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Author’s POV

The Sharma residence was blanketed in that early morning stillness — the kind of silence that doesn’t feel peaceful… it feels like something’s about to shift.

Ritika stood near the main door, arms crossed loosely, trying to look calm. But her eyes kept flickering toward the stairs.

Rohit had zipped up his suitcase. The car was waiting.

> “Chalein?” the driver asked.

Rohit didn’t respond. His gaze lingered toward the hallway — the one that led to her room.

She hadn’t come.

Maybe she didn’t know how to say goodbye yet.Or maybe… she didn’t want to feel left again.

He turned to leave.

> “Papa…”

The voice froze him mid-step.

So soft. So hesitant. But so full of need.

He turned around slowly — and there she was.

Samaira stood at the edge of the stairs, hair still messy, wearing an old sweater that hung too big on her, sleeves pulled past her fingers. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she wasn’t crying.

Not yet.

Rohit’s throat closed.

She walked toward him — slowly, like her legs might collapse any second — until she was just a few feet away.

> “Aap… ja rahe ho na?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

He crouched in front of her, suitcase forgotten.

> “Haan beta… sirf kuch dinon ke liye. Main waapas aa jaunga.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes shimmered.

> “Aap sach mein waapas aaoge na?”

That broke him.

Not the words. The fear behind them.

The fear of people leaving. The fear of doors closing and never opening again.

He placed both hands gently on her arms.

> “Main waapas aane waalon mein se hoon, Samaira. Tum mujhe bulaogi… toh main hamesha lautunga.”

Her lips trembled. Then she did something that surprised even herself.

She stepped forward… and wrapped her arms around him.

Tight. Like she was trying to glue the moment into reality.

> “Mujhe phir se akela mat chhodna, Papa…” she whispered into his shoulder.

He held her. Tighter than he’s ever held anything.

> “Kabhi nahi, meri bacha. Kabhi nahi.”

Ritika stood frozen behind them, hand pressed over her heart, tears spilling — silently.

Their daughter — the one fate tried to steal — had come home.

And this time, they weren’t letting go.

---

Author’s Note:

The way she held him — it wasn’t just a hug.It was a plea.A memory she never got, now trying to live itself out in real time.

And when she said Papa,He didn’t just hear it.He felt it.In every crack of his bones and every thread of his heart.

Author’s POV

The Sharma residence was quiet — too quiet.

Rohit had left in the morning. Ritika had rushed out mid-evening.

And somewhere behind closed doors, Samaira had been alone with her thoughts… her fears… and her silent grief.

Upstairs, Ahaan sat scrolling through his phone, pretending the world outside his screen didn’t matter. But something about the stillness bothered him.

No footsteps. No creak of floorboards. No sound at all.

And then—

> Thud.

He paused.

> Crash.

Ahaan’s heart jumped. Headphones were flung off. He shot up from the bed.

> “Samaira?!”

No reply.

He ran, taking the stairs two at a time, reaching her room in seconds.

The door was ajar.

And what he saw inside shattered him.

Samaira was collapsed near the corner of the bed. Her tiny frame was crumpled. Eyes shut. Lips slightly parted. She looked pale… fragile… lifeless.

> “Samaira…?” he whispered, breathless, dropping beside her.

> “Tum sun rahi ho na…?” he said, voice cracking as he lifted her head carefully.

His hands trembled.

> “Kya kar rahi ho yeh sab… aankhein kholo na, please…”

No answer.

> “Dekho, tumhe jitna dant diya… jitna bura bola… sab galti thi meri… main sorry hoon, theek hai?” he choked out. “Par tum aankhein kholo… mujhe dar lag raha hai, Samaira…”

She twitched slightly. Her lips moved, barely a whisper.

> “P-papa…”

Ahaan's chest tightened.

She wasn’t even calling for him… but for their father.

Yet it didn’t hurt. It only made the guilt worse.

> “Papa aayenge… main hoon na abhi… main yahin hoon,” he whispered shakily, brushing her hair back. “Tum meri behen ho, okay? Tum sirf Samaira nahi ho… tum ghar ka hissa ho…”

Her lashes fluttered weakly.

> “Aap…?” she murmured.

That single word, so soft, so full of trust… it pierced straight through him.

Ahaan leaned closer, cupping her face gently.

> “Haan, main hoon. Main Ahaan hoon… aur main yahin hoon, Samaira. Abhi kahin nahi jaa raha…”

And for the first time… the wall cracked.

He wasn’t cold anymore.

He was her older brother — finally.

Author’s POV

The air felt heavier now.

Ahaan still sat on the floor, holding Samaira gently, even though she’d begun to regain consciousness. Her breathing was shallow, but steady now. Her forehead leaned softly against his shoulder.

She was awake.

But now, he was falling apart.

> “Mujhse nahi ho paya, Samaira…” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Samaira blinked slowly, her head still heavy, but his tears falling onto her shoulder were real. Warm. Painful.

> “Main… main tumse nafrat nahi karta,” he murmured. “Main bas… confused tha. Gussa tha… lekin tum pe nahi. Apne aap pe.”

His voice cracked. Completely.

> “Aur jab tum… jab tum neeche giri thi… mujhe laga main tumhe kho doonga…”

That was it.

He broke.

A sob escaped his lips. One, then another. And then, silence—just his arms shaking, tears falling freely as he clutched his younger sister.

For a second, Samaira just listened. Then, slowly… she moved.

Her frail arms wrapped around his back. She hugged him — truly hugged him — for the first time.

> “Aapki koi galti nahi thi...” she whispered gently, still weak. “Aapko haq hai hurt hone ka…”

He didn’t say anything.

He just held her tighter.

And in that moment, in that quiet, dimly lit room — no one was a stranger anymore. 

Author’s POV

The house was unusually quiet when Ritika returned that night. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she stepped inside, half-worried, half-expecting to hear chaos from either of the two teens upstairs.

Instead, silence greeted her.

Until—

> Sshh…

A muffled sob.

She paused. Her eyes narrowed.

That was Ahaan.

Heart racing, Ritika rushed up the stairs and followed the faint sound to Samaira’s room. The door was slightly open.

She stopped.

And her breath caught in her throat.

There, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, sat Ahaan, his face buried in his hands, body trembling with suppressed cries.

And beside him… holding him…

Samaira.

Her arms wrapped gently around him. Her eyes soft, comforting. Her face still pale but calm.

It wasn’t just a hug.

It was forgiveness. It was acceptance. It was… family.

Ritika froze in the doorway, hand over her mouth. Her eyes brimmed with tears — not the kind that come from pain, but the kind that come from hope finally breathing.

> “Mujhe laga main kuch keh kar sab theek karungi,” she whispered to herself, “par yeh toh un dono ne khud kar liya…”

Samaira noticed her first.

She looked up and gave a small, exhausted smile.

> “Ma’am…” she whispered.

Ahaan turned too. His eyes were red, cheeks stained.

Ritika smiled through her tears.

> “Main… main sirf dekh rahi thi,” she said softly. “Tum dono ko… ek saath…”

Ahaan stood slowly, helping Samaira up carefully. For a moment, he glanced at his mom… then back at the girl beside him.

And he didn’t need to say anything.

His hand gently rested on Samaira’s back.

Protective. Finally.

Author’s POV

It was past midnight, but Ritika couldn’t wait.

She stepped out of the room quietly, tears still clinging to her lashes, heart pounding with the emotion of what she'd just witnessed. She sat on the couch, dialed quickly, and hit video call.

“Ro♥️♥️ calling...”“Connected.”

Rohit’s tired face lit up the screen — he was in a hotel room, clearly ready to crash.

> “Hey... sab thik? Tum itni raat ko—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Because Ritika was crying.

> “Kya huaa? Sab thik hai? Samaira—Ahaan—sab thik hai na?” Rohit’s voice instantly became anxious.

Ritika nodded quickly, wiping her tears.

> “Haan... sab thik hai... actually... sab pehli baar bohot thik hai,” she said, voice trembling with a smile.

Rohit’s brows furrowed, confused but hopeful.

Ritika turned the camera slowly, towards the dim-lit room.

Samaira was curled up peacefully on the bed, and next to her, slumped in the armchair, was Ahaan — asleep, his arm resting protectively near Samaira’s side.

Rohit froze.

> “Yeh—yeh sach hai?” he whispered, as if afraid the moment might vanish.

Ritika turned the camera back to herself, unable to stop smiling now.

> “Woh usse hug kar rha tha, Ro... pehli baar... usne ro kar maafi maangi. Samaira ne use gale lagaya…”

Rohit’s eyes welled up.

He looked away for a second, running a hand down his face, trying to compose himself.

> “Meri laado…” he whispered. “Aur mera gadha beta… finally.”

Ritika chuckled tearfully.

> “Mujhe laga, hume bohot kuch karna padega... par unhone khud kar diya. Dil se.”

Rohit exhaled deeply, his heart finally relaxing.

> “Mujhe phone de do, bas 5 second… unhe bas dekhna hai.”

Ritika turned the screen back to their children — one sleeping, one healing — both together.

> “Ghar ban gaya, Ro,” Ritika whispered, watching the screen alongside him.

> “Ghar ban gaya…”

Author’s POV

It had been a long, emotionally draining day at the Sharma residence.

Rohit was away on a week-long tour — or at least, he tried to be. His heart and mind were still stuck at home, hovering constantly over one face — Samaira.

That morning, just a few hours after he left, Samaira had fainted. Panic exploded through the house. Ahaan had been the one to find her. He had cried — for the first time in years — while holding her hand, pleading with her to open her eyes. Since then, something had changed in him.

Now, he sat beside her, gently keeping her head on his shoulder, feeding her soup Ritika had prepared before stepping out for an urgent meeting.

Samaira looked weak — pale cheeks, tired eyes, and a trembling hand that refused to hold the spoon. Ahaan held it for her.

> “Thoda sa aur, please,” he whispered.

She gave a small nod.

Just then, ahaan’s phone buzzed loudly.

“Papa calling…”

Ahaan picked it up and said gently, “Samaira... papa ka phone hai. Speaker pe lagata hoon?”

Samaira hesitated. But then gave a silent nod.

Ahaan clicked speaker.

> “Hello?? ?Ahaan?! Koi mujhe batayega kya ho raha hai ghar mein?!”

Rohit's voice was panicked, breathless.

> “Papa…” Samaira’s voice came out weakly.

> “Samaira? Kya haal hai tumhara?! Tumne bataya kyun nahi?! Main pagal ho gaya tha jab suna! Tabiyat kharab thi aur tumne chup rehna sahi samjha?!”

Samaira’s lips quivered. Ahaan gently squeezed her hand.

> “Papa… mujhe laga aap busy honge…”

Rohit’s voice cracked.

> “Busy?! Main kuch bhi ho sakta hoon, lekin you are the most important person in my life samaira!tumhe kuch ho jaata toh?! Ek baar bolti toh sahi! Aise kaise… kaise itna careless ho sakti ho tum?!”

Her already fragile state couldn’t handle the intensity.

She looked down, breath shaky.

> “Main bura nahi banana chahti thi, papa…”“Mujhe laga aap naraz honge… mujhe laga thik ho jaaungi… main sirf… thak gayi thi…”

Her voice broke.

> “Main aapse maafi mangti hoon…”

And suddenly, she cut the call — pressing the red button with trembling fingers.

A stunned silence fell.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

> “Main kuch galat nahi karna chahti thi… bas…” she whispered.

Ahaan immediately pulled her into a hug.

> “Shhh… kuch galat nahi kiya tumne,” he murmured, rubbing her back. “Papa sirf ghabra gaye honge… bas. Tumne kuch bhi galat nahi kiya, Samaira… main hoon na yahaan.”

She held on to him tightly, sobbing silently into his tshirt.

Author’s Note:Sometimes the people who love you the most… panic the worst. And sometimes, you just need someone to say, “Main hoon na.” 💔

Author’s POV

The match was on. India vs Australia. A high-stakes ODI, eyes from every corner of the globe glued to the screen.

But Rohit Sharma? His eyes weren’t on the scoreboard. They were haunted — by the image of his daughter hanging up the phone with tears in her voice.

> “Main bura nahi banana chahti thi, papa…”

That sentence had lived rent-free in his mind for the past 36 hours. She hadn't picked any of his calls. No reply to his texts. Nothing.

It broke him.

And so, he let his bat do the talking.

He started slow.

Then explosive.

Then unstoppable.

Every six, every four, every run he made — it wasn’t for the team, not for records, not for glory.

It was for one name his heart kept whispering…

> “Samaira.”

And then — the moment came.

200 not out.

Stadium erupted into deafening roars.

But Rohit didn’t raise his bat immediately.

He walked toward the camera, eyes glossy, chest rising and falling like waves.

And then…

He folded his hands together in a “sorry” gesture.Then tapped his heart twice.Then mouthed to the camera:

> “Papa se galti ho gayi, laado… I’m sorry. Ye double century… sirf tumhare naam.”

The commentators went silent for a moment. Even they were stunned.

Social media EXPLODED.

🗞️ “Rohit Sharma’s Historic Century Comes With an Apology”🗞️ “‘Papa is Sorry’ — India Captain Dedicates Emotional Knock to Daughter Samaira”🗞️ “Laado, This One’s For You” — Fans Melt as Rohit Breaks Down After 200

Meanwhile, back at the Sharma residence…

Samaira was sitting in the living room with Ahaan and Ritika. She was quiet, curled under a blanket. The TV was on. Her name… flashing on every news ticker.

The moment played again.

Rohit.Hands folded.Eyes glassy.Mouthing: “Papa is sorry, laado.”

Samaira’s lips trembled.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but this time… they weren’t full of pain. They were full of warmth.

Ahaan nudged her shoulder gently.

> “Ab toh phone uthaa le, pagli,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

She stared at the screen.

> “Papa ne… itne logon ke saamne maafi maangi…” she mumbled. “Mujhe toh bas ek baar gale lagne ka mann hai.”

And right then, her phone buzzed.

Caller ID: Papa calling…

This time… she picked it up.

> “Papa…?” her voice cracked.

And all Rohit said back from thousands of miles away was:

> “Meri Laado mujhse ab bhi naraz hai…?”

Samaira cried, smiling.

> “Nahi… ab nahi, papa.”

---

Author’s Note:Apologies don’t always come in words. Sometimes they come in centuries… in silence… in standing under a stadium full of lights and saying, “I’m sorry, beta.”

Author’s POV

It had been five long days since Rohit Sharma left for the tour.

Every day, Samaira would secretly watch the match highlights with Ahaan. Every run, every boundary… her heart would whisper “Papa, bas ek baar aa jao.”

She didn’t say it out loud — not even to herself. But the silence in the Sharma residence felt different without him.

Now, tonight, around 8:45 PM, the car pulled into the driveway.

> “Papa aa gaye,” Ahaan said softly, looking toward the door.

Samaira’s fingers paused over the edge of her book. Her heart skipped.

She wanted to run. Hug him. Say “Papa, main theek hoon ab.”

But something held her back.

Maybe it was that memory of him scolding her before leaving.

Maybe it was the fear that he might still be upset.

> The door opened with a soft creak.

There he was.

Tired. Worn out. Duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

But his eyes — they immediately searched for her.

And she… stood frozen at the top of the stairs.

> “Laado…” he whispered, voice barely audible.

She looked down at him.

Ritika came from the kitchen, her face softening with relief.

> “Aap fresh ho jaiye, main khana lagwati hoon,” she said.

But Rohit didn’t move.

He kept looking up… at that girl with hesitant eyes and trembling fingers.

> “Papa…” she finally said — softly, unsure.

And he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He dropped the bag, climbed the stairs two at a time and without saying a word — wrapped his arms around her.

Tight.

Long.

Full of everything that went unsaid.

> “Mujhe maaf kar do, laado,” his voice cracked. “Papa kabhi aise nahi bolenge. Mujhse galti ho gayi.”

Samaira didn’t speak for a moment. Then she nodded against his chest.

> “Main sirf aapki laadli nahi hoon… main aapki beti hoon,” she said.

Rohit’s arms tightened, and for the first time in days, his heart felt complete.

Downstairs, Ahaan watched from the living room — a small smile on his face.

> “Welcome back, Papa,” he said quietly.