Page 67

Dad, Veer, and I are at the other apartment. The room is quiet now, except for the sound of Veer’s giggles filling the air. It’s been over an hour since we are here, and Veer and Dad have been inseparable. I lean against the couch, watching Dad interact with my son. It’s surreal—two generations of Walia men connecting in a way I never thought possible.

I have seen Dad playing with Aksh and Devika’s daughter back at the Walia Mansion, but today, watching him playing with my own son is a completely different feeling altogether. For the last one hour, Veer and Dad had been sitting on a cushioned play mat—Veer clutching a tiny toy car in one hand while swatting at Dad’s watch with the other, fascinated by its shiny surface. Every time Veer made a sound, Dad mimicked it, drawing loud giggles from him. It was only when I insisted that Dad finally got up from the mat to rest his legs and sat on the sofa.

I have never seen Dad like this. For a man who missed my childhood, Dad is completely engrossed in making up for lost time with his grandson. He tickles Veer’s belly lightly, causing another fit of giggles from him.

“He’s smart,” Dad remarks, his voice filled with pride. “Look at those eyes. They’re sharp, just like yours.”

I remain silent, watching them. It feels like reliving a part of my own childhood that I never experienced—a glimpse into what it might have been if things had been different.

“You know,” Dad continues, lifting Veer effortlessly into his arms, “we’ll build him the most beautiful nursery back home. A space where he can have everything his heart desires. Toys, games, anything he wants. He’ll grow up feeling like a prince.”

Veer tugs at his beard, and Dad laughs heartily, a sound so rare that it catches me off guard.

“Everyone in the Walia family is going to spoil him rotten,” he adds.

I nod quietly, my chest tight with emotion. Hearing these words from him feels like a balm to the wound I’ve carried for years. The father who once chose his career over me is now pouring every ounce of love into my son.

What happens next leaves me speechless.

“Wait, wait,” Dad suddenly fumbles with his phone, his usual commanding voice softening. “Veer, beta, look here!” He raises the phone, trying to angle it just right for a selfie. To my amazement, Veer’s eyes immediately turns towards the camera, his face breaking into a picture-perfect smile—he’s clearly a pro at this, thanks to all those videos and pictures Simran takes with him.

Dad holds up the phone to show me the picture, his face glowing with pride. “Look at this! It’s perfect! He’s such a natural.” The joy in his voice is something I’ve rarely heard before. This is the same man who used to call photographs a waste of time and dismissed social media as frivolous, yet is now beaming over a selfie with his grandson.

“This will keep me going until I see him again,” Dad says softly, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Happy memories with my grandson.”

I nod, smiling. But he’s not done. Before I can fully process this, he’s positioning his phone again. “Vishnu, come here.” His tone brooks no argument—some habits never change. “Sit closer.”

Understanding dawns as he places Veer on my lap.

“It’s time for a photo of the three generations of Walia men,” he says, grinning.

I’m still wrapping my head over Dad’s newfound love for photos when he nudges me, capturing the moment—Veer giggling, me slightly startled, and Dad... Dad looking more at peace than I’ve ever seen him.

As the camera clicks, I realise this is the first photograph of us together—my father, my son, and me. Three generations captured in one frame.

He stares at the picture for a long moment, his expression softening. “I may not have been a good father,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “but I promise to be the best grandfather to Veer.”

I don’t respond with words. I can’t. Instead, I lean in and hug Dad with Veer sandwiched safely between us. Veer looks at us both, probably wondering why the adults are being so emotional.

In a few minutes, he starts rubbing his eyes, a clear sign of hunger and approaching naptime. Just as if on cue, Claire appears, her timing on point. Familiar with Veer’s routine, she steps forward and gently lifts him from Dad’s arms.

“I’ll take him to Simran,” she says softly.

Dad hesitates, reluctant to let him go at first.

“You’ll bring him back soon, won’t you?” he asks Claire, and she nods reassuringly.

As Claire carries Veer away, I notice a momentary flash of longing in Dad’s eyes. He wants more time, more moments with his grandson.

“Dad, you need to rest,” I tell him gently. “Your flight is at midnight, and you’re exhausted from jet lag.”

He starts to protest, but then realises I am right. The excitement of meeting Veer has clearly worn him out, and fatigue is evident in the lines around his eyes.

“I’ll rest in a bit,” he says reluctantly.

I sit next to him, and his hand automatically comes to rest on my knee. For a moment, the room is quiet as he reflects on everything that had taken place here after he arrived.

“Life has taken such an unexpected turn,” he murmurs. “I came here just to ensure you were fine, and suddenly, I’ve discovered a grandson. A whole new world has opened up in just a few hours. Life really has a strange way of surprising us, doesn’t it?”