Tanvi's POV

The backstage air smelled of hairspray and desperation. I adjusted my jhumkas, my fingers trembling slightly, not from stage fright, but from the weight of the date circled in red on every calendar I owned.

Mum's death anniversary.

And here I was, about to accept some hollow award while her shraddh pooja sat unfinished at home.

I can still imagine Mum's image flashing, asking me to go, and then Kanta insisting,

"She'd want you to go," Kanta didi had insisted. "To shine, beti."

But guilt coiled in my stomach like smoke. Would she? Or would she wonder why her only daughter chose a trophy over her memory?

My phone buzzed, another message from Dad. Maybe it's him saying he will come home later or congratulating me for this opportunity. I open my phone and boom.

A solid wall of muscle sent me stumbling back. My Anamika Khanna lehenga—hand-stitched over six months—scraped against the concrete floor.

"Let me help—"

A man's voice. Deep. Warm. Familiar?

The man looming over me was unfairly attractive for someone so infuriating. Tall, with tousled hair and a jawline that could cut glass, but dressed in a wrinkled shirt that screamed corporate drone. His eyes, dark, almost apologetic, flickered to my ruined lehenga, then back to my face.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped, scrambling up on my own. The skirt was destroyed, the silk snagged, the embroidery frayed. My stomach dropped. "Do you have any idea how expensive this is?" "Or that you just ruined the most important night of my career?"

He had the audacity to cross his arms. "You walked into me."

Unbelievable. I straightened to my full height (thank God for these long heels), meeting his gaze dead-on. "Your face was buried in your phone like a teenager. Try using those eyes for walking next time."

A flush crept up his neck. "Funny, you didn't seem to notice me either. Maybe if you weren't so busy glaring at your own reflection,"

"Tanvi! Now!" My assistant, Tania, materialised, dragging me away before I could tell him of. How dare he talk to me like that?

I walk with Tania to the dressing room for the last time, to get rid of any dust and touch up any makeup. Gosh, if it weren't for that idiot, I could have been done with this by now.

I open my phone to the message from dad,' come by the office later need some paperwork to be signed.'

The foundation brush tickled my cheek as I exhaled sharply through my nose.

I sighed. I guess he didn't want to congratulate me or even say he would be coming home later today.

"Don't sigh!" Tania scolded, snapping her fingers at the makeup artist. "You'll ruin the contour. And stop chewing your lip, that gloss costs more than her monthly salary." She jerked her chin toward the trembling junior artist.

"Stop fidgeting," Tania ordered, swatting my hand away before nodding at the makeup artist. "She's ready. Now, remember—"

"I know the drill," I cut in, standing smoothly and adjusting the plunging back of my gown. "Stand between Sheetal and the Infosys heir, smile when they announce the nominees, and if—"

When," Tania corrected, arching a brow.

I smirked, rolling my shoulders back. "When they call my name, three seconds of humble surprise, then walk up like I own the stage. Which I do."

Tania grinned. "There's the Tanvi Malhotra I know."

But beneath the cool confidence, my pulse thrummed. It wasn't stage fright; I'd been accepting awards since I was eighteen. No, this was different.

Tonight was Mum's death anniversary.

I swallowed hard, my fingers brushing the hidden pocket of my gown where Mum's cracked bangle rested, my secret good luck charm.

Then the stage manager waved me forward.

Showtime

The lights hit me like a wall of heat as I took my place between the other nominees. Sheetal Khanna shot me a tight smile, one I returned with effortless grace, chin lifted, shoulders squared. The cameras loved me, and I knew it.

The announcer's voice boomed over the crowd. "This year's Business Woman of the Year defied economic forecasts, leading Malhotra Industries to a 37% profit increase despite market crashes..."

My stomach twisted.

Mum should be here.

She should be the one clapping the loudest.

"...Please welcome, Tanvi Malhotra!"

The applause erupted. For a split second, my breath caught, guilt, grief, pride, all tangled together, but then my training kicked in.

Three seconds of wide-eyed surprise.

A graceful hand over my heart.

Then I strode forward, my heels sinking into the plush carpet as I accepted the trophy with a polished smile.

"Thank you," I murmured into the mic, my voice steady. "This business was built by my parents, my father's vision and my mother's relentless passion." Her hands guiding mine over balance sheets. Her laughter in empty boardrooms when I played CEO with her pearls around my neck. "This award is as much theirs as it is mine."

The crowd ate it up.

Backstage, Tania crushed me in a rare hug. "Perfect. You even sounded humble."

I scoffed, but my fingers tightened around the trophy. "Where's my phone?"

Still no messages.

Not from Dad.

But as I glanced at my reflection, flawless makeup, victorious smile, trophy in hand, I allowed myself one small, shaky breath.

I did it, Mum.

Even without you here.

Aditya's POV

Driving back to work wasn't all that bad, less traffic than on the way to the award function, at least. I was just a few turns away from the office when my phone buzzed with a call from Kiara's school.

Frowning, I pulled over and picked up.

Me: "Hello?"

Teacher: "Hi, is this Kiara's father?"

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Yes."

Teacher: "Please come and pick her up. She's been crying and keeps asking for you. She's quite upset."

The calm in her voice did nothing to mask the urgency underneath.

Me (worried): "I'll be there right away."

Kiara never cried without reason. And when she did... There was always one.

Mum.

I shot off a quick message to Mr. Malhotra, "Emergency at Kiara's school. Will be late. Hope that's okay."

Of course it was. The man had a heart. The kind of boss who never once made me feel like a burden for leaving early when Kiara had a fever, or when I showed up puffy-eyed after late nights earlier, after Kiara's birth. He always understood.

Still, my chest was tight with worry as I pulled into the school's parking lot. Her class was just down the hall, but it felt like the longest walk of my life.

I found her curled in the reading corner, arms wrapped around her knees, cheeks streaked with tears. Her teachers hovered helplessly nearby.

"Kiara," I murmured, crouching beside her with a smile I didn't feel.

Her tiny head snapped up. "Papa!"

She flung herself into my arms, sobbing into my shirt. I held her close, brushing her curls from her damp forehead.

"What happened, baby?"

She sniffled but didn't answer. One of the teachers stepped forward.

Teacher: "Some of the kids made fun of her... for not having a mother. We tried to step in immediately, but—well—it's been happening more frequently. And no matter how we explain, the kids keep repeating it."

A cold rage slithered down my spine.

Me (quiet but firm): "Please make sure those children's parents are present at the next meeting. If they can't teach their kids kindness, maybe they need a reminder."

The teacher nodded, ashamed.

I carried Kiara out to the car. Her sobs had quieted to little hiccups by then, but the damage was done.

As I strapped her into her seat, she looked up at me, her little fingers curling around the edge of the car seat. There was a quiet sadness in her eyes, something she couldn't fully explain but that tugged at my heart.

Kiara (softly): "Papa... where's Mumma? She didn't come. I want Mumma."

My chest tightened. I wasn't sure how to answer. She was so small, so innocent, and yet so full of that little ache only a child could carry.

I kneeled down beside her, looking into her wide, trusting eyes. She was just a baby, but the weight of her question hit me like a ton of bricks.

Me (gently): "Mumma's not here right now, sweetie. But I'm here. And I'll always be here. You and me, together."

Her lower lip wobbled. She shook her head slowly, confused and hurt.

Kiara (whispering): "Why no Mumma? Is Mumma mad at me?"

My heart cracked. How could I possibly explain the mess of grown-up emotions to her? How could I explain a love that got lost, or a person who couldn't—or wouldn't—stay?

I gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and held her little hands in mine.

Me (softly, with a sad smile): "No, Kiara. Mumma's not mad at you. You did nothing wrong. Sometimes... sometimes people don't stay, but that doesn't mean they don't love you."

She frowned, her little brow furrowing with confusion, and then her lip quivered. Her tiny voice was barely audible.

Kiara (sniffling): "I want my Mumma. I want her hug."

I pulled her into my arms, pressing her small body close to mine, letting her feel the warmth and safety she so desperately needed.

Me (whispering, my voice thick with emotion): "I know, baby. I know. But I'll be your hug. I'll be your Papa and your Mumma and everything in between. You're never alone, okay? Not ever."

She wrapped her arms around my neck and clung to me tightly, as though afraid I'd disappear too.

Me (softly, with conviction): "I promise, Kiara. You're my world. And I'll never let you go."

—

We reached the office, and I carried Kiara straight to Mr. Malhotra's floor. He adored her, had from the first day she toddled through the corridors in her nursery uniform. And Kiara felt the same. She always called him "Dada," unprompted.

I knocked on the heavy oak door. "Come in," came the reply, muted, almost distracted.

As I entered, I noticed him standing by his desk, not looking at paperwork or emails for once, but at a photograph. His expression was unreadable.

The frame held a picture of a younger Mrs. Malhotra, her eyes alight with warmth, smiling down at a little girl no older than Kiara, dressed in a delicate sky-blue frock with white lace trim and tiny embroidered flowers along the hem. The kind of dress a little princess might wear.

Before I could comment, Kiara wriggled out of my arms and ran straight toward him.

Kiara (beaming): "Dadaaa!"

Mr. Malhotra's face transformed instantly. The sorrow melted into joy as he crouched to welcome her, arms wide. They hugged like they hadn't seen each other in months, not days.

"Happy birthday, meri jaan," he whispered, and handed her a box wrapped in golden foil.

Kiara (gasping): "Can I open it now, Papa?"

I gave her a small nod.

She tore it open and squealed when she saw the contents, a beautiful blue party dress, almost identical to the one in the photo I'd just seen. Soft satin, floral embroidery, capped sleeves, and a flared skirt that shimmered when she spun it in her tiny hands.

Kiara (excitedly): "I want to try it now! Please, Papa, please?"

I nodded again. Priya, Mr. Malhotra's secretary, appeared instantly and took her to change.

Me (smirking): "You spoil her, sir."

Mr. Malhotra (chuckling): "It's her birthday. And she's my granddaughter—spoiling her is my right. But... you look troubled. What happened?"

I hesitated.

Me (quietly): "I just got the court date. Custody hearing is in two weeks."

His expression hardened.

"I'm scared I'll lose her," I admitted. "You know what they'll say, that a child needs a mother. That I'm not enough. And with the Mehtas backing Priyanka..."

Before he could reply, the door flew open.

Priya, breathless, panicked, rushed in.

Priya (worried): "I'm so sorry, Aditya. I just turned around for one second, and Kiara, she's gone."

"What?" My heart stopped. "You lost her?"

"I thought she was right behind me! I just turned to grab her old clothes, and—"

Mr. Malhotra slammed his hands on the desk, eyes blazing.

Mr. Malhotra: "This is unacceptable! Where did you last see her?"

Priya pointed frantically down the hallway. I bolted.

—

I turned the corner and froze.

There she was.

Walking hand-in-hand with someone I'd hoped to never see again today.

Tanvi.

The same lady from this morning. In the same blue dress. The exact same dress as Kiara.

She looked more human now than she had earlier at the award ceremony. Less diamond-studded armour, more... something else. And Kiara? She was smiling up at her like she'd known her forever.

Kiara (beaming): "Papa! Look! This is Princess Tanvi!"

My heart stopped.

And in that instant, watching my daughter glow beside the woman I couldn't stand... I felt the ground shift beneath me.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.