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“I had my suspicions from the moment you suggested it this afternoon,” I explain, somehow feeling confident talking to him so freely. “When you asked me to cook for your guests, claiming you wanted to show off your new bahu’s culinary skills... well, I knew that wasn’t really your style. But if Kailash uncle had suggested the same thing, wanting to flaunt his new bahu’s mastery in the kitchen, I would have gladly believed it. But Pratap Walia? No way.” I shake my head with a playful smile. “I know you better than that now.”

His face lights up with a broad smile, and he gestures for me to sit beside him.

“That’s exactly why I told Kailash you’re a reflection of me,” he says with pride. “You’re so much like me—sharp, bold, and fearless. That’s why you fit so perfectly in this family, as my bahu. You picked up on something even my son and Meher couldn’t catch.”

As I settle beside him, he gently pats my head. “God bless you, Simran.”

“But why did you do it?” I ask softly. “You didn’t have to. Meher and Devika had every right to take their time to forgive me.”

His expression grows serious, a shadow of old pain clouding his eyes.

“I know what it feels like when the people you care about give you the cold shoulder when they’re angry at you for the mistakes you’ve made. I’ve been there, Simran. When Meher found out Vishnu was my biological son and demanded I acknowledge him publicly... She didn’t speak to me for a long time. I lived with that same guilt, that same pain of my family pulling away from me. That guilt… that loneliness… it’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone.” His voice grows softer.

I stare at him, stunned by his honesty.

“I saw the same pain in your eyes when Devika and Meher kept their distance from you,” he continues, “It was then that I knew I couldn’t just stand by. I had to do something.”

“So you orchestrated the dinner,” I say, the realisation setting in.

“Yes. I knew Devika would tell Meher, and being your best friends, they’d realise it was too much for you to handle alone. They’d see how much you were struggling and step in to help you. After all, they both love you and miss you too. It was inevitable. My plan was fool-proof,” he says with a smug smile.

I can’t help but laugh.

“You know, all these years, I had such a different impression of you—and honestly, not a particularly good one,” I admit, drawing a chuckle from him. “I saw how you never let Meher and Devika make their own decisions, how your word was always the final say. I noticed it all, even though they never actually said anything to me. But now, seeing this side of you...”

“A better one, I hope?” he asks, almost hopefully.

“The best, uncle.”

His face falls slightly. “I do all this for you, and you still can’t change how you address me? Still ‘uncle’ instead of ‘Dad’?”

His words hit me like a gentle thunderclap. Dad. It feels so alien, almost foreign on my tongue. I can’t even remember the last time I called anyone that. My parents died when I was too young to hold on to such memories.

“I know it might feel strange to you,” he says gently. “Especially with how you grew up… without your parents... but this is your family now, Simran. And you have a father now—me.”

Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I try to blink them away, but they fall anyway.

“Thank you...” I pause, gathering the strength to say it. “...Dad.”

The word feels so surreal that it brings out a soft, crying chuckle as I say it again. “Dad.”

His own eyes glisten as he reaches out to wipe a tear from my cheek. “That’s my girl,” he says warmly.

It’s in this moment that I realise family isn’t just about blood or birth—it’s about these little moments of connection, of understanding, of love that’s freely given and received, no matter what.

A movement at the door catches my attention, and I turn to find Vishnu standing there, watching us, his gaze filled with a mix of emotions.

“What are you doing, peeking from there? Come inside,” Dad says, noticing him too.

I quickly wipe away my tears and try to compose myself as Vishnu enters the room. His lips curve into a teasing smile.

“I was just wondering... if it’s really my father speaking to my wife or Kailash uncle,” Vishnu teases, his voice carrying a playful undertone.

I catch the meaning behind his words, and Dad, clearly in on the joke, lets out a hearty laugh.

“I’ll admit,” Dad says, shaking his head with a fond smile, “this softer side of me might have something to do with the time I’ve been spending with Kailash. That man’s turned me into a sentimental fool.”

He pauses, his gaze flickering between the two of us. “But it’s also my kids—you, Meher, Aksh, Devika, and now Simran. You’ve given me so much happiness, so much pride, that I just couldn’t keep all these emotions locked away anymore.”