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Author’s POV

It was almost midnight.

The house was silent—everyone asleep or pretending to be. But Rohit wasn’t. He had just finished a late call with the BCCI, rubbed his temples, and walked to Samaira’s room to check on her.

Something inside him hadn’t rested all day.

He gently pushed the door open.

She was asleep, or at least curled up in that way kids pretend to be when they don’t want to talk. The room was dimly lit from the hallway.

His eyes scanned the space—and then settled on a small, slightly crumpled paper sticking out from under her pillow.

He hesitated.

Then reached for it.

---

The Letter

> “Dear Sir,”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.

---

The words hit him like a punch to the chest.

He sat down.

Hard.

For a moment, he didn’t blink. His jaw tightened, eyes glassy.

His Samaira.

His daughter.

Wrote this?

He gently looked at her sleeping figure—curled up, eyes puffy even in rest, arms hugging herself like a shield.

Something inside him shattered.

Not just broke.

Shattered.

And then, with quiet rage pulsing through every step, he walked out.

---

Downstairs – Ahaan’s Room

The door creaked open.

Ahaan looked up from his phone, irritated. “What now—?”

Rohit threw the paper at him.

“Read it.”

Ahaan frowned, opened it, scanned the words. His face twisted in confusion, then guilt, then stubbornness.

“I didn’t—she’s so dramatic sometimes, I didn’t even say anything today—”

“That’s the point,” Rohit said quietly.

That quiet scared Ahaan more than yelling ever could.

“You didn’t say anything. Not once in weeks. Not a kind word, not a smile. Just glares. Just coldness. She’s a 13-year-old girl in a new house, Ahaan. She’s trying so hard to fit in she’s apologizing for existing.”

Ahaan tried to look away.

Rohit stepped forward.

“No. Look at me.”

He did.

Rohit’s voice cracked for a moment, before regaining control. “She’s my daughter. Your sister. You don’t have to love her yet. But you don’t get to hurt her.”

“She’s not like us,” Ahaan mumbled defensively. “She’s... always too careful. Like she’s walking on glass.”

“Because she is, Ahaan,” Rohit snapped, emotion rising. “Because you’ve made her feel like one wrong word will break everything!”

Ahaan didn’t reply.

“I won’t let you break her,” Rohit said, lower now. Dead serious. “I couldn’t protect her for 13 years. I will now.”

He turned to leave.

“Dad…”

Rohit paused.

“I didn’t mean to—hurt her like that.”

“You did. Fix it.”

And he left the room.

---

Upstairs – Samaira’s Room

Rohit stood by her bed again. Sat down quietly. He didn’t wake her.

But he did whisper into the dark.

“I want you, Samaira. Always have. Even when I didn’t know I should.”

Author’s POV

Morning in the Sharma household was rarely quiet. But today… it was.

Ritika noticed it first.

Samaira wasn’t at the table. Again.

“Is she still asleep?” she asked gently, pouring tea.

Rohit didn’t answer at first.

He had barely slept.

“She’s awake,” he said finally. “She’s just… not ready.”

Ritika frowned. “Not ready for what?”

He looked at her and then slowly slid the crumpled paper toward her.

Her eyes scanned it—and instantly, her fingers trembled.

“Oh my God…”

“She wrote it last night,” Rohit whispered. “I found it under her pillow.”

Ritika pressed the letter to her chest. “What are we doing wrong, Rohit?”

He didn’t answer.

Because deep down, he already knew.

---

Upstairs

Samaira sat on the bed, legs pulled up to her chest. She wasn’t crying—but she wasn’t okay either.

There was a knock.

“Come in,” she said softly.

It was Rohit.

She quickly sat up straighter, wiping her face and adjusting her sleeves.

“Sir…”

“May I?” he asked gently, gesturing toward the edge of her bed.

She nodded.

He sat, not too close.

“I read what you wrote,” he said. No sugarcoating.

Samaira froze.

Her hands clenched.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I just… I was checking on you. And I saw the letter.”

She didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” Rohit said quietly. “I’m sorry you feel like that. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel safe.”

A long silence.

“I didn’t want to cause problems,” she whispered finally. “I know Ahaan sir hates me.”

Rohit inhaled sharply. “He doesn’t hate you.”

She looked away. “He wishes I wasn’t here.”

Rohit didn’t lie. “He’s… struggling. But that’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Samaira’s voice was small. “Then why does it feel like it is?”

That broke him again.

“I wish I had been there when you were little,” he said. “I wish I could’ve held you every time you felt this way. I wish I could fix it all now.”

Her lips trembled, but she stayed quiet.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” he added softly. “You can call me whatever feels safe. Even if it’s nothing yet.”

She looked at him. Vulnerable. Unsure.

“I’m not ready yet,” she said truthfully.

He nodded. “That’s okay.”

Rohit stood up. “But just so you know... I want you here, Samaira. That won’t change. No matter how long it takes.”

And he left her room—without pushing, without expectation.

---

Downstairs – Ritika’s POV

She had read the letter five times by now. Each time, her heart cracked a little more.

Ritika was about to go upstairs when she heard a voice from the hallway.

Ahaan.

“I said I don’t care if she’s upset,” he told the maid harshly. “She’s always so… extra.”

Ritika turned sharply. “Ahaan.”

He flinched.

But before she could speak—Rohit stepped into view.

His expression was unreadable.

“Ahaan. Study room. Now.”

And just like that, the storm that had been waiting finally began.

Author’s POV

The door to the study room shut with a soft but definitive click.

Ahaan stood near the desk, arms folded, still defensive. His jaw was tight, but his eyes betrayed something else — guilt, or maybe confusion.

Rohit stood by the window, silent for a moment. The morning light filtered through the curtains, golden but heavy, like the tension between them.

"Ahaan," Rohit began, voice low but loaded, "you want to tell me what exactly you meant back there?"

Ahaan scoffed, trying to play it off. "She’s always acting like a victim, Dad. It's exhausting. She’s not a baby—"

"Enough," Rohit cut him off, voice sharp, unforgiving.

Ahaan blinked.

"You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Rohit said, stepping closer now. “You don’t ever speak like that about your sister.”

Ahaan's tone turned colder. “She’s not really my sister, is she?”

There it was.

The line.

Rohit’s fists clenched, jaw tightening. But he didn’t yell.

Instead, he spoke slowly. Deliberately. “You want to talk about real? Fine. Let’s be real. She is my daughter, Ahaan. My blood. My child. And you will never treat her like she’s less than that again.”

Ahaan faltered for just a second.

But he muttered, “I didn’t ask for her to be here.”

“You think she did?” Rohit’s voice rose now. “You think she chose this life? To be thrown into a new home, to be judged with every breath she takes, to overhear maids talking trash about her being unwanted? You think any of this is easy for her?”

The guilt cracked through Ahaan’s façade. Just a little.

“She makes things difficult,” he whispered.

“No. You do,” Rohit snapped. “You make it hard. With your cruel words, your cold silence, your refusal to even try. She calls me ‘sir’, Ahaan. Like I’m some stranger off the street. Do you even understand how much that breaks me?”

Ahaan lowered his gaze. Silence.

Rohit stepped back, tired.

“I’ve always been proud of you. But right now… I’m disappointed. Deeply. Because kindness, compassion — that’s what makes a man. Not your trophies. Not your grades. Your heart.”

Ahaan looked up. “You’re choosing her over me?”

“I’m choosing what’s right. That includes both of you. But right now, she needs me. And if you can’t understand that… then maybe you need to ask yourself why.”

The door creaked as Rohit left, closing it softly behind him — but the weight of his words remained like thunder in Ahaan’s chest.

---

Upstairs – Later

Samaira was sitting by the window again, hugging her knees, when she heard the soft knock.

Ritika entered, not with words but a plate of warm toast and her comforting presence.

Samaira glanced at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, baccha?” Ritika smiled sadly.

Samaira hesitated. “For… being hard to love.”

Ritika’s heart cracked. “Sweetheart,” she said, placing the tray aside and kneeling before her, “you are not hard to love. You’ve just never been loved right. But we’re here now. I’m here.”

Tears welled in Samaira’s eyes, but she blinked them away.

Ritika gently cupped her cheek. “Let us try, okay? Let me try.”

And for the first time, Samaira leaned her head against Ritika’s shoulder. Not ready to call her “mom.” Not ready to open fully.

But just… a beginning.

Author’s POV

The night inside the Sharma residence was unnervingly quiet. Moonlight slipped through the sheer curtains in Samaira’s room, casting gentle silver streaks across her bed.

But peace didn’t live inside her yet.

Even though she was miles away from Bikaner, from the loneliness of rented rooms and the echo of indifferent voices, her memories hadn’t caught up with the comfort around her.

She twisted under the blanket. Her mind spiraled — flashes of the cold rooftops she’d stared at for hours… the empty lunches… the way no one really asked if she was okay.

Until now.

But now was too much. Too unfamiliar. Too loud in its silence.

Her breathing quickened.

And then—

The nightmare hit.

“Please… I’ll be better…” she whimpered in her sleep.

“Don’t send me away…”

Her chest rose rapidly. Her small fists clutched the sheets. And then, a sharp cry escaped her lips:

“NO!”

Her voice pierced the dark like a scream into a void.

Moments later, the door flung open. Rohit Sharma — barefoot, disheveled, panic-struck — rushed to her bedside.

“Samaira!” he said, crouching down instantly. “Samaira, it’s okay. Wake up, you’re safe!”

She was shaking. Her eyes fluttered open, wild and wet.

And before she could register anything — instinct took over.

She threw her arms around him.

And in a voice so broken, so soft, it shattered him to the core:

“Papa…”

Everything stopped.

The word lingered in the air like magic that hurt.

Rohit froze. His breath hitched. His throat tightened.

Then slowly — like something sacred — he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

His hand cradled the back of her head. She trembled in his embrace, clinging like a child afraid he’d disappear.

“I’m here, baccha,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Outside the room, Ritika had been passing by, hearing the shout. She stood still now — watching the two, eyes glassy.

From upstairs, Ahaan looked down silently, arms folded. He heard the word.

"Papa."

He scoffed under his breath, turned around, and disappeared into his room, slamming the door — not loud, but sharp enough.

Inside, Rohit was still holding her. And for the first time since she arrived, Samaira wasn’t afraid to be held.Author’s POV

The Sharma residence woke up slower than usual.

Downstairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, soft classical music playing faintly from the kitchen speaker. But for Samaira, everything still felt like a dream — or a foggy memory she wasn’t sure really happened.

She sat at the breakfast table, her hands neatly folded on her lap, eyes flickering nervously between her plate and the doorway.

Across the table, Ritika offered her a gentle smile. “You can have anything you want, sweetheart. There’s paratha, toast, fruit—”

“I’m fine, ma’am,” Samaira said quickly, her voice quiet, almost guilty.

Ritika’s smile softened. “You don’t have to call me that, you know…”

Samaira nodded, but said nothing.

And then — heavy footsteps echoed from the staircase.

Ahaan.

He walked in, hair messy, bag slung over one shoulder, earphones still around his neck.

His gaze briefly landed on Samaira.

Then looked away.

“Good morning,” Ritika greeted.

“Yeah,” Ahaan muttered, grabbing an apple from the counter without sitting down. He didn’t even glance at Samaira.

Samaira swallowed.

There was a weight in her chest again. That same pressure that told her she didn’t belong.

And as Ahaan was about to walk out, he paused.

Turned just slightly toward her.

“I hope last night wasn’t some emotional trick,” he said coldly, without looking at her. “It was loud. Don’t do that again.”

Samaira stiffened.

Ritika gasped softly. “Ahaan—”

But he was already out the door, not sparing a second look.

Samaira’s eyes stayed locked on her plate. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

Ritika reached across and gently touched her hand.

Samaira tried to smile.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” she whispered.

But it wasn’t.

Not yet.

Upstairs, Rohit had overheard the words. He stood frozen by the hallway railing, eyes narrowing, a storm brewing behind them.

He didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

But his patience was thinning.

And this time, he wouldn’t let it slide.

Author’s POV

Rohit stood silently by the window of his study.

He had barely slept. The events of the night before — Samaira’s nightmare, her panicked sobs, the moment she clutched him tightly and whispered “Papa” — were etched in his mind like a scar. Beautiful, but aching.

He had cradled her in his arms, whispering soft reassurances, tears stinging his own eyes while he held back everything that threatened to break him.

But this morning…

This morning, his son’s words felt like acid on healing skin.

“I hope last night wasn’t some emotional trick…”

He couldn’t pretend anymore.

Ritika entered quietly, her face pale.

“He left for school already,” she said gently, placing a cup of coffee on his desk.

Rohit didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched. His eyes stormy.

“I can’t watch her flinch every time he enters the room,” Ritika whispered.

“She’s trying so hard,” Rohit said, voice gravelly. “She barely breathes near him. She calls me sir, calls you ma’am, eats like she’s in a prison... and he—” he stopped, fists tightening.

“He’s angry. I get it. He didn’t expect all this. But being cruel isn’t the answer.”

“No,” Rohit said sharply. “Being cruel is never the answer.”

He turned to Ritika. His voice low, but firm. “I gave him time. I gave him space. I tried to talk gently.”

He placed the coffee down, untouched.

“But I will not let him destroy her piece by piece. Not my daughter.”

Ritika’s eyes filled. “She is so scared to even cry.”

Rohit nodded once.

Then reached for his phone.

---

Later That Evening

Ahaan stepped into the house, dropping his bag by the door. His phone buzzed with group notifications, but he ignored them.

He wasn’t in the mood. Again.

“Bhaiya.” One of the house staff stopped him. “Sir is waiting for you in the study.”

Ahaan raised a brow, annoyed. “Why?”

“He didn’t say.”

Ahaan rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

He entered the study casually, slumped into the armchair.

Rohit stood by the bookshelf, arms crossed.

“You needed something?” Ahaan asked, coolly.

Silence.

Then Rohit turned around.

“I’m not going to raise a boy who becomes a man that crushes the weak.”

Ahaan frowned. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Is this about last night? It’s not like I shouted. I just said—”

“You said enough,” Rohit interrupted, voice like steel. “You’ve said enough every single day since she entered this house.”

Ahaan blinked, startled by his father’s tone.

“I saw the letter she wrote,” Rohit continued. “Buried in her sketchbook. ‘Maybe I’m not wanted. Maybe sir regrets bringing me here. Maybe Ahaan sir is right. Maybe I should go back.’”

His voice cracked. “She calls me sir, Ahaan. And yet she wrote ‘Papa’ in that letter. The first time she used it—in writing.”

Ahaan’s chest tightened, just a little.

“She thinks I regret bringing her into my life.”

Ahaan looked away, jaw clenched.

Rohit stepped closer.

“You don’t have to love her yet. But you do not get to be the reason she questions whether she deserves love.”

Ahaan was silent.

“She’s your sister.”

“That’s not—” Ahaan stopped himself.

Rohit caught it.

“Go on. Say it.”

Ahaan bit the inside of his cheek.

Rohit shook his head. “You don’t want her here? Fine. But then you better be honest with yourself about the kind of man you’re becoming. Because right now, it’s not someone I raised.”

The words stung more than Ahaan wanted to admit.

Rohit didn’t wait for a response.

He walked out.

Leaving Ahaan in a room filled with nothing but his own reflection.