As Arnav walked away after dropping Abinav at school, the little boy stood quietly in the assembly area. A few classmates from his section noticed the tall man who had just left.
"Arre Abi, wo tumhara papa tha na?" (Hey Abi, that was your dad, right?) one boy asked, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
Abinav, as always, responded with his shy, warm smile. But before he could feel any sense of pride, another voice—sharp and taunting—cut through the air.
"Tumhara papa toh bhoot jaisa lagta hai… daraawana. Kya isliye tumhari mummy ne unko chhod diya? Dar gayi hogi na?"
(Your dad looks like a ghost… scary. Is that why your mom left him? She must have been scared, right?)
The words stabbed deeper than any physical blow. His smile faded instantly.
Inside, he wanted to shout—My papa isn’t scary! My papa is the best!—but his voice never came. His hands instinctively moved to sign, to tell them they were wrong… but here, no one understood his language. Not even most of his teachers. They only gave him sympathetic looks and told him to write it down. But feelings this big… they don’t fit in a notebook.
The school bell rang, calling everyone to assembly. The class in-charge clapped twice.
"Line banao, sab!" (Form a line, everyone!)
But Abinav’s little heart was restless.
Even after assembly, when they went back to class, his mind was still clouded. The maths teacher droned on about numbers—ones, tens, hundreds—but to Abinav, it was all a blur. His hand stopped mid-air with the pencil still between his fingers.
"Abinav!" The teacher’s sharp voice brought him back. "Kya ho gaya tumhe? Dhyaan kahan hai?" (What’s wrong with you? Where’s your focus?)
He blinked at her but said nothing. "Kal tak tum bilkul theek the… aaj kya ho gaya?" (You were fine yesterday… what happened today?) she muttered before moving on.
During break, the same group of kids surrounded him again, their eyes full of mischief.
"Arre, sach sach bata na, teri mummy ko dar laga na? Isliye chhod diya na?" (Tell us the truth—your mom was scared, right? That’s why she left him?)
Abinav’s throat felt tight. He turned away and walked without answering. Silence was his only shield.
When school ended—earlier for him than for the twins in the higher secondary block—he climbed into the bus. At home, Gayathri was making evening snacks when she spotted him entering with drooping shoulders and swollen eyes.
"Kya hua beta?" (What happened, son?) she asked softly.
But at her gentle voice, the dam broke. Tears spilled, his small frame shaking.
"Arre, arre… kya hua? Kisne kuch kaha?" (Oh dear… what happened? Did someone say something?) Gayathri rushed to him, holding him close.
But Abinav only cried harder. Words, as always, refused to come. His silent sobbing finally faded into sleep. Gayathri lifted him gently, placed him on the bed, and covered him with a thin blanket.
Without wasting time, she picked up her phone and called Arnav.
At the Oberio office, Arnav was in the middle of a board meeting. Seeing Badi Ma’s name flash on the screen, he immediately excused himself. She would never call without reason.
"Ha Badi Ma?" (Yes, Badi Ma?)
"Arnav… yeh baccha aaj bohot udaas hai. Ro ro ke so gaya hai. Maine poocha toh kuch bataya nahi… mujhe darr lag raha hai." (Arnav… the boy is very sad today. He cried himself to sleep. I asked him, but he didn’t say anything… I’m worried.)
"Kya hua? Kisne kuch kaha usse?" (What happened? Did someone say something to him?)
"Yeh toh nahi bataya… tum kal school jaakar teacher se baat karna. Aaj raat ko hum usse pyaar se samjhaate hain." (He didn’t tell me… you go to school tomorrow and talk to his teacher. Tonight, we’ll try to comfort him.)
"Teek hai, Badi Ma." (Alright, Badi Ma.)
But after the call, Arnav found it impossible to focus on the meeting. Even the twins, when they came home, were informed about Abinav. They crept into his room, woke him gently, and coaxed him to freshen up. They tried every trick—jokes, little stories, even helping with homework—to get him to talk. But Abinav stayed silent, his eyes carrying a weight far beyond his years.
That night, when Arnav returned, Abinav was already asleep—or so it seemed. Arnav kissed his forehead softly and lay beside him.
The next morning…
The house was unusually quiet. Breakfast was mechanical, conversation absent. Arnav thought he’d drop the kids to school himself and also speak with Abinav’s teacher.
"Chalo, main chhod deta hoon tumhe," (Come on, I’ll drop you) he told Abinav, holding the boy’s school bag.
But to his surprise, Abinav shook his head. "Main… cab se jaoonga." (I’ll go by school cab.)
Arnav studied his son’s expression. The boy avoided his eyes. Something was breaking inside him, but he let it be—for now.
Later that morning – In the twins’ class
Laxmi Narayan was at the blackboard, writing neat columns of ledger entries. The soft scratch of pencils filled the room as students copied into their notebooks.
Suddenly, the classroom door burst open with a loud thud.
A small figure stood there—breathing fast, cheeks flushed, eyes red and brimming with tears. His shirt was untucked, shoes half-open, hair messy, dust marks on his sleeves—like he had fought invisible battles on his way here.
The twins—Aarav and Ayush—froze in their seats. Ye toh… Abinav! (This is Abinav)
They exchanged a quick sideways glance, reading each other’s thoughts without words. Something had happened.
Laxmi stepped closer, her soft cotton sari rustling. "Arre… yeh kaun chhota mehmaan hai? Beta, galti se apni class bhool gaye kya?" (Hey… who is this little guest? Did you forget your way to your own class, dear?)
Before she could get a response, Abinav’s eyes darted across the room—and the moment he spotted Aarav, he bolted forward, hugging him tightly around the waist.
"Aree… sambhal ke!" (Hey, careful!) Aarav steadied him.
Ayush instantly stood, moving to their side, his posture protective—shielding his little nephew from the curious eyes of their classmates.
Laxmi took another step forward, curiosity and concern written across her face. But as soon as she came closer, Abinav shuffled behind Aarav like a kitten hiding from a stranger.
To ease the tension, Laxmi turned to the class. "Okay, okay… sab shaant ho jao. No noise, please." (ok… all be quiet, No Noise)
She crouched slightly, looking at the boy. "Beta, tumhara naam kya hai? Tum yahan kyun aaye ho? Tumhari mam toh tumhe dhoondh rahi hongi na?" (What’s your name? Why are you here? Your class teacher must be looking for you, right?)
The moment he heard mam, Abinav stiffened. His lower lip trembled, and within seconds, tears spilled.
"Arre, arre… accha, ro mat. Theek hai, main tumhari mam ko inform nahi karungi… shhh… rona bandh. Ache bacche rote nahi." (Hey, hey… alright, don’t cry. I won’t inform your teacher… shhh… stop crying. Good kids don’t cry.)
She gently wiped his cheeks with the soft edge of her pallu. Apart from his Badi Dadi, no one had touched him with such warmth.
For a moment, the sobbing paused. He hiccupped, his chest rising and falling quickly.
"Lo, paani pi lo… dheere se," (Here, drink some water… slowly) Laxmi said, holding the glass for him. He sipped slowly, eyes still wary.
Turning to the class, she smiled brightly. "Guys, let’s welcome our new student!"
Abinav’s brows furrowed. New student? His eyes darted to Aarav, silently pleading for rescue.
Aarav understood. "Mam, yeh Abinav hai… mera nephew." (Mam, this is Abinav… my nephew.)
"Nice name, kiddo," Laxmi grinned.
Abinav’s cheeks flushed, and he half-hid behind Aarav’s arm.
"Okay Ayush, tum isse apne desk pe bitha do. She held Aarav’s hand gently, leaned closer, and whispered,."tum jaake uski class ko bata do ki yeh yahan hai." (Ayush, seat him at your desk. Aarav, go tell his class he’s here.)
Aarav hesitated but left.
Laxmi walked over to Ayush’s desk, knelt down, and looked Abinav in the eye. "Tumhe drawing pasand hai? Painting kar sakte ho? Mujhe class bhi lena hai na… tum yahan shanti se baithoge?" (Do you like drawing? Can you paint? I also have to take the class… will you sit quietly here?)
He nodded, but his eyes kept darting to the door, checking if she’d betray him by calling his teacher. His little accusing glance almost made her laugh, but it also pinched her heart.
Leaning closer, she whispered, "Main tumhe tumhari mam ke paas nahi bhej rahi. Promise. Tum bas draw karo." (I’m not sending you to your teacher. Promise. Just draw.)
But the class had already lost interest in Accounts.
"Ma’am, please, no class…"
"Chhota baby aaya hai… let’s play!"
"Ma’am pleeeease!"
Laxmi sighed dramatically. "Accha, accha… ek game khelte hain. Dekho, humare naye dost ka mood off hai. Jo bhi inko hassa dega, usko gift milega!" (Alright, alright… let’s play a game. Our new friend is sad. Whoever makes him laugh will get a gift!)
The room erupted in cheers. "Yayyyyy!"
One by one, the students came forward—telling jokes, making funny faces, even doing silly walks. Abinav’s eyes sparkled for the first time that day.
"Aur tum, beta?" (And you, dear?) Laxmi looked at him at last. "Kuch talent dikhana chahoge?" (Want to show us a talent?)
Before he could refuse, Ayush jumped in, "Mam, yeh dance karega!" (Mam, he’ll dance!)
Laxmi raised her brows playfully. "Ohhh, toh ek chhupa hua dancer hai? Chalo… humein dikhao." (Ohhh, so we have a hidden dancer? Come on… show us!)
The class began clapping a rhythm on their desks. Someone played a Bollywood track softly on their phone.
At first, Abinav hesitated, his little feet shuffling. But when he looked up, he saw Laxmi smiling at him—not like a teacher, but like a friend who truly wanted to see him happy.
His movements were small but full of innocence—tiny spins, clumsy steps, and a little hand wave that made the whole class laugh with joy.
"Waah! Kya baat hai!" (Wow! Well done!) someone shouted.
But just as the cheer reached its peak, the door slammed open with a bang.
Standing there was Abinav’s class-incharge—eyes blazing, jaw tight, anger radiating like a storm.
The laughter choked mid-air. Even the sound of clapping died.
Laxmi straightened instantly, her expression unreadable. Ayush’s protective arm went around Abinav again. The boy’s small frame tensed—he already knew this wasn’t going to be good.
"Some storms come to destroy you… others come to clear your path. It all depends on who stands with you when the thunder rolls."
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