The clink of plates and faint scrape of cutlery echoed in the quiet dining room. A yellow bulb hung above the modest wooden table, casting warm light over three faces that couldn't have been more different — one glowing with youthful excitement, one always too calm to care, and one quietly battling the storm inside.
The TV played softly in the background as they ate in near silence, until a breaking news alert flashed across the screen.
> "Breaking News: This afternoon, a major drug racket was busted in Swindon Street. Officers from an elite unit risked their lives to take down the dealers, who had been trafficking drugs worth crores. One of the captured members confessed ties to an international cartel. An anonymous source says the officer who led the operation is a rising star in the force."
Kiaan didn't look up. His spoon slowed for half a second… then continued.
But Shaurya, who had been barely chewing, turned sharply to the screen, his eyes lit up with a gleam he rarely showed in schoolbooks.
> "Damn! Did you hear that? That was so cool! I wish I was there, man… like undercover, wearing a wire, taking out those criminals like bang! bang!"
He mimicked holding a gun, popping invisible bullets into the air, making sound effects.
Nandita chuckled softly at his drama.
> "You and your fantasies," she said fondly, placing another roti on his plate. "You get scared of lizards, Shaurya. How will you fight criminals?"
> "I'll overcome it, Ma! One day I'll be in the CBI. Just like Dad was," he said proudly, his chest puffed a little.
Kiaan's spoon stopped again.
> "It's not as glorious as it looks," he said, voice low but clear. "You don't just wear sunglasses and shoot guns. You stare death in the eye… every single day. It's not a job. It's a war."
Shaurya blinked, a bit thrown off by the seriousness in his brother's tone.
> "Still… it's better than boring school," he muttered.
Nandita looked over at Kiaan then — not kindly, not angry either — just with that detached coldness she always reserved for him.
> "Let the boy dream, Kiaan. At least he talks about something other than your silent moods and rules."
Kiaan met her gaze for a brief second. Then went back to his food without replying. It was always like this. No matter how much he gave — money, care, support — it never earned him a place at the table as a son in her eyes.
> "He should know what he's dreaming about," Kiaan said after a pause. "It's not a game. People die in this line of work. Innocent ones. And not everyone who joins gets to come home to dinner like this."
Shaurya frowned, confused.
> "Why are you talking like you know everything? What are you, a spy?" he laughed sarcastically.
Kiaan glanced at him — just a flicker of a look, but something intense passed in his eyes for a second.
> "Maybe I know more than you think," he muttered.
But Nandita was already brushing off the moment.
> "Enough of this drama. Shaurya, eat your food. And Kiaan, if you're so worried about danger, then stop acting like his second father."
Shaurya smirked.
> "Yeah, stop acting like you own me."
Kiaan didn't answer. He just reached for the water jug, his mind already drifting far from this table.
Far from this home.
Far from these walls that never loved him the way his father did.
He watched the TV again. The news anchor was repeating the footage — a blurred image of a man being carried out on a stretcher, a flash of police badges, agents storming the building. The whole country was clapping for the faceless hero.
None of them knew he was sitting right here, in silence, with two people who had no idea they were eating dinner with that hero.
> "I'm not acting like your father," Kiaan said quietly, not looking up. "I'm just trying to make sure you don't end up needing one… again."
The words hung in the air like a whisper and a wound.
And then he stood, gathered his plate, and walked away.
Shaurya stared after him, a little confused now.
Nandita's eyes narrowed. She wasn't sure what he meant, but something in his tone… shook her, just a little.
But no one said a word as Kiaan's door clicked shut again.