lighter now. “Aaj isiki zaroorat thi. Tum fikar mat karo. Invite ho ya na ho, main Mumbai zaroor aaunga. Waada raha.”

Sameer smiled on the other end. “Thanks, Nanu. Lekin event bhi zaroori hai… ho sakta hai wahan kuch madad mil jaaye.”

A flicker of hope rose. “Haan… yeh possible hai,” Nanu agreed. Then hesitated slightly. “Lekin agar business ke liye aaye… toh Vivek… mera matlab…”

“Nahi,” Sameer cut in firmly. “Yeh sab unki wajah se hua hai. Aur mere ghar mein aapka, Rohan aur Deepika ka aana allowed hai… Mr. and Mrs. Somani ka nahi.”

Nanu sighed softly. “Jaanta hun beta… main unhe laane ki baat nahi kar raha. Main yeh puch raha hun, Rohan ko kaise le jaaun? Main toh aa jaunga… lekin uska kya?”

Sameer understood immediately.

If Rohan left with Nanu, questions would be raised. Vishakha’s suspicions would flare. And that could even put Deepika in a difficult position.

“I’ll talk to Rohan,” Sameer said. “Aap fikar mat kijiye. Main sab arrange kar dunga.”

Nanu chuckled faintly. “Lagta hai SJM ka magic phir kaam karega… Kaash isi magic se ek garma-garam chai bhi mil jaati.”

Sameer laughed softly. “Dekhta hoon kya ho sakta hai… Filhaal rakhta hoon. Rohan ko call karunga baad me.”

Around twenty minutes later, there was a knock on Jaiprakash Maheshwari’s cabin door. He had just stood up again, intending to call Rohan for tea, when the interruption came. Slightly irritated, he opened the door… Only to find Rohan standing there.

In one hand, a bag.

In the other, his phone.

Confused.

“Nanu… uhh… Bhai ka SMS aaya tha,” Rohan said, still trying to make sense of it. “Bola bahar jaake yeh bag collect kar lu… aur aapko kehne ko kaha hai – ‘garma-garam chai ke liye SJM ke magic ki zaroorat nahi hoti… sirf Aman ka network kaafi hai.’”

For a second, Jaiprakash simply stared. Then he took the bag slowly and stepped aside, letting Rohan in.

Inside, he opened it… A thermos. Two paper cups.

And suddenly, he laughed. A full, unrestrained laugh.

Because it was so… Sameer. So absurd. So thoughtful.

What he had said casually, Sameer had taken it seriously. Not just to send tea… But to remind him – He wasn’t alone.

As they poured the hot masala chai and sat together, Jaiprakash Maheshwari felt something shift inside him. The burden didn’t disappear. But it felt… lighter. Because somewhere, no matter the distance – His grandson was already standing beside him.

Jaiprakash Maheshwari shared a brief summary of the call with Rohan – keeping it measured, careful, leaving out what wasn’t his to reveal, but making sure the essentials were clear. Sameer would be calling him later. They would talk, understand the situation better, and, if possible, come up with a plan to bring both of them to Mumbai. Rohan listened in silence, absorbing each word, his thoughts already pulling in different directions. The idea of speaking to his brother brought a strange mix of relief and apprehension – there was so much he wanted to say, so many doubts that had been weighing on him these past few days. And yet, the thought of leaving Deepika behind unsettled him. He knew how volatile things could become in that house, how quickly blame shifted, how easily she could become the next target.

Still, beneath the worry, there was a quiet pull – a need to speak to Sameer, to hear his voice, to find some clarity in the chaos that had taken over their lives.

And then there was the surprise.

A piece of news Nanu had chosen not to fully explain yet, holding onto it for the right moment… Perhaps something that would bring a ray of sunshine to the gloomy days they have been facing.

Over the next week, a plan took shape – crafted carefully by Sameer, Rohan… and most importantly, Aman.

Major contribution: Aman.

At this point, Sameer was convinced the man did not possess normal human genes. There was simply no other explanation. How did he always have the right people, the right information, and the right loopholes ready at his fingertips? While the rest of them were still trying to understand the problem, Aman had already built a five-step masterplan like some overqualified, underpaid criminal mastermind.

The plan was simple. Suspiciously simple. Cartoon-villain simple.

Step 1: Silent Rebellion

Rohan, Nanu, and Deepika would collectively boycott the Somanis. No arguments. No drama. Just… silence.

Meals? Not at home.

When Sameer raised a perfectly valid concern about their health, Aman waved it off like a seasoned magician. Of course they wouldn’t eat outside junk. Fresh, home-cooked meals would be provided.

From where? By whom? Through which secret underground food syndicate?

No one knew.

All they knew was that every day, at the exact time, in the exact place, perfectly tailored meals appeared – accounting for Rohan and Deepika’s allergies, Nanu’s light dinner preferences, and even the nutritional paranoia Sameer and Naina had contributed.

At this point, it was less a meal plan and more a supernatural phenomenon.

Step 2: Strategic Public Relations (a.k.a. Gentle Manipulation)

Once Rohan confirmed the event invitation had arrived, Aman moved into his natural habitat – information warfare.

Within two days, multiple newspapers suddenly developed a deep, emotional attachment to Jaiprakash Maheshwari’s philanthropy. Articles resurfaced about his trust funds, his contributions, and most notably – Pragati Vidya ka Mandir.

One particularly enthusiastic publication even ran a glowing feature on how a humble Hindi-medium school was producing students capable of competing with elite English-medium toppers.

And of course – Naina Agarwal was highlighted as a shining example.

Aman had practically rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain as he delivered this update, casually mentioning that this exact newspaper was also delivered to Naina’s house in Ahmedabad.

How he knew her address… or their newspaper subscription… remained a mystery best left unsolved.

Step 3: Light Blackmail (the “ethically questionable but effective” phase)

Yes. Actual blackmail.

Deepika’s college dean had, unfortunately, made the grave mistake of having a secret two-year-long affair with a teacher.

Even more unfortunate – Aman knew.

The result?

A sudden, highly enthusiastic announcement of a “historical educational tour” to Ajanta and Ellora – for first-year commerce students.

When questioned, the dean – turning progressively red – delivered an impassioned lecture about holistic development, cultural exposure, and how commerce students were not, in fact, born to worship balance sheets.

Somewhere in the background, an unknown entity named “Mr. A” continued to haunt his peace of mind.

Step 4: Controlled Explosion

Nanu and Rohan would casually discuss the Mumbai event within perfect earshot of Mr. Somani.

Predictably – Tantrum.

Even more predictably – For the first time in his life, Vivek Somani got thoroughly reprimanded by his father-in-law.

With a bonus threat.

Removal. From. The. Company.

A reminder followed… This business was never his. His stay in Ahmedabad had been temporary. A second chance after bankruptcy. Not a permanent upgrade to ownership.

Vivek Somani, who had quietly envisioned inheriting both the company and the bungalow, nearly had a spiritual awakening.

Vishakha, of course, added her own dramatic contribution, but with the entire household already boycotting her, even she chose to retreat strategically. One trip wouldn’t change anything, she told herself.

Step 5: The Honey Trap

Enter: a mysterious investor.

An “old client.” No records. No history. Only admiration.

And impeccable timing.

He expressed deep concern about the “accident,” praised Jaiprakash Maheshwari’s ethics, and offered investment – purely out of respect.

Vivek Somani’s panic and greed did the rest.

Background checks? Please. This was the same man who had already trusted a shady Thai supplier.

Naturally, he stayed back in Ahmedabad – convinced he was about to become the savior of the company.

A hero. A visionary. A man who had finally turned things around.

Meanwhile… The real game moved elsewhere.

Naina watched all of this unfold like someone binge-watching a high-stakes thriller. “This is literally a movie,” she had declared, equal parts horrified and impressed.

Because somewhere between Step 2 and Step 3, the polite, efficient, ever-respectful Aman had transformed into something else entirely…

A strategist.

A manipulator.

A disturbingly cheerful mastermind.

Sameer, despite having witnessed glimpses of this side before, remained equally fascinated. And for what felt like the hundredth time, he silently thanked the universe for the day he had hired Aman.

Amid all the schemes and carefully orchestrated manipulations, Naina and Sameer’s relationship moved forward, quietly, but unmistakably. On the morning of Valentine’s Day, she woke earlier than usual, drawn by a soft restlessness she couldn’t quite name. Slipping out of bed, she stepped into the backyard, her bare feet brushing against the cool grass as she made her way toward the plants she had nurtured over the past few weeks.

There was something grounding about them – watching something grow, slowly, patiently. Much like everything else in her life.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did now. The past few months felt like a blur – chaotic, overwhelming, and yet… transformative. And the future, for the first time, didn’t feel like something to fear. It felt uncertain, yes – but not lonely.

She wondered how things would unfold once everything came out into the open.

Nanu would be happy, she knew that. But Rohan and Deepika… would they accept her? Would they see her as family? Would they call her bhabhi?

The thought brought a faint, almost shy smile to her lips.

Her mind wandered to their trip to Kolkata, to the quiet moments, to the way everything had begun to shift between them. Maybe… she could ask Sameer for another short trip. Just a weekend somewhere, after the business event.

She wanted to hold onto this phase for a little longer. Before life changed again. Before travel became restricted. Before her body demanded more rest than freedom. And perhaps… Before responsibilities began to outweigh these small, fleeting moments of togetherness.

It would be good for them too – some time away, just as a couple. Away from business, from expectations, from Ahmedabad.

The thought made her pause.

A couple.

Even now, the word felt new. Strange. And yet… right.

She had surprised herself lately, by how much she wanted that closeness. By how difficult it was becoming to ignore the pull she felt toward him. Ever since that morning by the pool, something within her had shifted. The hesitation hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer controlled her. Instead, curiosity had taken its place. What would it feel like to move forward? To allow more?

More hugs… maybe. A kiss. A proper one.

It had been so long. Her breath stilled for a moment. That night in October…

And the next one…  the memory of the library surfaced – sharp, unwelcome – and she immediately pushed it away.

Not that. Not like that. This time… it would be different.

After walking for a while, she returned inside, her thoughts quieter but not entirely settled. She absently picked out her clothes for the day, but paused as her reflection caught her attention in the full-length mirror.

For a moment, she simply stood there.

Then, almost unconsciously, her fingers moved to the edge of her top… and she lifted it slightly. Her bare belly came into view. Not very large yet, but no longer the same. There was a subtle curve now. A quiet change.

Something that was entirely hers… and yet, no longer just hers alone.

Her hand rested there, slowly, before her palm spread gently over the skin.

Warm. Alive.

A strange, tender fascination settled within her.

She traced the faint curve with her fingertips, as if trying to understand it… to connect with it. As if, somehow, through that touch, she could reach the tiny life growing inside her.

My baby…

The thought came instinctively. Familiar. Safe. Her expression softened, something deeper than happiness settling in her eyes.

Behind her, Sameer had woken up. At first, it was the absence beside him that stirred him – 

that unfamiliar emptiness where she had begun to belong. Then the faint sound of movement. And when his eyes adjusted, he saw her.

Standing before the mirror. Bathed in soft morning light.

One hand resting over the gentle curve of her belly.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just… watched.

Something shifted inside him. Not sudden. Not overwhelming. But deep enough to still everything else.

A quiet longing. The kind he had grown used to carrying.

He had been there through everything – every doctor’s appointment, every careful conversation, every small decision she hesitated over. He had rearranged his life around her needs without ever making it feel like a sacrifice. Learned what she could eat, what she couldn’t. Sat through her silences. Waited through her walls.

And yet… There was still a distance. A line he had never crossed. Because she had never asked him to.

For her… the baby had always been hers. And he… He had accepted that.

Without question. Without complaint.

The same way he had accepted everything else she hadn’t been ready to give.

But acceptance didn’t mean absence of desire. Didn’t mean he didn’t feel it – That quiet, persistent pull… To belong there too. To be seen.

Not just as the man who stayed. But as the father.

Naina caught his reflection in the mirror. And stilled. There was something in his eyes. Something she hadn’t noticed before… or perhaps… something she had never allowed herself to see.

She turned slowly, her gaze settling on him fully now.

The way he sat there – half-wrapped in the floral quilt, his T-shirt creased from sleep, his hair tousled in soft disarray – yet somehow, still breathtaking.

So real. So unguarded. So hers.

And yet.. Not quite. Because he didn’t reach for her. Didn’t move toward her. Just sat there – Quiet. Still. Looking at her… As if waiting. But not asking. Never asking.

And then it clicked. A soft, aching realization settled in her chest. All this while, she had let him stand beside her.

Support her. Care for her. Shield her in ways she hadn’t even realized she needed.

He had been there through everything – doctor visits, morning sickness, medicines, routines… every small and big decision that came with the baby. He had stepped in naturally, without being asked, without demanding space, without crossing a line she had never drawn out loud but had always kept intact.

He had never forced his place. Never questioned her silence. Never asked for more.

And yet… he had given everything. Played every role a father would – quietly, steadily, without a name.

And she… She had accepted it all. Leaned on him. Relied on him. Found comfort in his presence. But she had never truly given him that place.

Never said it. Never acknowledged it. Never made it his.

Because somewhere, deep down, she had already prepared herself for a different life. A life where she would do this alone. Where the baby would be hers. Only hers.

Even after he had entered her life… even after he had chosen to stay… she had held on to that thought. At first, she had told herself he was only doing his duty. Then… that it was simply his nature. That this was just who Sameer was – responsible, dependable, generous.

But now, standing here, watching him… That explanation felt hollow. Because this wasn’t duty. This wasn’t obligation. This was… longing.

And she could see it…  In the way his eyes stayed fixed on her, unblinking, as if he was afraid the moment might slip away if he looked away.

She could feel it… In the way his long fingers tightened around the quilt, almost unconsciously, as though holding himself back… from reaching out for something that had never truly been offered to him.

In the way he had always hovered just a step behind. Close enough to help. Never close enough to claim.

And suddenly… It felt unfair. To him. To what they were slowly becoming.

A quiet guilt rose within her. At how she had kept him at a distance… While holding on to him for everything that mattered.

“Sameer…” she called softly.

He looked up at once, as if he had been waiting for that moment – for her to turn, to see him, to acknowledge what neither of them had yet put into words. She held his gaze for a quiet second, something shifting within her as she placed her hand gently over her belly again. The gesture was deliberate this time. Conscious.

“Idhar aao…” she said, her voice low, but steady.

He didn’t question her. Not really. There was only the faintest hesitation, more out of disbelief than doubt, before he pushed himself up from the bed and walked toward her.

He stopped a step away. Close enough to reach. Not close enough to assume.

There was still that restraint in him. That careful distance he had trained himself to maintain around her – around this part of her life she had never fully opened to him.

He waited. For her to tell him what she wanted.

Her voice softened further, carrying something new this time, something that hadn’t been there before.

“Waqt aa gaya hai…” she said quietly, her eyes not leaving his, “ke hamara baby apne papa se mile.”

The words settled between them, slow and undeniable.

For a moment, he didn’t react. As if his mind needed time to catch up with what his heart had just heard. And then… Something inside him gave way.

Not with force. Not with noise. But completely.

The quiet restraint he had held onto for months loosened, replaced by something far more raw. Far more real. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of her, his movements almost instinctive – like he understood, without needing to think, that this moment needed to be met with care.

With reverence.

His hands hovered near her, uncertain for the first time in a long while. Sameer Maheshwari – the man who always knew what to do, what to say – found himself pausing.

He looked up at her. There was a question in his eyes. Not spoken. But deeply felt. A request for permission he had never asked for before.

Naina saw it. Understood it. And answered without words. A small nod – gentle, certain.

That was all he needed.

His palm came forward, resting against her belly with a care that bordered on awe. As though he feared even the slightest pressure might disturb something fragile… something precious.

His breath caught the moment his hand settled. For a few seconds, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stayed there – feeling, absorbing, grounding himself in a reality he had been a part of, yet never fully allowed to claim. And then, quietly, almost like a whisper meant only for the life beneath his hand..

“Hi baby…”

A faint, almost disbelieving smile curved his lips. “Main tumhara papa hoon.”

The words lingered, soft but certain. His thumb moved slightly against her skin, a gentle, absent motion – as if trying to connect with something beyond what he could see.

“I love you… bahut zyada,” he murmured, his voice deepening with emotion. “Aur main hamesha tumhare saath rahunga… promise.”

There was a thickness to his voice now – something he didn’t try to hide.

He looked up at Naina again, his eyes moist. This time, there was no question. But there was still something there. A need. Not for permission anymore… But for acceptance. For her to see him – truly see him – in this role he had stepped into without being invited, and yet never walked away from.

Naina’s fingers moved instinctively into his hair, resting there, holding him gently. A silent answer. A quiet acknowledgment. A belonging finally given.

His eyes softened further at her touch. And then, slowly, he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss against her belly. Not hurried. Not hesitant. But lingering.

Like a vow spoken without words.

When he stood up again, something in him had shifted. Not visibly. But deeply enough that it changed the way he held himself, the way he looked at her. There was no distance left in his eyes now.

He cupped her face in both his hands, his touch warm, grounding, his expression still carrying the quiet overwhelm of the moment.

“Thank you…” he whispered, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.

Before she could respond, he leaned in – kissing her once, then again, his lips brushing across her cheeks, her forehead, her skin in light, scattered touches.

Not rushed. But uncontained. As if he didn’t quite know where to place everything he was feeling – so he let it spill over in the only way he could.

Naina let out a soft, breathless laugh, her hands rising to hold his wrists, steadying him even as she melted into the warmth of it. And for the first time… There was no hesitation left between them. No line. No distance. Just… them.

The morning lingered around them, unhurried and untouched by the world outside. For once, there were no plans, no decisions, no expectations pressing in from every direction – just this quiet space they had found, and the life they had begun to share.

Soon, things would change. There would be conversations, journeys, people, and a world that would finally step into what had so far belonged only to them. But not yet.

For now, Naina rested against him, his hand still warm over her belly, both of them holding on to a moment that felt fragile and complete all at once.

A moment that didn’t need witnesses. Didn’t need names. Didn’t need the world to understand it. Because right now… It was just them. And their baby.