Page 37

It had been a joke. Mostly. But the image had stuck with him for far longer than it should have.

And the worst part? Even now, he could almost picture it. Nandini in one of those breezy cotton dresses she loved, trying to juggle two toddlers—one boy and one girl—each a mini version of them. He saw flashes of her scolding the little boy with those expressive eyes, wiping smudges of cake off the girl’s nose, and yelling at Shaurya to stop working and help her out because“These kids are your DNA too, Mr. Ahuja!”

F*ck! What the hell was happening to him?

He shook his head vigorously. This was insane. This was irrational. This was so not him. This wasn’t just crossing a line. It was setting it on fire and roasting marshmallows over it.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He had a past… he had boundaries. A whole goddamn divorce that had torn him apart in more ways than he’d ever admitted, even to himself.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t healed.

Suddenly, in that moment, as if summoned by his internal chaos, his gaze dropped to the phone in his palm.

Varun.

Right. That idiot.

Shaurya had already tried calling him twice today. Once in the morning and again on his way here to the community hall, but Varun was clearly ignoring both his calls and messages. No doubt on purpose. After all, he had predicted that Shaurya wouldfreak out, deny everything, and try to back out of any blind date plan he’d cooked up for New Year’s Eve.

Still, Shaurya wasn’t in the mood for games tonight.

He opened the chat and fired off a sharp text.

‘Varun, if you’ve sent anyone here tonight, you better cancel it. I’m not doing this blind date nonsense.’

No reply.

He typed again.

‘Just don’t embarrass me. And answer your f*cking phone, dammit.’

Still no reply.

‘I swear, if someone walks up to me pretending to be my midnight miracle, I’m blocking you for life.’

Still nothing.

Shaurya sighed and ran a hand down his face. It was only 11:30 p.m. There were still thirty more minutes left until the New Year. But what if Varun had already sent his blind date back at his villa?Urgh!He’d had enough already. He decided it was time to leave.

He glanced one last time across the garden, and there she was. Nandini, barefoot now, was helping one of the little kids relight a failed lantern with so much tenderness that it twisted something in his chest.

Trying hard not to look in her direction again, he fixed his eyes back on his phone and walked through the garden. He had only taken a step further when he collided with someone. Instinctively, his hands reached out to steady the person, only to find himself face-to-face with none other than Keshav Raichand. The older man’s eyes glared at him with disdain.

“Ah, Mr. Ahuja,” Grandpa said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Always engrossed in your electronic devices. Is there ever a moment when you’re not tethered to that phone?”

Shaurya offered a tight-lipped smile, choosing to remain silent. At that very moment, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, hoping it was Varun. But the moment he saw the message, his expression darkened. It was a photo from his ex-wife, Rhea. She was glowing in a designer gown, snuggled into the arms of her new husband, celebrating New Year’s on a yacht. There was a champagne glass in her hand and fireworks lit up the sky behind her.

The caption…

‘Never been happier. Wholesome. Healing. Finally found peace.’

And just like that, the small ember of warmth that Nandini had stirred in him tonight was crushed under the weight of old scars and fresh pain. The image was like a dagger to his heart, reopening wounds he had tried so hard to heal.

Grandpa, who was oblivious to the change in Shaurya’s demeanour, cleared his throat and raised his voice just enough to make sure that the nearby group of nosy elders, already heady with wine and gossip, would hear every word.

“Ah, this new generation of businessmen,” Grandpa drawled, his tone laced with mock sympathy. “Always glued to their phones, chasing after screens instead of souls. All that success, and yet so little understanding of family, of real togetherness. Sometimes, I wonder how the people around them even manage to live with so much of their absence… or, let’s say, their emotional unavailability.”

The murmurs around them grew louder—quiet tuts and knowing nods of agreement rippled through the group of elders, spreading like a wave of silent judgment.