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Author’s POV

The house was calm after the storm.

The press conference had done its job—most trolls vanished, a few apologized, and many simply shut up. The Sharma surname carried weight.

But all that meant nothing… to the girl who still sat quietly at the dining table, her eyes lowered, back straight, eating her roti without looking up.

Samaira.

She hadn’t called anyone Maa. Or Papa. Or even by their names.

Only “sir” and “ma’am.”

Always with a tiny voice, always with trembling eyes.

Ritika understood it. Vamika respected it. Even Virat—so full of passion and fire—stepped softly around her.

But Rohit Sharma?

He was struggling.

Because every time she said “Rohit sir…” his heart sank like a dropped catch.

---

That night

Samaira stood at the balcony, looking at the stars.

Maybe they didn’t judge her.

Behind her, soft footsteps approached. She knew it was him.

“Milk?” Rohit’s voice was quiet.

She turned.

He held a mug. “Doodh. Halka garam. Just like you like it.”

She blinked. “Thank you, Rohit sir.”

That stung again.

But he smiled anyway and handed it to her. “You always call me sir.”

“Ji?” she asked, surprised.

“You can call me anything you want… bas ‘sir’ na bolo,” he said with a little laugh, trying to make it light.

“Okay…” she murmured. “Sorry, sir—I mean—”

“See?” He chuckled. “You can’t even not say it!”

Her lips curved into the tiniest smile.

“Woh… aap… I mean... I’m not used to anything else,” she whispered, eyes on the stars again.

Rohit’s smile faded a little. He looked at her—this girl who had his eyes but didn’t know it was okay to belong.

He sat beside her, leaning against the railing.

“You know, when I held you for the first time in the hospital, you screamed so loudly that I said, ‘Yeh toh future sledge queen banegi.’” He chuckled.

Her eyes widened. “Hospital?”

“Hmm,” he nodded. “You don’t remember. You were too small. But I was there. First one to hold you after Ritika.”

She stayed quiet.

He added softly, “And I promised myself I’d protect you. From everything. But I messed up.”

“No… no, sir, you didn’t…” she said quickly.

“I did,” he replied, his voice rougher now. “I let time, fear, and the world come between us. Between a father and his little girl.”

Her hand gripped the mug tighter.

“I don’t expect you to call me Papa today,” he continued. “But I’ll wait. And every day, I’ll be here. With warm milk. Bad jokes. And really bad dad dancing.”

She giggled softly.

That was new.

He smiled at her. “Take your time, Samaira. But remember, there’s no ‘sir’ between us. Only... maybe someday... ‘Papa.’”

She didn’t reply.

But after a moment, she leaned her head slightly toward his arm.

Not a full hug.

Not even a touch.

But it was enough.

For now.

Author’s POV

In a house full of polished surfaces and quiet chandeliers, Samaira felt like a mistake someone forgot to erase.

She was Rohit Sharma’s biological daughter, yes. It was all over the news. But the world didn’t accept that truth kindly. Headlines questioned her legitimacy. Internet trolls compared her to Ahaan. Haters wrote things like:

“She doesn’t look like them.”

“Ahaan deserves better.”

“Another sympathy PR stunt?”

She didn’t have a phone. But whispers always find their way—through careless maids, murmurs at the gate, taunting glances from strangers.

And at home… Ahaan wasn’t making it easier.

---

Day 9 – Late Evening

Samaira quietly came to the living room. The air was thick with silence and cricket commentary on low volume.

Ahaan was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand. Rohit was at the bar counter with Ritika, reviewing some press documents.

She stood near the door, hesitant.

“Come in, beta,” Ritika said gently.

She stepped in, arms folded tight.

“Why are you walking like someone’s going to arrest you?” Ahaan muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

She paused.

Rohit glanced up sharply, but said nothing yet.

“I-I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“You’re always sorry,” Ahaan said flatly. “Maybe try being normal for once.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

“I—”

“God,” Ahaan scoffed. “Can’t even complete a sentence.”

“Ahaan,” Rohit said, voice low, warning.

“She wanted to come here, didn’t she?” Ahaan stood up, glaring. “She wanted this life, this surname, this house. Why does she look like she’s serving punishment?”

“Ahaan,” Ritika said softly, hand on her son’s arm. “Enough.”

Samaira stared down at the floor. Something burned behind her eyes. But no tears fell. Not here. Not now.

“I’ll go,” she whispered and turned quickly toward the stairs.

“Samaira—” Rohit started, but she was already gone.

---

Her Room – That Night

She lay curled up on her bed, hugging a pillow, eyes open to the ceiling.

She could still hear the maids' whispers earlier that day—

“Pata nahi kahaan se le aaye.”

“Sirf sympathy mil rahi hai iss ladki ko.”

And now Ahaan’s words played on loop.

"Can't even complete a sentence."

"Why does she look like she’s serving punishment?"

But what they didn’t know was—this wasn’t a punishment.

This was hope.

That someday, someone here would say, “You belong.”

Not because the papers said so.

But because they meant it.

---

Next Morning

Rohit sat on the edge of her bed, quietly watching her sleep.

He hadn’t slept.

Her eyes fluttered open. She sat up fast, surprised.

“S-sir—”

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t call me sir right now.”

She blinked.

“I know Ahaan crossed a line,” he continued, “and I’ll talk to him. But beta… don’t let those words change who you are.”

She didn’t respond, just nodded slightly.

He reached forward and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

And for the first time, she didn’t flinch.

Slow-paced.

Painful.

Real.

Healing doesn’t always come with hugs.

Sometimes it starts with someone staying.

Author’s POV

The next morning felt heavier than usual.

Samaira didn’t come down for breakfast. She didn’t want to.

Her chest still carried the echoes of Ahaan’s taunts. His words weren’t just sharp—they were calculated. Designed to make her fold into herself. And she did.

Ritika walked up with a tray of warm toast, poha, and a glass of orange juice.

The room was dim. Curtains half drawn. Samaira sat curled in her reading chair, still in her nightclothes, eyes lost in the pale blue of the wall.

“Brought you some breakfast, beta,” Ritika said gently.

Samaira looked up and stood instantly. “M-ma’am—no, I didn’t mean to not come—I just—”

Ritika placed the tray down and sat opposite her.

“No need to explain,” she said, voice steady. “You don’t have to earn space here. You already have it.”

Samaira’s lower lip trembled. “But he doesn’t want me here...”

She didn’t name him, but Ritika knew.

“I know,” Ritika said softly. “He’s… struggling. But I promise you, his heart isn’t as cruel as his words.”

Samaira looked down. “I don’t think his heart sees me at all.”

---

Meanwhile, Downstairs

Rohit was on the phone, voice calm but eyes burning.

“Yes. Every single comment. I want the legal team on it. If trolls think a 13-year-old is fair game, we’ll show them the law doesn’t.”

His Instagram was flooded.

> “She looks adopted. Doesn’t fit the Sharma blood.”

> “Charity case?”

> “No talent. Riding on the Sharma name.”

Ahaan walked in, phone in hand, looking at the same feed.

“Is this about Samaira again?” he asked, unimpressed.

Rohit looked up slowly.

“Yes. It’s about her.”

Ahaan scoffed. “People say stuff. You can’t stop them.”

Rohit stood up.

“No, but I can stop you.”

Ahaan raised a brow.

“She’s your sister,” Rohit said, words heavy. “And if you don’t want to act like it, fine. But I won’t let you become one of them. The trolls.”

“She’s not my sister,” Ahaan snapped before he could stop himself.

The silence that followed was thick.

Rohit’s jaw clenched. “Get out of my sight.”

Ahaan’s breath hitched for a moment—but he turned and walked away.

Guilt, though, was now a ghost in his shadow.

---

Later That Night

Samaira lay under the covers, pretending to sleep when Rohit peeked in.

He didn’t say a word. Just stood by the door, watching the girl who carried his eyes, his nose—but didn’t yet feel his love.

And he hated that.

He hated what she’d been through.

He hated what Ahaan had said.

But most of all… he hated that she still called him sir.

So tonight, he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear:

“Goodnight, beta.”

A pause.

Then, from the bed, in a broken, whisper-soft voice:

“Goodnight, sir.”

It still stung.

But at least she replied.

Author’s POV

It was a quiet afternoon. The house had a strange heaviness—like it was holding its breath.

Samaira hadn't spoken much all day. Ritika stayed gentle but distant, giving the girl her space. Rohit had left for a sponsor shoot. And Ahaan?

He was in the backyard. Hoodie on. Headphones in. Pretending everything was fine.

Then the door slid open with a loud swish.

“Wow. So this is what 'mature Ahaan' looks like now?” came a voice. Calm, sharp. Familiar.

He didn’t need to turn. He knew that voice.

“Vamika.”

She stepped into the backyard, arms crossed, eyes scanning him like an X-ray.

Ahaan pulled off his headphones slowly. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“You wouldn’t. You don’t really talk anymore—unless it’s to snap at someone, or act like you’re the king of cold shoulders,” she said, folding her arms.

He sighed. “You came to lecture me?”

“I came because I care. About you, unfortunately,” she snapped. “And right now? I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

Ahaan rolled his eyes. “Here we go…”

“No, you started it,” Vamika said, stepping forward. “I’ve been quiet. Watching. But I saw Samaira last night, sitting by herself like a ghost. Flinching every time someone walked by. Your sister, Ahaan.”

“She’s not my sister,” he said bluntly.

Vamika didn’t even blink. “Right. Just a girl your parents love. Who lives in your house. Who’s just thirteen and barely speaks. Totally deserves to be treated like she’s invisible.”

Ahaan stayed silent.

“I’ve seen trolls online say less cruel things than you have said to her,” she muttered. “And they’re strangers.”

“She just appeared, okay?” Ahaan shot back. “I didn’t ask for this. She’s... quiet, weird, always looking like she’s going to cry.”

“She’s scared,” Vamika snapped. “Because she hears things. Because people stare. Because someone she hoped would protect her—you—acts like she’s a mistake.”

Ahaan’s jaw clenched.

Vamika's voice softened just a little. “I know you’re angry. I know it’s confusing. But you don’t get to punish her for existing.”

Silence.

She stared at him. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Do you want to lose everyone before you realise what you’re doing?” she whispered.

Still no answer.

“I’ve never said this before, but… you scare me lately,” she said, and that broke something in him. Just a flicker—but it was there.

He looked up finally.

Vamika’s eyes were sad. “I miss the version of you that didn’t shut people out when it got hard.”

And with that, she walked away.

---

Inside the House

Samaira sat at the top of the stairs, hidden from view. She had heard enough.

Her chest felt tight.

Everyone said it wasn’t her fault—but why did she always end up being the reason things cracked?

She wiped her tears quickly and slipped back into her room before anyone could see.

Outside, Ahaan sat in the garden… and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel numb.

He felt guilt.

And that meant something was beginning to change.

Author’s POV

There was a loud clatter of utensils from the kitchen. Another mistake by the maids. But Samaira didn’t flinch anymore.

She had learned.

Learned that silence drew less attention. That staying out of the way kept people from snapping. That when Ahaan did speak to her—it was either a glare, or a sharp word, or… nothing.

She walked past the living room where he sat playing FIFA, eyes on the screen, headphones around his neck.

She murmured softly, “Excuse me, Ahaan sir…” trying to pass.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t look up.

Didn’t care.

Samaira’s heart thudded in embarrassment. She kept walking.

She went upstairs—straight to her room. Closed the door. Locked it.

Downstairs, Vamika noticed everything.

She was seated on the opposite couch, her gaze shifting from the TV screen to Ahaan’s rigid shoulders. She didn’t say a word. Not yet. Not while his jaw was clenched that tightly.

But her fingers curled into fists.

She hated this version of him.

He wasn’t like this before. He was sharp-tongued, sure, but never cruel. Never cold to someone who clearly just wanted a little warmth.

The game ended. Ahaan threw the controller aside.

“You done?” Vamika asked quietly.

He nodded, stood up.

“I’ll be in my room,” he mumbled, walking past her.

Vamika’s eyes followed him, burning with unsaid things.

---

Upstairs – Samaira’s Room

The lights were off.

She didn’t want them on.

She didn’t want to look around at the posters, the bright paint, the princess-style curtains Ritika had lovingly picked. It all felt too foreign. Too new. Like she had borrowed someone else’s life and didn’t know how long she was allowed to keep it.

She opened the drawer beside her bed.

Inside were scraps of paper—her letters. The ones she never sent. Scribbles of pain. Apologies. Worries.

She pulled one out. A fresh one.

“Dear Sir,” she wrote.I’m sorry I exist. I’m trying to be good. To not be a problem. Please don’t hate me. I didn’t mean to come here. I didn’t know I’d ruin things. I just… miss being wanted.

Tears blurred her handwriting.

She folded it, placed it under her pillow, and curled up like a question mark—hoping someone, someday, would answer her.