[13th February 2025 | Inside the Phoenix Courtyard Mall]
The fairy lights strung overhead blinked like artificial stars, casting a warm, golden shimmer across the pastel-colored baby section. Mobiles spun gently above rows of bassinets and cribs, their soft shadows dancing over the polished marble like lullabies made of light
Ahaan walked beside Aria, his fingers loosely curled around Dev's stroller handle. He wasn't pushing so much as following, matching the slow rhythm of her stride. Dev had curled into a deep nap, lips parted in a soft " o ", fists resting against his onesie as though dreaming of something simple—milk, warmth, peace.
Aria's fingers rested lightly on Navya's stroller. The baby girl was still awake, blinking curiously at the swirling shapes of a mobile above a display crib. Flecks of filtered light shimmered across her cheeks like dew. She made no sound, but her eyes—wide, unblinking—seemed to drink in the world around her.
They hadn't spoken much since Manik slipped away with a theatrical exit and a self-declared Cupid mission. But the silence that followed wasn't absence. It was thick, breathless, filled with everything they weren't saying.
A pair of women walking past glanced their way, all curious smiles and lowered voices.
"How sweet!" one of them whispered, not nearly quietly enough. "That must be their first baby outing. Look at how tiny the babies are!"
Ahaan instinctively adjusted Dev's stroller angle, almost protectively, shielding the child from sight—or maybe shielding himself.
Aria didn't flinch, but Ahaan saw her hand shift slightly, tightening on the stroller bar. Her spine straightened. Her gaze dropped away. A subtle retreat from a world that watched too easily, too eagerly.
She moved like someone running She moved like someone carrying too much, for far too long. Her steps were graceful but cautious, like she was balancing something fragile within her. And Ahaan, walking beside her, felt the quiet truth of it settle into his ribs.
She looked like someone who had stopped expecting help.
He found himself staring longer than he should have.
And then he cleared his throat, quietly. "I… I don't even know their names. Or how old they are."
The words felt clumsy coming out. Exposed. As if he'd just admitted to a crime he hadn't committed—but still felt guilty for.
Aria didn't even glance at him. Her voice, when it came, was measured. Flat. "You would've known. If you hadn't abandoned them."
He flinched.
The words hit like a slap—not loud, not cruel. Just... surgical. Precise.
"I didn't—" he started.
She cut in without looking. "You already did."
He blinked.
The instinct to argue rose in his throat—but then stalled. Because she wasn't wrong.
Not from her point of view.
She didn't know he wasn't that man.
And even if he tried to explain—tried to tell her he wasn't Rudra, that he hadn't known about the twins until yesterday—what would it change? What could it fix?
Ahaan'd never been the object of romantic affection, but he knew that much.
Her tone, her stance—they carried more loathing than longing.
He looked at her. At the quiet storm in her eyes. At the way she didn't shout, didn't cry. Just stood there, made of something colder than grief. Stronger than bitterness.
She thinks I left her.
She thinks I left them.
He had no right to feel pity. But he did.
He thought about Rudra—how much pain his brother's absence must've caused her. She didn't deserve this. No woman should raise her children alone, mourning a man who left her behind.
His chest tightened.
He hadn't earned the right to walk beside her.
Certainly not beside them.
Dev stirred in his sleep, letting out a tiny, sighing coo.
Ahaan swallowed hard. That sound shouldn't have hit so deep. But it did.
"I didn't mean to," Ahaan said quietly. It was the only truth he could give her.
A beat of silence passed.
Then, almost reluctantly, she murmured, "Dev... and Navya. Born on December 27th."
He repeated the names silently. Dev. Navya. Seven weeks old.
His nephew. His niece.
His brother's children.
And the only innocent hearts in a tangle of lies.
As if summoned by thought, Dev gave a tiny sneeze—sharp, delicate. Startling.
Aria frowned. "It's too cold in here."
Without thinking, Ahaan shrugged off his blazer and draped it gently over Dev's blanket.
"You don't have to—" she began, her tone guarded.
"I know," he said simply. "But I want to."
Their eyes met.
No warmth. No tenderness.
Just a flicker of something unspoken. The raw beginning of understanding, maybe. Or the realization that even silence could bruise.
Like two people standing on either side of a ravine, trying to measure whether the ground could ever meet again.
Then an older woman slowed as she passed their aisle, eyes crinkling with warmth, smiling down at the strollers.
"Such beautiful twins," she said with delight. "They have your eyes, young man."
Ahaan stiffened. His smile—automatic—was polite, strained.
"They take after their... father," he said.
"Well," the woman chuckled, glancing between them, "lucky children. To have parents like you."
And then she moved on before either of them could respond.
The silence left behind was different now. Not jagged, not angry.
Just tired.
"Pretending gets easier if you don't talk," Aria murmured eventually, not looking at him.
"I wasn't pretending," Ahaan said softly.
As if in reply, Dev stirred, sighing in his sleep—a small sound, heartbreakingly gentle.
"They're just babies," Aria said. "Eat. Sleep. Repeat. That's all they know. They don't care about names or bloodlines."
He looked down at the little boy wrapped in layers of cotton and warmth, and something in his chest broke open just a little.
"Maybe that's why I like them," he murmured.
"You don't even know them."
"I want to."
She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Strange. That's not what you wanted when they were in their mother's womb."
Ahaan looked up at her sharply. But—Rudra's name didn't pass her lips.
Not in anger. Not in accusation.
But still it hurt all the same.
The silence grew thorned.
Ahaan followed her quietly as she walked ahead, stopping near a moon-shaped crib, its mobile of stars spinning slow and silent. Navya reached toward it with her tiny mittened hand flailing like she wanted to catch a star.
A store assistant stepped over with a bright smile. "Sir, ma'am—this one's an Italian import. It mimics a mother's heartbeat. Very popular among new parents!"
The wordslanded like a blade—new parents. A label they didn't own.
Ahaan flinched but stepped forward anyway. "We'll take it,"
Aria turned to him, startled. Wary.
"You sure?" she asked. "I thought you'd hesitate. Not know what to say or buy. "
He didn't look at her. He looked at Dev. At Navya. Then said, "I think we've already done enough damage pretending we're not part of their lives."
Aria's brow arched. "We?"
He didn't answer.
He couldn't tell her the truth.
She couldn't know. And if she already did... then she was protecting the lie with her whole being. Just like he was living one he never meant to carry.
And they were both tangled in it now, pretending for different reasons, shielding children who had no idea their whole world was built on secrets.
He watched her adjust Navya's blanket, tucking it around her toes with practiced care.
And for the first time since he'd laid eyes on her—since this entire mess began—he saw something shift beneath the careful armor she wore.
Not forgiveness.
But a sliver of... wondering. A twitch of hesitation.
And Aria—catching the way he looked at Dev, like holding the stroller steady was the only thing keeping him upright—saw something too.
Guilt. Pain.
A crack in the mask. A kind of quiet ache that couldn't be rehearsed. A desperate yearning too careful to name.
She didn't believe in his innocence. Not yet.
But for a fleeting second...
She wanted to.