The Rawat house was silent when Aarav and Abhi stepped inside—a silence heavy enough to feel like a storm about to break.
Mr. Rawat sat in the center of the living room, arms crossed, worry etched deep, anger simmering beneath.
He had heard everything. The confrontation at the Singh mansion. The risk. The recklessness.
His sharp eyes swept over his sons. "Why did you go there?"
He stood and walked straight to them.
"I always supported your decisions… but this? Did you two even think about the consequences?"
Before his voice could settle, Abhi spoke, urgent.
"Papa, Mr. Singh is sending Ayan abroad. Against his will."
Mr. Rawat faltered. Shock flickered across his eyes before he forced it down. His shoulders stiffened, jaw tightening. Restraint.
"That's their family matter…"
"This isn't just about their family." Abhi's voice cracked.
His eyes shifted to Aarav, standing rigid. Then, he said it. "Brother Aarav and Ayan love each other."
The words fell like a thunderclap.
Mr. Rawat froze, eyes widening for a split second—shock, undeniable—but almost instantly his expression shifted, as if he were already seeing the worst that could come.
Aarav said nothing. His jaw clenched until it seemed ready to break.
At last, Mr. Rawat lifted his gaze, voice firm. "This can't go further. This… will only worsen the conflict between our families."
Aarav's breath hitched. His fists curled. He had braced for anger or resistance, but not such swift dismissal.
"Why can't I love him, Papa?" His voice was rough, nearly breaking.
Mr. Rawat's gaze held his. Pain flickered beneath the restraint. But he couldn't find words to explain.
The silence was suffocating.
Abhi saw his brother's shoulders tremble, the way he swallowed back the ache tearing through him.
But Aarav refused to collapse. Hope clung stubbornly, fragile but alive.
Mr. Rawat inhaled deeply, his tone soft but unyielding.
"I won't ask you to stop loving him." A pause. "…But don't make it harder for him."
Aarav's strength cracked. His shoulders sagged, breath shuddering as though the weight in his chest had caved in.
Without a word, he turned and walked away—quiet, devastated.
Abhi's chest tightened. He turned back to his father, voice low.
"Why don't you all understand? They love each other."
"You think fighting for love is always noble?"
Mr. Rawat's face stayed firm, though his voice wavered. Then he went on, quieter, heavier:
"It isn't. Love can be a battle that leaves nothing but scars. And not everyone is meant to endure that with you."
Abhi said nothing. His throat burned. He wasn't ready to accept those words.
Images flashed—Aarav breaking, Ayan's tears.
And then… another face. Arun. The warmth, the patience. A presence that had become unbearable—and undeniable.
...
[Time skip | Singh mansion—Ayan's room]
The room was dim, curtains drawn against the fading light.
Ayan sat on the bed's edge, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the lifeless phone beside him. His fingers trembled against the sheet, each breath too heavy.
The door creaked. Arun stepped in with a tray, the clink of porcelain breaking the silence.
"Ayan? Your breakfast," he said softly, setting it down. His voice carried patience—weighted by long, helpless watching.
Ayan didn't move. His chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm.
Then, a cracked whisper: "Brother… I want to see senior Aarav."
Arun stilled. The plea cut deep.
"I just…" Ayan's throat worked. His eyes lifted, desperate, wet. "…I just want to see him once. Explain before leaving."
Arun's hands curled at his sides. He stepped closer—then closer still—until Ayan's tears broke his restraint.
He sat beside him, cupping his face with trembling palms.
"Ayan...I can't see you like this."
Ayan leaned into the touch, sobbing silently, clutching Arun's sleeve like it was the only anchor left.
And there, in that dim room, Arun's chest clenched—because watching his brother beg for unreachable love was a wound no shield could protect.
...
[That night—Rawat's house]
The silver moonlight bathed the Rawat house in a quiet glow. Silence pressed heavy through its halls, grief unspoken yet suffocating.
Mr. Rawat sat unreadable in his chair, while Abhi, Vihan, and Karan kept still—each carrying a truth they couldn't voice.
The front door creaked open.
Every head turned as a guard led Arun and Ayan in.
Their presence was unexpected, almost jarring. Ayan lingered at the threshold, clutching his jacket's hem, while Arun stood steady beside him—calm, but with a purpose that thickened the air.
"Ayan is leaving tomorrow," Arun said at last, his voice steady, final.
The words cut clean. Everyone stiffened, breath catching at the weight of it.
Arun's gaze shifted to Abhi, straight, firm yet imploring. "He wants to see Aarav one last time."
Abhi's jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to the staircase, where his brother remained behind closed doors. His chest ached. "Brother is in his room…"
Then, with a breath, he rose. "Come with me."
No one argued or opposed.
Whatever storm lay ahead, Aarav deserved to know.
...
[Aarav's Room]
Darkness clung to the room, the bedside lamp casting fractured shadows. Aarav sat on the edge of his bed, head bowed, fingers twisted in the sheets. The weight of grief pressed down until even breathing hurt.
A knock.
He didn't move. He couldn't.
The door creaked. Abhi's voice slipped in.
"Brother…" A pause. "Someone's here to see you."
Aarav frowned. Confusion cut through the haze.
Abhi stepped aside. Two silhouettes filled the doorway.
For a heartbeat, Aarav thought he was imagining things—his desperate mind conjuring what it craved most.
But then Ayan stepped forward. Breath unsteady. Eyes shimmering in the dim light.
Everything else vanished.
Aarav rose—slow, unsteady, afraid the vision would dissolve.
Ayan said nothing. He didn't need to. His trembling hands and tear-bright eyes said everything.
Abhi exhaled and, with Arun, slipped out. The door shut softly.
Silence.
Aarav stepped forward. Ayan mirrored him. Until they collided—Aarav's arms crushing him close.
Ayan clung back, face buried in Aarav's chest, fists twisted in his shirt. A shudder. A sob.
Aarav held him tighter. Not now. Not when this might be their last time.
Ayan's muffled whisper broke the silence.
"Senior… I never wanted to leave you."
Aarav smoothed his trembling hand through Ayan's hair. "Then don't."
Ayan shook his head, shoulders quivering.
"Papa won't let me. I can't put your family in danger." His voice cracked.
Aarav's chest ached. He pulled himself back, to see Ayan. Why did love have to hurt like this?
"Ayan…" His thumb brushed away tears. "You said you wouldn't retreat. You're my family."
"How can I be, when you'll lose everything for me?" Ayan's breath hitched.
The words gutted him. Aarav cupped his face, foreheads pressed, breaths tangled. He wanted to beg him to stay.
But Ayan's whisper sealed it. "I don't want to be the reason you lose your home, which gives you everything."
Aarav broke. His eyes stung shut, voice frayed to pieces.
"I won't stop loving you. Remember that. For me, there's only you."
Ayan's sob cracked the quiet. "I will always love you too, Senior."
Their hands clung. Their hearts refused. They hugged each other, tightly this time.
But they both knew—this was goodbye.
...
[Beyond the Door]
Outside, against the wall by the door, Arun and Abhi stood in silence.
They didn't move. Didn't speak. Yet they heard it all—the muffled sobs, the broken whispers, the sound of love tearing itself apart.
Arun exhaled, eyes distant.
"Love makes people weak." His voice was low, like he was trying to convince himself.
Abhi's fists curled at his sides. Emotions had never come easy, but Aarav's breaking voice, Ayan's helpless sobs—they cut through him.
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
"Why don't you try to convince your father?"
Guilt flickered across Arun's face. "I wish I could."
Silence pressed down, thick and suffocating.
Then Abhi muttered, almost to himself, "If you love someone… shouldn't you fight for them?"
Arun froze. His breath caught as his gaze shifted to Abhi.
But Abhi didn't look up. His chest was tight, his eyes fixed on the floor. The words weren't about Aarav and Ayan anymore—and Arun knew it.
Still, he stayed silent.