The rusted clock hanging above the orphanage hallway gave another tired...
Tick.
Then...
Tock.
Riya glared at it.
"...You're doing that on purpose."
The clock, unsurprisingly, refused to defend itself.
She folded her arms tighter.
The afternoon sunlight spilled through the cracked windows, painting thin golden lines across the old stone floor. Dust floated l-a-z-i-l-y through the air.
Everything felt...
Slow.
Too slow.
Outside, a few younger children chased each other around the tiny courtyard.
Someone laughed.
Someone cried after falling.
An older girl hummed softly while hanging washed clothes on a fraying rope.
It was just another ordinary day.
Except...
It wasn't ordinary for Riya.
Today...
Marked exactly five years.
Five years since four boys had stood outside these very gates.
Bruised.
Hungry.
Determined.
Five years since they had looked at one frightened little girl...
...And promised to come back.
"We'll come back for you."
"Promise."
Riya had believed them.
With her whole heart.
At first...
Waiting had been easy.
Every morning she'd run to the front gate.
Maybe today.
Every evening she'd peek through the rusted bars.
Maybe now.
When it rained...
She wondered if they had umbrellas.
When winter came...
She worried if they had blankets.
Whenever someone donated sweets...
She secretly saved one piece.
Just in case...
They came that day.
They never did.
Weeks became months.
Months became years.
And little by little...
Hope stopped running to the gate every morning.
It simply...
Sat quietly by the window.
Waiting.
Until today.
Today...
Patience officially resigned.
Riya kicked a tiny pebble across the hallway.
It bounced off the wall.
Tak.
She clicked her tongue.
"Idiots."
Another kick.
"They said..."
Kick.
"...'Soon.'"
Kick.
"It's been FIVE YEARS!"
The pebble rolled beneath an old wooden bench.
Even it seemed tired of this conversation.
From the kitchen, Shobha Aunty peeked her head out.
"Riya."
"Hm?"
"Are you talking to the floor again?"
"I'm arguing with it."
"...Did you win?"
Riya thought seriously.
"...No."
Shobha Aunty laughed under her breath.
"Come help me peel potatoes."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"I'm busy."
"Doing what?"
Riya looked toward the front gate.
"...Being angry."
Shobha Aunty followed her gaze.
The smile on her face faded ever so slightly.
She understood.
Everyone in the orphanage understood.
Nobody mentioned the date anymore.
Because every year...
This day hurt the same.
She disappeared back into the kitchen without another word.
Riya stayed where she was.
Her cheeks puffed out.
"If they think..."
She muttered to herself.
"...they can just come back and I'll forgive them..."
She shook her head.
"No."
Absolutely not.
Lakshya was getting a lecture.
A very long lecture.
Maan wasn't escaping either.
He was the oldest.
He should've reminded everyone.
Ranchit?
Definitely guilty.
Abhiraj?
Extra guilty.
Mostly because she felt like it.
She nodded firmly.
"Yes."
"That's fair."
A tiny voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Didi?"
She looked down.
Little Chotu stood there clutching a stuffed rabbit missing one ear.
"...Will your brothers really come?"
Riya looked at him.
Then toward the gate again.
For just a second...
Something fragile flickered across her face.
She swallowed.
"...They promised."
"You still believe them?"
SILENCE.
A breeze drifted through the hallway.
The old curtains fluttered softly.
Finally...
She answered.
"...I don't know."
It was the first time she'd ever admitted it out loud.
The words felt strange.
Heavy.
Chotu reached for her hand.
His fingers were tiny.
Warm.
"...I think they'll come."
Riya looked at him.
"Why?"
He smiled with all the certainty only children possess.
"...Because when you miss someone that much..."
The rusted clock hanging above the orphanage hallway gave another tired, metallic groan.
Tick.
Then...
Tock.
Riya glared at it from her spot on the peeling wooden bench. "...You're doing that on purpose."
The clock, unsurprisingly, refused to defend itself.
She folded her arms tighter across her chest, her worn cotton sleeves riding up her wrists. The afternoon sunlight spilled through the cracked windows, painting thin, fragile golden lines across the old stone floor. Dust floated l-a-z-i-l-y through the heavy, stagnant air, smelling faintly of cheap phenyl and boiled cabbage.
Everything felt... slow.
Too slow.
Outside, a few younger children chased each other around the tiny, mud-stained courtyard. Someone laughed. Someone cried after tripping over a loose brick. An older girl hummed softly while hanging washed clothes on a fraying rope that looked like it was one strong breeze away from snapping.
It was just another ordinary day.
Except... it wasn't ordinary for Riya.
Today... marked exactly five years.
Five years since four boys had stood outside those very rusted, squeaking gates. Bruised. Hungry. Fiercely determined, with fire in their eyes that no amount of poverty could extinguish.
Five years since they had looked at one frightened little girl... and promised to come back.
"We'll come back for you. Promise."
Riya had believed them. With her whole, fragile heart.
At first... waiting had been easy.
Every morning, she'd run to the front gate. Maybe today.
Every evening, she'd peek through the rusted iron bars, her small hands wrapped tightly around the cold metal. Maybe now.
When it rained... she wondered if they had umbrellas. When winter came... she worried if they had warm blankets. Whenever someone donated sweets to the orphanage... she secretly saved one piece. Hiding it under her thin mattress. Just in case... they came that day.
They never did.
Weeks bled into months. Months stretched into agonizing years.
And little by little... hope stopped running to the gate every morning. It simply... sat quietly by the window. Waiting.
Until today.
Today... patience officially resigned.
Riya kicked a tiny pebble across the hallway. It bounced off the peeling wall. Tak.
She clicked her tongue. "Idiots."
Another kick. "They said..."
Kick.
"...'Soon.'"
Kick.
"It's been FIVE YEARS!"
The pebble rolled beneath an old wooden bench. Even the rock seemed tired of this one-sided conversation.
From the kitchen, Shobha Aunty peeked her head out, wiping her hands on a faded apron. "Riya."
"Hm?"
"Are you talking to the floor again?"
"I'm arguing with it."
Shobha Aunty paused. "...Did you win?"
Riya thought about it seriously, her brow furrowing. "...No."
Shobha Aunty laughed under her breath, a sad, knowing sound. "Come help me peel potatoes."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"I'm busy."
"Doing what?"
Riya looked toward the front gate, her jaw set so hard her teeth ached. "...Being angry."
Shobha Aunty followed her gaze. The soft smile on her face faded ever so slightly, replaced by a deep, quiet pity. She understood. Everyone in the orphanage understood. Nobody mentioned the date to Riya anymore. Because every year... this day hurt the exact same way.
She disappeared back into the kitchen without another word. Riya hated that look. The pity.
She stayed where she was, her cheeks puffing out. "If they think..." She muttered to herself, kicking the floor again. "...they can just come back and I'll forgive them..." She shook her head fiercely, her loose braids flying. "No. Absolutely not."
Lakshya was getting a lecture. A very long, very loud, highly embarrassing lecture.
Maan wasn't escaping either. He was the oldest. He should've reminded everyone.
Ranchit? Definitely guilty.
Abhiraj? Extra guilty. Mostly because she felt like it.
She nodded firmly to herself. "Yes. That's fair."
A tiny, hesitant voice interrupted her plotting thoughts. "Didi?"
She looked down. Little Chotu stood there, swimming in an oversized shirt, clutching a stuffed rabbit missing one ear. "...Will your brothers really come?"
Riya looked at him. Then toward the empty gate again.
For just a second... something incredibly fragile, incredibly broken, flickered across her face. She swallowed the thick, painful lump in her throat.
"...They promised."
"You still believe them?"
SILENCE.
A warm breeze drifted through the hallway, making the old curtains flutter softly against the decaying window frames.
Finally... she answered. "...I don't know."
It was the first time she'd ever admitted it out loud. The words felt strange on her tongue. Heavy. Poisonous.
Chotu reached for her hand. His fingers were tiny. Warm. "...I think they'll come."
Riya looked at him, her dark eyes hollow. "Why?"
He smiled with all the absolute, untainted certainty only children possess. "...Because when you miss someone that much..." He hugged his ragged rabbit tighter. "...they have to come back."
For a moment... she couldn't breathe. Her chest seized.
Then... very gently... she ruffled his messy hair. "I hope you're smarter than they are."
He giggled.
"So..." She inhaled deeply, rolling her shoulders and straightening her posture. "If they do come today..." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "...I'm not talking to them."
A beat.
"...Much."
Another beat.
"...Maybe."
She sighed DRAMATICALLY, throwing her head back. "...Ugh. I practiced being angry for five years. I'm not wasting it."
Outside... dark clouds rolled s-i-l-e-n-t-l-y across the afternoon sky, swallowing the sun whole.
The wind changed.
Not gently.
Abruptly.
The leaves of the old banyan tree began rustling VIOLENTLY. The loose tin sheet above the storage room rattled against its rusted hinges. The birds that usually rested on the boundary wall... all flew away at once, scattering into the gray sky as if fleeing a predator.
Riya frowned. "...Huh?"
Then—
A low, trembling rumble rolled across the ground. Not thunder. Something else.
She looked toward the orphanage gate. The vibration grew stronger, traveling up through the soles of her worn slippers, sinking into her bones. The old glass windows trembled in their wooden frames. Tiny, rhythmic ripples formed in the bucket of water sitting near the entrance.
RRRRRRMMMM...
The sound grew louder.
Closer.
Closer.
Children stopped playing. One little boy dropped his plastic ball and looked up, his eyes wide. "Didi... what's that?"
Nobody answered. Even the older children had gone dead quiet.
The rumbling became a deafening roar. Heavy. Powerful. The kind of mechanical, aggressive sound that absolutely did not belong anywhere near a tiny, forgotten orphanage in the middle of nowhere.
Mrs. Verma stepped out of her office, aggressively adjusting her spectacles. "What on earth is that racket—"
She didn't finish.
Because—
BOOM!
The old iron gates burst inward.
Not broken. Forced open so violently they slammed against the stone walls with a deafening crash that shook decades of dust from the rafters.
Several children screamed, covering their ears and dropping to the ground. A cloud of dirt and rust exploded into the air.
Black.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Massive, heavily armored, matte-black SUVs tore through the entrance like predators claiming territory. The thick, military-grade tires sliced through muddy puddles, sending dirty water spraying aggressively across the courtyard.
The convoy moved with frightening, calculated precision. Not too fast. Not too slow. Controlled. Confident. As if they already owned every single inch of land they crossed.
The lead vehicle stopped. Exactly in the dead center of the courtyard. The other three halted behind it in perfect, unbroken formation.
Screeeech.
SILENCE.
Complete... absolute... suffocating silence.
Even the impending rain seemed to hesitate, afraid to fall.
Riya stared from the porch, her mouth slightly parted, the wind whipping her messy braids around her face. "...Whoa."
That... was admittedly a very cool entrance.
She quickly shook her head, slapping her own cheeks lightly. "No. Riya, focus. You are still angry."
Around her... panic spread like wildfire. The younger children clung to one another, hiding behind cracked pillars and trembling.
A volunteer whispered, her voice shaking violently, "Call the police."
Another immediately answered, backing away. "No. They're already too late."
Mrs. Verma's wooden cane slipped from her trembling fingers. Clack. She didn't even bend to pick it up. Her face was entirely drained of color.
Because the SUV doors had begun opening. One after another.
Click. Click. Click.
Men stepped out.
Black suits. Black gloves. Black boots. Earpieces curling around their thick necks. The unmistakable, terrifying bulk of bulletproof vests hidden beneath tailored jackets. Some carried heavy assault rifles resting blatantly against their chests. Others rested gloved hands dangerously near concealed pistols at their hips.
Not one of them spoke. Not one wasted a single movement.
They spread across the orphanage grounds with TERRIFYING efficiency. Two secured the entrance. Four checked the perimeter walls. Others quietly positioned themselves between the vehicles, forming an impenetrable, lethal barricade.
Within seconds... the entire orphanage had disappeared beneath an invisible wall of absolute, suffocating control.
One frightened caretaker whispered, "...Army?"
Another shook his head, pale and sweating. "No... worse."
The guards didn't threaten anyone. They didn't shout orders. They didn't even point their weapons. They simply... stood there.
Which somehow felt even scarier.
Riya tilted her head, her dark eyes analyzing the formation instead of feeling fear. "...They're organized." A small, unconscious smile almost appeared on her lips. "...Lakshya would've liked them."
She f-r-o-z-e.
Her own words echoed inside her head.
Lakshya.
No. It couldn't be.
Her heart... very quietly... skipped once. A painful, hopeful thud against her ribs.
Then she immediately frowned again, crossing her arms defensively, digging her fingernails into her own skin. No. Too late. I'm still angry.
One of the guards spoke into the microphone near his collar, his voice devoid of emotion. "Perimeter secure."
Another answered from across the yard. "Clear."
A third voice followed. "Proceed."
The lead SUV immediately became the center of everyone's terrified attention.
Every single armed guard in the courtyard... without exception... straightened. Their hands fell strictly to their sides. As if preparing for someone important.
Someone... dangerous.
The courtyard held its breath.
And the rear passenger door... s-l-o-w-l-y... began to open.
It didn't open dramatically. Not with unnecessary force. Just... quietly.
A polished black shoe touched the muddy ground. Then another. Long legs unfolded from the dark interior of the SUV. Broad, powerful shoulders followed. A crisp black shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, revealing scars. Old. White. Faintly visible against tan skin.
Then... he straightened to his full height.
The courtyard changed. The atmosphere grew impossibly heavy, gravity itself seeming to multiply. No one spoke. No one dared. Even the wind and the rain seemed quieter, bowing to his mere presence.
Lakshya Singhania had arrived.
Twenty-four years old. The undisputed head of the Singhania empire. The man politicians smiled at... while praying they never, ever disappointed him. The man rival syndicates spoke about in hushed, terrified whispers in the dead of night. The man newspapers called a "businessman"... because nobody was brave enough to print the truth.
He didn't look around in curiosity. He observed. Once. That's all it took.
His dark, piercing eyes swept across the orphanage. The cracked walls. The broken windows. The rusted swings. The leaking roof. The terrified children in rags.
Each miserable detail settled somewhere behind those unreadable, icy eyes.
His jaw tightened. Barely. A millimeter of movement. But everyone standing near him noticed the dangerous, lethal shift.
Nobody breathed.
Mrs. Verma instinctively took two steps backward, her knees almost giving out completely. She had seen powerful men before. Politicians. Police commissioners. Wealthy industrialists.
None of them had ever felt... like this.
This man didn't just walk into a place. He owned the air inside it.
Behind him... another door opened.
Abhiraj jumped out first. "Nah..." He looked around with EXAGGERATED disappointment, shaking his head and sighing. "They still haven't painted the walls."
Ranchit climbed out beside him, smoothly adjusting the cuffs of his expensive charcoal suit with aristocratic grace. "I told you. They don't believe in happiness here."
Maan stepped out last. Immaculate. Not a single strand of hair out of place despite the harsh wind. He adjusted his silver watch, glancing once at the dilapidated building. "...Still ugly."
Abhiraj nodded thoughtfully, crossing his arms. "Very consistent of them."
Under any other circumstances... their conversation would've sounded ridiculous. Insensitive.
But nobody laughed.
Because the men joking so casually... were the same men every armed guard in the courtyard feared more than death itself.
The security detail lowered their heads almost in unison. "Sir."
Lakshya didn't answer.
A guard stepped forward, eyes locked straight ahead, practically sweating. "The perimeter is secure."
"Hm."
"Any threats detected?"
"No, Sir."
"Hm."
That was all. One syllable. A low rumble in his chest. Yet the guard immediately stepped back into position. Instruction received. Conversation OVER.
Riya watched everything from the safety of the porch. Her brows s-l-o-w-l-y knitted together.
...They're weird.
Very weird.
The serious one had become... very serious. The loud one had become... louder. The quiet one somehow looked even quieter. And Ranchit... still looked like absolute trouble wrapped in expensive fabric.
Her lips twitched. Just a little. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like a trapped bird against her ribs.
Then she remembered.
No. She was angry. Very angry. Professional-level angry.
She crossed her arms tighter, planting her feet wide on the stone floor. "Hmph."
Down below... Lakshya hadn't moved. Not yet.
He stood perfectly still. As if something invisible and magnetic had rooted him to the damp ground.
His gaze... s-l-o-w-l-y lifted.
Past the armed guards. Past the rusted swings. Toward the orphanage porch. Toward the faded blue pillars. Toward—
Her.
Time... STOPPED.
There she was.
Small. Standing exactly where she'd always waited. Wearing an oversized, faded cotton dress that had been washed too many times. Messy hair escaping two uneven braids. Worn, mismatched slippers on her feet. Arms folded stubbornly across her chest.
Trying very, very hard... to look intimidating.
She had grown. So much. The little girl whose hand used to disappear entirely inside his... wasn't little anymore.
His heartbeat stumbled in his chest. A massive, painful jolt.
For five years... he had seen her in photographs. From a distance. Through sanitized security reports. Through grainy, zoomed-in camera lenses.
But photographs didn't pout. They didn't glare. They didn't breathe.
This... this was real. She was real. Alive. Safe.
His broad, tense shoulders dropped. Just slightly. A ragged breath escaped him. One he hadn't realized he'd been holding... for five long, bloody years.
Behind him... Abhiraj followed his line of sight. His playful, careless grin vanished instantly. "...Doll." The word came out as nothing more than a choked, devastated whisper.
Ranchit looked up next. Then Maan.
SILENCE. Complete, suffocating silence.
Abhiraj blinked once, aggressively rubbing his eyes. "...She..." He laughed softly, the sound thick and wet with emotion. "...She got taller."
Ranchit stared, entirely mesmerized, his charming facade shattering. "...When did that happen?"
Maan adjusted his glasses, his voice barely above a breath, cracking slightly. "...Five years."
Abhiraj looked at him, swallowing hard. "...That wasn't a real question."
"I know."
None of them moved. They simply stood there... looking at the little girl who had unknowingly been the reason behind every sleepless night... every ruthless, cutthroat deal... every bloody war... every single brick of the empire they had built.
Then... without saying a single word... Lakshya started walking toward her.
One step.
Then another.
His brothers followed. Quietly.
For once... no teasing. No jokes. No casual arrogance.
Just four brothers... finally going home.
Lakshya climbed the orphanage steps. Slowly. Not because he wanted to. Because he was terrified. Terrified that if he moved too fast... she might disappear into thin air again like a cruel, recurring dream.
Five years. He had survived bullets. Bombs. Betrayals. Cutthroat boardrooms. Underworld wars.
None of them had frightened him like these last few steps.
Finally... he stopped. Right in front of her.
She looked even smaller up close. Her braid had come loose, framing her face. There was a tiny scrape on one knee. A faded thread hung from the worn sleeve of her dress.
His chest tightened painfully. A physical ache. She deserved so much more than this rotting place.
Without thinking... he lowered himself.
One knee. Then the other.
The most feared man in the country... the King of the Underworld... knelt on the cracked, dirty concrete of an old orphanage. Mud stained the knees of his tailored black trousers, ruining thousands of dollars of fabric instantly.
He didn't notice. Didn't care.
His large, scarred hands lifted instinctively. Slowly. Carefully. As if approaching a frightened, wounded bird that might fly away if he breathed too loudly.
"Hi, baccha..." His voice was quiet. Almost uncertain. Rough with unshed emotion that clawed at his throat. "I..." A tiny, fragile, impossibly gentle smile appeared on his usually terrifying face. "...found you."
Riya didn't move. Not even a little. She simply stared at him.
Lakshya waited.
One second. Two. Three.
Nothing.
Then... she s-l-o-w-l-y folded her arms across her chest. Very tightly. Lifted her chin defiantly. And looked away.
"...Hm."
Lakshya blinked.
Behind him... Abhiraj immediately bit the inside of his cheek. Oh no.
Ranchit's lips twitched. Dangerously.
Maan calmly looked up at the peeling paint on the ceiling. The ceiling had suddenly become fascinating. Highly detailed.
Lakshya cleared his throat, thoroughly out of his element. "...Baccha?"
SILENCE.
"...Riya?"
Still nothing. Not even a glance. Only the tiniest... most stubborn... "Hmph."
Lakshya looked over his shoulder at his brothers, seeking backup. "What does that mean?"
Abhiraj whispered back, a painful grimace on his face, "...You're in trouble."
"I know that."
"...Deep trouble."
Ranchit nodded sympathetically. "Critical condition, Bhai."
Maan adjusted his glasses without looking down from the ceiling. "I'd start apologizing."
Lakshya sighed heavily. Then looked back at the furious little girl in front of him. His hands slowly lowered to his sides in pure surrender.
"...You're angry."
Her head SNAPPED toward him.
"ANGRY?" Her eyes grew round with absolute outrage. "I'm not angry."
"No?"
"No."
"...Really?"
She nodded once. Very firmly. "I'm furious."
Abhiraj made a tiny, strangled choking sound, desperately trying to hold back a laugh. Ranchit immediately elbowed him hard in the ribs.
Too late. Riya heard it.
Her head turned. S-l-o-w-l-y. Very... very slowly. Toward the three younger brothers standing behind Lakshya.
"You."
All three lethal, highly-trained men froze.
She pointed an accusatory finger directly at Abhiraj. "You laughed."
"I breathed."
"You breathed suspiciously."
"..."
"I know the difference."
Ranchit lost the battle. A laugh escaped. Just one. Tiny. A single slip.
That was enough. Riya spun toward him like a tiny, wrathful tornado. "And YOU."
Ranchit straightened his posture immediately, his hands flying up defensively. "...Me?"
"You think this is funny."
"...A little."
"RANCHIT BHAIYA."
"Sorry."
He wasn't sorry. She could tell. She narrowed her eyes at him, mentally adding him to her hit list.
Then... her gaze returned to Lakshya, still kneeling patiently on the concrete.
The fierce, comedic expression disappeared from her face. Completely. Like a light being switched off.
Her voice became much quieter. Much smaller. Incredibly vulnerable.
"...You said..." She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "...you'd come back soon."
Lakshya felt something twist violently, painfully inside his chest. "I know."
She took one tiny step forward. Her dark eyes glistened with heavy, unshed tears. "...Do you know how long five years is?"
He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, taking the emotional hit head-on. "...Yes."
"No." She shook her head stubbornly, a tear slipping free. "You don't. I waited every morning."
Another step. "I waited every evening."
Another. "I waited on my birthday." Her voice cracked, shattering the tough facade into pieces. "I waited when it rained."
Another crack. "I waited at Christmas."
She laughed. A tiny... broken, agonizingly hollow laugh. "I even saved sweets for you."
Lakshya couldn't breathe. The air had been violently sucked from his lungs.
"They got old. I still didn't eat them."
SILENCE.
Nobody moved. Not the heavily armed guards. Not the terrified children watching from the windows. Not even the wind rustling the trees.
Only Riya's trembling, wounded voice filled the courtyard.
"I thought..." She rubbed her eyes aggressively, trying so hard to fight the tears. "...maybe you got lost. So I waited."
"I thought..." She hiccuped, her chest heaving. "...maybe you forgot the road. So I waited."
She looked straight into his dark eyes, laying her bruised, battered heart totally bare. "And then..." Her lower lip trembled uncontrollably. "I started wondering... if you forgot me."
Lakshya's heart shattered.
Completely. Into a million jagged, irreparable pieces.
His large hand lifted toward her tear-stained cheek. Stopped halfway. Trembling. He didn't know if he still had the right... to touch her.
His voice came out rough. Devastated. Almost broken.
"...Never."
One word. Nothing more. But it carried five agonizing years of suffocating guilt. Five years of waking up in cold sweats. Five years of promises he had hated himself for breaking every single day.
"Never, baccha." His eyes never left hers, pleading with her to understand, begging for a mercy he didn't deserve. "Not for one day. Not for one hour. Not for one minute. I never forgot you."
SILENCE.
Riya stared at him. Still angry. Still deeply hurt. Still trying... very, very hard... not to cry.
For a moment... nobody spoke. Not Lakshya. Not his brothers. Not even Riya.
The entire courtyard seemed frozen in time. As if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for her verdict.
Riya's tiny fists tightened at her sides. Her small shoulders trembled violently under the oversized dress.
She hated this.
She hated how her eyes burned with hot tears. She hated how her voice kept shaking completely out of control. She hated how seeing them again, right in front of her, smelling like expensive cologne and looking like giants, made all her carefully prepared anger just... fall apart.
For five years... she had practiced this speech. Five whole years. In her head. While lying awake at night listening to the crickets. While staring out the lonely, barred window. While watching other children get adopted, pack their tiny bags, and leave her behind.
She had imagined this moment hundreds of times. And every single version ended the exact same way. She would yell. She would scold them. She would make them feel guilty. Very guilty. Extremely guilty. The guilty-est guilty in the history of guilt.
Instead... her stupid eyes were filling with tears. Again.
Which was annoying. Very annoying.
Lakshya watched her quietly from his knees. Not interrupting. Not defending himself. Just listening. Taking every ounce of her pain because she had earned the absolute right to give it. Five years of waiting deserved to be heard.
Riya sniffed. Angrily. Then pointed a trembling finger straight at his broad chest.
"You lied."
The words landed harder and deeper than any bullet he'd ever taken. Lakshya didn't flinch. "I know."
"You promised."
"I know."
"You said soon."
"I know."
"You said you'd come back."
"I know."
Every answer was exactly the same. No excuses. No elaborate explanations about syndicate wars or building an empire to keep her safe. Just total, unreserved acceptance of his failure.
And somehow... that made it worse. Because she couldn't even stay properly angry when he was agreeing with her so willingly.
"Ughhh!" She stomped her foot against the concrete. Hard. "I practiced this!"
The brothers behind him blinked in unison, startled by the sudden shift.
"...What?" Abhiraj asked, genuinely bewildered.
Riya looked personally offended by the interruption, glaring at him through her tears. "My angry speech!"
Abhiraj immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. Ranchit turned his face away, his shoulders shaking aggressively. Maan looked down at his polished shoes, biting the inside of his cheek.
All three were losing a battle. A very dangerous, highly inappropriate battle. Against laughter.
Riya narrowed her tear-filled eyes at them, a lethal threat. "Don't."
The warning came instantly. Nobody laughed. Nobody was brave enough to face her wrath right now.
"...I practiced for YEARS." Her voice cracked pitifully again, her lower lip wobbling. "I had points." A sniffle. "And examples." Another sniffle. "And evidence."
Abhiraj made a strangled, dying-animal noise from behind his hand.
Riya pointed at him immediately, her finger like a loaded weapon. "I HEARD THAT."
"I'm innocent," Abhiraj mumbled through his fingers, his eyes watering from the effort of holding it in.
"You're not."
"Fair."
Another silence fell over the porch. A softer, much heavier one this time.
Riya looked back at Lakshya. The fierce, practiced anger s-l-o-w-l-y crumbled. Piece by piece. Shield by shield. Until only raw, bleeding hurt remained.
And somehow... that was much harder to look at.
Her voice became tiny again. Almost a whisper carried away by the cold wind.
"I didn't want a fortress."
Lakshya's throat tightened painfully.
She swallowed a sob, her chest hitching. "I didn't want money."
A tear escaped, tracking down her dusty cheek. She wiped it away aggressively with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of dirt. "I didn't want guards."
Another tear followed. She hated that one too. "I didn't want mansions."
More tears fell. Great. Now they were multiplying. Fantastic.
Her voice finally broke. Completely.
"I just wanted you."
SILENCE.
Absolute, world-ending silence.
Lakshya stopped breathing.
Because there it was. The absolute truth. Simple. Painful. Devastating.
Everything he had built. Every massive empire. Every ruthless victory. Every bloody war he had waged in her name to ensure she would never want for anything. Every sacrifice of his own humanity.
And the little girl standing in front of him would've traded all of it, all the billions and the power, in a single heartbeat... for four brothers just coming home.
His eyes burned. For the first time in years. Actually burned.
S-l-o-w-l-y... very slowly... he reached forward. Not assuming. Not demanding her forgiveness. Just offering. Offering her a choice.
Riya looked at his outstretched, scarred hand. Then up at his face. Then at his hand again. Her chin trembled violently.
One second. Two. Three.
Then—
The fight left her. Completely.
With a loud, broken sob... she launched herself forward. Straight into him.
Lakshya caught her instantly.
Like he had done a thousand times before. Like no time had passed at all. His strong arms wrapped around her small frame. Tight. Careful. Fiercely, desperately protective.
Home.
A shaky, shuddering breath escaped him. Then another. He buried his face in her messy, unkempt hair. His eyes closing tight against the burning sensation behind his eyelids.
Finally. Finally.
She was here. Not in glossy photographs. Not in clinical reports. Not watched from a distance by men in suits.
Here. In his arms. Where she belonged.
"I've got you, baccha." His voice cracked. Actually cracked, vibrating with raw, unfiltered emotion. "I've got you."
Riya clutched handfuls of his expensive black shirt in her tiny fists. Immediately ruining the crisp fabric with her tears and the dirt from her face.
And absolutely not caring.
"You're bad." A sob tore through her throat, muffled against his chest. "So bad." Another sob. "The worst."
Lakshya nodded into her hair, holding her even tighter. "I know."
"You abandoned me."
"I know."
"You took forever."
"I know."
"You suck."
Behind them, watching the emotional embrace... Abhiraj whispered, "She's making excellent points."
Ranchit nodded in solemn agreement. "Strong arguments."
Maan adjusted his glasses. "Hard to refute."
Lakshya growled a warning without lifting his head from Riya. "Be quiet."
The three immediately became silent. For almost three seconds.
Then—
"Holy shit." Abhiraj aggressively wiped his eyes with his tailored sleeve, sniffing loudly. "She's huge now."
And that finally broke the heavy tension. Just a little. Just enough for the next moment to begin.
Riya cried. Properly. No dignity. No elegance. Just... years of missing them poured out into Lakshya's chest, soaking his shirt.
She buried her face deeper into the dark fabric. His shirt was officially ruined. Wet. Wrinkled. Probably worth more than the entire orphanage building. She didn't care.
Lakshya didn't either. His large, scarred hand moved s-l-o-w-l-y through her tangled hair. Once. Twice. Again. The exact same comforting rhythm he used to use... when she was five and scared of the dark.
"I'm here." A quiet, fierce whisper against her temple. "So late... but I'm here."
Riya sniffled loudly, rubbing her nose against him shamelessly. "You are." Another wet sniffle. "But I'm still angry."
"I know."
"So don't think..." She hiccuped, a tiny jump in his arms. "...this hug means you're forgiven."
Lakshya's lips curved. Just barely. A real, breathtaking smile this time. "I wouldn't dare."
She nodded firmly against his chest. "Good."
Behind them... Abhiraj looked personally offended by the exclusivity of the reunion. "...Excuse me."
No response.
He placed a dramatic hand on his heart, stepping closer. "Doll."
Still nothing.
He gasped DRAMATICALLY, loud enough for the perimeter guards to hear. "...You're only hugging Lakshya."
Riya peeked out from Lakshya's chest with one watery, red eye. "...Yes."
"What about me?"
"What about you?"
"I also suffered."
Riya blinked, pulling back just enough to look at him skeptically. "...How?"
"I missed you."
"So did I."
"I cried."
She narrowed her eyes, sniffing suspiciously. "...Really?"
"...Emotionally."
Ranchit snorted, rolling his eyes. "Liar."
Abhiraj pointed an accusatory finger at his brother. "I had feelings."
"You still do."
"They were private feelings."
Maan spoke calmly without looking up from his pristine cuffs. "You cried into my pillow."
Abhiraj f-r-o-z-e. The color draining from his face entirely. "...Traitor."
"I have witnesses."
"I was cutting onions."
"You were eating cereal."
"...Emotional cereal."
Riya stared at Abhiraj for two whole seconds. Processing the sheer absurdity of the conversation. Then... a tiny laugh escaped. Small. Soft. Barely there.
But it was enough.
Abhiraj clutched his chest triumphantly. "She laughed." He looked up at the stormy sky in total vindication. "I've won."
"You didn't do anything," Ranchit deadpanned.
"I exist."
"Unfortunately."
Abhiraj looked deeply wounded, turning back to Riya. "You all bully me."
"We manage."
"I'll remember this."
"You won't."
"I actually won't."
Riya giggled. Another one. L-o-n-g-e-r this time. The sweet, melodic sound cutting through the grim, terrifying atmosphere of the heavily guarded courtyard like sunlight.
Lakshya closed his eyes for the briefest moment, drinking it in. That sound... he'd almost forgotten the absolute purity of it.
Abhiraj suddenly crouched down right beside them, his massive arms spread wide like a giant bear. "My turn."
Riya looked at him. Then at Lakshya. Then back at Abhiraj. "...You're dramatic."
"I learned from experience."
"...Which experience?"
"You."
She thought about that for a second. "...Fair."
He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. "So?"
She sighed DRAMATICALLY, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her smile. "Okayyyyy..."
The word had barely left her mouth—Abhiraj lunged forward and scooped her into another, massive, rib-crushing hug.
"DOLLLLL!" He squeezed. Way too hard.
"Bhaiya!"
"I missed you!"
"I can't breathe!"
"Excellent."
"THAT'S NOT EXCELLENT!"
He laughed. Actually laughed. The loud, booming, shameless laugh that used to echo through this very orphanage years ago before life turned them into ruthless ghosts. "I missed annoying you."
"You never stopped!" she yelled against his massive shoulder.
"I know!"
Riya pushed helplessly at his face with both hands. "Move!"
"No."
"Move!"
"Nope."
"Lakshyaaaaa..." she whined, seeking backup from the boss.
Lakshya didn't even look up from his spot on the concrete. "You're on your own."
"What?!"
"Character development."
"Betrayal!"
Ranchit walked over, shaking his head at the spectacle. "Move."
Abhiraj hugged her even tighter, lifting her feet completely off the ground. "No."
Ranchit calmly grabbed the back of Abhiraj's tailored collar... and effortlessly dragged the grown, highly trained, lethal man backward.
Abhiraj's expensive shoes scraped DRAMATICALLY across the concrete. "DOLLLLL!" His arms reached toward her like a tragic movie hero being ripped away from his lover. "Remember meee!"
"I'll text you!" Riya called back, giggling.
"You don't have a phone!"
"I'll buy one!"
"You're impossible," Ranchit muttered, dropping Abhiraj's collar unceremoniously.
"I've been told."
Maan quietly stepped forward, taking his turn.
Unlike the other two... he didn't rush. Didn't squeeze the life out of her. Didn't tease. He simply stopped in front of her. Looked at her. Really looked, taking in the changes of five long years.
"You grew up." His voice was calm. Grounded. Almost thoughtful.
Riya smiled warmly, looking up at him. The terrifying aura that usually surrounded Maan didn't affect her at all. "So did you."
"Hm."
"You got taller."
"So did you."
"You became scary."
Maan adjusted his glasses coolly. "...Occupational hazard."
She tilted her head, her voice softening, losing the teasing edge. "I missed you."
Something powerful, something entirely human, flickered across Maan's usually stoic face. Gone almost instantly, hidden behind years of iron discipline.
He bent slightly. Opened one arm. Without a word. An invitation. Nothing more.
Riya didn't hesitate. She stepped into the hug. Smaller. Gentler. Entirely different from Lakshya's desperate grip. Different from Abhiraj's chaotic squeeze.
Maan rested one large hand lightly, securely against the back of her head.
"...Welcome home."
Riya closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of crisp cologne and absolute safety. "...Thank you, Maan bhaiya."
A few steps away... Ranchit stood with his hands casually stuffed in his pockets. Watching. Trying very, very hard to look unaffected and effortlessly cool.
He failed spectacularly.
Because Riya pulled back from Maan, looked up... locked onto Ranchit... and immediately pointed a threatening finger.
"You."
Ranchit blinked, startled out of his composed facade. "...Me?"
"Come here."
He raised an eyebrow, staying put. "That sounded less like affection... and more like a court summons."
"Come."
Ranchit sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "...Yes, ma'am."
Abhiraj immediately coughed loudly into his fist. "Uh-oh."
Ranchit smiled, a nervous twist of his lips. "...I'm definitely getting scolded."
Ranchit sighed DRAMATICALLY, his shoulders slumping. "...I knew this day would come."
He walked toward her. Hands still tucked safely inside his pockets. Looking every bit like a condemned man walking slowly toward his own execution.
When he stopped in front of her... he smoothly lowered himself onto one knee to match her height, looking up at her through his lashes.
"So..." He tilted his head, flashing a charming, albeit nervous, smile. "What's my crime?"
Riya stared at him. Very seriously. Unblinking.
"You got handsome."
Ranchit blinked. Once. Twice. "...I beg your pardon?"
"You got handsome."
Another blink. "And?"
"And you didn't ask my permission."
SILENCE.
Abhiraj wheezed. Actually wheezed, bending over and aggressively slapping his knee.
Maan quietly looked away, pressing his lips tightly together to stop a smile.
Lakshya pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
Ranchit pointed at himself, utterly baffled. "...I'm being scolded... for aging?"
"Yes."
"...That's unfair."
"You left." She folded her arms again, the picture of absolute, terrifying authority. "So naturally... you weren't allowed to glow up without me."
Abhiraj completely lost it. He bent over laughing, his chest heaving, pointing helplessly at Ranchit's stunned face. "I-I can't—she's right!"
"How is she right?!" Ranchit demanded, looking wildly at his brothers for support.
"You violated the rules!"
"There were no rules!"
"There are now!" Riya declared.
Even Maan's lips twitched. Barely. A microscopic shift. But Riya saw it.
She gasped loudly, pointing at the eldest. "Maan bhaiya."
He looked at her, his face instantly blank again. Smooth as marble.
"...You almost smiled."
"I did not."
"You did."
"Optical illusion."
"Liar."
"Professionally," he shot back without missing a single beat.
She huffed, throwing her hands in the air. "You're all impossible."
Lakshya quietly watched them from his spot. The hard, icy corners of his eyes completely softened.
This... this noise. This bickering. This chaotic, beautiful nonsense. He had missed it more than he had ever admitted to himself.
For five long years... every sprawling mansion had been suffocatingly silent. Every lavish meal had been quiet. Every massive victory in the underworld... had felt empty and incredibly incomplete. Because the loudest, brightest person in their fractured family... hadn't been there to fill the empty spaces.
Now... she was back. Arguing. Complaining. Making accusations that made absolutely no logical sense.
And somehow... the world finally sounded right again.
Riya suddenly stopped, looking around the porch with a frown. "...Wait."
Everyone paused, the banter dying down instantly.
She frowned deeper, looking down at her empty hands. "Where are my bags?"
The four brothers looked at one another. A sudden, tense shift in the air.
Abhiraj scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, refusing to make eye contact. "...About that."
"What?"
"You own..." He looked toward the heavily armored convoy filling the courtyard. "...significantly more clothes now."
Riya narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "...How many?"
Nobody answered.
She looked directly at Maan. He always knew the logistics.
Maan answered immediately, completely deadpan. "Two hundred and sixteen outfits."
Riya f-r-o-z-e. Her jaw dropping to the floor. "...What?"
"Not including shoes."
She s-l-o-w-l-y turned her head toward Lakshya, who was suddenly looking everywhere but at her. "...Lakshya."
"Hm?"
"...Why?"
Lakshya looked genuinely, honestly confused by the question. "You needed clothes."
"I needed..." She held up both her small hands, fingers spread wide. "...like... five."
Abhiraj coughed into his fist again. "We may have... slightly... overestimated."
"SLIGHTLY?"
Ranchit cleared his throat, stepping in to help. "In our defense... there was a sale."
"There was NOT," Maan corrected immediately.
"There wasn't," Ranchit admitted, deflating. "...But it sounded responsible."
Riya groaned, tilting her head back to the sky. "Yrrrr..." She covered her face with both hands in pure exasperation. "I leave you alone for five years... and all of you become rich idiots."
"Very rich," Abhiraj corrected proudly, puffing his chest.
"Still idiots."
"...Fair."
From the shadows of the doorway, for the first time since the gates had crashed open... Mrs. Verma finally found her voice.
"...You're..." She swallowed nervously, clutching her shawl tight against her chest. "...taking her?"
Lakshya stood up. In one smooth, powerful movement.
The softness disappeared from his face. Not completely. Just enough. When he turned his head toward the trembling warden... the Mafia King returned.
His posture straightened to its full, intimidating height. His dark gaze became completely unreadable, chilling the very air in the courtyard. His voice... cold. Calm. Absolutely certain.
"Yes."
One word. Nothing more. But it carried absolute, terrifying authority. The kind of authority that dared anyone in the entire country to object.
"From today onward..." He looked back down at Riya, the ice in his eyes instantly melting away into something impossibly warm. "...she comes home."
No one argued. No one could.
Because everyone standing in that courtyard understood something without it ever being spoken aloud. The little girl who had waited five lonely years by a broken gate... would never wait alone again.
Lakshya held out his large, scarred hand toward her.
This time... without a single ounce of hesitation... Riya slipped her tiny hand into his. The fit was perfect.
She looked up at him, her bottom lip jutting out as she resumed pouting. "...I'm still angry."
Lakshya nodded solemnly, accepting his fate. "I know."
"...For at least..." She looked up at the sky, pretending to run complex calculations in her head. "...three more business days."
Abhiraj burst into a fresh fit of laughter behind them.
Lakshya's lips curved into the smallest, most genuine smile. "I'll survive."
She squeezed his hand. Just a little. A silent promise that she was really there.
"So..." She looked toward the line of enormous, terrifying black SUVs idling in the courtyard. "...Which one is mine?"
Abhiraj immediately pointed to the second vehicle. "The one with snacks."
Her tear-stained eyes instantly lit up. "...You brought snacks?"
"We know you."
Her DRAMATIC, five-year-long anger lasted exactly... three seconds.
Then she looked up at Lakshya, biting the inside of his cheek, trying very, very hard not to smile. "...I'm still angry."
"I know, baccha."
"...But..." She leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. "...Can I be angry... while eating chips?"
Lakshya looked down at her for one l-o-n-g second. Staring at the girl who had brought light back into his dark, bloodstained world.
Then... a quiet, deep chuckle escaped him.
The armed guards around the perimeter f-r-o-z-e. They had heard stories... they had seen him break men with his bare hands... but none of them had ever, in their entire careers, actually heard Lakshya Singhania laugh.
"Yes." He gently squeezed her tiny hand in return. "You can."
Together... the five of them turned and walked toward the waiting convoy, surrounded by an army of men in black.
Behind them... the rusted orphanage gates stood broken and open, a symbol of a past finally left behind.
Ahead... a new home waited.
And for the first time in five years... Riya wasn't waiting anymore.
To be Continued...
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