The evening air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the garden. Chahat carefully balanced the tray of coffee cups as she walked outside, noticing how the guests had naturally gravitated toward the open space.
Vansh stood a little apart from the others, gazing at the distant horizon, his hands in his pockets. Karan and Sahir, meanwhile, admired the house as they made their way to the garden, speaking in hushed tones about its charm.
Chahat smiled at the sight. "You all seem to like the garden," she remarked casually. "Wouldn't it be better to enjoy coffee while watching the weather?"
Karan turned toward her with a grin. "Why not? This place is lovely."
Sahir nodded, pulling out a chair. "Sounds like a great idea."
As they settled in, Chahat helped Mehendi into a seat, making sure she was comfortable before placing the steaming cups on the table.
Karan took the first sip and sighed in satisfaction. "This is really good."
"I have to admit, Miss Chahat," Sahir added, "your coffee is exceptional."
Chahat simply smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair as a comfortable silence fell over them. The evening sky had begun to turn a deeper shade of blue, and the distant sounds of the city seemed far away, leaving only the soft rustling of leaves in the background.
Then, Karan spoke. "You're quite lucky to have a mother who has done so much for you."
It was meant as a simple observation, a passing remark.
Chahat chuckled softly, swirling the coffee in her cup. "Fortunate?" she mused, her tone light, almost thoughtful. "Maybe… but not as much as you think, nor as much as I can brag about."
Her words were casual, spoken without much weight, as if she were simply stating a fact. Yet, something in the way she said them made the air feel different—though no one noticed.
"There are so many children who grow up with their mothers' love," she continued. "Maybe not all of them are happy, but at least they have it. I… I didn't get to live with her for long." She let out a slow breath. "I never had the chance to lay my head in her lap when I was happy… or when I was at my lowest."
She paused for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Still, I consider myself lucky to be her daughter."
Her gaze briefly flickered toward Vansh, but it was so subtle that no one paid attention to it. Not even Chahat herself realized she had done it.
Yet, for Vansh, something shifted.
He didn't react outwardly. He didn't say anything. But the words hit him in a way he hadn't expected.
It wasn't a dramatic moment—there was no visible change in his expression, no sharp intake of breath. Just a quiet, almost imperceptible stillness.
For the first time in a long while, he felt something stir inside him. Something uncomfortable. Something familiar.
But before he could linger on it, he pushed it aside.
"It's late," Vansh suddenly announced, standing up. "We should leave."
Sahir and Karan exchanged glances at his abruptness, but neither questioned it.
Sahir, ever the polite one, smiled. "Once again, I must say—the coffee you made was enjoyable."
Chahat nodded, amused by his formal tone. "Thank you, Mr. Malhotra."
As the group began to leave, Vansh hesitated for just a second. His eyes flickered toward the house, then the garden, taking in the peacefulness of the space.
Then, without a word, he followed the others to the car.
Once inside, Sahir and Karan slipped back into their usual rhythm—rambling about random topics, filling the silence with meaningless chatter. Vansh occasionally threw in a word or two to blend in, but his mind was elsewhere.
Chahat's words played on a loop in his head, uninvited and unwelcome.
They had been spoken so casually, so effortlessly. No hidden meaning. No attempt to provoke anything.
Yet, somehow, they had reached a place inside him that he didn't want to acknowledge.
And no one noticed.