As Maa and I approached the restaurant entrance, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and a warm smile lit up her face as she answered.

"Poornima!" she greeted cheerfully.

Before she could say another word, the voice on the other end spoke. Maa listened attentively, then responded, "We’re at the entrance… Yes, she’s with me. Why?"

A brief pause. Then, a simple, "Okay," before she disconnected the call.

I raised an eyebrow. "What was that about, Maa?"

She shrugged, slipping the phone into her purse. "Nothing, really. Poornima was just asking about you. She said it’s been a long time since she last saw you."

I nodded in understanding. Poornima Aunty and Vinod Uncle weren’t just family friends; they were family.

Vinod Uncle and my father, Manoj, had been best friends since college. After my parents got married, Maa and Poornima Aunty became inseparable too. Though Poornima Aunty and Vinod Uncle had no children of their own, they had never let that stop them from treating me like their own.

In many ways, Poornima Aunty was like a second mother—someone who never hesitated to pamper me, scold me, or tease me mercilessly. But Vinod Uncle? He was my biggest cheerleader, my constant source of encouragement.

The moment we stepped inside, a familiar voice rang out.

"Sushma!"

I barely had time to blink before Poornima Aunty appeared, her face lighting up with joy as she pulled Maa into a tight hug.

Maa laughed, half-playfully, half-breathlessly. "Poornima, let me breathe!"

Poornima Aunty pulled back just enough to look at her. "It’s been too long, Sushma. I’ve missed you!"

I smiled, stepping forward. "Hello, Aunty," I greeted warmly, wrapping my arms around her.

She hugged me back before pulling away and giving me a once-over. Her eyes narrowed slightly and then came the inevitable—the familiar click of her tongue, followed by a dramatic sigh.

"You’re becoming thinner day by day, Maithili! Eat properly, beta," she scolded, shaking her head in disapproval.

I chuckled. "Aunty, you say the same thing every time we meet. I’m still the same!"

She placed her hands on her hips. "That’s exactly the problem! If you don’t gain some weight, how will you have the strength to carry babies after marriage?"

I groaned inwardly. Of course. The conversation had to go there.

"Aunty, I eat just fine," I replied, trying to mask my exasperation.

She chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Still troubling your mother with your stubbornness, aren’t you?"

"Not you too, Aunty!" I sighed, dramatically placing a hand on my forehead.

She laughed and cupped my face gently, her touch warm, familiar. "I’m just teasing you, beta. I know how much you love your mother. And I’ve always supported your choices—you know that. That’s what I keep telling Sushma, too."

A smile tugged at my lips, and I side-hugged her. "You’re the best, Aunty."

Maa, however, rolled her eyes. "Don’t encourage her, Poornima. I’m already struggling with her as it is! And holding her kids are still a faraway dream. Right now, I’m just praying that she at least agrees to get married first. That’s more than enough for me."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Maa, you came here to meet your friends, not to narrate my entire biography."

Poornima Aunty chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, alright, Sushma—spare her for today!" Come, I’ll introduce you to my childhood friends."

She looked at me. "And you too, Maithili. Come with us, beta. We were neighbours, classmates before we got married—we all practically grew up together."

I smiled and followed them, curiosity sparking in my mind.

Following Poornima Aunty, I glanced around the restaurant. It wasn’t a large gathering as I had expected—just a few close friends, a stark contrast to the lively reunions Maa usually attended. Or rather, the grand gatherings Poornima Aunty usually organized.

Soon, we approached a couple seated at a cozy corner table. Poornima Aunty called out, "Amrutha!"

The woman turned, her face breaking into a warm smile.

Poornima Aunty gestured between us. "Amrutha, this is Sushma. My husband and her husband were best friends from college, and after marriage, we became best friends too." Then, turning to me, she added, "And this is her daughter, Maithili."

I folded my hands politely, offering a small namaste to the couple.

Poornima Aunty continued, "Sushma, meet Amrutha and her husband, Rajesh. We all grew up together—same school, same neighbourhood. Rajesh and Amrutha were childhood sweethearts, and let me tell you, their love story was nothing short of legendary in our village!"

I smiled, glancing at the couple. There was a certain warmth between them, an ease that spoke of years of companionship and love.

Poornima Aunty smirked. "One day, I’ll tell you their full love story."

Amrutha Aunty chuckled, shaking her head. "Please don’t mind her, Sushma ji.

Maa smiled. "It’s lovely to finally meet you Amrutha ji. Poornima never tires of sharing stories from your childhood—I feel like I already know you."

They exchanged warm greetings, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if no time had passed.

Rajesh Uncle gestured toward the table. "Please, let’s sit."

Just as we settled in, a waiter arrived with welcome drinks. I took a sip of the cool, tangy juice when Rajesh Uncle turned to me with a warm smile.

"What do you do, beta?" he asked.

"I work as a software developer in a startup company," I replied.

"That’s good," he nodded approvingly. "Startups are full of opportunities."

"Yes, Uncle," I agreed.

Before the conversation could continue, a small figure darted toward us—a little girl, no more than three or four years old. Her tiny feet stumbled, and before she could fall, her juice cup slipped from her hands, the cold liquid splashing all over my dress.

In an instant, my reflexes kicked in, and I caught her before she could hit the floor.

"Careful!" I said gently, steadying her tiny frame.

The little girl blinked up at me, startled but unharmed.

"Myra, beta! Are you okay?" Rajesh Uncle rushed to her side, concern evident in his voice.

The girl—Myra—nodded quickly. "Yes, Dadu, I’m good," she assured him before turning to me with wide, apologetic eyes. "Thank you, Aunty!"

I smiled, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. "It’s okay, beta."

Rajesh Uncle sighed, shaking his head. "Myra, didn’t I tell you not to run? Now see—you spilled juice all over Maithili’s dress."

Myra’s little face fell, guilt clouding her big brown eyes. She looked up at me hesitantly. "I’m sorry, Aunty."

I chuckled softly. "It’s just juice, Uncle. No harm done." Then, crouching to her level, I extended my hand. "What’s your name?"

She looked at me, then at her grandfather, who gave her an encouraging nod. Placing her tiny hand in mine, she said proudly, "Myra Sinha."

"Myra," I repeated with a smile. "Such a beautiful name! And I love your dress."

Her face lit up instantly. "It’s my Papa’s selection!" she declared.

I chuckled at her enthusiasm. Her Papa? Whoever he was, he clearly adored her.

Before I could say anything more, a deep, commanding voice interrupted.

"Myra, baby, are you alright? Did you get hurt?"

I turned my head, and the air around me seemed to still.

A tall man knelt beside her, his strong hands gently checking her for any signs of injury.

"No, Papa," Myra replied cheerfully. "I was about to fall, but Aunty caught me!"

The man finally turned to me, his sharp gaze meeting mine. "Thank you," he said, his voice deep and steady.

I was so stunned that I momentarily forgot how to speak.

Before I could gather my thoughts, Rajesh Uncle, who stood beside me, started to introduce him. "Maithili, he is—"

But I had already whispered his name.

"Abhi Ram Sinha."

Uncle looked at me in mild surprise. "You know him, beta?"

I let out a breathy chuckle. "Uncle, who doesn’t? Anyone who follows business news knows him. One of the youngest entrepreneurs in the country, the CEO and founder of ARS Technologies. A multi-million-dollar empire under his leadership. An inspiration to many."

Rajesh Uncle beamed with pride. "Yes, he’s my son."

I turned my gaze back to Abhi Ram Sinha. His striking features were even more intimidating up close. Tall—at least 6'3"—with an air of quiet authority. His presence demanded respect, effortlessly commanding attention without a word.

I shamelessly scanned him. His crisp, perfectly tailored suit. His sharp, defined jawline. The unreadable expression in his deep, dark eyes.

And then, in his arms—Myra.

There was no mention of his personal life anywhere. No photos. No interviews. His privacy was fiercely guarded, and any speculation about his marriage or relationships mysteriously vanished from the internet within minutes.

"Abhi, this is Maithili," Rajesh Uncle said, finally completing the introduction.

"Hello," he greeted, his deep voice measured.

I managed a polite smile. "Hello, Mr. Sinha."

He gave a slight nod, his gaze unreadable.

Rajesh Uncle then turned towards my mother, leading Abhi Ram with him. "Sushma ji, this is my son, Abhi Ram. And this little one is my granddaughter, Myra."

I watched as Abhi Ram folded his hands in a respectful Namaste, his presence now surprisingly softer in front of my mother.

Maa smiled warmly. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, beta."

Before I could dwell on the moment, Myra squirmed excitedly in her father’s arms.

My mother reached out, and he handed her over without hesitation. Myra settled comfortably as Maa cooed, "Hello, little angel! You look so beautiful—just like a fairy."

Myra flashed her brightest smile. "Thank you!" she chirped.

As Myra giggled in my mother’s arms, I stole a glance at Abhi Ram.

The world knew him as a business mogul—a man who built an empire while keeping his personal life hidden from the world. But here, at this moment, he wasn’t the ruthless CEO I had read about in business magazines. He was just a father—protective, present, and far more human than I had expected.

His face remained unreadable, his expression a carefully constructed fortress meant to keep people at bay. And yet, for the briefest second, as he watched Myra, something in his gaze softened. A rare flicker of warmth broke through his otherwise composed exterior.

"Maithili beta," Rajesh Uncle’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Come, sit. Let’s eat together."

I nodded and took my seat. Just as I picked up my spoon, I realized Abhi Ram had settled into the chair directly across from me.

"So, Maithili," Rajesh Uncle began, "how long have you been working at your company?"

"Almost three years now," I replied. "It’s a startup, so things move fast. Every day is a new challenge."

"That’s the spirit!" he praised. "Startups test your patience, but they also offer the best exposure."

The conversation flowed around the table, filled with laughter and shared memories. Myra sat comfortably beside her father, happily swinging her legs as she nibbled on a piece of roti.

Just as I took a bite of pulao, Myra turned to me with her big, curious eyes.

"Aunty, can I ask you something?" she said in a serious tone.

I swallowed my bite and smiled. "Of course, Myra. What is it?"

She tilted her head. "What do you do in your office?"

I blinked, surprised by her question. "Hmm… I work on a computer all day, writing code."

Her eyes widened in excitement. "You write secret codes?"

I couldn’t help but chuckle. "Not secret codes, just computer codes to make apps work."

She tapped a tiny finger to her chin, thinking hard. "So… like a magician? You say some words, and—poof!—the computer listens?"

I was impressed by how she framed it. "You know what? That’s a good way to put it!"

Myra’s face lit up with victory. "I knew it! You are a superhero!"

A small laugh escaped me, and before I could respond, Rajesh Uncle joined in. "And why do you think she’s a superhero, Myra?"

"Dadu, she caught me before I fell—just like Papa!" she said confidently. "Papa is my superhero, so that makes Maithili Aunty a superhero too!"

I smiled at her innocent logic, but Myra wasn’t done. She looked up at me, then at her father, before adding, "And she can do something Papa can’t!"

Abhi Ram, who had been quietly sipping his water, finally raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he said, setting down his glass. "And what’s that?"

"Aunty does magic! If she says something, the computer listens to her," Myra declared. "She tells secrets to the computer!"

I laughed. "Even your Papa does the same, Myra."

She turned to him, her tiny brows furrowing. "Really, Papa?"

Abhi Ram leaned back slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. "Sometimes."

"But I always see you talking on the phone," she pointed out, crossing her arms.

The table erupted in laughter.

"That’s business, Myra," he explained patiently.

"But is it more fun than magic?" she asked, looking unconvinced.

I glanced at Abhi Ram, curious to see how he would respond.

He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. "Not always."

I wasn’t sure if it was the honesty in his tone or the way his lips twitched as if suppressing a smile, but something about his answer made my stomach flutter unexpectedly.

As Myra continued her interrogation, I found myself stealing glances at Abhi Ram.

The man I had read about—ruthless, impatient, cold—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I saw a father indulging his daughter’s endless curiosity with patience and quiet amusement.

And what surprised me even more?

I found myself liking this version of him.