Here is another chapter, We hope you'll enjoy reading it. Also be with us in the journey😊, the story will going to be interesting, Promise karte hai Jii!🫶

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The iron gate creaked faintly as Mahin pushed it open, its usual sound welcomed like a daily note in the house's rhythm. Kiaan, his little brother, hopped in right behind him, swinging his backpack off one shoulder dramatically as if he'd just survived a world war, not school.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the stone bench in the garden, and the scent of curry leaves and wet mud lingered softly in the air. Inside, the Vardhan residence exhaled its usual calm.

The door was already ajar, and the moment they stepped in, the coolness of the house wrapped around them like a whisper.

"Finally. Tum dono aa gaye," said a sleepy voice.

Amrita, their older sister, was lying sideways on the living room couch, a half-read novel on her stomach and hair tied in a lazy bun. Tall and effortlessly elegant, she had a calm aura that made the room feel quieter the moment she looked up. Clad in a simple cotton kurta and loose pants, she looked every bit the soothing presence she was — skin glowing with that no-fuss kind of beauty, eyes steady and warm with that rare mix of clarity and kindness.

She sat up, stretching like a cat, and headed toward the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with two steel glasses of cold water.

"Drink. You both look like overheated engines," she smirked, handing one to each brother.

Kiaan gulped it down like a desert traveler and immediately flopped on the sofa, arms and legs spread dramatically.

"Get up from here. Change your clothes and freshen up first!" their mother's voice rang from the kitchen, sharper than usual.

Mahin, ever the silent obeyer, was already halfway up the stairs. "Main change karke aata hoon, Maa," he called out without looking back.

Kiaan groaned but dragged himself toward the bedroom, muttering curses only he could understand.

By the time both brothers returned in fresh cotton clothes, hair still damp, the dining table had been cleared. Stomachs full, the three of them collapsed into the living room the way they always did — like pieces of a puzzle that fit only in one way.

Amrita tucked herself into the corner of the sofa, knees pulled close. Mahin perched neatly on the armrest, scrolling through his phone. And Kiaan sprawled across the carpet like he owned the world.

"Maths period mein ek ladka itna confident tha answer bolne mein... aur jab galat nikla toh kehta, 'Ye question galat hai!'" Kiaan announced with all the theatrics of a stand-up comedian.

Amrita burst out laughing, her hand pressed to her stomach. Even Mahin's serious face cracked.

"Mahin? Anything fun in your class?" she teased.

He shrugged. "Quiet. Pop quiz. Same old."

They were just mid-argument about whether the canteen samosas had actually gotten worse this year when Amrita's phone buzzed on the table.

Unknown number.

Her brows furrowed. She hesitated for a second, then swiped. "Hello?"

"Uh... hey. Is this Tanya?" A boy's voice, low and uncertain, filtered through.

Amrita frowned. "No, sorry. Wrong number." She was already about to cut the call.

"Wait! Sorry—um, I found this number saved in my contacts. Must've been by accident. Who am I speaking to?"

"Amrita," she replied, cautious but polite. "And you are?"

"Rishaan. I'm from NMIT. Maybe I saved it from a group or something?" His voice was apologetic, yet there was an odd warmth to it.

For a heartbeat, she stayed quiet. Then, unexpectedly, a laugh slipped out. "Honestly? Wouldn't shock me. People keep dropping numbers in group chats like confetti."

Rishaan chuckled too, and the sound hummed low in her ear. "Exactly. Well... accidental hello, then?"

Amrita's lips curved before she could stop them. "Accidental hello accepted."

"Cool. Anyway, sorry for disturbing you."

"No worries. Happens all the time."

"Take care, Amrita."

"You too, Rishaan."

The call ended, but her phone lingered in her hand longer than necessary. Something about the randomness of it... the warmth in his voice... it clung to her.

She sank back into the sofa, still wearing that faint, unshakable smile.

Mahin didn't even look up from his phone. "Who was it?"

"Wrong number," she said quickly, maybe too quickly.

Kiaan narrowed his eyes, smirking. "Wrong number, huh? Then why do you look like somebody just confessed undying love on a spam call?"

Amrita rolled her eyes and lobbed a cushion at his face. "Pagal hai kya? Kuch bhi bolta hai."

But her smile... didn't quite fade.

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The warm afternoon buzzed with the lazy whirl of the ceiling fan and the familiar soundtrack of sibling chatter echoing through the Vardhan living room.

Amrita curled on the sofa, Kiaan sprawled dramatically across the carpet, and Mahin perched neatly on the armrest — the picture of a family at rest. Their laughter filled the air, bouncing off walls and mixing with the summer heat, when—

Ding dong.

All three froze. Eyes met. Expressions locked.

Not a word was spoken, but the battle lines were drawn. Who was going to get up?

Ding dong.

Amrita shifted ever so slightly, pretending to rise — only to flop back down with a fake stretch for her phone.

Kiaan's glare could've cut glass. Classic.

With a loud, exaggerated sigh, he pushed himself up... but the second Mahin moved, Kiaan abandoned the mission mid-rise and flopped back to the floor.

"Oh no," he muttered dramatically, digging under the sofa like he'd lost something precious. "Seems I've misplaced my will to serve this family."

Ding doooong.

And then, like thunder rolling across the house, Meera Vardhan's voice boomed:

"Why are you three statues not opening the door?!"

Amrita smirked, sing-song sweet. "Mahin jaa raha hai, Mummy! Right, Mahin?"

Mahin's glare sharpened. "Haan Mummy, jaa hi raha hai... but actually, Kiaan's going. Right, Kiaan?"

Kiaan groaned, clutching his chest like a tragic hero. "Why always me? Main sab kuch kyun karu bhyii? Just because I'm the youngest doesn't mean I'm the house help!"

"Chup chaap jaa!" their mother snapped back. "Warna thappad padega."

Grumbling under his breath about being the official door-opener of the family, Kiaan stomped to the gate and yanked it open — only to find Ravish standing there, grin wide and easy.

Kiaan's entire mood flipped like a switch. "Bhaiya!" he shouted. "Mahin Bhai! Ravish Bhai has come!"

Turning back, he beamed. "Andar aao na, Bhaiya!"

Ravish stepped inside, sunglasses sliding off, his smile tugging wider at the chaos he'd just walked into.

"Itni der laga di gate kholne mein?" he teased.

Before Kiaan could invent an excuse, their mother appeared, hand on hip, sigh heavy with years of practice.

"Beta, yahan gate kholna kisi ko pasand hi nahi. Sab aalsi ke pujaari bane baithe hain. Gate kholne ke liye bol do toh haath-pair toot jaate hain inke!" she huffed, glaring at all three. "Aur sochte bhi nahi ki bahar khada insaan kya sochega—ghar ke log aise hain ki gate tak nahi kholte! Main toh tang aa chuki hoon in logo se tang."

Ravish nodded along, hiding a smile.

Kiaan quickly switched gears. "Bhaiya, would you like water or cold drink?"

The magic words melted Meera's scolding in an instant. "Arre haan! Because of these people, I forgot to ask. Ravish beta, kya loge?"

Ravish smiled politely. "Nothing, aunty. Mai toh bas Mahin ko lene aaya tha, mujhe kuch nahi chahiye."

Mahin finally appeared, backpack slung carelessly, voice casual. "Haan, chalte hain. I'll just grab my stuff."

Amrita gave him a mock glare. "Wah! Kya dost hai tu Mahi. Ravish came all the way in the sun, at least offer him water."

Mahin deadpanned. "Ravish, paani pee le." Then he disappeared into his room.

Ravish snorted, raising a brow at Amrita. She only shrugged, lips twitching with a smile.

Moments later, Mahin reappeared. "Chal, let's go."

The boys stepped out into the blinding afternoon streets, Ravish kicking his bike to life. Mahin hopped on behind, the hum of the engine fading as the two melted into the bustle of the city — and toward Ishaan's house.

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Inside, Ishaan was sprawled on the couch like a saint in deep meditation, arm stretched dramatically toward the floor, fingers twitching for a remote he clearly had no intention of actually grabbing.

Mahin strolled over, bent down, and with zero effort picked it up. He tossed it onto Ishaan's lap.

"Bhai, itna aalas kahan se laata hai tu?"

Ishaan caught the remote without even blinking. "Aalas? Please. This is stretching practice. Fitness, bro."

Mahin gave him a look that said sure, keep lying to yourself.

Before he could reply, Vanya waltzed in, her smile as sunny as ever. "Rehne do bhaiya. You're born lazy — Accept kar lo, Kab tak khud se jhuth bolte rahoge?"

Mahin and Ravish both burst out laughing.

"Hello, bhaiyas!" Vanya chirped, bouncing into the room with enough energy to power the whole house.

"Hello," the two echoed, grinning back.

"I'll get you guys something to drink!" she declared, already halfway to the kitchen before anyone could protest.

"Arey, nahi—" Ravish started, hand half-raised... but she was gone.

Mahin exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeh ladki toh lightning speed se bhaagti hai."

Ravish chuckled under his breath. "Just wait. Lemonade in a wine glass incoming."

After setting everything up, Mahin plopped onto the couch like he'd just completed a marathon, letting out a long, satisfying sigh.

Ravish tried to squeeze in beside him... but Ishaan was sprawled across the sofa like it was his ancestral throne.

"Thoda toh side ho, bhai?" Ravish nudged him with a frown.

"Main pehle aaya tha," Ishaan mumbled, eyes still closed, as if the couch itself was a sacred territory.

Just then, Vanya appeared from the kitchen, tray in hand, lemonade in wine glasses glinting like it belonged in a five-star party.

Mahin whispered to Ravish, disbelief dripping from his voice, "She really brought it."

Ravish chuckled, giving Ishaan a gentle shove. "Told you so," he said, sliding over to make room.

Ishaan groaned, sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His gaze landed on the tray, already calculating the potential loss if he didn't act fast.

"Mere liye kahan hai?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Aap ke liye nahi hai. Sirf bhaiya logon ke liye banaya tha," Vanya replied, handing glasses to Mahin and Ravish, beaming like she'd just won a gold medal.

The boys tried—and mostly failed—to hold back their laughter as Ishaan's jaw practically hit the floor.

"What is this? Is it for these two only? Bring it for me too!" he protested, flailing dramatically.

Vanya stuck her tongue out and pranced out of the hall like she'd just pulled off the ultimate heist.

"Tu humse pee le," Ravish teased, lifting his glass toward Ishaan.

"Nahi, nahi! You guys drink. Main toh bas aise hi keh raha tha," Ishaan quickly backed off, hands raised in surrender.

They sipped their lemonade, trying not to laugh too loudly at Ishaan's theatrical defeat.

After a while, Ishaan stretched like a cat, groaning. "Come on, let's go to my room," he said, and the trio followed him, still chuckling.

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The trio stepped into Ishaan's room, but the moment Mahin took a step, his foot caught on a pile of clothes. With a graceless thud, he landed flat on the floor.

Ravish and Ishaan couldn't hold it in—bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

"Lagi toh nahi tujhe?" Ravish managed between laughs.

"Haan bhai, bata de. Kahin aisi jagah toh nahi lagi ki mera chacha banne ka sapna toot jaaye," Ishaan added, grinning mischievously.

Mahin shot him a glare that could freeze fire. "Stop talking nonsense. And what is this mess? Kamra kam, kachraghar zyada lag raha hai."

"I was just about to clean it up when you guys arrived," Ishaan said defensively, grabbing clothes and tossing them into the cupboard without folding them.

Once the room looked halfway human again, they all flopped onto the floor, crunching on chips and reminiscing about hostel days.

"Do you remember when you called Padma ma'am 'Mummy'?" Ravish smirked, eyes still on his game, fingers moving like lightning.

"By the way, she was like a mother. So supportive," Ishaan said casually, scrolling on his phone.

"Supportive? Bhai, you were her favourite child! She always saved you from going to the principal's room," Ravish teased, shaking his head.

"True. Not a single day passed when Maharaj wouldn't fight with someone. All the children would complain," Mahin added, laughing.

"And the most common complaint? Canteen uncle," Ravish chimed in.

"Why not? Bhai used to turn the canteen into a war zone for kachori," Mahin said, mock-disbelief in his voice.

"Arre, kachori was available two days a week! And some rakshas of kids would pounce like they were getting diamonds, not kachoris," Ishaan laughed.

"And you were one of them," Ravish pointed out, raising a brow.

Their laughter was cut short by a sudden voice behind them.

"Yeh lo, bacha party! Hot tea and kachori for you!"

Ishaan's chachi, Dhara Rana, stood at the door with a tray, smiling warmly.

All three froze for a second, then their faces lit up at the sight of the kachoris. Grins spread wide.

Ishaan jumped up and grabbed the tray. "Chachi maa, aapko pareshaan hone ki zarurat nahi thi. I was just about to order from outside."

"Chup! Mujhe koi pareshani nahi hui. Aur khabardaar, if you waste your money on all these things, samjha?" she scolded, in her usual sweet-chachi tone.

"Hmm... samajh gaya," Ishaan nodded sheepishly, placing the tray in front of Mahin and Ravish.

The three of them munched on kachori and sipped chai, content, until Vanya peeked in, notebook in hand.

"Mahin bhaiya, I'm not able to solve this question. Please help me?"

"Come back later, he's busy," Ishaan jumped in quickly.

"It's okay, tell me what help you need," Mahin smiled, gesturing her to show the notebook.

"You could have asked me too! I also know this question!" Ishaan peeped over eagerly.

"Aap toh rehne hi do bhaiya. The mystery of your last solution hasn't been solved yet. How did you even get the answer?" Vanya said, deadpan, raising her hand to stop him.

Ravish and Mahin burst into laughter again, shaking their heads at Ishaan's antics.

And just like that, the room was alive—filled with the clinking of chai cups, crumbs of kachori, and the endless, echoing laughter of Yaariyaan.

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The sun was already melting into the horizon by the time Ravish and Mahin stepped out of Ishaan's place. The air had that warm-orange glow, and the city hummed softly, like it was winding down after a long day.

Mahin adjusted his sling bag while Ravish straddled his bike, tapping the seat behind him.

"Chal baith. Tere mahal tak chhod deta hoon tujhe, meri Rajkumari!" Ravish teased, sliding his helmet on and grabbing his chin like a self-declared prince.

Mahin jerked his hand away, rolling his eyes. "Yeh harkate na mere saath mat kiya kar, kamina! Hutt!"

"Ek toh upar se itna chota helmet de rakha hai mujhe. Bacha hai kya tu? Itni choti mundi hai teri?" Mahin shot back, fiddling with the strap.

"Helmet chhota nahi hai, tera dimaag bada hai. Saara gyaan joh bhara hua hai usme," Ravish replied with a smirk, kicking the bike into gear.

"Jal raha hai kya? Bike chala shaanti se," Mahin muttered, finally hopping on.

The ride to Mahin's house was quiet. They didn't talk much, letting the evening breeze fill the silence. Sometimes, that's how evenings should be—comfortable, effortless, and just... quiet.

Ravish slowed down and stopped outside Mahin's gate.

"Chal nikal ab. Kal dikhaiyo apni ghatiya shakal seedha school me," Mahin said, hopping off.

"Tu nikal chal. Ghar ke andar ho le shaanti se. Warna kuch uch neech hogayi toh mera naam hi badnaam hoga ki bete ko ghar me nahi rakh sakte thaion itni raat me bahar bhejne ki kya jarurat thi?" Ravish countered, mock-serious.

"Saale! Baap ko Beta keh raha hai? Dharu belt abhi? Nikal le, chal!" Mahin shot back.

"Papa bol pehle," Ravish teased, pretending to be offended.

"Ghanta! Juta bole mera papa tujhe. Lele tu!" Mahin laughed, and just as Ravish was about to hop off, Mahin playfully punched his back. "Ghar nikal chal!" And with that, he disappeared inside.

Ravish gave every curse he could think of, shaking his head, before starting the bike and heading home, the sunset painting streaks of gold across the streets.

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Ravish reached home around 7:30 PM. Street lights flickered on one by one, and the warm aroma of food drifted lazily through the colony. He parked his bike, stretched, and unlocked the door.

"Aa gaya beta?" His mom, Anvitha Mehta, called from the kitchen.

"Haan, Mummy," Ravish replied, sliding off his shoes and tossing his bag onto the sofa.

The house was dimly lit, cozy, and smelled like tadka. Ravish was about to head to the kitchen when a familiar silhouette caught his eye on the balcony.

Yugveer Mehta.

Leaning back on a cane chair, scrolling on his phone, one leg casually crossed over the other. Plain black T-shirt, sweatpants, hair slightly messy—but the calm, unreadable expression he always wore made him look like he had stepped out of a magazine.

Clean-shaven. Sharp jawline. Default poker face activated.

"Oye," Ravish greeted, stepping onto the balcony.

Yugveer glanced up and gave a faint, almost invisible nod.

"Where were you?" he asked, voice calm, without looking away from his phone.

"I went to Ishaan's house... hung out for a bit," Ravish replied, leaning casually on the railing.

"Homework ho gaya?" Yugveer asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nahi, kar lunga baad mei," Ravish muttered, shrugging.

Yugveer raised one eyebrow. Silence. Then:

"So obviously tomorrow you will wake up at 6 AM and do it," he said in that calm-annoying-big-brother tone.

"Aapko kaise pata chala?" Ravish shot back.

"I am aware of your habits. Pehle tujhe yaad nahi rehta ki school ka kaam bhi hai, phir raat ke 10 baje bolega 'Arey! Model bhi toh banana tha!' Then I used to stay up till 2 AM applying glue to finish your stupid model," Yugveer replied, dry as ever.

Ravish snorted.

"And I didn't even thank you," he teased.

"Tujhse expect bhi nahi tha," Yugveer said, finally setting his phone aside.

A short pause. Comfortable. Familiar.

"Anyway, how is everything going?" Yugveer finally asked, glancing at him.

"Theek hi hai... a little study, a little pressure. New place, new people... it'll take time to adjust," Ravish admitted, voice softening a little.

Yugveer didn't respond right away. Just a subtle nod.

"It's good to have pressure. Gets the job done. Just don't let it get too much," he said, tone flat but steady.

Then, softer, almost quietly: "You think you're alone... but you're not."

Ravish blinked, nodded, and stayed silent. That was Yugveer—never said too much, but whatever he did say, it stuck.

Just then, their maa called from the kitchen.

"Yug! Ravi! Khana lag gaya!"

"Aate hain, Mummy!" Ravish called back.

Yugveer stretched slowly, finally standing. "Chal chhotu. Dal-rice must have been cooked today. Your favourite."

As they stepped into the dining room, their father, Advik Mehta, was already there, scrolling through the news on his phone.

"Bacche log aa gaye? Ab mil baithke khana khaya jaye," he said, glancing up with a faint smile.

"Beta, ride the bike carefully," their mother reminded, handing Ravish a glass of water.

"Haan, Mummy," Ravish replied, taking a sip. The warmth of the water spread through him, and for a second, he just watched his family—his safe, chaotic little world.

He bit into his roti, and the aroma of home-cooked food wrapped around him like a hug.

"Were you wearing a helmet?" his brother asked, spoonful of rice mid-air.

"Pehna tha, bhaiya. Helmet nahi pehnuga toh Mummy ne chappal se pitna hai mujhe," Ravish said, grinning.

Laughter bubbled around the table, light and effortless.

And in that ordinary moment—rice on plates, teasing words floating in the air, the soft hum of the evening outside—Ravish realized something quietly:

Home wasn't just the walls, or the food, or even the scolding.

It was all of this. The laughter. The teasing. The silent understanding. The small moments that spoke louder than any words.

Even when no one said it out loud, home had a language of its own. And somehow, he always understood it.