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Author's POV:

The day after Rohit's fever and Samaira's emotional meltdown, the Sharma home felt like a bubble of comfort and warmth. Rohit rested while Samaira curled up beside him. Ritika ensured neither of them moved a muscle unless absolutely necessary. Breakfast was shared on the bed, giggles were exchanged, and Ahaan even cracked a rare genuine joke that made Samaira smile through her toast. It felt like, after so many weeks of chaos, something was healing quietly in the corners of the house.

Samaira had school holidays for a week, thanks to pre-term break. Ahaan, however, being in 12th standard, had to attend classes and extra coaching sessions. His life was a whirlwind of assignments, cricket practice, and the never-ending pressure of expectations.

It was at school that he met her — Shanaya Rajput.

She was the new girl. Pretty. Polished. Poised. The kind of girl who walked like she owned the corridor. Her eyes scanned like radar, and her smile was practiced perfection.

She attached herself to Ahaan quickly. Like honey to a spoon.

"I heard you’re the cricket captain," she said one day, her voice dipped in sweetness.

"Yeah," Ahaan replied distractedly, not giving her more than a glance.

"Well, you play like a national-level player," she smiled. "I watched your shots from the sports fest. I was... impressed."

Flattery. Smooth. Precise.

He didn't respond much, but she kept appearing — in the canteen, the library, the practice nets. Offering water, notes, compliments.

Vamika noticed first. Her best friend since 9th grade. The girl who knew Ahaan better than he knew himself.

"She’s using you, Ahaan. Can’t you see?"

"Vamika, stop being childish. Not every girl is out to get me."

Vamika looked away, wounded.

At home, things began shifting. Subtly at first.

Ahaan would come home late. Not respond to Samaira’s jokes. Avoid family dinner. Snap at tiny things. Say nothing when Samaira talked about her day. Forget things she said. Miss her small victories.

Ritika noticed. Rohit noticed. But it was Samaira who felt it the most.

She had finally called him "Bhaiya." He had ruffled her hair that day.

Now, he barely acknowledged her.

One evening, as she waited for him outside his room with his favorite chocolate, he walked past her, eyes on his phone, and shut the door without a word.

The chocolate fell.

Ritika found her minutes later, still standing in the same spot, eyes glassy.

"He didn’t mean it, beta," Ritika whispered.

"Maybe I said something wrong," Samaira replied, her voice small.

But she hadn’t. Shanaya had.

---

At school, Shanaya worked like poison.

"You know, it must be really hard to suddenly accept someone like Samaira," she said, her tone innocent on the surface.

Ahaan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… she just appeared in your life after thirteen years. It’s not easy to suddenly act like everything’s normal. Even if she’s your biological sister, it's like you're strangers, right?"

Ahaan's eyes narrowed slightly.

"She’s always with your parents, clinging to them like she’s making up for lost time. Doesn’t it feel forced sometimes? Too much?"

Ahaan clenched his jaw.

"It must be overwhelming — sharing everything now. Your space. Your family. Your parents’ attention."

Something snapped. Doubt. Confusion. He didn’t say anything. But that seed… it planted itself.

---

Back home, Samaira was preparing a card for Ahaan’s upcoming cricket match. She had used glitter pens, drawn his jersey number, and even added a tiny sticker that said "Superstar Bhaiya."

She waited till he came back.

He took the card, looked at it, then tossed it on the table.

"Thanks," he said. Tone flat. Expression unreadable.

She blinked.

"Did I do something wrong?" she whispered.

He looked at her. Frustrated. Confused. Angry. At himself. At her. At the whole situation.

"Why do you always have to be around?"

She stepped back like he had slapped her.

Rohit, from the corridor, heard it.

"Ahaan," his voice warned.

Ahaan stormed off.

---

The next day was worse.

Samaira accidentally spilled water on his journal while bringing him breakfast. It wasn’t much, just the corner. But he snapped.

"Why do you have to ruin everything?! Can’t you stay in your limits?!"

She stammered an apology. But he wasn’t listening.

He raised his hand. Out of pure frustration. A moment of boiling over.

But it never landed.

A strong grip caught his wrist mid-air.

Rohit.

"Put. That. Hand. Down."

His voice was quiet. But deadly.

Ahaan froze. The room felt like ice.

Rohit stepped between them, his body shielding Samaira, who had backed into a corner, trembling.

"Don’t you ever raise your hand on her again," he said. "I don’t care how angry you are. I don’t care what’s going on. You do not, ever, cross that line."

Ahaan’s face crumpled.

"Papa… I didn’t mean—"

"That doesn’t matter!" Rohit roared. "She’s your sister. Not your punching bag. Not your outlet. She’s family. And if you ever speak to her like that again, you’ll see a version of me you’ve never known."

Samaira’s breath was shaky, her lips trembling. Ritika, who had entered silently, rushed to her, holding her tightly.

"You alright, beta?" she whispered, running her hands over Samaira’s back.

Samaira didn’t respond. Her voice had gone numb.

She looked at Rohit with wide, broken eyes.

And Rohit turned to her, his anger softening into heartbreak.

"Papa is here," he said gently, opening his arms.

She didn’t move.

Then, slowly, she walked into his embrace. Her body shaking as silent sobs finally escaped.

Ahaan watched it all. The guilt curdling in his chest like acid.

He had let a stranger’s words cloud his love.

He had hurt his sister.

And now… he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to fix it.

---Author’s POV:

Rohit stormed out of the room with clenched fists, barely managing to keep himself from exploding further. But the second he reached the living room, he collapsed onto the couch, face in his hands.

Ritika followed him silently. Samaira stayed behind, still trembling, tucked into the corner of the room like a porcelain doll someone had nearly shattered.

Ahaan stood frozen in the hallway — heart pounding, throat tight, guilt slicing through every nerve.

Rohit was breathing heavily, trying to swallow the anger and ache boiling inside him. But it didn’t work.

> “Main apna beta khud nahi pehchaan pa raha hoon, Ritika…” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper.“Ye woh Ahaan nahi hai jise maine paala hai…”

Tears escaped from the corner of his eyes, and he didn’t bother hiding them.

Ritika sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder gently. But Rohit was shaking his head.

> “Main fail ho gaya. Main sab kuch sambhal nahi paaya. Ek beti mili humein itne saalon baad… usse apna banane ke bajaye hum usse aur dard de rahe hain…”

> “Agar main us waqt nahi aata toh… main soch bhi nahi sakta…”

His voice broke completely.

Ritika’s own eyes welled up. She had seen Rohit Sharma — the strongest man she knew — break on the field, in front of cameras, under national pressure. But never like this. Never for their children.

Samaira, still standing near the staircase, heard it all. Her breath hitched. She had never seen her father this vulnerable. She had never imagined being the reason he would cry.

And Ahaan... Ahaan stood like a ghost outside the hallway, everything crashing around him.

He saw his father — the man he worshipped — fall apart.

He saw his mother’s eyes full of worry and hurt.

He saw his sister — tiny, trembling, too silent — watching them all as if she didn’t deserve any of it.

Something shattered inside him too.

---

Ahaan’s POV:

He didn’t sleep that night.

Not even for a second.

His hands trembled when he tried to drink water. He kept replaying the moment in his head — his voice, his raised hand, Samaira’s terrified eyes, Rohit’s grip stopping him. The look on Papa’s face.

He had seen disappointment in his father’s eyes before — for missing shots, for slacking off in practice — but this… this was disgust. This was heartbreak.

And he had caused it.

His chest burned with regret.

He didn’t know when he started walking, but he found himself at Samaira’s door. It was half-open.

She was lying down with her face turned away, hugging a soft toy tightly to her chest.

He didn’t step in. He couldn’t.

> “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice broken. “I’m so, so sorry…”

She didn’t respond.

But he heard the sound of her sniffle.

And that killed him all over again.

---

Author’s POV:

The next morning was dull. No cricket replays. No laughter. No teasing. The entire house moved slowly, quietly — like a wound still bleeding under bandages.

Ritika made breakfast.

Rohit didn’t come down.

Samaira sat at the table, not touching her food.

Ahaan stood nearby, unsure if he had the right to sit.

Finally, Samaira whispered without looking at him.

> “I didn’t mean to take anyone’s place…”

Her voice was barely audible, but it echoed in his ears like thunder.

> “I’m sorry I came.”

Ritika dropped the spoon from her hand. Ahaan felt the world spin.

> “Samaira— no,” Ritika choked, walking up to her.

But Samaira had already stood up, wiping her eyes.

> “I’ll just… go to my room.”

Before anyone could stop her, she walked away.

And Rohit, from the stairs above, had heard every word.

Author’s POV:

The door clicked softly behind Rohit as he left Samaira’s hallway.

But his silence was deceiving.

Inside him, something snapped.

Downstairs, Ritika had just poured a glass of water when she heard it — the sound of their bedroom door slamming shut. Hard. Like a storm had entered their home.

She rushed upstairs.

When she entered the room, Rohit was standing by the window, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He wasn't breathing — he was burning.

> “Rohit…?” she whispered.

> “She said sorry for coming here,” Rohit said, voice hoarse. “Apne hone ke liye maafi maangi usne.”

He turned around — eyes bloodshot.

> “Main kya kar raha hoon, Ritika?” His voice trembled. “Main apni hi beti ko dobara tod raha hoon.”

He clenched his fists.

> “Ek baar usse humse chheen liya gaya tha… aur ab main… khud… usse khud se door kar raha hoon.”

He crumbled into a chair, burying his face in his palms.

> “She finally called me Papa… and I promised her she’d never feel like an outsider again. I failed. Main haar gaya.”

His shoulders shook. Ritika had seen him cry twice — once when his father passed, and once when Samaira had said “Papa” for the first time.

This was worse.

She knelt in front of him.

> “No, Rohit. Tumne haar nahi maani. Tum toh lad rahe ho. Har pal. Uske liye. Par ab waqt hai… Ahaan ko samajhna padega.”

---

Meanwhile – Ahaan’s POV:

He sat on the floor, back pressed to the cold wall just outside Samaira’s room. The words she had whispered kept echoing, mocking him.

> “I didn’t mean to take anyone’s place.”“I’m sorry I came.”

How had he become this person?

When did bitterness start replacing love?

He remembered Shanaya’s words like poison:

> “She’s not even your real sister. She’s just here because your parents felt guilty. That’s why she clings. Because she knows she doesn’t belong.”

And he had let those words settle. He had believed them.

He shut his eyes, guilt crawling like acid under his skin.

> “Mujhse galti ho gayi…” he whispered, breaking inside.

He stood, walked to her door, raised his hand… and stopped.

Instead, he sat down on the floor again.

Inside, Samaira was lying still, staring at the ceiling. But she had heard him.

His breathing. His pain.

She closed her eyes, her hands wrapped tightly around her pillow.

> “I didn’t want this, Papa. I just wanted to be loved…”

---

Author’s POV:

Later that night, Ahaan finally knocked once. Then walked in slowly.

Samaira sat up, surprised.

He didn’t look like the charming, headstrong captain of the school cricket team. He looked like a little boy who had just lost his way.

He came forward and then… knelt.

Right there. On the floor.

> “Agar mujhe zindagi bhar maafi maangni pade… toh main mangunga,” he said, voice hollow. “Par aaj main sirf ek cheez kehne aaya hoon.”

He looked up — eyes glassy, face pale.

> “Tu meri behn hai. Hamesha thi. Hamesha rahogi. Main bewakoof tha. And I let you suffer because of my own insecurity.”

Samaira didn’t speak.

> “Mujhe nahi pata tum mujhe phir kabhi bhaiya bulaogi ya nahi… but main phir bhi rahunga.”

He placed a tiny box in her hands. A Rakhi — late, but real.

> “Main tumhare liye woh sab banne ki koshish karunga jo main shuru se hona chahiye tha.”

Samaira stared at it, then looked at him. Her lower lip trembled.

> “Aap… mujhe galat samajhte the na?” she whispered.

Ahaan's voice cracked.

> “Sab kuch galat samjha maine…”

She looked down… and for the first time since their storm, her hand moved forward.

She touched his shoulder.

That’s all.

But it was enough.

---

In the Bedroom:

Ritika had just tucked Rohit into bed — his fever hadn’t subsided.

He mumbled in half-sleep, his body too exhausted from emotion.

> “cheen naa mat usse… main nahi jhel sakta…”

Ritika wiped his forehead, whispering:

> “Woh tumhare paas hi hai, Ro. Aur hamesha rahegi.”

At the same time, Samaira and Ahaan sat on the floor — broken, healing, real.

The house wasn’t whole yet.

But cracks let light in.