Sanya's POV
As I walked upstairs, my mind raced with questions. Would he let me in? Would he trust me enough to tell me the truth? Will he even talk to me after all this time?
I wasn't sure.
Ayaan and I had once shared a bond that felt unbreakable. Best friends. Partners in crime. But then, one day, he started pulling away. He distanced himself without an explanation, and I was left with nothing but silence and unanswered questions.
But tonight—seeing him like this, holding that baby, soaking wet and visibly shaken—I felt something shift inside me. It wasn't just curiosity anymore. It was something deeper. A feeling that told me he needed someone. And as much as I wanted to act indifferent, I couldn't ignore the pull.
Taking a deep breath, I reached his door. It was slightly open.
I hesitated for a moment before gently pushing it further, just enough to peek inside.
Ayaan was sitting on the bed, still drenched, as if he hadn't even thought about changing out of his wet clothes. One leg was stretched down, the other bent, his arm resting on his knee. And in his lap, wrapped securely in a thick blanket, was the baby.
The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the bedside lamp, casting soft shadows over his face. His dark, wet hair clung to his forehead, droplets of water dripping onto his shirt. But his focus wasn't on himself—it was entirely on the tiny bundle in his arms.
He was staring at the baby as if she were his entire world.
My breath hitched as I watched him lift his hand, carefully tracing his fingers over the baby's tiny ones. She responded immediately, her small hands moving, as if trying to grasp onto him, as if she recognized his touch.
Something in me stilled.
I felt it in my chest—an ache, an unfamiliar, overwhelming sensation that I couldn't quite place.
I quickly backed away before he could notice me standing there. My heart pounded, and I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to steady myself.
What is happening to me?
Shaking my head, I turned on my heel and walked back downstairs. The moment I stepped into the living room, every gaze turned to me, silently demanding an explanation.
I ignored them all.
Without sparing a word, I headed straight for the kitchen. The warmth of the kitchen was a sharp contrast to the cold tension in my mind. My hands clenched at my sides as I tried to gather my thoughts.
Spotting one of the maids, I quickly called out, "Aunty, can you warm some milk?"
The older woman, dressed in a simple cotton saree, looked at me for a brief second before nodding. "Of course, beta," she said, immediately moving toward the stove.
I exhaled, watching as she worked.
With every passing second, my thoughts kept returning to Ayaan and the baby. Who was she? Why did he bring her here? And why did it feel like, for the first time in a long time, Ayaan was holding onto something—or someone—so desperately?
I wasn't sure what was going on, but one thing was clear.
I needed to find out.
"Here."
The gentle voice of the maid broke through my thoughts. I turned to see her handing me a tray. On it sat a bowl of warm milk, a glass of warm water, and—wait, a cotton cloth?
I frowned slightly, glancing at the cloth in confusion. Before I could ask, the maid smiled knowingly. "You can use this to wipe the baby's mouth after feeding her. Sometimes, babies spit up," she explained, her voice kind and patient.
I couldn't help but smile at her thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Aunty," I murmured.
Balancing the tray carefully, I turned and made my way upstairs, deliberately ignoring the heavy silence behind me. I knew everyone was waiting for answers, but they'd have to wait. Right now, Ayaan needed to be my priority.
As I reached his room, I hesitated for a second before pushing the door open.
The sound made Ayaan tense immediately. His shoulders stiffened, and he looked up at me with wary eyes, as if I were an intruder. His dark gaze, sharp and guarded, met mine, but just for a moment—just long enough for a flicker of something softer to pass through them.
Tiredness.
It was brief, almost imperceptible, but I saw it.
Maybe he didn't realize it himself, but he looked exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally. His wet clothes clung to him, his disheveled hair falling over his forehead, but he didn't seem to care. The baby was still wrapped securely in the blanket, her tiny form snug in his arms.
Saying nothing, I stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind me.
His gaze followed me as I walked toward the bedside table and placed the tray down. I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting, but I didn't look at him. Not yet.
Instead, I kept my focus on the baby.
"She must be hungry," I said, my voice softer than I expected.
Ayaan didn't respond immediately.
"You should feed her," I added, finally lifting my gaze to meet his.
Ayaan's fingers curled slightly, gripping the blanket a little tighter. His jaw tensed, and for a fleeting moment, I thought he was going to argue. But he didn't. Instead, his gaze dropped to the baby in his arms, his expression unreadable.
"I don't even know how to feed a baby," he muttered, his voice unusually quiet, almost hesitant—so different from the man who could command an entire crowd with a single speech.
Ayaan Singh Rathore—the nation's heartthrob, the future of Indian politics, the man known for his charisma and confidence—was completely and utterly lost in front of a tiny, helpless infant.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling tightened in my chest. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't have the time to figure it out. Instead, I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. Ignoring the erratic beat of my heart, I moved closer, lowering myself onto the edge of the bed in front of him.
The problem was—I had no idea how to feed a baby either.
I had never been particularly fond of babies. Not because I disliked them, but because they were so small, so fragile. The mere thought of holding something so delicate made me nervous. What if I did something wrong? What if I hurt them without meaning to? That fear had always made me keep my distance.
But right now, looking at Ayaan—the most confident man I had ever known—so lost, so vulnerable, I couldn't bring myself to admit that I was just as clueless as he was.
The hope in his eyes made me want to try.
Swallowing my hesitation, I reached for the bowl of milk on the tray beside me. Testing the warmth with my fingertips, I made sure it wasn't too hot or too cold. Satisfied, I carefully dipped a spoon into the milk, letting it fill just enough to not spill.
I turned to Ayaan, gesturing for him to adjust his hold. "Turn her a little towards me," I instructed softly.
Ayaan hesitated for a second before carefully shifting the baby in his lap, angling her tiny body so she was facing me. She blinked up at me, her wide eyes filled with innocent curiosity. It was as if she was trying to assess me, trying to figure out who I was and what I was about to do.
And just like that, I found myself holding my breath.
Was he expecting me to be good at this? Because, quite frankly, he was about to be very disappointed.
I brought the spoon close to her lips, my movements slow and careful. The baby watched the spoon, her tiny hands twitching slightly. And then, just as the first drop of milk touched her lips, she latched onto the spoon without hesitation, drinking eagerly.
Ayaan let out a breath, almost in awe. "She's drinking," he whispered, as if he couldn't believe it.
I couldn't stop the small chuckle that escaped me. "Of course, she is. She was hungry."
His gaze flickered to mine, something unspoken passing between us. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, his attention went back to the baby, who had now wrapped her tiny fingers around his larger hand.
The moment was strangely beautiful.
I cleared my throat, pushing aside the sudden warmth in my chest. "You should feed her now," I said, holding out the bowl and spoon.
He looked at me, uncertain. I nodded, encouraging him. Taking a steadying breath, he carefully shifted the baby in his lap, adjusting his grip before bringing the spoon to her lips.
I watched, mesmerized.
I didn't know why, but I couldn't look away.
Once he was done, he set the bowl on the table, his movements careful as if he was afraid to wake the tiny girl who had now almost drifted off to sleep.
"You should change," I said, breaking the silence. "Otherwise, she'll feel cold too."
He nodded and, without a second thought, extended the baby towards me.
My entire body went rigid.
Oh no. Oh no no no. I was not ready for this.I stared at the baby, my heart pounding. What if I dropped her? What if I held her wrong? What if she started crying the moment I touched her? What if—
"will you hold her for a while?"
I blinked, my gaze snapping to Ayaan, who was looking at me with an unreadable expression. His eyes met mine, and for a brief second, something in his gaze softened, a quiet understanding passing between us.
Without a word, I found myself extending my hand toward him, as if some invisible force was pulling me to do so. Ayaan seemed to hesitate for just a moment before his gaze flickered down to the baby in his arms. He then placed her gently into my outstretched hands.
I froze, feeling the delicate weight of the baby settle against me. My breath caught in my throat as I instinctively cradled her close, making sure she was supported.
Ayaan's eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, his lips tugging into the faintest of smiles. He didn't say anything, but his look said it all—encouragement, maybe even pride.
I just sat there, holding the tiny, warm bundle in my arms, trying to steady my nerves. The baby stirred slightly, but she didn't cry, and I let out a relieved breath.
Ayaan took a step back, his expression softening as he watched me, his posture a little less tense. He moved quietly across the room, seemingly giving me space, but I noticed how his gaze never quite left me.
I glanced down at the baby in my arms, feeling a mixture of awe and uncertainty. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as terrible at this as I thought. I felt her little breath against my skin, her tiny hands curling in my direction as if she was trusting me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to feel something warm in my chest. It wasn't as scary as I imagined.
For a second, I thought he was going to say something else, but instead, he just gave a small nod and turned away. He took one last glance at the baby in my arms before walking toward his closet.
As soon as he disappeared inside, I looked down at the tiny girl who had now curled up against me, her tiny fingers twitching slightly in her sleep. Her breathing was soft, steady. Warmth spread through my chest, something unfamiliar but… not entirely unwelcome.
I exhaled slowly, my shoulders relaxing.
A few minutes later, I heard the faint rustling of fabric, followed by the sound of footsteps.
Ayaan emerged from the closet, now dressed in a plain white T-shirt and black joggers. His hair was slightly damp, probably from running a wet hand through it.
Nothing special. Just normal clothes.
Yet somehow, he still managed to look unfairly good.
I quickly looked away, pretending I hadn't noticed.
He walked toward me, rolling his shoulders as if trying to loosen some unseen tension. "I think you should change the bedsheet," I said, clearing my throat. "You sat there, and it must be wet."
He glanced at the bed, then at me, and nodded. "Right."
Without another word, he walked over to the telephone on the bedside table and dialed a number.
"Send up a fresh bedsheet," he ordered simply before hanging up.
Just like that. No please. No extra words. Just a command.
Typical Ayaan
The call lasted less than a minute, and I realized now was a good time to step out and figure out what exactly we needed for the baby.
I stood up carefully, adjusting the baby in my arms before turning to Ayaan.
"Can you hold her? I need to make a call."
His lips twitched slightly as if teasing me, his amusement evident as he reached out for the baby. He didn't even hesitate this time, just cradled her with surprising ease.
I blinked.
Wait.
Is he teasing me?
Wasn't this the same man who, just a few minutes ago, acted like he had no idea how to feed a baby? The same one who had looked at her like she was some complicated puzzle?
What the hell?
I narrowed my eyes at him. He simply smirked in response, rocking the baby slightly.
Men.
Rolling my eyes, I stepped out of the room, pulling my phone from my pocket as I made my way toward the hallway.
If anyone could help me figure out what essentials were needed for a baby, it was Aarav—my manager and, conveniently, a newly made father himself.
He picked up after a few rings.
"Hello?" he greeted, sounding half-distracted.
I could hear faint voices in the background. His wife, maybe?
"Aarav, what things are required for a baby?" I asked straight away, not bothering with small talk.
There was a pause. Then—
"You mean to make babies?" His voice dropped into a teasing tone. "Well, that's not exactly public information, but I can share some tips if you're interested."
I nearly choked on air.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I hissed, my face heating up.
Aarav burst out laughing. "Relax! You walked right into that one."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath. "I am not in the mood for your nonsense. I meant, what essentials do I need for a newborn?"
"Ah, got it," he said, still chuckling. "Okay, you'll need diapers, baby formula, soft blankets, a crib—wait, why are you asking? Did you steal a baby?"
I groaned. "It's a long story. I'll tell you some other time. Right now, just tell me what I need."
"Alright, alright, let me think," he said. I heard some shuffling on his end before he continued. "First thing, diapers. Lots of them. You won't believe how fast babies go through those."
"Okay, diapers. Got it," I murmured, making a mental note.
"Next, baby formula. Do you have any?"
I frowned. "No. She had some milk earlier, but I don't think that's enough."
"Yeah, you'll need proper formula. And bottles. Oh, and a sterilizer for the bottles. Newborns are sensitive, so you have to make sure everything is clean."
Sterilizer. Right. This was already sounding complicated.
"You'll also need baby wipes, rash cream, and baby soap. Newborns have really delicate skin," he continued.
I sighed. "This is too much."
Aarav laughed. "Oh, you're only getting started. Do you have baby clothes?"
I hesitated. "Uh… she's wearing something, but I don't know if there are extra clothes."
"You'll need a few sets of onesies, socks, and caps to keep her warm. Also, a baby blanket and a swaddle."
I was already regretting this call.
"Is that all?" I asked, hoping there wasn't more.
"Well…" Aarav trailed off. "Technically, you should also have a crib. But if you're keeping her in your room for now, just make sure she has a safe sleeping space. No loose pillows, no heavy blankets."
I exhaled slowly. "Okay. Diapers, formula, bottles, sterilizer, baby wipes, rash cream, baby soap, clothes, blanket, swaddle, and a crib if possible. Did I miss anything?"
Aarav chuckled. "Nope, that's the basics. Anything else, you'll figure out as you go."
Great. Just great.
"Thanks, Aarav," I muttered.
"No problem," he said, then hesitated. "But seriously, where did you get a baby?"
"I told you, it's a long story."
"I really want to hear it."
"I'm hanging up now."
I cut the call before he could say anything else.
With a sigh, I leaned against the wall for a moment, processing everything.
This was a lot.
I wasn't sure how I'd ended up in this situation, but one thing was clear—this baby needed care.
God help us both.