Mital House, Early Morning,
There was something sacred in the way dust floated in the shafts of morning light—soft, golden, forgiving. The old Mital house, once groaning under the weight of time, was waking up with new bones. Paint peeled no longer. Wires, once coiled like aging veins, were being replaced with precision. Faucets now sang in clear streams, not drips.
The whirring of drills had, strangely, become background music—rhythmic, like a pulse the house had almost forgotten.
Vivaan Madhvan stood barefoot on the corridor near the rear window, brushing his fingers against the freshly installed mesh. It was subtle, neat. Like someone had wanted to fix, not impress. A part of him wanted to smile, though he quickly buried it.
He leaned on the frame, watching the faint outline of workers below. Among them was a figure that didn't belong there—yet fit better than any. Sleeves rolled up, clipboard tucked under one arm, giving a quiet word to the electrician. Aakash Mital.
Vivaan's throat tightened without warning. He'd seen the man in his brothers office. But here—here he looked different. Not a strategist. Not an analyst. Just… someone putting pieces together.
Vivaan stepped forward, hesitant but sure. His footsteps echoed in the bare hallway until Aakash turned at the sound.
Their eyes met. For a moment, silence was its own conversation.
"Aakash?" Vivaan said at last.
Aakash blinked, then smiled faintly, warmth catching the edge of his face. "Hey, Vivaan. Didn't expect you up this early."
Vivaan folded his arms, searching for distance he didn't quite feel. "What are you doing here? Did my brother send you?"
Aakash chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "No one sent me. This is my home. Born and raised. This house has been mine since before I could pronounce 'ESIC.'"
The reply caught Vivaan off guard. His lips parted, but no words followed immediately. He looked around—the scaffolding, the walls half-painted, the furniture draped in protective sheets. All of it suddenly felt less like chaos, more like memory.
"So all this… this chaos? You did this?" Vivaan finally asked.
Aakash rubbed the back of his neck, the clipboard tilting in his grip. His voice dropped, unguarded.
"I wanted to help. The house needed it. And maybe… someone else did too."
The air thickened between them.
Vivaan's eyes narrowed, though his pulse betrayed him. "And who's that someone?"
Aakash didn't look away. "Maybe you'll figure it out."
Vivaan's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I figured you had your reasons for keeping things quiet."
Silence stretched between them. The electrician behind them dropped a screwdriver. Neither flinched.
Vivaan exhaled slowly. "Does anyone else know?"
Aakash: "You don't need to worry."
Vivaan took a step closer. "Aakash, listen to me. No one can know. Not your grandparents, not your friends, not Dev. Not even the cat."
Aakash raised an eyebrow. "We don't have a cat."
"Then don't adopt one. Just... don't tell anyone."
"Done."
Vivaan looked away, scanning the corridor with a new understanding. The smoothed edges of window frames. The silence of leaky taps. The smell of polish and fresh plaster.
"You didn't have to do all this," he said finally, voice soft.
"I know," Aakash replied. "But I wanted to. You're not the only one trying to heal under this roof."
Vivaan didn't respond. But for the first time in days, he looked like he might stay.
Next morning, Dadi stopped Aakash near the newly-tiled kitchen counter, one hand on her walking stick, the other on her hip.
"Aakash?"
"Yes Dadi?"
"I saw a young girl drop off coffee powder at the gate."
Aakash blinked. "That was the Swiggy guy, Dadi. With a beard."
"Hmph. These days, even girls have beards."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"All this paint, these plumbers, even the sofa smells new. Either you're planning a wedding—or you're hiding a body in the walls."
Aakash smiled. "It's just a house, Dadi. We're giving it a little care."
She tapped his arm with her stick lightly. "If this is love, at least have the decency to let me knit something. If it's a secret… then may God give you courage."
As the sky burned orange and purple above Rajendra Nagar, the last coat of paint dried on the main gate. The air smelled like detergent, varnish, and something else—hope.
Vivaan stood on the terrace, guitar case open, strings freshly polished. He could hear Dev's faint beat from inside—the new wiring ensured perfect clarity.
Aakash joined him quietly, arms folded.
"You ever going to record something?"
Vivaan shrugged. "Still finding the right melody."
Aakash nodded. "You will. This place has a funny way of giving you what you need… just when you think you've lost it."
Vivaan turned to him. "You did this for me. You don't even know me."
Aakash looked out at the skyline.
"I know enough. You needed silence. Dignity. A new start."
Vivaan was quiet.
Then, suddenly, he asked, "You ever feel like… people only see your last name before they see you?"
Aakash gave a crooked smile.
"All the time. But this house? This place? It sees more."
Vivaan let the words settle. Then he took his pick and strummed a slow, unfamiliar chord—rich, warm, unresolved.
It echoed through the walls of the newly reborn Mital house.
Madhvan's Residence, The long ancestral hallway carried the scent of sandalwood polish and old marble.
Vasundhara was in the private lounge, seated on the chaise with her reading glasses perched low and a file of Saanvi's latest philanthropic venture open in her lap.
A soft raga played in the background, but it did little to ease the discomfort that weighed on Mahesh's steps.
He cleared his throat.
She didn't look up. "You're late."
Mahesh paused, then sat down across from her. "I wanted to speak to you about Rajat."
That made her eyes lift.
He continued cautiously. "He's still... hesitant. About this engagement to Saanvi."
Her gaze hardened, lips tightening as she removed her glasses. "He should be hesitant. Marriage isn't an impulse. It's duty."
"But perhaps we're pushing him too quickly. He just returned from Country S. He's been out of the loop. Maybe—"
"He is a Madhvan," Vasundhara snapped. "And Saanvi is perfect. She's known to the family, traditional, calm. You want to risk all that because our son is being moody?"
Mahesh exhaled slowly. "It's not about mood. I think he feels unheard."
Vasundhara stood up, brisk, composed. "Then he should learn to differentiate between family duty and emotional indulgence."
Mahesh did not press further. He knew the wall when it was up.
Just then, the door clicked open. Rajat stepped in.
Both parents immediately stiffened, voices and memories folded away like unsent letters.
"Ma. Papa." Rajat gave a courteous nod, his eyes carefully unreadable.
"We were just talking about the engagement," Vasundhara said brightly, switching gears. "Saanvi's parents would like to fix a date before Navratri."
"I'll think about it," Rajat replied, his voice neutral.
"There's nothing to think about," she smiled.
But Rajat didn't respond. He nodded once to his father, then turned and walked out.
Vasundhara watched him go, her face composed. But Mahesh noticed the way her hands gripped the edge of the file.
He remained seated, his thoughts far away.