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Chapter 22 - Go and Patch things Up

[13th February 2025 – RAJVANSHI ESTATE – Breakfast Hall]

The morning light slanted in golden shafts through high-arched lattice windows, casting intricate patterns across the sandstone floors of the Rajvanshi estate dining hall. Despite the grandeur of the carved teak pillars and the heavy silk curtains, the hall held a silence that felt ancient, as though it had witnessed centuries of legacies unfold over meals that were never really about food.

At the head of the long table sat Adityanath Rajvanshi—regal, composed, and unreadable behind his rimless glasses. His white kurta-pyjama was pristine, his back as straight as the carved throne-like chair he occupied.

To his left, in a muted ivory saree trimmed with crimson, Kalyani Rajvanshi held her posture with spine-straight dignity. She poured herself a second cup of spiced tea from the brass kettle, her every movement elegant and deliberate.

To Adityanath's right sat Ahaan—his navy Henley shirt rolled up to the elbows, blazer hung on the back of his chair, every inch the modern heir among ancient stone.

And beside him, in a simple olive-green kurti and dark jeans, sat Savi. Her hair was loosely tied, making her look younger than she was. Her ID card peeked out of her bag, marked Janki Life & Care Hospital.

Steam curled from silver dishes. Plates of hot moong dal cheelas, sabudana khichdi, saffron-poached pears and hand-churned white butter glistened between engraved bowls of honey and dried fruit. The air smelled of cardamom, ghee, and something older—timeless.

Breakfast had begun in silence, only punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain. Ahaan picked at his toast, Savi munched on dry fruits between glances at the clock on the far wall.

It was Kalyani who spoke first.

"Ahaan," she said, in that calm tone that was somehow more command than conversation. "After breakfast, I want you to go shopping."

Ahaan blinked, halfway through sipping his black coffee. He turned to her slowly. "Shopping? For what?"

Savi paused mid-bite of her toast, glancing toward their grandmother. Even Adityanath's gaze shifted sideways at his wife, turning mildly inquisitive.

"For the babies, of course," Kalyani clarified, as she placed her cup down. "They will need everything prepared when they arrive here after the wedding. Cradles, cots, bedding, toys."

Ahaan's brow furrowed. "But Dadi… that's still quite a long time away, isn't it?"

Kalyani didn't miss a beat. "Yes. But since you so bravely declared your undying love for Aria and your children before us last night, I thought you might want an opportunity to prove it."

"I received a message from Needhi earlier," she continued, reaching calmly for a rose petal-soaked almond. "Apparently Aria and her brother have gone shopping with the twins. She was kind enough to send me the addresses. I want you to go join them, help them. And... try to patch things up. "

Ahaan stiffened.

The idea of facing Aria again twisted something inside his chest. He wasn't ready—not for her questions, not for her silence, not for whatever look she'd give him that would make him feel like a stranger to himself.

But the babies...

His niece. His nephew. The ones he had claimed in a lie that was becoming more and more real by the hour.

He straightened, schooled his voice. "You're right, Dadi. I need to make up for all the time they were without me."

Adityanath looked faintly amused, stroking the side of his cup with a thoughtful finger.

"You're learning, Ahaan," he said. "A man who claims must also maintain."

Savi looked between the two men, the back-and-forth too veiled to follow. Still, she cleared her throat. "It's… a good thing. Maybe it'll help patch things up. If there's anything to patch up."

She wasn't sure if she was more surprised by the request or Ahaan's willingness. A part of her, despite the confusion, felt hopeful. Maybe things would work out between her brother and Aria. Maybe this love story wasn't just a storm after all.

The breakfast continued with a little more ease.

Ahaan glanced at his phone under the table. Still no reply. He had been calling Rohit since last night. Texts left unread. Calls unanswered.

He tapped the voicemail again out of habit. Rohit's voice floated out:

> "Hey, it's Rohit Raichand—your most charming chaos incarnate. I'm quite busy saving the world, will be out of reach for half a year. So if you're not family or Ahaan… don't bother leaving a voicemail."

He sighed. "Still nothing from Rohit."

Savi, mid-sip of her juice, raised a brow. "You still trying to reach him?"

"Yeah," Ahaan muttered. "He's vanished. You haven't heard anything, have you?"

She shrugged too fast. "He's your best friend, Bhai. Not mine. Why would I know?"

Ahaan gave her a look. "You're the one who's weirdly close to his mom. You could've heard something from her."

Savi flushed. "Yeah well… I talk to her. So what? We've got more interesting things to talk about then her son."

Ahaan wasn't fooled because he saw it—the quick flutter of nerves, the way she straightened her back a little too fast.

He knew.

Of course he did.

His baby sister had a not-so-secret crush on his best friend, the most charming chaos machine Delhi had to offer.

But he didn't call her out. He just smirked, leaning back.

Kalyani's ears perked up at the name. "Why are you involving your sister with that good-for-nothing friend of yours?" she snapped, turning to Savi. "You don't go around him, do you?"

Savi stiffened. "No, Dadi."

Kalyani sniffed. "Good. Keep it that way. And you," she turned to Ahaan, "should start distancing yourself too. That boy will drag you down."

Ahaan opened his mouth to defend, but Adityanath interjected with a dry chuckle. "Come now, Kalyani. Let the boy breathe. Having friends is not a crime."

Ahaan glanced at his grandfather, knowing well the real reason Rohit was tolerated: Home Minister father, Central Minister grandfather. Power made even chaos palatable.

To his grandfather, his friendship with Rohit wasn't a threat. But a resource.

Kalyani, however, wasn't done. She turned to Savi again.

"And speaking of good-for-nothing boys," she said, too sweetly, "since your brother's marriage is now just a matter of dates, it's time we found a groom for you."

Savi choked on air. "What?"

"I'm serious," Kalyani said, sipping her tea. "If I have to choose, you won't like it."

"Dadi," Ahaan said, frowning, "what's the rush? Let my wedding happen first. Savi has years ahead of her."

"Exactly," Kalyani said. "Which is why we must begin now."

Adityanath chimed in, his voice a little too warm. "Why would we marry her off so quickly? We can keep Savi here forever. Don't you think so, beta?"

Savi glanced at him.

Savi smiled faintly, eyes lowered. Her grandfather rarely addressed her directly. And though he sounded indifferent, she couldn't help but feel the weight of care behind the tease. Maybe he didn't want her to go. Maybe she was still wanted here.

She smiled faintly. "Of course I do, Dadu."

She believed he meant it.

And he did.

Just… not in the way she thought.

She didn't know that Adityanath was biding his time, waiting for the perfect groom who could marry in and not out.

Kalyani, of course, knew this.

Her own motives were hidden behind concern, tradition, and timing.

But Savi saw none of it.

She only saw the generational push-and-pull.

The silence returned, this time more thoughtful than strained.

Ahaan glanced at the clock, then back at Savi.

"Come on," he said, rising. "I'll drop you to the hospital before I go."

"Sure," she said as she stood, slinging her bag over one shoulder.

They walked out together, side by side, two siblings beneath the weight of heritage, secrets, and roles they never asked to play.

In the halls of a palace that called itself home.

But only when it suited.

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