Moments later, the woman who had been standing at the door burst into the room just as the police exited.
"Oh my god! My poor child!" she rushed in and wrapped Rohit in a tight embrace.
"Look at you—so badly bruised. And those rude police officers! How could they talk to you like that?"
Rohit was practically suffocating—her breasts pressing against his face wasn't helping. He didn't want to think anything inappropriate, especially not about her, but the situation was certainly not helping his moral compass.
She pulled back and gently cupped his cheeks with affection. "My brave boy… Akhil told me how you fought back to protect him. Curse those rascals who dared to hurt you." Her voice cracked slightly as her eyes welled up. "If not for you, I don't know what would've happened to my son…"
She paused and sniffled again, her tone softening even more. "And look at the irony… You don't even remember anything. Not even me, I suppose…"
She wiped her eyes, sniffling louder now.
Rohit finally took a deep breath, grateful for the fresh air. A second ago, it felt like he was being held hostage—now, things suddenly felt warm and familiar again. He knew her personality—expressive and dramatic—but that was what made her feel like home.
He looked at her face more carefully now. Kavita Sharma—Akhil's mother—was still stunning. She had the charm of a woman in her late thirties, with a youthful figure and soft features. She wasn't as striking as her own mother, perhaps, but she had a comforting warmth to her. If her mother was ice, then Kavita was like a soothing cup of tea.
His eyes briefly dropped to her figure. She looked more in shape than she had four months ago—the last time he'd seen her at Akhil's birthday. Back then, she had a bit of a belly, but now it was mostly gone. Some love handles remained, adding a typical soft, motherly allure.
But none of that mattered—Rohit didn't want to see her in a bad light. She had always treated him with genuine affection.
Trying to lighten the mood, he smiled softly. "Don't worry, Aunty. I may not remember much, but if what you're saying is true, then it's only because of your care and love that we're even here. See? I'm perfectly fine."
Her heart melted on the spot. A radiant smile broke across her face.
"Oh my sugar! If you keep talking like that, I might actually get diabetes!" she teased, laughing through her tears. "And from now on, don't call me Aunty, okay? Call me Mama. Deal?"
Without waiting for his reply, she pulled him into another tight embrace—one that felt more like a well-meaning chokehold than a hug.
Rohit inwardly cursed,'God, why are Indians so damn dramatic? Even anime aren't this clichéd.'
Just then, a deep male voice cut through the emotional whirlwind.
"Hello, boy."
Both Rohit and Kavita turned toward the door.
Standing there was her husband—and Akhil's father—Kamalnath Sharma.
He was a decent man, as far as Rohit could recall. Bald-headed, always in crisp formal wear, and now wearing dark-tinted glasses that added a certain gravity to his face. Aside from his lack of hair, there was little about him that felt out of place. Everything about him screamed measured, predictable, decent.
Kamalnath stepped in and placed a firm hand on Rohit's shoulder.
"You did good, kid," he said with quiet pride. "I'll make sure the bastards who did this face justice. We're proud of you."
Kavita nudged him sharply with her elbow. "Oh ji, really? Maybe remember his condition first?"
(a/n: "Ji" is often used as an honorary term in India. It's typically added to someone's name as a sign of respect, especially when the speaker feels close to the person or wishes to show polite affection without using their full name.)
The judge sighed, managing a polite smile."Ah, yes… Sorry about the memory loss."
Another nudge.
He quickly added, "Why don't you join us for dinner this weekend? Maybe being at our place will jog a few memories."
Kavita beamed at Rohit, clearly hopeful.
Rohit returned a small smile. "It would be my pleasure, Uncle."
Then Kamalnath glanced at his wife. "Dear, we should get going. I've got court in the morning."
Kavita hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave. But Rohit gently encouraged her.
"It's okay. Don't be late because of me. And I'll definitely come visit."
Truthfully, he just wanted some space. Their warmth, while genuine, chipped away at the emotional wall he'd been trying so hard to maintain. And that felt… dangerous.
He let out a quiet sigh as they finally left the room.
He turned his eyes to the corner, where the lady bodyguard—Chanu Devi—sat silently, her gaze fixed on him.
"Do you need anything, young master?" she asked, her posture still, voice composed.
Rohit asked, feigning curiosity even though he knew it,
"Who are you ? And why does everyone keep calling me that? Young master... is that normal around here?"
She gave a small, practiced smile. "I am Chanu Devi, your mother's personal bodyguard. You are the heir to the Singhania family. Addressing you as 'young master' is both custom and respect. So yes—it is quite normal."
Rohit nodded, then studied her a bit closer.
"Your accent's good. But you don't look like the rest of us. Are you from outside India?"
Her eyes narrowed briefly—just enough to catch. Then, like flipping a switch, she returned to her calm professionalism.
"I'm Indian by blood and bone. My face is different because India is diverse. Features change from region to region. I'm from Manipur."
"Fair enough." Rohit shrugged.
He ended up asking a lot of personal questions, steering the conversation toward their hometown and broader topics about India.
He was more interested in understanding the stereotypes and social norms that thrived in urban areas—things no book or internet article could truly explain.
By the end of their talk, Chanu had taken a liking to him and offered to help train his body for self-defense.
Rohit, however, scoffed inwardly. What he really needed was more than just a training partner. In his past life, he was already well-versed in both Karate and Krav Maga—any extra training now was simply a bonus.
But their conversation was cut short when the door opened again.
Ragini Singhania stepped inside, her face tight with tension.
She barely spared Chanu a glance."I want some time alone with my son," she said. "Make sure no one enters until I say so."
Chanu stood, bowed slightly, and left the room.
Rohit leaned back on the bed, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
"Damn. Is this finally happening?" he muttered to himself.