Khushi knelt down to the little boy's height, brushing the dust from his cheek.
"You shouldn't be wandering alone like this," she said gently. "What's your name?"
He hesitated, hugging his small backpack tighter. "Kiaan."
"Kiaan," she repeated softly, "why did you run away from home?"
His eyes darted away, lips trembling as if he had rehearsed this reason many times and believed it. "I… I don't like my papa. He keeps scolding me. He doesn't love me. He only gets angry."
Khushi's heart softened instantly. This wasn't defiance—this was hurt. Innocent, fragile hurt.
She sat beside him on the bus-stand bench, the morning breeze brushing strands of hair across her face. "Sometimes," she began slowly, "parents scold because they care too much. They worry if something goes wrong. Even love doesn't always look soft. Sometimes it becomes strict, loud, protective." She looked into his eyes. "Do you think your papa would be happy right now, not knowing where you are?"
Kiaan's throat moved as he swallowed, voice cracking. "Maybe… he will be angry again."
"Maybe," Khushi nodded, "but angry out of fear, not hatred. A father's love isn't always shown in hugs and chocolates. Sometimes it's in rules, warnings, late-night worries. Sometimes children understand it later." Her voice grew tender. "You are loved, even if you don't see it right now."
Kiaan stared at his shoes in silence, absorbing every word like a child who desperately wanted to believe he mattered. After a moment, he whispered, "Should… should I go back home?"
Khushi smiled warmly. "Yes. And you won't go alone—I'll take you. Let me grab my bag from the bus first."
She stood up, glancing toward the rebooked Mumbai bus where her luggage still lay in the overhead rack. Fate was clearly rewriting her day. Instead of traveling ahead, she was about to walk a scared little boy back to the place he ran from.
As she headed toward the bus, Kiaan watched her with hopeful eyes—somewhere inside him, a small flame of trust had been lit.
Khushi returned from the bus with her small suitcase rolling behind her. Kiaan stood exactly where she had left him, eyes anxiously searching for her. The moment he saw her, relief washed across his face.
She offered her hand with a reassuring smile. "Lead the way, Kiaan. You know your home better than I do."
He nodded, small fingers curling around hers, and together they began walking down the road. The late evening moonlight dipped low, colouring the pavement in silvery white as their shadows stretched side by side.
---
Meanwhile, at the villa…
Panic had already spread like wildfire.
Servants rushed across the corridors, guards scattered in every direction calling the boy's name. Kiara was trembling near the entrance, tears threatening to spill.
Yuvaan's voice thundered through the driveway. "How could you people let him wander out? He's a child!" He dismissed the guards with frustration and stormed out into the street, his calm demeanour replaced by raw fear. He looked everywhere, scanning corners, shop fronts, passing crowds.
His son was missing. Nothing mattered more.
---
On the street…
Khushi and Kiaan approached from one end of the lane. Yuvaan came from the opposite, eyes restless, determined. And in the middle—destiny decided to meet them halfway.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the road, strong and wild. Khushi's light scarf flew up, whipping across her face and hair.
"Oh no—" she gasped, letting go of her suitcase for a moment as she rushed after the runaway piece of cloth. Kiaan turned to call her but the scarf blocked his view, and he could only see a glimpse of the pendant around her neck swinging with movement—a delicate symbol he didn't recognize but would never forget.
The wind carried the scarf further; Khushi chased it down the pavement, fingers finally closing around it.
The moment she turned back, breathless, she froze.
Yuvaan had found Kiaan.
---
"Kiaan!" Yuvaan rushed forward, dropping to his knees and pulling the boy into a protective embrace. His voice cracked—half anger, half relief. "What were you thinking? Why did you leave home like that?"
"I… I thought you didn't love me," Kiaan whispered, guilt settling over his small shoulders.
Yuvaan closed his eyes, pain flickering across his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice softer than the wind. "I shouldn't have raised my hand. I was angry, but I should never have made you feel unloved. You're my son, my heart." He pulled him into another hug.
Kiaan hugged him back tightly.
He turned around, eager. "Papa, there was a kind lady who—"
But the space behind him was empty.
Khushi, who stood a few feet away watching the emotional reunion with a warm smile, had already walked away. Maybe she thought her part in this chapter was over. Maybe she didn't want to intrude. Maybe fate wanted the mystery to breathe longer.
And so, by the time Kiaan looked to thank her, she was gone—only the memory of her pendant remained in his mind like a small glimmer of magic.
To be continued…