"Some souls don't need to see each other to recognise one another. Sometimes, the heart knows first, and the eyes are simply late to catch up."
By the time the final bell for departure rang, Ivan carefully rolled up the card and slid it into a paper tube the teacher had provided, hugging it to his chest as though it were a priceless treasure.
"Thank you," he said, looking up at Rudra with an expression far too sincere for a five-year-old.
"For helping."
Rudra crouched to his level.
"You made it. I just... threw glitter."
"You threw glitter and gave good advice," Ivan corrected seriously. "That counts as double help."
Before Rudra could respond, Ivan reached into his schoolbag and pulled out a folded piece of paper, slightly crumpled around the edges.
"Here."
Rudra took it and unfolded it carefully.
It was a drawing.
A rather ambitious attempt at a dinosaur, all sharp angles and mismatched proportions. Its tail curled in a direction that defied basic anatomy, and its teeth resembled a jagged smile more than anything remotely threatening.
"For you," Ivan announced proudly. "Because you're my friend. And friends give friends dinosaurs."
Rudra studied the drawing for a long moment, fighting the smile threatening to spread across his face.
"This," he said slowly, "looks like a potato."
Ivan gasped, utterly offended.
"That is a T-Rex!"
"It has four legs and no arms."
"It's a new species."
"With a triangle for a head?"
"Advanced evolution!"
Rudra couldn't hold it back any longer.
He laughed.
Genuinely.
Freely.
The sound echoed softly through the corridor.
Ivan crossed his arms, pretending to be offended, though the corners of his lips kept twitching upwards.
"You're supposed to say thank you," he informed Rudra with great dignity. "Not insult my masterpiece."
"Thank you," Rudra said, still smiling.
"For the potato."
"It's a dinosaur—"
"Ivan!"
A teacher's voice interrupted from the doorway.
"Your Mumma is waiting for you at the gate."
Ivan's face lit up instantly, the drawing argument forgotten.
"Coming!"
He grabbed his schoolbag and the paper tube holding the card, then turned back one last time.
"Bye, Mr Handsome!"
He waved enthusiastically, already halfway out the door.
"Same time tomorrow?"
Rudra looked at the ridiculous dinosaur drawing still in his hand, then at the little boy practically bouncing in the doorway.
Somewhere deep inside, the composed, disciplined, unshakeable CEO of Malhotra Industries knew exactly what the sensible answer should be.
No.
You have a company to run.
You have a life to return to.
This isn't your responsibility.
Instead...
"I'll try," he said.
Ivan grinned so widely it nearly split his face before disappearing down the corridor. His tiny footsteps echoed against the tiles until they finally faded into the noise of departing children.
Rudra remained standing there for another moment, glitter still clinging stubbornly to his sleeve and the poorly drawn potato-shaped dinosaur held carefully in his hand.
He looked down at it.
Then, quietly, almost involuntarily...
He smiled.
What is happening to me?
He didn't have an answer.
But for the first time in six years, he didn't particularly mind not having one.
Tara's POV
The school gate buzzed with the usual chaos of dismissal: mothers calling out names, children darting between legs, a chorus of "bye, bye" ringing through the afternoon air.
I stood near the railing, scanning the sea of blue uniforms for a familiar mop of curls, my dupatta slipping slightly off my shoulder as I adjusted the strap of my bag.
Where is he...
A few feet away, near the gate's other pillar, a man stood with his back to me.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. A charcoal suit that fit him with the kind of precision only expensive tailoring could offer, though it was, oddly, dusted faintly with what looked like glitter.
I didn't think much of it.
Mumbai was full of tall men in suits.
And yet...
Something made me pause.
Something I couldn't name.
He stood near the pillar, glitter still stubbornly clinging to his cuff, a rolled-up dinosaur drawing tucked carefully into his jacket's inner pocket as though it were a contract worth crores.
He should have left already.
His driver was waiting. His phone had been buzzing insistently in his pocket for the last ten minutes, Aarav most likely, wondering where in God's name the CEO of Malhotra Industries had disappeared to on a Tuesday morning.
And yet he stood there.
Watching the gate slowly empty.
Waiting for one last glimpse of a small boy waving goodbye.
He didn't know why he lingered.
He only knew that leaving felt, inexplicably, like walking away from something unfinished.
Behind him, the crowd shifted. Voices rose and fell. Somewhere close, a woman's dupatta rustled in the breeze, and the faint, achingly familiar scent of jasmine drifted past him.
His shoulders stiffened.
It's nothing.
Half of Mumbai wears jasmine.
And yet his heart didn't seem to agree. It had already begun to race, already begun to recognise something his mind hadn't caught up to yet.
Neither of them turned.
Not yet.
They stood there, back to back, separated by no more than a few steps, two people who had once known every inch of each other's hearts, now reduced to strangers sharing the same patch of afternoon sunlight.
The world around them blurred into the background: the chatter of children, the honking of cars beyond the gate, the rustle of leaves overhead, all of it fading into a hush neither of them noticed.
Tara's fingers stilled on the strap of her bag.
Rudra's breath caught somewhere in his chest.
Something ancient stirred in both of them, a recognition that had nothing to do with sight and everything to do with the quiet, wordless memory the heart keeps long after the mind has tried to forget.
It was in the way the air seemed to hold its breath.
In the way six years suddenly felt like six seconds.
In the way neither of them could explain why their pulse had chosen, without permission, to quicken.
A tilt of the head.
That was all it would take.
A single turn, and two people who had spent six years pretending the other no longer existed in their world would be standing face to face once more.
Tara's chin began to lift, slowly, almost involuntarily, drawn by something she didn't understand and couldn't resist.
Rudra's shoulders began to shift, his body turning before his mind had fully agreed to it.
Closer.
Closer.
A breath away from—
"Mumma!"
A small hand tugged sharply at the edge of my dupatta.
I blinked, the strange, breathless pull in my chest shattering instantly as I looked down to find Ivan beaming up at me, a rolled paper tube clutched proudly in both hands.
"Ivan!"
I crouched immediately, my earlier distraction forgotten as I pulled him into a quick hug.
"There you are. I was looking everywhere—"
When I glanced up again, out of some instinct I couldn't quite explain, the man near the pillar was gone.
I frowned faintly, an odd, unplaceable ache settling in my chest, though I couldn't understand why.
Strange.
I shook the feeling off and focused back on my son, who was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Look, Mumma! Look what I made!"
He thrust the paper tube toward me.
I opened it carefully, unrolling the chart paper, and the moment I saw it, my breath caught.
A golden sun. A cluster of yellow flowers. A messy scattering of stars, one shaped suspiciously like a triangle.
And in the centre, in careful, wobbly handwriting:
"For the best Mumma in the whole world. You are my sun, my stars, and my home. — Ivan."
My throat tightened instantly.
"Ivan..." My voice came out thicker than I intended. "This is..."
"Do you like it?" he asked, suddenly anxious, searching my face. "Mr Handsome said you'd cry. He said happy tears. Are these happy tears, Mumma?"
I let out a wet laugh, pressing my hand to my mouth as I nodded.
"Very happy tears."
Relief washed visibly over his small face, and before I could say another word, I pulled him into a tight hug, the card carefully held between us, my chin resting on top of his messy curls.
"I love it," I whispered. "I love it so much, baby."
"Mr Handsome helped me," Ivan mumbled into my shoulder, his voice muffled but proud. "He said I should make something for you instead of Papa. Because you deserve it more."
My arms tightened around him.
Mr Handsome.
That name again.
I still hadn't met this mysterious man who had, apparently, become my son's closest confidant in a matter of days. Part of me wanted to be wary. Mumbai wasn't always kind to strangers who grew too close too quickly.
But looking at the card in my hands, at the sheer joy still radiating off my son...
I couldn't bring myself to feel anything but grateful.
"I'll have to thank him properly one day," I murmured, mostly to myself.
The walk home was filled, as always, with Ivan's endless narration.
"—and then, Mumma, I gave him my dinosaur. The really good one, remember? The one I worked on for three days?"
"I remember."
"He said it looks like a potato."
I nearly tripped over a crack in the pavement.
"He said what?"
"A potato!" Ivan repeated, sounding thoroughly scandalised all over again. "I told him it's a T-Rex. A new species. Advanced evolution. But he just kept laughing."
Despite myself, I laughed too, squeezing his hand as we crossed the narrow lane leading toward the chawl.
"He clearly doesn't know good art when he sees it."
"That's what I said!" Ivan threw his free hand up dramatically. "He has no ability, Mumma. No ability at all to judge art. None. Zero."
"None at all," I agreed solemnly, biting back a smile.
"But," Ivan added, softening slightly, his footsteps slowing, "he still kept it. He put it in his pocket like it was important."
Something in my chest tightened again, gently this time.
A stranger who makes my son laugh, defends his artistic dignity, and still keeps his ridiculous drawings like they're treasures.
Whoever this Mr Handsome was...
He was leaving an impression.
I only hoped, quietly, that it wouldn't end up being the kind that hurt.
Tara's Flat
The door burst open before I even had the kettle on.
"You will NOT believe the day I've had."
Ritvi stormed in, dumping her bag onto the couch with more force than necessary, her kurta stained with an unmistakable brown blotch across the front.
Ivan, who had been sprawled on the floor watching his favourite dinosaur cartoon, immediately abandoned the television, scrambling over with wide, curious eyes.
"Ritvi Aunty, what happened to your dress?"
"Coffee," Ritvi announced, flopping dramatically onto the couch. "My entire cup. Ruined. Gone."
"How?" I asked, already moving to grab a towel.
"Some absolute maniac in a car nearly ran me over on the main road," she said, throwing her hands up. "I mean nearly, Tara. As in, if I hadn't jumped back like an Olympic athlete, I would currently be lying in a hospital instead of my own living room."
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
"I'm furious, that's what I am." She snatched the towel from my hand, dabbing uselessly at the stain. "My coffee went flying. All over me. New kurta, gone. Ruined in three seconds flat."
Ivan climbed onto the couch beside her, fully invested now, his cartoon completely forgotten.
"Then what happened?"
"Then," Ritvi said, eyes narrowing at the memory, "the car actually stops. And this man gets out."
"Did he apologise?" I asked, settling into the armchair across from her.
"That's the thing!" Ritvi threw her hands up again. "He didn't say anything. Not sorry, not are-you-okay, nothing! He just stood there. Staring."
"Staring?"
"Staring, Tara! Like I had two heads! I was standing there, dripping coffee, absolutely fuming, and this man just stood by his car staring at me like he'd forgotten how to use words."
Ivan tilted his head. "Maybe he was scared."
"He should be scared," Ritvi muttered. "I almost hit him."
"You hit him?" I asked, alarmed.
"I almost hit him," she clarified. "I had my hand raised and everything. Full filmy slap, ready to go."
"Then why didn't you?"
Ritvi sighed heavily, leaning back into the couch cushions.
"Because," she said, "I did the math. Public road. Witnesses. A very expensive-looking car. If I slap a man like that in broad daylight, guess who ends up in a police station explaining herself while he probably has some fancy lawyer bailing him out in ten minutes?"
"Smart," I admitted.
"I know I'm smart," Ritvi grumbled. "Doesn't mean I didn't want to do it anyway."
Ivan, still watching her with rapt attention, asked, "Was he handsome?"
Ritvi blinked. "What?"
"The staring man," Ivan clarified innocently. "Mumma's friend is also called Mr Handsome. Was your staring man also handsome?"
I nearly choked on my own laughter.
Ritvi stared at Ivan for a long moment, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and reluctant honesty.
"That," she finally said, pointing a finger at him, "is completely irrelevant."
Which, of course, meant yes.
I grinned into my cup of tea, deciding not to press further, though I filed the reaction away with quiet amusement.
Malhotra Industries
The cabin door burst open without so much as a knock.
"You will not believe the morning I've had."
Rudra didn't even look up from the desk, where he sat with the crumpled dinosaur drawing spread carefully in front of him, studying it with the same focus he usually reserved for quarterly reports.
"Aarav."
"No, seriously, listen to this—" Aarav dropped into the chair across the desk, completely oblivious to what Rudra was looking at. "I'm driving to the office, right? Normal day. And then this girl, Rudra, I swear, this girl just appears on the road out of nowhere, and I had to stop the car so suddenly—"
"You almost hit someone?"
"That's not the point," Aarav waved his hand dismissively. "The point is, she turns around, and yaar, she was stunning. Like background-music-should-be-playing stunning."
Rudra finally looked up, one eyebrow raised.
"And then what?"
"And then she started yelling at me," Aarav said, his expression turning dreamy despite the words. "Something about coffee. Or her dress. Honestly, I have no idea, because I wasn't listening."
"You weren't listening to a woman yelling at you?"
"I was too busy admiring her, Rudra! Have you ever seen someone look that furious and that beautiful at the same time? It's a rare combination. Extremely rare."
Rudra shook his head slowly, though the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
"You're insane."
"I'm smitten," Aarav corrected, dropping his head back against the chair dramatically. "There's a difference."
"Did you at least apologise?"
"...I may have forgotten to."
"Aarav."
"I was staring, okay! It's not my fault my brain stopped functioning!" Aarav sat up suddenly, pointing an accusing finger. "And speaking of functioning brains, where the hell were you this morning? I had to handle the entire investor call alone. Alone, Rudra. Do you understand the level of chaos that was?"
Rudra leaned back in his chair, unbothered.
"You handled it fine. You always do."
"That's not the point!" Aarav threw his hands up. "The point is you vanished! No message, no explanation, nothing! I had Mr Kapadia asking me personally where the CEO was, and I had to make up something about an urgent client meeting!"
"It was urgent."
"Was it?" Aarav asked, voice dropping into mock seriousness, one eyebrow arched. "Was it really worth missing an entire board meeting, Rudra?"
Rudra glanced down at the crumpled, glitter-dusted paper on his desk: the crooked dinosaur, the mismatched legs, the triangular head that defied all known anatomy.
He thought of the golden sun. The stars. The small, careful handwriting on a card meant for someone else entirely.
He thought of a little boy's face lighting up over a stick of cotton candy, over glitter thrown across a classroom, over a promise made and kept.
"Every bit of it," he said quietly.
Something in his tone made Aarav pause.
His teasing expression slowly faded, replaced by genuine curiosity as his eyes landed, for the first time, on the paper spread across the desk.
He leaned forward, studying it.
A child's drawing. Unmistakably so. Glitter still clinging faintly to the edges. A dinosaur that looked suspiciously more like root vegetable than reptile.
Aarav's brows furrowed.
"Rudra..." he said slowly. "What is this?"
Rudra didn't answer immediately, his fingers resting lightly against the edge of the drawing, as though reluctant to let it go even in conversation.
"It's nothing," he said finally. "Just... a friend."
Aarav studied the drawing a moment longer, something shifting behind his eyes, an idea forming, hesitant and half-formed, though not yet fully understood even by himself.
Then, quietly, almost thoughtfully, he said,
"The boy resembles you a lot, by the way."
Rudra's hand stilled completely.
"...What?"
But Aarav had already leaned back, his expression carefully casual, though his eyes lingered on his best friend's face for one second too long.
"Nothing," he said, waving it off lightly, though the weight of the words remained hanging in the air between them. "Just an observation."
Rudra said nothing.
But long after Aarav left the cabin, he found himself staring down at the drawing again, at the messy, crooked lines of a dinosaur drawn by a small hand.
The boy resembles you a lot.
He didn't know why the words settled so heavily in his chest.
He only knew that, for the second time that day, he had no explanation ready.
And for a man who always had an answer for everything...
That, in itself, was beginning to feel like a problem.
To be continued...
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