Later that night, as Arin stood on his balcony, he found himself watching Astha and Shanaya long after their laughter had faded. The glow from their barbecue had dimmed, but a lingering warmth remained in the air.
He thought about the party, the mindless conversations, the shallow games people played. The way those men had spoken about Astha still gnawed at him. She had been reduced to nothing more than a challenge to conquer, as if she weren’t a person with a life, struggles, and a fierce sense of independence.
But here, in her world—where her daughter teased her mercilessly and where she stood her ground with playful defiance—Astha was undeniably real.
And without realizing it, he felt protective of her.
The next morning, as they got into the car for their usual ride to work, Astha glanced at him and frowned.
“You’re quieter than usual,” she remarked, adjusting her seatbelt.
Arin smiled slightly. “Didn’t think you cared.”
Astha rolled her eyes. “I don’t. But if you’re not going to talk, the silence is going to make me feel guilty for enjoying it.”
Arin chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Mehra. Just thinking.”
She eyed him suspiciously before starting the car. “That’s dangerous. Should I be worried?”
“No. But they should be.”
Astha frowned, not entirely sure what he meant. But before she could ask, Arin turned up the radio, cutting off the conversation.
She let it go for now, but she wasn’t going to forget it.
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