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Chapter 24 : Thank You…

The haveli held its breath.

Even the ticking clock seemed to pause, as if it, too, waited for the silence to speak. Rajveer remained still, the words Meenal had left behind echoing louder than any argument ever could.

“I did make a choice. I choose Arun.”

Not him.
Not this stitched-together marriage.
Just the boy.

The sling itched against his shoulder, but he didn’t move. Every breath scraped against a deeper ache. The haveli, once a monument to legacy, felt like a mausoleum now—for love, for hope, for every word left unspoken too long.

A soft patter of bare feet echoed down the hallway—small, light, uneven. The sound tugged Rajveer from his thoughts.

Arun appeared in the doorway, rubbing one eye with a pudgy fist, curls damp with sweat. His gaze, still fogged with sleep, held a quiet question—one Rajveer couldn’t answer.

“Baba…” he mumbled.

Rajveer blinked, unsure if the ache in his chest was pain or something gentler. He opened his good arm. Arun waddled over, clambering into his lap, his tiny knees bumping against Rajveer’s thigh.

“Careful, beta,” Rajveer winced as Arun leaned into his injured shoulder.

Arun froze. “Sorry.” His lip trembled.

“It’s okay.” Rajveer kissed the top of his head. “You didn’t hurt me.”

The boy settled against him, fingers absently tracing the embroidery on Rajveer’s kurta. The sling, the rain, the past—everything seemed to fade beneath the quiet weight of this small, warm body seeking nothing but closeness.

From the corner of his eye, Rajveer noticed Meenal standing in the kitchen doorway. She held a folded towel, her silhouette haloed by the hearth’s faint glow.

She watched—not with judgment nor affection—but with something else. Something quieter. Tired, maybe. Or simply resigned.

She didn’t step forward.

She lingered in the shadows, a silent witness to a bond that wasn’t hers.

“Baba…” Arun whispered again, barely louder than the fire’s soft crackle.

Rajveer looked down. A small smile tugged at his lips as he tightened his grip on Arun’s tiny hand.

There were tears in Arun’s eyes. He stared at Rajveer’s bandaged shoulder.

“You hurt…” he said softly. “I’m sorry, Baba.”

“Why are you sorry, my son?” Rajveer asked, his voice gentle.

“Because I shouted at you… and said I only need Maa…” Arun’s voice quivered. “But… I need Baba too.”

Rajveer’s eyes welled up. He pulled his son into a tighter embrace, overwhelmed by the child’s fragile, wholehearted love.

“You have me,” he whispered. “I’ll always be here. Always.”

Arun, who had unknowingly become the fragile center of their fractured world, was now the thread binding its pieces.

His birth had taken Megha away. But it had given Rajveer a reason to stay.

As he held his son close, Rajveer realized: they’d be okay—as long as they had each other.

Arun’s smile returned, soft but radiant. Peace seeped into Rajveer’s chest, warm and stilling. In that tight embrace, they found solace—wordless, deep, and whole.

From across the room, Meenal watched. She couldn’t help the tug in her heart or the smile that rose unbidden.

At least someone is happy in this marriage, she thought.

She wiped a tear with the edge of her pallu, picked up a tray of fruit, and walked toward them.

“Maa!” Arun beamed, reaching for the tray. “Will Baba be okay with the doctor kaka's treatment?”

She nodded reassuringly. “Yes, beta. He just needs a little rest.”

Arun nodded. Meenal popped a piece of apple into his mouth, brushing back his damp curls with her free hand.

Her gaze shifted to Rajveer, sitting quietly in the corner. His eyes were tired, his face pale.

“You should eat something. You look like you haven’t eaten in days,” she said, offering him a plate of sliced fruit.

Rajveer managed a faint smile and reached out to take it. “Thank you…”

The plate slipped from her hands.

It crashed to the floor, fruit scattering, the sound loud in the hush of the room.

Meenal flinched, eyes wide. She knelt quickly to clean up the mess, hands shaking. Rajveer’s words hung in the air—thank you—as if they didn’t belong.

The room shifted. Quiet again, but no longer calm.

She swallowed hard, her senses spinning, unsure why two simple words had made her feel like the ground had tilted beneath her feet.

****

✨ Author’s Note ✨

Some silences speak louder than words—and tonight, the haveli echoed with them. As Rajveer and Arun reach for each other in their quiet grief, what remains unspoken between Rajveer and Meenal might be the loudest of all.

💔 This chapter broke me a little while writing it. That tiny hand in Rajveer’s lap, the plate slipping at a simple “thank you”—sometimes it's not the shouts but the softest moments that undo us.

🕊️ Have you ever stayed silent for someone else's peace? Or said something too late?

I’d love to know what stirred you in this chapter. Drop a comment, share a line that stayed with you, or just leave a 🕯️ if you're feeling the weight of this world.

Your words light the way forward, always.
Until next time,
With gratitude and ink-stained fingers,
Shaar Shree.

📖💬✨