Later that evening, Abhi walked into the house with Myra trailing beside him, her tiny hand clutching his fingers. Amrutha looked up eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Why was Myra with you at the office?" she asked.

Abhi ruffled Myra’s hair affectionately. "Just like that, Ma. We thought of stopping by the beach, but Maithili got stuck in meetings, so we came straight home."

Amrutha smiled knowingly. Myra’s nanny quickly whisked her away to freshen up, while Abhi headed to his room to change.

By the time he came back downstairs in his casual t-shirt and joggers, a cup of masala tea was already waiting for him. He picked it up, took a long sip, and sank into the couch.

Rajesh looked up from his newspaper. “Abhi, it’s been a while since we played chess together. You’re finally home at a decent hour. How about a game?”

Abhi grinned. “Absolutely, Papa. It’s been ages. Let’s do it.”

The chessboard was set. The pieces lined up like old soldiers ready for battle. Father and son leaned into the game, deeply focused.

Amrutha sat nearby with a magazine, though her eyes were more often on the two of them than on the glossy pages.

And then, Myra arrived.

Her tiny feet padded across the marble floor as she skipped into the living room. “Papa!” she beamed, holding a tiny makeup pouch in one hand and a colourful box of hairclips in the other. “Today, I’m your stylist!”

Abhi turned, amused. “Princess, papa’s trying to beat your Dadu in chess. Can we do style later?”

“Nonoo,” Myra pouted.

“Okay, okay,” Abhi groaned playfully. “Fine. But only on my left side. Iam playing with my right hand. Deal?

“Deal!” Myra squealed.

And so began the transformation.

With the precision of a tiny artist, she clipped colourful hairpins into his hair, dabbed blush on one cheek, and carefully painted his left hand’s nails a bright pink (since his right hand was busy moving chess pieces).

"Papa, don’t move!" she ordered, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she applied glitter to his face.

Abhi, ever the patient father, chuckled. "Princess, you can do whatever you want—just don’t distract me from beating your grandpa, okay?"

By the time Rajesh captured one of Abhi’s bishops, Myra had painted three of her father’s fingernails, applied lip gloss to half his lips, and dusted glitter on one side of his face.

Amrutha, watching the scene with growing amusement, finally pulled out her phone and captured the moment.

Click.

The photo was hilarious—Abhi, one half a composed man mid-chess battle, the other half a sparkling canvas of Myra’s artistic chaos.

She sent the photo to Maithili with a short caption:
“This is your daughter’s idea of ‘relaxing time with Papa’ 😂”

In a conference room across town, Maithili’s phone buzzed beside her notebook.

Half-listening to the ongoing discussion, she glanced down to see the message. One look at the image and she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. Abhi, looking absolutely defeated on one side… and fabulous on the other.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, breaking through the tension that had weighed on her chest all afternoon. She leaned back slightly in her chair, smiling—genuinely this time.

Back home Myra tugged at Abhi’s sleeve. "Papa, I want to go to that side now!"

Abhi, without taking his eyes off the board, replied smoothly, "Princess, right side is for chess. My left side is all yours—go wild!"

Rajesh smirked, shaking his head as he moved his knight. "Fatherhood looks good on you, beta."

Amrutha chuckled, watching the three of them—one fully focused, one fully glittered, and one fully entertained.

Just then, Myra grabbed a bright red sticker and proudly slapped it on Abhi’s forehead. "Now you’re perfect, Papa!"

Abhi sighed dramatically but smiled. "As long as I win this game, I’ll wear whatever you want, princess."

“Papa, I won!” Abhi declared, sitting up straight as he moved the final piece on the chessboard.

Rajesh groaned dramatically, throwing up his hands. “No, no… I let you win. I couldn’t even concentrate with that glitter bomb on one side of your face!”

Myra, who had been adding the final touch of pink sparkle to her father's left cheek, gasped. “I made Papa win!” she said proudly.

Abhi turned to her, mock serious. “Oh really? You’re taking all the credit now?”

Rajesh chuckled and leaned toward Myra. “Yes, baby, you made your daddy win. In fact, you should finish the other side too. Make him completely handsome.”

“Papa, Grandpa said right side also needs makeup!” Myra squealed with delight.

Abhi shook his head, smiling. “Papa, you can’t be a sore loser!”

The laughter in the room was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. The maid opened it—and standing there were Mihir and Tina.

Myra perked up. “Hi Mamu!” she chirped, running toward Mihir, then slowing as she reached him. Mihir knelt, his face softening, emotions tightening his chest as he looked at her.

She was right there, just inches away. Her curls, her eyes—so familiar, yet so new.

But he steadied himself. He swallowed his turmoil and forced a smile.

“Hey, champ,” he whispered.

Tina, looked at Abhi and teased, “Wow, Jiju… never thought glittery makeup could look this good on you.”

“I did it, Maasi!” Myra beamed.

Abhi laughed. “Let me go clean this off—”

“Nonoo!” Myra wailed. “I haven’t finished, Papa! The right side is plain! Please?”

And of course, Abhi couldn’t say no to that kind of cuteness.

Myra turned to Mihir, eyes shining. “Mamu, tell me… Papa is handsome, right?”

Mihir smiled. His voice caught slightly. “Very much.”

Tina added, “Correction, Myra. He’s looking beautiful.”

Abhi chuckled as Myra climbed onto the couch again. Mihir and Tina exchanged a glance—watching Abhi joke and laugh with them like nothing had changed, It confirmed Maithili hadn’t told him anything.

And now, sitting there, they didn’t know how to begin.

Myra tugged on Mihir’s sleeve. “Mamu, can I make you beautiful too? Like Papa?”

Before Abhi could answer, Mihir raised his arm willingly. “Of course, sweetheart. Do whatever you like.”

“Yayyy!” Myra giggled and got to work—painting his cheeks with innocent glee, adding stars and shimmer like a true artist.

Mihir just watched her, soft-eyed, trying not to let the swell in his heart crack the smile on his lips.

“Daughters,” he said quietly, “they’re the light of life.”

Amrutha, sitting nearby with her tea, looked up, her face glowing. “Of course they are. You don’t even notice when they wrap you around their little fingers. Look at Abhi. Myra makes him dance to her tune—and he doesn’t even complain.”

“She’s the boss,” Rajesh added with a smirk.

Mihir smiled faintly, blinking a few times. His throat burned as he struggled to push the words out. “Lucky are those… who get to have daughters.”

Abhi gave him a curious look but said nothing. Amrutha leaned in.

“Well then, why don’t you get married?” she asked warmly. “Then you can have a little fairy like Myra too.”

The question landed harder than she realized.

Mihir barely smiled. His eyes shimmered. His jaw flexed subtly, trying to hold something in. Tina noticed it immediately. Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her expression protective.

But Myra, oblivious to the emotions around her, continued her masterpiece with full concentration.

“There!” she declared proudly, putting down her brush. “Now you’re super beautiful, Mamu!”

Everyone laughed, Tina most of all. She quickly clicked a photo, then turned on the video camera. “Oh, this is going straight into the family archive. No one escapes Myra’s beauty parlour.”

Mihir smiled, eyes still fixed on Myra.

Mihir, now fully glittered and blushed by Myra’s enthusiastic makeover, sat like royalty on the couch while she admired her own work. Tina was clicking pictures, Abhi was sipping chai while chatting with them, and Rajesh and Amrutha watched it all with soft, amused smiles.

The moment was perfect.

Until the front door opened.

Maithili stepped inside.

And in that one second—everything in her world tilted.

Her eyes landed on Mihir, sitting there with her daughter, laughing. Myra was leaning on his shoulder, a glitter brush still in hand. Tina was recording. Abhi… Abhi was laughing.

She froze.

Her heartbeat crashed into her ribs.

Mihir.

With Myra.

A hundred thoughts stormed her mind.
Did he tell Abhi?
Does Abhi know?
Why is Bhai here?
Is he trying to take Myra?
No… no, no, no… this can’t happen.

Her breath caught in her chest.

Abhi noticed her first. “Hey,” he said with a smile, rising halfway. “You’re back already?”

Mihir turned at her name. Their eyes met.

And in his eyes, she saw it—guilt.

But Maithili didn’t feel comforted by it.

Her lips pressed into a tight line. She barely nodded; afraid her voice might betray the panic curling up in her throat.

She looked back at Abhi.

He was still talking—still casual, still clueless.

So, they hadn’t told him.

She walked forward, her gaze flickering to Myra, still nestled next to Mihir, showing him a pink star sticker in her palm. And something inside Maithili shattered.

It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t grief.

It was fear.

A raw, primal fear she couldn’t shake.

Abhi reached for her hand. “We were just talking about you—Myra's little makeover studio has new clients now.”

Maithili forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah… I saw.”

Mihir stood. Slowly. Respectfully.

But his presence still felt like an earthquake beneath her skin.

She couldn't look at him again. She wasn’t ready. Not with Myra right there. Not with this weight in her chest.

She stepped toward her daughter and knelt. “Myru, baby… let’s go upstairs.”

Myra pouted. “But Mamu was telling me a story…”

“We’ll hear it later, sweetheart,” Maithili said, firmer this time.

Myra glanced at Mihir, disappointed, but nodded. “Okay…”

Maithili didn’t wait. She scooped Myra into her arms and stood. Her movements were controlled, calm—but inside, she was spiralling.

As she passed Mihir, she didn’t spare him another glance.

But Mihir watched her go, his chest tight, fists at his sides.

Tina caught it all—every emotion. She looked at Abhi, who was watching Maithili’s back now, the smile on his face slowly fading. Confusion set into his features.

Something was wrong.

And he was beginning to see it.

Maithili held Myra close, her hands slightly trembling as she reached the stairs. She had almost escaped. Almost protected this fragile bubble she'd tried so hard to maintain. But just then—

“Maithili… I’m sorry.”

Mihir’s voice cut through the air like a sharp breeze, cold and sudden.

Maithili stopped mid-step. Her back stiffened. Myra looked up in confusion.

Abhi turned sharply, brows drawn. “Why are you saying sorry, Mihir? What happened?”

The room fell unnaturally silent.

Rajesh and Amrutha exchanged a glance—subtle, loaded, concerned.

Before Mihir could open his mouth again, Maithili spun around. “Nothing, Abhi. Just… just a small argument between me and Bhai. That’s it. Nothing more.”

Her voice was quick, her smile thin. Desperate.

Maithili looked at Mihir and nodded quickly, silently pleading with him to follow her lead.

"Tina understood, and chimed in, saying, 'Yeah, jiju. She’s right. It was just that.”

But Abhi wasn’t buying it.

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

He looked at all of them—one by one—and then called out, “Renu!”

Myra’s nanny arrived promptly.

“Take Myra to the park for a bit,” Abhi said gently, kneeling before his daughter. “Go have fun, princess. Stay close to nanny, okay?”

Myra nodded. “Mamma, Mamu said sorry. Forgive him, okay?”

Maithili’s throat caught. She smiled at her daughter and nodded. “Of course, baby. Go on.”

As the door closed behind Myra, silence returned.

Abhi straightened slowly, his face unreadable. “Maithili, stop.”

His voice was calm. But it cut deep.

“You're a bad liar,” he said, stepping closer. “You say you hate lying. You say you can’t keep secrets. And yet, since you came back from lunch, all you’ve done is lie.”

Maithili looked away, her fingers curling into fists.

I was worried about you. Now I’m just…” He shook his head. “Now Mihir is saying sorry to you, and you’re trying to cover for him?

His voice rose, uncharacteristically sharp. “What the hell is going on?”

Mihir stepped forward, his jaw set. “Abhi, let me explain—”

“No, Bhai, please don’t.” Maithili turned, her voice cracking. “There’s nothing to explain. It’s personal, and I didn’t want to bring it here—”

But Mihir’s guilt had peaked. “No, Maithili,” he said firmly.

He turned to Abhi, to Rajesh and Amrutha.

“The reason I came here today,” he began, voice trembling but steady, “was to apologise. Not just to Maithili. To all of you.”

The room shifted. I’ve disrespected you, without you ever knowing. I’ve judged you in your absence. And I’ve raised a finger at something no one ever should—your parenting, your integrity.”

Abhi looked stunned.

Rajesh frowned. Amrutha leaned forward slightly, sensing where this was headed.

Mihir looked straight at Abhi. “Especially you, Abhi. And Maithili.”

Abhi took a step back, confusion mounting. “What are you talking about?”

And then—he said her name.

“When Prachi left me…”

The room broke.

The name landed like a thunderclap. Prachi.

Abhi’s lips parted. His knees almost buckled. Maithili stood frozen.

Her skin prickled with cold. Her throat had closed so tight she could barely breathe. As if each word Mihir spoke pulled the floor further away from beneath her feet.

Across from her, Abhi looked like a man watching his world crumble in slow motion.

“You…” he rasped. “You knew Prachi?”

Mihir nodded slowly. “I didn’t just know her, Abhi. Prachi and I… we were in a relationship. We lived together. We planned to get married.”

The silence was louder than any storm.

Amrutha gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.

Rajesh sank back into the armchair, his usually steady hands rigid on the rests. Tina stood next to Mihir, her face drawn with emotion, her eyes flicking nervously between Maithili and Abhi.

Maithili… she looked like glass. Fragile, transparent, and moments from shattering.

Abhi’s eyes bounced between Mihir and Maithili. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice low, dangerous. “You and… Prachi?”

Mihir exhaled deeply, his voice barely steady. “Yes. We lived together. I loved her. I was going to propose. She told me she wanted to tell her family about us. But she never told me who they were. She just said… she had a brother.”

He paused. “I thought she’d introduce me eventually. But it never happened.”

Abhi blinked rapidly.

“She kept it all hidden,” Mihir said. “The only people I met were Richa and Kaushik. I’ve known them for years.”

That hit like a blow.

Richa. She knew where Prachi was all along. She had lied. Pretended. And she let the rest of them search the world, grieve endlessly.

Mihir’s voice cracked. “I didn’t even know she was pregnant, Abhi. I swear to you. I didn’t know.”

Abhi’s stare hardened. “You told him?” he barked, turning to Maithili. “You told him?”

Maithili flinched as though he had struck her. “No, Abhi—please listen—”

“I trusted you, Maithili!” he thundered. “I told you the biggest truth of my life. The most sacred thing my sister left me. And you—you—shared it with him?”

Tears spilled from Maithili’s eyes. “I didn’t—Abhi, I swear I didn’t tell him. He found out—”

“Enough!” he snapped, his voice shaking with fury and betrayal. “You’ve betrayed me.”

“Abhi…” Amrutha’s voice trembled. “Prachi was… was pregnant?”

Abhi turned to his parents, his whole-body caving under the weight of shame. “She was. And I had one job. and I failed her.”

“No,” Mihir said quickly, stepping forward. “Maithili didn’t tell me anything.

Enough!! He shouted……