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I let out a soft sigh, surrendering to the moment. He presses a kiss to my shoulder, his lips lingering as if savouring the taste of my skin.

“Go to sleep now,” he says, pressing feathery light kisses on my hair. “I know you are tired.”

He is damn right! I relax in his embrace as Vishnu snuggles closer, and soon, sleep begins to claim me. His arms tighten around me, holding me as if I’m the most precious thing in his world. And despite everything, despite my anger and frustration, I can’t help but feel the same.

VISHNU

Last night was… frustratingly quiet. It wasn’t the wedding night I had imagined, but I knew I deserved Simran’s coldness after what happened with Zane.

This morning, over breakfast, Simran showed me the email from Zane’s company, formally withdrawing their consultancy contract from her. She didn’t say much after that—just a clipped “Here, read it.” Then, without a word, she turned her attention to feeding Veer his mashed bananas, shutting me out completely. The hurt in her eyes made my chest tighten. She’s barely spoken to me since yesterday, except when it’s about Veer.

Before we left for the airport, Claire said her goodbyes to Simran and Veer. Simran crouched down beside Leila, who rubbed against her one last time before being whisked away. Simran hugged Claire, thanked her, and promised to return in a month. But I caught the hesitation in her eyes—she’s already worrying about how to balance her work in New York and our life together in India.

That’s a worry I share too. I can’t imagine spending even a single week away from Simran and Veer. They’ve become my anchor, and the thought of them being miles away feels unbearable. I’m determined to find a way to make this work—no matter what it takes.

At the private airstrip, Simran’s surprise is evident when she sees the jet. For a brief moment, her guarded expression softens into something childlike, almost thrilled with excitement. My father arranged for this jet to ensure her first journey to India as my wife, and Veer’s as his grandson, is nothing short of extraordinary.

The jet is a haven of luxury—plush leather recliners, a lavish dining area, and a spacious bedroom with a king-sized bed at the far end of the jet, separated by a sliding door. I know Simran appreciates this gesture, but her mind is still clouded with thoughts of work, Zane, and everything I’ve put her through.

For the first few hours, we fall into a rhythm. Veer is a complete trooper during the flight. Thankfully, he’s not cranky today. In fact, he appears to be fascinated by the surroundings, his bright eyes darting around with curiosity. I can’t help but marvel at how well he’s adjusting to this long journey. He babbles endlessly, his little fingers tugging at the buttons on my shirt while I hold him.

“Pa…pa,” he says suddenly, his low voice reaching my ears.

One single word, and time seems to freeze for a moment. My heart literally skips a beat as I process what I’ve just heard. I’ve been waiting for this moment, dreaming of it, yet nothing could have prepared me for how it would feel. For weeks, I’ve watched him babble ‘Mama’ to Simran, secretly yearning for my own special name from his lips. But this—this clear, distinct word ‘Papa’—it shoots straight through every wall I’ve built around my emotions.

My eyes instinctively seek out Simran. She’s sitting across from us, her laptop open, fingers frozen mid-air. As our gazes lock, all the tension of the past day melts away. In this moment, we’re just parents, witnessing a miracle together—the pure magic of hearing our son’s first ‘Papa.’

“You heard that, right?” I manage to ask, my voice unsteady.

I’m grinning so wide it feels like my face might split, and for once, I don’t care who sees it. Vishnu Walia, humbled and stripped bare by two simple syllables from his son’s lips.

I catch the shimmer in Simran’s eyes before she blinks it away, her own smile breaking through her carefully held anger.

“Yes, I heard it,” she whispers, and I can hear the same wonder in her voice that I’m feeling.

Veer, oblivious to the emotional earthquake he’s just caused, pats my cheeks with his tiny hands, giggling at my expression. I pull him closer, peppering his round little face with kisses until he squeals with delight.

“Say it again,” I murmur against his forehead. “Say ‘Papa.’”

He just giggles more, but it doesn’t matter. That first clear ‘Papa’ is forever etched in my heart now. This little boy, who’s completely transformed my world, who’s made me understand what it truly means to love someone unconditionally—he knows who I am. I’m his Papa.

I notice Simran discreetly wiping her eyes, her laptop long forgotten. Despite everything that’s happened, despite her justified anger with me, this moment belongs to all three of us. This is what truly matters. Not business contracts, suspicions, threats, or past mistakes, but this little family that we’ve built. These precious moments make everything else feel insignificant.

Looking down at my son’s trusting face, I make a silent vow to be worthy of that title—Papa. To be the kind of father who not only protects his family but also knows when to let them spread their wings.

As the flight progresses, Simran alternates between working and playing with Veer. His delighted squeals eventually draw my attention away from my conversation with Abhay, who’s also travelling with us to India. Veer has discovered that crawling on the plane’s soft carpet gives him an entirely new sensation, and his excitement is contagious. When he grabs hold of my pants leg and looks up at me with those bright eyes, I can’t resist scooping him up again.

“Papa!” he babbles, reaching for my face. It’s still new, this word from his lips, and it melts something in me every time.

“Let Papa show you the clouds,” I say softly and carry him to the window. His tiny hands press against the glass, his eyes wide with wonder.

After some time, Veer dozes off, and Simran takes him to the bedroom at the back of the jet. I spend the next few hours working with Abhay, discussing my schedule in India and the security measures for Simran. There’s a lot to prepare for—especially with the masked man still lurking in the shadows. My team in New York is continuing the investigation, and I have no doubt we’ll get to the bottom of it soon.

Taking a break from work, I quietly check on Simran and Veer, who I realise, haven’t been out for a while. When I slide the bedroom door open, I find them both napping. Veer is snuggled close to her, his tiny fists clutching her dress, her arm protectively around him, while her work documents lay scattered nearby. They look so peaceful, so perfect, that I don’t want to disturb them. I hesitate outside the room, debating whether to join them. But then, I stop myself. She needs this rest—without me.

So, I gently gather her papers, set them aside and draw a blanket over them both. Watching them sleep, I’m struck time and again by how completely they’ve changed my world. The feared Vishnu Walia, brought to his knees by love for his woman and child.

After some time, Veer wakes up, a little cranky from his nap. I gently lift him from the bed and carry him out to the main cabin. Simran is still asleep, so I distract him with a game of peek-a-boo using his favourite blanket.