I was stuck.
Like physically stuck in the backseat of Dad's car, emotionally stuck between irritation and something I absolutely refused to name, and mentally stuck wondering which bad life decision landed me here at eight in the damn morning.

Front seat: Dad.
Laptop on his lap.
Eyes pretending to read mails but actually checking the rear-view mirror every thirty seconds like a paranoid hawk.

Beside me: the trouble maker.

Correction - the seven-year-old menace who apparently had a personal vendetta against ice-creams, malls, and me.

"I don't want to go with monster uncle," she had announced earlier, with that calm, ancient tone she used like she was some retired grandma who had seen wars, famine, and my existence.

Why?

Because apparently I once spilled her ice-cream on the floor.

Once.

ONE time.

I swear on everything broken inside me, that was an accident.
Gravity betrayed me. The universe tripped. The floor was slippery. The ice-cream was weak.

And for the record, I can buy two hundred ice-creams.
Two hundred stores if I want.
Heck, I'll buy the entire damn dairy industry.

But no.
Madam here is emotionally scarred over her two hundred rupees ice-cream like it was some ancestral treasure.

I had said sorry.
Actually, I had said it once.

She still denied.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how I ended up here.
Because when I says no, Dad's glare says you're going.

Simple math.

I leaned back against the seat, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring straight ahead while the driver navigated through the morning traffic toward the mall.

She sat next to me.
Small. Too small. Like she was made of something fragile the universe forgot to reinforce.

But her focus wasn't on the window.
Not on the cars.
Not on the stupid hoardings.

Her eyes were somewhere else.

Lost.

And that's when it hit me again - that sometimes I forget she's seven.

Because she doesn't feel seven.

She looks four or five when she curls into herself.
But the way she talks?
Fuck, It's like listening to a hundred-year-old woman trapped in a child's body.

Her manners are weird.
Her silences are louder than my arguments.
And the way she looks at things like she's calculating loss before joy.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I realized Dad was quiet.

Dangerously quiet.

Laptop balanced on his lap, fingers typing, but his eyes?
They kept flicking back.
Checking her.
Checking me.
Checking the space between us like it was a ticking bomb.

She was still staring ahead, fingers twisted together, lips pressed thin.

Perfect on the outside.

But something was off.

Last night flashed in my head without permission.

Her helplessness.
The way her body shook like it didn't trust the world anymore.
The pain behind her nightmare -
not loud, not dramatic;just raw, silent ache.

I had never seen anything like that.

And that scared the hell out of me.

She looks fine now.
Breathing steady.
No tears.

But I know that look.

It's the look people wear when they're trying.
Trying to be okay.
Trying to not fall apart again.

Neil uncle.

The name itself feels heavy.

Her entire life was built around him.
And now he's gone.

Just like that.

If she keeps bottling it up like this, one wrong trigger and-
boom.

Another panic attack.

Another night we can't erase.

I clenched my jaw.

Great job, Arin, I told myself. You're worried now. Since when did that happen?

I had to do something.

But what?

I glanced at Dad.
Busy. Or pretending to be.

I cleared my throat.

"Oye,Trouble maker."

She didn't respond.

I tried again, louder. "Hey. Pass me the water bottle."

She turned to look at me.

Those eyes.
Too big. Too aware.

She didn't say a word.

Just leaned forward, checked the pocket of the front seat, found the bottle, and handed it to me carefully. Like I was glass too.

I took it.

Plan?
Failed. Perfectly.

I hadn't even planned what I'd say next.

I shrugged, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and mentally cursed myself.

Brilliant, Arin. Ten points for stupidity.

Silence filled the car again.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.

She had gone back to staring at nothing.

Not outside.

Inside.

Something in my chest twisted - annoying, uncomfortable, unwanted.

Why does she look like that all the time?

Why does she carry grief like it's her responsibility?

She's seven.

Seven-year-olds are supposed to cry loudly.
Demand things.
Throw tantrums.

Not sit quietly, trying to be strong.

I hated that.

I hated that I noticed.

I hated that I cared.

"Why do you always sit like that?" I blurted out before my brain could stop me.

She blinked. "Like what?"

"Like you're thinking too much."

She tilted her head. "Thinking is good."

I scoffed. "Not when it makes you sad."

She considered that. Then shrugged. "Sadness also comes with thinking."

I stared at her.

Who the hell taught her this?

She looked forward again, conversation done.

Something snapped inside me.

I leaned back, rubbing my face. "You know, normal kids look out of windows and get excited about malls."

"I'm also excited," she said softly.

That was it.

That sentence.

No drama. No self-pity. Just a lie.

My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped wire around my ribs.

I hated the world a little more in that moment.

We drove in silence again.

Dad's reflection in the mirror caught my eye - sharp, alert, worried.

He knew too.

Everyone knew.

We just didn't know how to fix it.

Mall lights appeared ahead.

I sighed, forcing my tone lighter. "Listen, trouble maker."

She looked at me again.

"I won't spill your ice-cream this time."

She studied my face like she was judging a criminal. "Promise?"

I raised my hand. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," she said.

"Details," I muttered.

For the first time, something changed.

Her lips twitched.

Just a little.

Not a smile.

But close enough.

And for reasons I absolutely refuse to analyze, that tiny almost-smile felt like winning a war.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling of the car.

Great, I thought bitterly. Now I'm invested.

This kid is going to be the death of me.

And the worst part?

I don't even hate it.

----------

The car halted.

Finally.

Like the universe had decided to stop torturing me and let me out of this moving metal box of overthinking.

Dad was the first to move. He shut his laptop, opened the door, and before any of us could even blink, he was already holding the trouble maker in his arms.

She didn't protest.

Didn't pretend to be independent.

Just curled into him like that was the most natural place in the world.

Her head went to his shoulder. His palm moved from her head to her back in slow, grounding strokes.

And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

"Princess," Dad murmured softly, too softly for a man like him. "Do you want to go home?"

She shook her head.

Then, in the smallest voice, like she was asking for permission to exist, she said, "Baba, ice-cream."

I saw it.

That tiny flicker on Dad's lips.

Not a smile.
Not really.

But something close to hope.

We stepped out of the car and started toward the mall entrance when suddenly she shifted in his arms.

"Baba, put me down."

Dad looked at her, a little surprised. "Why, princess?"

"I want to walk."

He studied her for a second, like he was checking if she was really okay, then nodded and set her down carefully, like she was made of something that could crack.

And that's when I actually looked at her properly.

Shorts.
White top.
A light shirt over it.

Simple. Comfortable.

Cute.

Ugh.

Arin, you idiot. Don't forget - she's your enemy.

I mentally slapped myself.

Not that I had any problem with what she was wearing. It's her life. Her body. Her comfort. She has every damn right to wear whatever she wants.

But.

And this is a big but.

If even one bastard in this country looks at her in a way he shouldn't, I will rip his eyes out.

No hesitation.

No second thoughts.

Because this place.... this society..... it's sick.

People love to stare.
Love to judge.
Love to cross lines and then say, "We were just looking."

Just looking.

Like that makes it okay.

Like that erases fear.

Like that erases the way a girl feels her skin crawl when she realizes someone's gaze isn't innocent.

And then they ask for proof.

What proof do you have that we did something wrong?

This mentality is the reason we see headlines every day.
This mentality is the reason families break.
This mentality is the reason girls learn fear before they learn freedom.

Our dad taught us one thing very clearly:

Do whatever you want in life.
But if because of you, a girl feels uncomfortable consider yourself dead to me.

And now?

Now it's about the trouble maker.

Someone even thinks of her in a wrong way and I let him go?

Yeah.

No.

Not happening.

A dark, ugly smirk touched my lips before I could stop it.

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts away, and followed Dad and her inside.

The moment she entered the ice-cream parlour

Her whole face lit up.

And I mean lit up.

Like someone had switched on the sun inside her.

Her eyes went wide. Her steps slowed. She looked around like she had just walked into heaven.

This girl....

She loves ice-cream more than anything.

(A/n; Anya humpr gayi haina isliye 🙈)

More than toys.
More than cartoons.
More than probably even us.

She stood there, frozen, staring at the display like it was the eighth wonder of the world.

Dad bent a little. "What do you want, hm?"

She pressed her lips together, thinking very seriously, like this was the biggest decision of her life.

"Baba,how many can I choose?"

Dad blinked. "How many do you want?"

She raised her fingers slowly. "Two."

I almost laughed.

Two.

With that look, I thought she'd ask for the entire shop.

"Only two?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

She looked at me like I was stupid. "Too much ice-cream is not good for health."

She's seven.

Seven.

And she talks like this.

Dad's lips twitched again.

He ordered, and while they prepared it, she went to sit properly, legs swinging, hands on her lap like a well-behaved little old soul.

I stood there, arms crossed, pretending not to watch her.

But I was watching.

Every little movement.

The way she looked around before touching anything.
The way she kept checking where Dad was.
The way she kept a small distance from strangers.

Like a cat that has been hurt once and now doesn't fully trust hands anymore.

And that thought made something inside me go dark.

Last night.

Her screams.

Her shaking.

Her not even opening her eyes.

The way her body reacted like the world was ending again.

I clenched my jaw.

She shouldn't have to live like this.

She shouldn't have to be strong.

She should be messy. Loud. Careless.

Not this controlled.

Her ice-cream came.

One scoop purple currant.
One scoop Belgium chocolate.

Classic??

No

She took it carefully, like it was something precious.

Dad sat with her. I took the opposite seat, still pretending I didn't care.

She took one small bite.

Closed her eyes.

And smiled.

A real one this time.

Not forced.
Not brave.
Just happy.

And for some stupid, annoying reason, my chest felt lighter.

"Good?" Dad asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Very good, baba."

She then looked at me. "Monster uncle, you don't want to eat?"

I blinked. "No."

She shrugged and went back to eating.

I told you.

Manners? Zero.

But somehow it works for her.

She ate slowly, carefully, not spilling even a drop.

I kept waiting.

Waiting for her hands to shake.
Waiting for her to zone out.
Waiting for something to go wrong.

But nothing did.

She was okay.

For now.

And that scared me more than her panic.

Because calm is fragile.

And she?

She's made of glass.

------

We stepped out of the ice-cream parlour.

She was holding Dad's hand now, her fingers wrapped tightly around his like the world might tilt if she let go. Dad didn't say anything about it. He never does. He just adjusted his grip, thumb brushing the back of her hand in slow circles.

I was a step behind them, phone in my hand, pretending to scroll while actually watching her reflection in every glass surface we passed.

"Princess," Dad said gently, looking down at her. "First we buy clothes for you. Then we'll see other things, okay?"

She nodded immediately.

No questions.
No demands.
Just that soft, obedient nod that makes my chest hurt for reasons I don't want to name.

We turned toward the clothing section.

Not just any store.

VARQ.

Kabir bhai's brand.

Our brand.

We own sixty percent of this entire mall, and this store? This one is personal.

The moment we stepped inside, the vibe shifted.

VARQ doesn't scream luxury.

It whispers power.

The entire showroom was wrapped in a dark black palette matte black walls, black marble flooring with subtle rose-gold veins running through it like controlled fire. Rose-gold fixtures held the clothes, soft but commanding, catching the light without ever trying too hard.

Warm, dim lighting fell from the ceiling, not harsh, not blinding designed to make you feel expensive, not exposed.

On one side, the men's section stood sharp and structured-jackets, shirts, tailored pieces, all screaming dominance. On the other side, the women's section flowed softer but still strong-elegant cuts, muted colors, power stitched into fabric.

Large mirrors lined the walls, floor to ceiling, edged with rose-gold frames. Not the kind that judge you-these mirrors make you look like you belong.

Plush black velvet seats were placed near the trial rooms, wide and comfortable, meant for waiting without discomfort. Even the changing rooms weren't just "rooms"--they were cabins. Spacious. Private. Soundproof. With soft lighting and seating inside.

The staff uniforms matched the brand;black tailored outfits with subtle rose-gold badges. Clean. Professional. No loud chatter. No chaos.

( VARQ aesthetics)

As soon as we entered, the staff recognized us.

Of course they did.

But I noticed it,two or three new faces among them. New employees. Unfamiliar eyes.

A manager approached Dad immediately, posture straight, voice respectful.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said formally. "Welcome to VARQ. How may we assist you today?"

Dad nodded once, calm, authoritative. "We're here for her."

The manager followed Dad's gaze to Avanya.

I saw it.

That slight pause.

That microsecond where he tried to understand who she was.

Not a customer.
Not staff.
Not just a child.

Before he could say anything more, I stepped in.

"Show dresses according to her size," I said flatly.

The manager nodded and turned to signal a male employee.

And that's when I saw her.

Avanya's grip on Dad's hand tightened.

Her shoulders stiffened.
Her eyes dropped to the floor.
Her body leaned subtly into Dad, like she wanted to fold into his shadow and disappear.

Fuck.

I didn't even think.

"Not you," I said sharply.

The male employee froze.

"Send a female staff member."

The manager immediately corrected himself. "Yes, sir. Of course."

Dad glanced at me, then down at her.

Without a word, he bent and lifted her into his arms.

The relief on her face was instant.

Like she could finally breathe again.

Dad turned toward the personal cabin;Kabir bhai's private section inside the store, reserved for family and high-profile clients.

The moment we moved away from the main floor, away from the crowd, I felt her body relax against him.

And something clicked inside my head.

Crowd.

Noise.

Eyes.

Too many people.

Last night.
Her panic.
Her screams.

What if she's scared of crowds?

What if it's not loud sounds or darkness that trigger her?

What if it's the gap;the space where she feels alone even when surrounded?

What if too many people make her feel small,unseen,unsafe?

Fuck.

That thought sat heavy in my chest.

The cabin door closed behind us, muting the outside world.

Soft lights.
Silence.
Familiar space.

She sighed.

Actually sighed.

Like someone who had been holding their breath for too long.

Dad sat her down gently on the velvet couch, kneeling in front of her.

"Better?" he asked softly.

She nodded.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to notice the way my heartbeat finally slowed.

She wasn't being difficult.

She wasn't being dramatic.

She was scared.

And none of us noticed soon enough.

That realization burned.

Because if this is what scares her now......
Then we have no idea how deep her fear really goes.

And that?

That terrifies me more than anything.

I swear to God, I don't know why we even brought her here.

Correction-
I know why.

Ice-cream. Trauma. Comfort. Distraction. Healing.
All that emotional bullshit Dad believes in.

But this?

This was not shopping anymore.

This was a hostage situation.

Avanya was sitting on the velvet couch inside Kabir bhai's personal cabin, legs swinging slightly, arms folded, her face carrying that very specific expression of "meri kismat hi kharab hai".

She had already chosen four dresses.

FOUR.

Perfectly fine.
Appropriate.
Cute.
Soft colors.
Nothing dramatic.

But no.

Dad stood near the clothing rack like a man on a mission, holding one dress in his hand, eyes narrowed, deeply analyzing fabric like it contained state secrets.

And me?

I was worse.

Much worse.

"Dad," I said, holding up a pastel blue dress, "this one."

Dad glanced at it. "Too light."

I frowned. "It's literally sky blue."

"Exactly," he replied calmly. "Too close to white. Hard to maintain."

I scoffed. "She's seven, not a museum artifact."

Avanya cleared her throat loudly.

We both turned to her.

She raised an eyebrow-yes, raised an eyebrow-and said in the politest, most tired voice,
"Why you take me if you want to take whole showroom?"

I froze.

Dad blinked once.

Then... his lips twitched.

A smile.

A real one.

Fuck.

"She's right," I muttered. "She's roasting us."

Dad crouched in front of her, voice softening immediately.
"Princess, we're not buying the whole showroom."

She looked at the clothes piled beside her.
Then at the rack.
Then at the second rack Dad had pulled in.
Then at me.

Her stare said everything.

"Liar," she said quietly.

I snorted before I could stop myself.

Dad shot me a warning look.

She already had: - a soft peach A-line frock
- a mint green cotton co-ord set
- a lavender knee-length dress with a light shrug
- and a pale yellow summer romper

Enough for a week.

Enough for a normal child.

But she wasn't just a normal child, was she?

Dad lifted another dress-this one a soft dusty rose color, layered chiffon, sleeveless but modest.

"This one," he said gently. "It's soft."

I immediately shook my head. "No."

Dad turned to me. "Why?"

I ran my fingers over the fabric. "The inner lining is rough. It'll itch."

Avanya looked at me, surprised.

Dad checked again, slower this time.

He nodded. "You're right."

The dress went back.

Avanya's eyes followed the movement.

Something shifted.

She didn't say anything-but she noticed.

I picked up another one-olive green, full sleeves, flowy, comfortable.
Then stopped.

Green.

Too close to hospital green.
Too close to that night.
Too close to memories she shouldn't have to touch.

"No," I muttered.

Dad heard it. "What?"

"Color," I said. "Not this."

He didn't argue.

Just nodded and moved on.

Avanya was watching us now.
Quietly.
Carefully.

Like she was trying to understand why two grown men were rejecting clothes like they could hurt her.

Dad smiled at her and asked softly,
"Are you tired, princess?"

She shrugged. "Little."

I sighed. "We're almost done."

She gave me a look that screamed "jhoot bolna bhi seekh lo".

Dad chuckled.

Then-like the devil himself whispered into his ear-
he said, "Maybe one more."

"Dad," I snapped, "no."

"What?" he asked innocently. "Just one."

I grabbed a dress before he could-soft beige, round neck, long sleeves.

"This," I said. "Last."

Avanya tilted her head. "This nice."

Dad smiled. "You like it?"

She nodded. "Soft."

That settled it.

I handed it to the female staff member quietly waiting at a distance.

"She'll try this," I said.

Avanya slid off the couch and walked toward the trial room.

Halfway there, she stopped.

Turned.

Looked at us.

"You both coming?"

Dad immediately shook his head. "No, sweetheart. We'll wait here."

She hesitated.

I sighed and crouched. "Door open. Staff outside. We're right here."

She nodded slowly and went in.

The door closed.

Silence.

Dad exhaled. "She's strong."

I leaned back against the wall. "She shouldn't have to be."

Dad didn't reply.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Then three.

My foot started tapping.

The door opened.

She stepped out.

And-

Fuck.

She looked... happy.

Not smiling widely.

Not laughing.

But comfortable.

That mattered.

Dad's eyes softened instantly.
"It suits you," he said warmly.

She looked down, then up. "Really?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "Very."

I nodded. "Approved."

She grinned. A small one. Real.

Then-

"Okay," she said, hands on hips. "Now no more."

Dad raised his hands in surrender. "Promise."

I smirked. "We'll try."

She groaned dramatically.

And in that moment-
standing there, surrounded by clothes, light, warmth-
she wasn't a child carrying trauma.

She was just... a kid.

And I realized something terrifying.

We weren't just buying clothes.

We were building armor.

Soft fabrics.
Safe colors.
No triggers.
No memories.

And I would burn this entire fucking showroom down
before letting anything hurt her again.

Even a dress.

I thought the clothing section was madness.

I was wrong.

The footwear section was a different kind of hell.

We entered, and the first thing I noticed was how Avanya slowed down.

Not scared.

Not frozen.

Just careful.

Like she always is in new places.

Dad's hand was in hers, his thumb unconsciously rubbing slow circles on the back of her palm something he does when he's thinking too much and doesn't realize it.

She was wearing the pink dress we finalized, her hair tied in a neat ponytail-by Dad, obviously. Still can't believe that man knows how to do that.

The footwear section was bright, but not loud.

Cream walls.
Rose-gold shelves.
Soft lights reflecting on polished floors.
Rows and rows of tiny shoes-sandals, sneakers, ballerinas, boots, slippers-everything arranged like someone curated a museum for small feet.

( VARQ Footwear section)

As soon as we entered, a staff member recognized us.

Of course they did.

But before she could open her mouth, Dad gave her that look.

The one that says: No drama. No attention. No noise.

She nodded immediately and stepped back.

Good.

Avanya looked around, then pointed at the couch in the center.
"Sit?"

Dad smiled. "Yes, princess."

He lifted her and made her sit.

She swung her legs gently, not touching anything, just watching.

And then-

The madness began.

Dad picked up the first pair.

Soft white sneakers.

I immediately said, "No."

He looked at me. "Why?"

"They'll get dirty in one day."

"She likes clean things," he said.

"Exactly," I replied. "She'll get stressed."

He paused.

Put them back.

I moved toward the shelf and picked up pastel pink Velcro sneakers.

Light. Comfortable. Easy to wear.

"These," I said.

Dad checked the sole. Pressed it. Bent it a little.

"Good grip," he murmured.

Then he picked up tiny tan sandals with soft cushioning.

"For home and short walks."

I frowned. "Open shoes. She might trip."

"They have ankle straps," he replied calmly.

He was right.

I hated that.

Then I saw small sky-blue crocs-style sandals.

"No," I said instantly.

Dad didn't even ask why.

Then came black shoes.

I stared at them for a second too long.

Too serious.

Too much like school.

Too much like a routine she wasn't ready for.

"No," I said again, more quietly.

Dad nodded and put them back.

We weren't talking much.

We didn't need to.

We were both doing the same thing

Filtering the world for her.

Not by size.

Not by fashion.

By safety.

By comfort.

By what won't remind her of something she's trying to forget.

I picked up soft grey sneakers this time.

Not white.
Not black.
Neutral.
Forgiving.

"These are fine."

Dad checked them. Then nodded. "Add them."

A staff member silently came and took them.

Avanya was watching us.

Quiet.

Patient.

Like she had accepted that today, she wasn't the one deciding.

And strangely she didn't look upset.

She looked taken care of.

Dad walked toward her and crouched slightly;not fully down, not in a dramatic way.

Just enough.

"Princess, we'll try some, okay?"

She nodded.

The staff brought the first pair:the pink sneakers.

Dad sat on the couch beside her and gently lifted one of her feet.

She hesitated for half a second.

Then relaxed.

I stood nearby, arms crossed, pretending I didn't care.

But my eyes were on her face.

Every little expression.

Every flicker.

Dad slid the shoe on carefully.

Adjusted the strap.

Not tight.

Not loose.

"Is it okay?" he asked.

She moved her foot a little. "Yes."

No discomfort.

Good.

She tried walking two steps.

Fine.

Next,the grey sneakers.

This time, I sat down on the low stool nearby not right in front of her, not making it obvious.

I took the shoe from the staff and said, "Give me your foot."

She looked at me.

Then gave it.

I didn't rush.

Didn't tug.

Didn't force.

Just slid it on.

Adjusted the strap.

Checked the fit with my thumb.

"Walk," I said.

She did.

Then she looked at me. "These nice."

I nodded. "Of course they are. I chose them."

She try to rolled her eyes.

Dad smiled.

Next;the tan sandals.

Dad handled those.

Then;soft home slippers.

Then;one pair of slightly fancy flats for occasions.

I stopped a female employee at that.

"No heels. No hard soles."

"They're not heels," she said.

"I know. Still."

She looked at them again.

Put them back.

Avanya didn't say much.

But I noticed something.

She wasn't shrinking.

She wasn't trying to disappear.

She was just there.

Present.

And that itself felt like a fucking miracle.

While the staff was packing things, I glanced at her feet.

So small.

So light.

And yet, they had walked through more hell than most adults.

A strange anger twisted in my chest.

Not loud.

Not explosive.

Cold.

Sharp.

The kind that doesn't go away.

Dad stood up and held her hand.

"Are you tired?"

She shook her head. "No."

But her voice was a little slower.

I noticed.

Dad noticed.

He didn't say anything.

Just picked her up.

She wrapped her arms around his neck instantly.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I looked away.

Not because it was emotional.

Because it was dangerous how much I was starting to care.

I wasn't forced.

I was... doing this.

Choosing.

Protecting.

Making sure.

Like she was already... ours.

And maybe-

That was the scariest part.

The manager practically bowed down as Dad handed over the cards. "Sir, you don't have to,this is your son's store," he said, stuttering.

I raised an eyebrow. "I fucking know," I muttered under my breath, watching him squirm.

Dad didn't even look at him. Calmly, like the fucking king of the universe.

"I am not your owner's father right now," he said, voice sharp, making it clear he was just a customer today, not some mafia king deciding the price.

I snorted. I mean, who the hell talks like that while paying for a child's clothes? Only him.

Manager nodded frantically, taking the cards and typing fast. "Okay sir, payment successful."

Dad didn't even glance. He simply picked Avanya up in his arms. And she.....she rested her head against his shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I could feel my insides twist a little.

Fuck.

That girl.

That little troublemaker who had everyone wrapped around her tiny finger, even the goddamn Dad who I thought could control everything.

We walked toward the toy store, bags swinging from bodyguards arms mine as well, technically, I didn't have many, but there were still a few tucked under my hands.

The bodyguards flanked us silently, already calculating how many bags they were going to carry back and already silently muttering that we were insane.

Avanya squirmed slightly in Dad's arms. "Baba soft toys?" she asked in her small, precise voice. "I-I have Mr Choco, he will be jealous if I get another one."

I choked back a laugh. That's my enemy right there. That little seven-year-old girl, pretending to be serious while literally sitting on Dad's shoulder like a tiny queen ruling the mall.

Dad ignored her. Not cruelly.
Just like he always does knows better. He walked past the rows of stuffed animals, plucking out three huge teddy bears, a unicorn, and some random-looking plushies, tossing them into the cart.

I raised my hand. "Dad,she said no."

He looked at me. Slow blink. Then a small smirk. "I know."

I sighed. Fucking hell. Of course, he knows. Always knows.

Avanya crossed her arms, pouting slightly. "Baba,I said noooo."

Dad looked down at her, voice soft as silk, almost teasing. "Princess, don't worry. Mr Choco will forgive you. I promise. He's strong. He can handle it and also he need friends too na"

I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath. "What the actual fu-frog..."

She gave me a look like I was the idiot. I swear, that little glare could cut through steel.

Next, they moved toward the school supplies section. Oh, god, that was a fucking nightmare waiting to happen.

Dad didn't even ask her. He just started picking things. Colorful pencils, notebooks, a tiny backpack that had her initials embroidered.

Arin, being the chaotic idiot that I am, started picking random things that I thought would be cute for her; erasers shaped like animals, tiny rulers that could double as swords in her imagination, and pens that lit up like fucking lasers.

Avanya frowned. "I- I don't need all of these"

Too late. Already in the cart. Dad smiled down at her. "Don't worry. We're doing this for fun. You can always choose later."

I muttered, "Or you can scream bloody murder later" but of course, no one heard me.

We ended up in the books and stationery section, picking all sorts of things for school.
Dad lifted her higher so she could reach the top shelves, and I could swear I saw her eyes sparkle like she'd never seen a pen or notebook before.
Tiny fingers touching everything carefully, like she didn't want to break the magic.

Next stop: the dog toys section for that dog I mean that toffa- no , tufky-uhh yeah for tufky Dad was still holding her, and she rested like a fragile little doll on his shoulder.

We both went down each aisle, inspecting every single pair of toys. I swear, each time she blinked at a toys, my inner monologue screamed: Fuck buy this without think much

I started muttering curses to myself under my breath, barely audible. God, what if these fuckers made her uncomfortable?

Shit.... No.... Calm down.... She's fine....Just.... Fucking hell, stop panicking.

She barely protested. Just looked at the toys we were showing, giving a small nod or shaking her head softly.

Then we hit the bag section for school bags and casual backpacks. Oh, fucking hell. Dad started picking out tiny rolling backpacks, leather bags, canvas, denim, everything. Avanya immediately poked one with her finger. "Baba, too big I can't carry."

Dad smiled and placed it on her shoulder. "Try. See?"

She tried, almost toppling to one side, and I had to catch her lightly with my elbow. My brain screamed, hell she's so small keep this shit together.

Avanya looked at me, not scared, just confused. Dad handed her another one. I muttered, "Why.... why not let her decide" but again, Dad ignored me.

By the time we finished the toy store, books, stationery, school bags, school shoes, and even some extra random things he decided she needed, the cart looked like it would never fit in one car.

The bodyguards already started strategically arranging how to carry it all back. I swear, one even whispered to the other, "Sir.... this is...."

Avanya, still on Dad's shoulder, now looked down at me. "Baba... hand..."

Dad nodded, understanding. He lowered her carefully onto her tiny feet. She grabbed his hand firmly, like she could never let go.

I followed silently, dragging the extra bags like a good little idiot who apparently forgot that he is supposed to be in charge of one child, not managing a fucking mall haul.

She looked at the bags, then at Dad, then at me, and finally at the bodyguards. Her little brow furrowed. "So, many bags"

I gritted my teeth. "Yeah we bought whole mall "

Dad gave me a smirk from the side of his face. Like Calm down, idiot, she's fine.

Avanya, ever logical, nodded slowly. "We bring to car?"

"Yes, princess," Dad said. "We carry all. No problem."

She smiled. Tiny, bright, innocent, like nothing in the world can touch her, and climbed onto Dad's shoulder again.

I looked at the cart. Looked at the bags. Looked at her. Looked at Dad.

Shook my head slowly.

"Hell," I whispered to myself.

And she? Sitting there like the queen of all the chaos we had just caused. No complaints. No whining. Just small smiles. And a tiny voice that made me forget the world outside.

Dad moved toward the car, I followed behind like a guard. Bodyguards strategized how to fit all the bags in the trunk, muttering under their breath about the sheer insanity of the Rathore children's whims.

Avanya leaned down from Dad's shoulder and whispered softly, "Baba thank you"

I almost fucking halt.

Almost.

Dad just smiled, lips twitching. He glanced at me. I nodded slightly.

Fucking hell. We're supposed to be buying things. Not saving the world.

But somehow, I feel like today we did both.

The parking lot was quiet, just the dim white lights reflecting off the black SUVs and guards leaning against their posts, alert but silent. Dad was inside the car with Avanya, talking softly, trying to distract her with the bakery. She rested against him, her small hands loose on his chest, her eyes half-closed.

Everything should have been calm.

Then I saw them.

Three men, leaning near a pillar. Pretending to drink, to laugh, to be casual.

But their eyes were on her.

Not just looking. Luring. Undressing her with their gaze.

I felt my blood boil. Every vein in my body screamed. My jaw clenched, fists tightened.

I didn't think. I moved in front of her, blocking their view.

"Dad, aap trouble-maker ko bakery le jaiye Kuch khila dijiye main bas thodi der mein aa jaunga."

(Dad, take Avanya to the bakery. Give her something to eat. I'll be there in a minute.)

He looked at me. Our eyes locked.

He followed my gaze. He saw them.

His face went cold. Eyes darkened. That calm, measured calm Dad always carries- gone. A storm behind those eyes.

I blinked at him. A single, subtle gesture, and he understood.

He lifted her properly onto his lap inside the car. Her tiny body slumped slightly. He kissed her forehead."In how many minutes?"

"Thirteen"

The driver started the engine.

The second the car moved out of sight, something inside me snapped.

I turned to them.

They were still there, still laughing, still acting like nothing mattered.

I smiled. Slowly. Coldly.

I walked toward them.

They noticed. Frowned.

"Kaun hai be? Aur yahan kya kar raha hai, saale?"
(Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here, asshole?)

"Kuch baat karni hai," I said calmly, every syllable dripping with poison.

"Yahin karoge ya thoda side mein?"
(We need to talk. Are you gonna do it here or somewhere else?)

One of them sneered. "Aisi bhi kya baat karni hai? Kahin uss maa-"
(What's the big deal? Somewhere with her-)

He didn't finish.

I moved.

The first punch landed like thunder. Jaw shattered against my fist. He went down.

The second one's eyes widened. Anger flared, but it was like a candle flame against a hurricane.

I pressed my hand against the third, spinning him slightly, my grip tight, almost unyielding.

"Jisse tum log dekh rahe the na usse dekhne ki himmat kaise hui?"
(How dare you even look at her?)

"Wo meri dushman hai," I said, every word sharp as a knife. "Aur uspe hasne ki ijazat maine khud ko nahi di tum kaun hote ho?"
(She is my enemy. And I never gave anyone the right to laugh at her, who the hell are you?)

(A/N;Yaar yeh dushman bhi bolta hai or phir yeh pookie wali cheeje bhi karta hai isko thoda gyaan do koi)

The second guy laughed nervously. "Bhai, itni chhoti si ladki teri dushman hai? Kya scene hai, pyaar-vyaar-"
(Bro, such a small girl is your enemy? What's this,love-story-)

I turned my head slowly. His words didn't even finish before I moved again.

The third tried to step forward. "Zyada hero ban raha hai kya-"
(Getting too much hero, huh-)

Bad move.

Very bad move.

After a few moments, the lot lay on the ground, half-conscious, trying to process what had just happened.

I crouched down to their level. "Tumhari zindagi ka sabse bada gunah pata hai kya hai?"
(Do you know your greatest crime in life?)

They didn't answer.

"H@r@mj@de Tumne meri behen ko gandi nazar se dekha."
(You rascal looked at my sister with a dirty gaze.)

One of them tried to speak, but I silenced him with just a look.

I stood up. Jacket adjusted, every movement deliberate.

"Tumhari bheno ka toh mujhe pata nahi bichari tumse bachkar rahe ya bhar walo se lekin agar dubara meri BHEN ke liye aisa socha bhi na to aaj toh aaj toh jinda chor raha hu ainda main Hospital layak bhi nahi chhodunga."

(I don't know about your sisters, whether they are keeping themselves away from you or from the people outside, but if you think like this again for my sisters, then today I am leaving you alive but next time you won't be able to admit to the hospital.)

I turned my back to walk away.

Then stopped.

"Waise Thankyou," I said, almost casual, voice low but venomous. "Mujhe yaad dilane ke liye ki wo meri liye kya hai."
(By the way... thank you. For reminding me what she means to me.)

The parking lot was silent again. No one dared move. The guards stood frozen, the lights reflecting off the black cars like some cinematic nightmare.

And in my mind, I still saw her tiny face. The way she trusted Dad. The way she didn't know she had almost been violated with just the greed in their eyes.

I clenched my fists, walking toward the shadows, the smell of leather, exhaust fumes, and fear heavy in the air.

I didn't care about witnesses. I didn't care about rules. I didn't even care about the money these men had or their stupid egos.

She is mine. And no one, I swear, no one will ever lay a finger on her.

-------------------💖

Hey my Anuvians💖

OMG it feels like forever since I last saw you guys
Like pura five days ka gap and honestly I missed you sooo much yaar.
Like sooo much sara wala ,you don't even know 😭

The trip was AMAZING But guys do you think I came back without any injuries? Na baba na My clumsiness literally never leaves me.
I slipped from the mountain (yes hehehe 😅) and now my feet are giving me trouble. First my hand now my feet I am officially on bed rest doing absolutely nothing except scrolling through ideas and thinking about how to make my app.

But don't worry that doesn't affect my writing because my hands are finally fine now
so get ready, you guys are going to get so many chapters coming your way ✍️💖

And haha hehehe hahaha huhuhu Hehhe I don't know why but one story is still not complete in my head. I keep thinking about Ananya's profession, her wedding, her love story like why am I thinking about her love story? She's literally seven 😳

Sorry Vikram Sir i am just joking okay chill pill

GUYSSSSS ARIN
OMG ,
The way he SLAYED today MATLAB MAJA HI AAGYA😍🔥

CRAZY.
FAVOURITE.
FABULOUS.

So, for now, I want you guys to share your favorite moment from the chapters. Like I want the biggest, cutest, funniest, dramatic replies ever

VOTE 🗳
COMMENT 📝 (cute, small, big, I love it all)

Also don't forget to miss me a little, because I'm totally missing you guys more than ice cream on a rainy day 🍦☔️
(Majak tha ICECREAM se jyada kuch nahi )

Love you all like seriously, Anuvae over you like sun love moon 🌞🌙💖

Tata Sky for now....
Stay chaotic, stay cute, stay dramatic 😘