A girl moved silently through a cramped, dimly lit kitchen. Her fingers were raw from scrubbing dishes, her body swaying with exhaustion, but her ears remained alert — listening closely to the storm brewing outside the door.
The house was small. The walls were thin. And so were the lies people tried to hide behind them.
From the front room, a man's voice trembled with anxiety.
"We need to leave this place. They might find me here any day now..."
"If they do… it's over."
The voice belonged to Nahim Mehta, a man whose past was always chasing him.
His wife — not Chiku's real mother, but the woman who ruled this broken home — snapped back instantly.
"All of this is your fault!" she shouted. "I should've never married a broke, pathetic man like you!"
She paced the floor, her anger sharp and bitter.
"We've lost everything — our house, our savings — because of your sins. Now we're hiding like criminals."
Nahim tried to explain, tried to calm her. But his words fell on deaf ears. She stormed into the back room and slammed the door behind her.
In the silence that followed, Chiku stepped into the room.
She was barely seventeen.
But her eyes?
Her eyes had seen too much to still be called a child's.
"Papa… why is aunty always angry with you?"
"And why are you always so scared?"
Nahim looked at her, forcing a gentle smile.
"It's nothing, beta. Don't worry about grown-up matters."
But Chiku stepped closer.
"No, papa. Tell me."
"You say I'm your daughter… then trust me enough to tell me the truth. Why do we move so often? Why are we hiding?"
Nahim lowered his gaze. "You're too young—"
She cut him off.
Her voice was soft… but it hurt.
"Too young?"
A bitter smile touched her lips.
"Do you really think I ever got the chance to be a child?"
And with that, she turned and walked back into the kitchen.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't stop working.
Because life had never paused for her pain —
So she had stopped expecting it to.
---
Miles away, in a towering mansion bathed in golden evening light, another storm was quietly unraveling.
Naziya Singhal, elegantly dressed but weary-eyed, stood near the large window, gripping her phone like it was the only thing anchoring her heart.
"When will you come home?" she whispered.
"You knew our son is coming today. And still, you left."
Her voice cracked.
From the other end, her husband's calm voice replied—
"I'll be there. Don't worry. He's my son too, and I love him. We'll have dinner together, I promise."
And then — he ended the call.
Naziya stared at the screen, blinking rapidly.
Twelve years.
It had been twelve long years since she last held her son, Ruhan.
Twelve years since she kissed his forehead and let him go to New York, alone.
All because of her husband's world.
His decisions.
His danger.
"You kept a mother away from her son," she whispered to no one.
A soft, teasing voice interrupted her grief.
"Mom… not again!"
Her daughter walked in and gently wiped the tears from her cheek.
"You're crying again before he even arrives?"
Ruhanika Singhal, lovingly called Ruhi, smiled at her mother.
She was radiant — confident, playful, and always the sunshine of the house.
She was six when Ruhan left.
Today, after twelve years, she would finally meet him again.
"Sara called," Ruhi said softly. "They'll be here any minute."
Naziya gave her a watery smile.
"You little brat…" she said, trying to lighten her voice, grabbing Ruhi's ear in mock anger.
"Oww, mom! That hurts!" Ruhi giggled, faking a dramatic cry.
Just then, a voice thundered from the hallway.
"What's going on here?"
It was deep. Cold. Unmistakable.
Both women turned instantly — and there he stood.
Ruhan.
Sharp suit. Sharper presence.
And the kind of silence that made people freeze.
Naziya's hand flew to her mouth.
Ruhi's eyes widened in awe.
Twelve years of waiting, longing, pain, and prayers… all stood tall at the doorway.
And in that quiet, the empire shifted again —
Because its true king had come home.
Thankyou 💜