The Shekhawats

"No. In Delhi."

She nodded slowly, as if storing the information away in some invisible ledger only mothers seemed to keep.

"Beta, do you remember your childhood friend... Aaru?"

"Aaru...?" Reyansh repeated, frowning slightly.

A moment passed before he shook his head. "No, Maa... I don't. Who is she?" he asked, genuine confusion in his voice.

His mother stared at him in disbelief. "No way... you can't forget her."

Reyansh said nothing, only looking at her, waiting.

"Remember our business partners," she continued quietly, "the Shekhawats?"

"Rudra uncle and Kabir uncle, right?" Reyansh said, still confused.

"Yes... Rudransh Shekhawat and Kabir Shekhawat," his mother confirmed.

Reyansh hesitated for a moment. "But... where are they now?" he asked, looking at her.

His mother's expression tightened. "I wish I knew," she said quietly. "They didn't tell anyone anything... they just disappeared."

Seeing the tension cloud her face, Reyansh decided to lighten the mood.

"Shit," he muttered dramatically, leaning back. "Now you'll have to search for another bride for me. But wait—can I even marry someone else without getting a divorce first?" he added with a teasing smirk, remembering how everyone used to joke in their childhood that he and Aaru were already married.

His mother burst into laughter and lightly hit his bicep. "Shut up! Aise nahi bolte," she scolded between smiles.

("You shouldn't talk like that.")

But the laughter faded quicker than it had appeared.

She looked at him again—this time not as someone amused by a childish memory, but as someone carrying something heavier.

"You know," she said softly, "it wasn't entirely a joke."

The smirk on Reyansh's face slowly disappeared.

The kitchen, which had felt warm seconds ago, suddenly seemed too quiet.

"What do you mean, Maa?" he asked, his voice no longer playful.

His mother held his gaze for a long moment.

"There were talks, Reyansh. Between families. About your future... and hers."

Reyansh blinked at her.

Reyansh let out a short, disbelieving laugh, lifting his coffee mug to his lips.

"Maa... come on. I was what—ten?"

"You were ten," she nodded. "And she was five."

He nearly choked on his coffee.

"Five?" he repeated, lowering the mug slowly. "Maa, that's a five-year age gap."

"Yes," she said calmly. "Five years."

Reyansh shook his head, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "You're telling me two grown businessmen decided that a ten-year-old and a five-year-old were going to get married someday?"

"It wasn't decided," she corrected gently. "It was discussed."

He scoffed, taking another sip of his coffee as if that would make the conversation less absurd. "That's insane."

"There was no engagement," she continued softly. "No official announcement. Just an understanding... if everything remained good between the families."

Reyansh placed the mug down on the counter with a quiet clink.

"Maa, it was childhood nonsense. People joke about these things all the time. 'Oh look, they're cute, let's get them married.' That doesn't mean anything."

"It meant something to the families," she said, her voice losing its lightness.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Well, it doesn't mean anything to me."

The kitchen suddenly felt quieter — only the faint ticking of the wall clock filling the space.

"And even if it did," he added, his tone firmer now, "I'm not ready for marriage. Not with her. Not with anyone. I have too much going on right now."

His mother didn't argue. She just watched him.

Reyansh picked up his coffee again, forcing a half-smirk. "This is still a joke though, right? I mean, I don't even remember her properly."

This time, she didn't smile.

And for the first time since the conversation began, Reyansh's smirk faltered.

His mother turned away from him and picked up a plate that didn't need cleaning. She wiped it anyway — once, twice — buying herself time.

"You don't remember," she said finally.

He frowned. "Remember what?"

"She used to follow you everywhere. You wouldn't eat unless she sat next to you. If someone made her cry, you would fight with them." A faint smile touched her lips. "You were very protective of her."

Reyansh picked up his coffee again, but he didn't drink it.

"That's normal," he shrugged. "Kids get attached."

"You cried the day they left."

The words landed softly.

He blinked. "What?"

"You locked yourself in your room for hours. You refused to talk to anyone." She turned to face him fully now. "For weeks, you kept asking when Aaru would come back."

Reyansh's jaw tightened.

"That doesn't mean anything, Maa," he said quickly. Too quickly. "I was a child."

"Yes," she agreed. "You were."

Silence stretched again.

He picked up his mug and took a long sip, even though the coffee had gone lukewarm.

"And now?" she asked gently. "If she comes back?"

Reyansh let out a small breath through his nose. "Nothing changes."

His tone was steady, controlled.

"I'm not ready for marriage. Not arranged, not emotional, not because of some childhood 'understanding.' I don't even know her. I have responsibilities. Work. Expansion plans. I barely have time to sleep."

He set the mug down firmly this time.

"And even if she remembers all that nonsense," he added, "it doesn't mean I do."

His tone was firm. Final.

Nineteen years had passed since those conversations between families. Nineteen years since childish laughter filled corridors that now stood silent. He was twenty-nine now — a businessman, not a boy who believed in promises made over tea and shared sweets.

Whatever that was... it belonged to the past.

His mother watched him carefully. "Time doesn't erase everything, beta," she said softly.

"It does," he replied immediately. "Especially things that were never real to begin with."

He picked up his coffee again, now completely cold, but he drank it anyway.

"I don't remember her face properly. I don't remember her voice. And I definitely don't remember promising anyone a future." His jaw tightened slightly. "I'm not ready for marriage. Not now. Maybe not for a long time."

There was no hesitation in his words.

Work had shaped him. Responsibility had hardened him. Emotions like that felt distant — impractical.

His mother stepped closer, her voice calm but steady.

"Alright," she said.

Reyansh looked at her, surprised by how easily she gave in.

She placed her hand gently on his arm.

"Okay, if you're not ready for marriage now, alright," she said softly. Then her gaze deepened, filled with something he couldn't quite read. "But remember my words... the day she'll return, the day you two meet again, that day you'll fall for her again. Not because she has grown up now... but because your heart will recognize her."

The kitchen fell silent.

And for the first time in the entire conversation...

Reyansh didn't laugh.

———————————————————

✨ Thank You Note

Thank you so much for reading this chapter. 🤍
It means more than you know that you're still here, turning pages with me and feeling every silence between the lines.

This chapter was softer... quieter... but sometimes the quiet moments carry the heaviest truths. I hope you felt the tension, the unsaid emotions, and the memories that refuse to fade.

Your support, your votes, your comments — they keep this story alive. Truly.

—————————–—————————–

💭 Question for Readers

Now tell me honestly...

Do you think Reyansh is truly unaffected...
or is he just convincing himself that he is?

And if Aaru returns —
will he really stay this firm... or will his heart remember before his mind does?

I'm waiting to read your thoughts. 🤍