The next morning arrived too quietly.

At least, that was what Yuvan thought.

He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt while his mind replayed the conversation from the previous night.

Tomorrow.

He had promised them.

For nineteen years, he had lived between two worlds.

At the Singhania Palace, he was Yuvan Singhania—the son of Vikrant Singhania.

Away from the palace, he was something else.

He was the brother who had known three children since they were small enough to hold his fingers.

The brother who had attended secret birthdays.

The brother who had been there when Sitara had cried after falling from her bicycle.

The brother who had taught Shourya to ride one.

The brother who had been blamed for Rudra's childhood crimes despite having absolutely nothing to do with them.

And today, he was finally going to stop living between those worlds.

He picked up his phone.

Three messages were already waiting.

Rudra:

Wake up.

Another message arrived.

Rudra:

Actually don't. I have decided to go to the palace alone.

Yuvan smiled.

Then came Shourya.

Shourya:

Ignore him.

And finally—

Sitara:

Good morning, Bhai.

Yuvan stared at those two words for a moment.

Bhai.

No matter how many times she said it, something inside him still tightened.

He had been ten when he first heard it.

Back then, Sitara had been a tiny little girl with two ponytails and enormous curious eyes.

His mother had taken him somewhere secretly.

He remembered holding her hand.

He remembered Akriti kneeling beside him.

"Yuvan, she's your sister."

He hadn't understood what that meant.

But Sitara had.

She had looked at him, smiled, and held out her tiny hand.

"Bhai?"

He had nodded.

And from that day, the word had belonged to him.

Yuvan typed quickly.

Yuvan:

I'm coming.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Rudra:

Bring food.

Yuvan laughed.

Yuvan:

You have a kitchen.

Rudra:

I don't trust our kitchen.

Shourya:

He burned toast yesterday.

Rudra:

It was experimental cooking.

Sitara:

It was charcoal.

Yuvan shook his head.

Some things never changed.

He slipped his phone into his pocket.

Today, they would.

At breakfast, the palace dining room was unusually full.

Vikram sat at the head of the table, reading the newspaper.

Vikrant was drinking his tea.

Virat was arguing with Abhiraj about something that appeared to have started five minutes earlier and had already become unnecessarily dramatic.

Abhimaan was quietly eating.

Hriday was checking his phone.

Vikram looked up as Yuvan entered.

"You are late."

Yuvan glanced at the clock.

"By three minutes."

"Three minutes is late."

Virat snorted.

"Don't argue with your Chachu. He has been waiting for an opportunity to lecture someone since six in the morning."

Vikram gave him a look.

Virat immediately returned to his breakfast.

Yuvan took his seat.

For a few moments, everything seemed normal.

Almost.

Then Vikrant spoke.

"Yuvan."

"Hmm?"

"Do you have plans today?"

Yuvan's hand paused around his glass.

There it was.

The question he had expected.

"Yes."

"Where are you going?"

Yuvan looked at his father.

Before he could answer, Abhiraj leaned forward.

"Somewhere interesting, hopefully."

"Not everything has to be interesting," Abhimaan said.

"That's exactly what boring people say."

"Abhiraj."

"Yes, Dad?"

Vikram's expression hardened.

"Eat."

Abhiraj obediently picked up his spoon.

Yuvan almost smiled.

Almost.

"I have to meet someone," he said.

Vikrant studied him.

"Who?"

There was a pause.

Yuvan could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

Who?

There were so many answers.

My siblings.

The children you never knew.

Your son.

Your nephew.

The family you lost.

Instead, he said quietly,

"Some friends."

Vikrant nodded, though his eyes remained thoughtful.

Vikram folded the newspaper.

"Will you be back for dinner?"

Yuvan looked at him.

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"I'll try."

Vikram sighed.

"Young people."

Virat laughed.

"You were young once."

"I was responsible."

Abhiraj nearly choked on his tea.

Everyone looked at him.

"What?" he asked innocently.

Vivan leaned toward Hriday.

"That was dangerous."

Hriday whispered back, "Extremely."

Yuvan smiled despite himself.

For one brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if everything were different.

If Sitara sat at this table.

If Shourya argued with Vikrant.

If Rudra drove Virat insane.

If his mother sat beside his father.

If the three empty places that existed only in his mind finally had people sitting in them.

Then his smile disappeared.

Because imagination was easy.

Truth was not.

By noon, Yuvan reached the house where he had spent half his childhood.

Rudra opened the door.

"Finally!"

Yuvan looked at his watch.

"I'm exactly on time."

"You are emotionally late."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I missed you."

Yuvan stared at him.

Rudra grinned.

"Now give me the food."

"I didn't bring food."

Rudra's smile disappeared.

"You've changed."

Shourya appeared behind him.

"He's been dramatic since morning."

"I've always been dramatic."

"Exactly."

Sitara came down the stairs.

She wore a simple blue kurta, her hair tied loosely behind her.

Yuvan's smile softened.

"Ready?"

She nodded.

Then stopped.

"Are you sure?"

Yuvan understood the question.

Not Are you sure about leaving?

Not Are you sure about going?

She meant—

Are you sure we won't be rejected?

Yuvan stepped closer.

"Sitara."

She looked at him.

"You've spent your entire life wondering whether you belong somewhere you've never been allowed to enter."

He glanced toward Shourya and Rudra.

"Today, you stop wondering."

Shourya crossed his arms.

"And if they don't accept us?"

Yuvan looked directly at him.

"Then they will have to answer to me."

Rudra raised his hand.

"And me."

Shourya sighed.

"No one is afraid of you."

"That's rude."

Sitara laughed.

The tension broke.

Yuvan looked at the three of them.

For nineteen years, he had protected this secret.

But perhaps secrets were never meant to be carried forever.

"Let's go home."

The word slipped out before he could stop it.

All three became silent.

Rudra's expression changed.

Shourya looked away.

Sitara's eyes filled with tears.

Yuvan swallowed.

"Let's go."

This time, nobody laughed.

They walked toward the car together.

And none of them noticed the elderly man standing across the street.

Watching.

Waiting.

And holding an old photograph in his hand.

A photograph from twenty years ago.

A photograph of three women.

And one dead man.

The old man looked toward Yuvan's car as it disappeared down the road.

Then he whispered,

"They are coming back."

His fingers tightened around the photograph.

"And this time, the truth is coming with them."