The morning air in Manali was crisper than usual, carrying the scent of fresh pine and the distant chill of the glaciers. A thin layer of frost had dusted the driveway of the Sharma house, making the world look like a clean, white slate waiting for a story to be written. Inside, the usual morning chaos had a new, tug-of-war rhythm to it.

Kritika was trying to pack her bag for the music school, but a tiny, stubborn obstacle was clinging to her leg like a koala.

"Nahi! Kittu no go! Loohi play!" Ruhi pouted, her little brows furrowing in a way that was eerily similar to the photographs Kritika had seen of Vedant Rana.

"Ruhi baby, Kittu ko jaana padega na? Students wait kar rahe honge," Kritika said, crouching down to match the toddler's height. She gently tried to untangle the small, firm fingers from her kurti. "Main promise karti hoon, shaam ko hum bohot saari masti karenge."

"No students! Only Loohi!"

Rupali leaned against the doorframe, sipping her steaming tea and enjoying the show. "Kritu, I'm telling you, isne tumhe apna personal property samajh liya hai. You’re officially ‘Kittu’ now, and Kittu doesn’t have a job in Ruhi’s world."

"Shru! Please help me!" Kritika called out in mock desperation.

Shrutika ran in, grinning, and scooped Ruhi up, spinning her around until the little girl squealed. "Ruhi! Dekho, aaj hum terrace pe snowman banayenge! We’ll give him a carrot nose and a big scarf!"

Ruhi hesitated, her eyes darting between the promise of a snowman and Kritika’s bag. Taking the chance, Kritika blew a quick kiss, whispered a "Thank you" to Shrutika, and hurried out the door.

"Shaam ko milte hain, baby!" she called back, her heart feeling a strange, heavy tug at the child's distant whimpering cry of "Kittuuu..."

The Arrival

Two hours later, the quiet street outside the Sharma residence echoed with the powerful, low hum of luxury SUV engines. The birds perched on the overhead wires scattered as two sleek black vehicles pulled up.

Harshvardhan and Shekhar were sitting on the veranda, the old friends enjoying the rare Himalayan sun. Harshvardhan didn't even have to look up from his newspaper to know who it was. The very air seemed to thicken with a sense of disciplined authority the moment the lead car came to a halt.

Vedant Rana stepped out.

He looked every bit the 'Ruthless Hotelier' Kritika had read about. Clad in a charcoal overcoat over a dark turtleneck, his eyes were shielded by aviators that reflected the snow-capped peaks. He looked like a man who moved through the world with a plan, leaving no room for error. Behind him, A

Naman hopped out, stretching his arms and looking around with a wide, carefree grin.

"Namaste, Shekhar Uncle," Vedant said, inclining his head respectfully as he walked up the porch. His voice was deep, resonant, and carried the weight of a man who spoke only when necessary.

"Jeete raho, Vedant! Aao, aao," Shekhar embraced him warmly. "Aur Naman, kaise ho beta? Delhi ki garmi se bachkar aa gaye?"

"Ek dum fit and fine, Uncle! Bas is Himalayan air ki zaroorat thi. Wahan toh Bhai ne kaam kara-karake mera bura haal kar diya tha," Naman said, shaking hands and winking at Rupali, who had just walked out.

"Daddaaaa!"

The glass door flew open, and Ruhi came charging out, her little boots thumping against the wooden floor. Vedant’s entire demeanor shifted instantly. The cold, professional wall he wore like armor crumbled as he dropped to one knee, catching her in a tight hug and lifting her high into the air.

"Meri jaan! Did you miss Dadda?"

"Bohot saala!" Ruhi squealed, burying her face in his neck and refusing to let go.

Savitri walked out, her eyes moist. "Aagaya tu? Mujhe laga phir se mana kar dega."

Vedant stepped forward and touched his mother's feet. "Aapka hukum tha, Mom. Kaise mana karta?"

Vedant glanced around the porch as he stood back up with Ruhi in his arms. His eyes scanned the faces—his parents, Rupali, Shrutika—but the person Ruhi had been chattering about on the phone, the "Kittu" who seemed to have taken over his daughter's heart, was nowhere to be seen. A strange, quiet curiosity flickered in his mind, but he quickly suppressed it.

After a brief round of tea and greetings, Vedant looked at his watch. The businessman in him never truly slept.

"Dad, Shekhar Uncle, mujhe construction site jaana hoga. Kuch problem aagaya hai wahan pe," Vedant explained.

"Abhi toh aaye hai ho, thoda aaram kar lete," Sharmistha ji said kindly.

"Nahi Aunty, engineers wait  kar rahe hain. I’ve booked a suite at the hotel near the site for the next two days. It’s easier to manage from there."

"Par Ruhi?" Savitri asked.

Ruhi, sensing her father was leaving, gripped his shirt. "Dadda stay!"

Vedant looked at his daughter, then at his mother. "Main isse saath le ja raha hoon. I want to spend some time with her. Waise bhi, she’s been away from me for too long."

Savitri sighed. "Theek hai. Lekin lunch ka dhyan rakhna."

"Main hotel mein order kar dunga, Mom."

"Nahi!" Sharmistha ji intervened firmly. "Ghar ka khana jayega. Mein bhijwa doongi."

Vedant didn't know how to refuse that tone.. "Theek hai, Aunty."

At the construction site office—a modern, glass-walled cabin overlooking the valley—Vedant was deep in discussion with his head architect. Ruhi was sitting on a plush rug in the corner, playing with some wooden blocks Vedant had carried for her.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Savitri entered with a large tiffin carrier.

"Mom? Aap kyun aayi? Driver ko bhej deti," Vedant said, standing up.

"Chup kar. Is bahaane teri site bhi dekh li maine," Savitri said, looking around. She started setting the table. "Ye Sharmisthaji  ne bheja hai. Aur ye kheer... ye toh Kritika ne subah fresh banayi thi Ruhi ke liye."

Vedant paused at the name. Kritika. He sat down and started feeding Ruhi. He expected the usual struggle—the running around, the "no" and the pouting.

Instead, Ruhi opened her mouth like a little bird, happily humming as she ate the pahadidal and sabzi.

"Maa, isse kya hua?" Vedant asked, surprised. "Ye itni shanti se khana kab se khane lagi?"

Savitri smiled secretly. "Manali ki hawa ka asar hai, Vedant. Ya shayad... un logo ka jo iska itna dhyan rakh rahe hain. She hasn't thrown a single tantrum for food since we arrived.

Vedant tasted a bit of the kheer. It wasn't overly sweet; it had the perfect hint of cardamom and saffron. It tasted like... home.

He is a picky eater but this food is something else. He ate the lunch with content

She watched him for a long moment before deciding to speak. "Vedant... kab tak chalega aise? Kab tak tum khud ko kaam aur is purani bitterness mein qaid karke rakhoge?"

Vedant’s hand stilled over the tiffin. "Mom, please. Agar aap phir se dusri shaadi ki baat shuru karne wali hain, toh main pehle hi keh doon—I am not interested."

"Kyun na karoon?" Savitri’s voice grew firm, the authority of a mother taking over. "Dekh apni beti ko. Aaj khush hai kyunki use dadi, dadu , Sekhar Bhai sahab ke parivar aur Kritika jaise logon ka saath mil raha hai. Par jab hum wapas Delhi jayenge, toh kya? Phir wahi akelapan? Wahi nannies jo sirf duty ke liye aati hain?"

"Main hoon uske liye," Vedant said, his jaw tightening as he stared at his daughter.

"Nahi, tum kafi nahi ho! Ek bachhe ko baap ka saaya chahiye hota hai, par maa ki mamta ki jagah koi nahi le sakta. Ruhi is growing up, Vedant. Use ek maa ki zaroorat hai jo uska hath pakad kar use duniya dikhaye, jo use sahi aur galat ka farq sikhaye... jaise mein karti hoon Ved, tere liye."

Savitri leaned forward, her eyes moist with concern. "Aur meri taraf dekh. Main budhi ho rahi hoon, Vedant. Aaj himmat hai toh Manali aa gayi, kal shayad sharir saath na de. Mere baad Ruhi ko kaun sambhalega? Tumhare business meetings ke beech woh kiske pas royegi? She needs a mother, Vedant. And you... you need to heal your heart before it turns into stone."

Vedant looked away, his chest heaving slightly. The mention of his mother's aging and the vulnerability of his daughter was the only thing that could pierce his armor.

"Lunch khatam ho gaya hai, Maa," he said, his back to her, staring out at the falling flakes of snow. "Aap please ghar jaiye. Thand badh rahi hai, aur main nahi chahta aapki tabiyat kharab ho."

Savitri sighed, picking up the tiffin. She hadn't won the battle, but she knew she had reached him. She hugged him" ek baar thande dimag se soch na zarur. Hmm"

He hugged her back " hmm" . She leaves the room.

As the door closed, Vedant looked at Ruhi, who was licking the last bit of kheer—the kheer Savitri mentioned Kritika had made specially for her because she worried about the dry fruits being too big for a child.

"Kittu best, Dadda," grinning.

Vedant wiped her chin, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. He wasn't ready to trust again, and the scars of his first marriage still burned. But for the first time in years, the cold silence of his life felt deafeningly loud. In his mind his mother' s words star

ted ringing. He sighed because he knows his mother is right.