At the Oberio dining table, Sheela's voice cut through the morning calm.
"Arnav, yeh sab naatak band karo. Bachchon ke chhote-mote problem ke liye tum office miss karoge?"
("Arnav, stop this drama. Will you miss office for such small problems of children?")
The twins froze mid-bite, their parathas forgotten. Gayathri's eyes darkened with quiet disapproval, while Kaveri sighed, massaging her temples. Abinav lowered his head, wishing he could vanish into the wooden chair.
Arnav's jaw tightened. He placed his cup of chai down with deliberate calm.
"Problem chhoti ho ya badi, Maa... mere bete ke aansu mere liye sabse badi problem hain."
("Whether the problem is small or big, Maa... my son's tears are the biggest problem for me.")
His voice was even, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.
For a fleeting second, silence reigned. Then Sheela scoffed, pushing her plate away.
"Bachche toh rote hi hain, Arnav. Har chhoti baat pe drama karoge toh business kaun sambhalega? Tum Oberio ho—zara dimaag se socho, dil se nahi."
("Children always cry, Arnav. If you make a drama out of every small issue, then who will handle the business? You are an Oberio—think with your mind, not your heart.")
The words stung—not just Arnav, but the boys too. Aarav's fists clenched beneath the table. Aarush's eyes flicked between his bhaiya and Sheela, the spark of defiance already rising.
Gayathri finally spoke, her voice firm yet measured.
"Sheela, ek baat samajh lo. Business ki gaddiyan dobara ban jaayengi... par ek bachche ka dil agar toot gaya, toh kabhi nahi judega."
("Sheela, understand one thing. Business empires can be rebuilt... but if a child's heart breaks, it can never be mended.")
Sheela rolled her eyes, muttering something about "overprotective parenting," but Arnav had already stood up. He turned to Abinav, who still sat quietly, eyes lowered. With one gentle motion, he lifted the boy from his chair.
"Papa tumhe school chhodenge," he said softly, loud enough for everyone to hear.
("Papa will drop you at school.")
Abinav's eyes flickered—half relief, half disbelief. He nodded, clutching Arnav's hand as if it was his lifeline.
As the car rolled through the morning traffic, Abinav's little head leaned against the window. His eyes were open, but he wasn't really looking outside. His mind had already drifted back... to yesterday.
The memory came rushing in like a storm.
The classroom door had burst open with a loud thud.
Standing there was Mrs. Verma, his class in-charge—eyes blazing with anger, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Abinav! Kahaan chale gaye the tum?" she thundered.
("Abinav! Where did you go?")
The little one froze, his hands trembling. In fear, he instinctively ran and hid behind Laxmi, clutching the soft folds of her saree like a shield. His tiny fingers dug in, as though letting go would mean facing a monster.
Laxmi, noticing his terror, immediately stepped forward. Her voice was calm but firm.
"Mrs. Verma, please... relax. He's here with us. He was frightened, so he came running to seek comfort from his uncle and brothers."
But Mrs. Verma was far from calming down. Her words came sharp, like whiplash.
"Dara hua dikh raha hai? Dara hua? Yeh ladka toh bathameez hai! Class mein apne ek classmate se ladkar uska naak tod diya. Hamse chupkar yahaan dance kar raha tha! Isse turant principal ke paas le jaana hoga. Bahut badi saza milegi isse!"
("Does he look frightened? Frightened? This boy is ill-mannered! He fought with a classmate and broke his nose. Then he sneaks out here and dances like nothing happened! I will take him to the principal right now. He will be severely punished!")
The words stabbed through Abinav's little heart. His lips trembled, his eyes brimmed with tears. He wasn't even able to defend himself. Inside his mind, one fear screamed louder than the rest—
"Laxmi mam bhi ab meri baat nahi maanengi... woh bhi mujhe doshi samjhenge."
("Laxmi mam will also not listen to me now... she will also blame me.")
His chest heaved, and he hid his face deeper behind her saree, his whole body shaking.
Laxmi's eyes widened in shock at Mrs. Verma's words. Aarav and Ayush, sitting nearby, exchanged a look of disbelief. They had never seen their little nephew accused like this.
The rest of the class had already turned restless. Whispers flew around, giggles, curious eyes—all hungry for the drama. And there stood Abinav, drowning in shame, shrinking smaller with each passing second.
Laxmi inhaled deeply, her teacher's instinct rising above the chaos. She thought fast. If I send him back with Mrs. Verma in this state, it will break him completely. I can't let that happen.
She turned towards Mrs. Verma, her voice polite but edged with firmness.
"Accha... he fought with his classmate, I understand. Lekin abhi woh dara hua hai. Aapne uske parents ko inform kiya? Let them come, I will hand him over to them myself."
("Alright... he fought with his classmate, I understand. But right now, he is frightened. Have you informed his parents? Let them come, and I will hand him over to them myself.")
Mrs. Verma's nostrils flared.
"Miss Laxmi, main aapse zyada tameez se baat kar rahi thi sirf isliye kyunki aap higher class ki staff hain. Lekin mujhe yeh mat sikhaiye ki mujhe kya karna hai! Yeh ladka mere under hai, aur isse main hi principal ke paas le jaungi!"
("Miss Laxmi, I was talking to you nicely only because you're senior staff. But don't you dare teach me what I should do! This boy is under my charge, and I will take him to the principal myself!")
Laxmi, unshaken, moved a step forward—subtly blocking Mrs. Verma's view of the child. Her voice dropped lower, calmer, but every word carried unbending authority.
"With all due respect, ma'am... I will not allow you to take him right now. He will stay with me. I will take responsibility."
The class went dead silent. Aarav's protective arm circled Abinav instantly, while Ayush stood at attention like a guard.
Mrs. Verma fumed.
"Toh phir mujhe principal ko report karna hoga. Aap 11th–12th handle kijiye, humein hamara kaam karne dijiye."
("Then I will have to report this to the principal. You handle your 11th–12th classes, and let us do our work.")
Laxmi didn't flinch. She simply nodded.
"Ji, bilkul. Aap jo karna chahte hain, kijiye. Mujhe koi problem nahi hai."
("Yes, of course. Do whatever you feel is right. I have no problem with that.")
At that very moment, the bell rang—classes were over. The sound echoed through the corridor like divine timing.
Mrs. Verma, red with rage, muttered something under her breath and stormed out of the room.
The tension snapped. Aarav immediately yanked Abinav closer. His voice, though angry, shook with worry.
"Abinav! What the hell have you done? Fighting? Breaking a boy's nose? Is this what we taught you?"
The little one broke down completely. Tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks. His sobs came hard, uncontrollable. He shook his head violently as if to say, "No, it wasn't like that!"—but the words never came.
Just then, the Economics teacher entered the class. To avoid another scene, Laxmi bent down to Aarav and whispered quickly:
"Tum apni class attend karo. Abinav will be with me in the staff room. Pick him up from there after school. No other staff will allow him back in class in this condition. I will keep him with me."
Aarav hesitated, torn between duty and his brother. But the calm strength in Laxmi's eyes reassured him. He nodded slowly.
And so, while the rest of the world judged and whispered, Abinav clung to the one person who hadn't doubted him—Laxmi.
In the staff room, the murmurs never really stopped. Teachers pretended to shuffle papers, sip tea, or check their registers, but their eyes kept drifting toward the small boy standing next to Laxmi.
Laxmi ignored them all. She pulled her chair back, gently tapped her lap, and made Abinav stand safely between her knees. Her saree pleats fell around him like a shield, almost saying to the world—he is mine to protect now.
Abinav's little fists tightened. He was ready... ready for questions, accusations, and scolding. But to his surprise, none came.
Instead, Laxmi bent down, her voice soft as a whisper.
"Abinav, kahin lagi toh nahi? Mujhe dikhana, haan."
("Abinav, did you get hurt anywhere? Show me, okay?")
The boy shook his head quickly. But when she rolled up his sleeve, she saw faint red scratches across his arm and a bruise blooming near his elbow.
Her brows knitted in concern. Abinav lowered his gaze, unable to answer. His lips trembled, but no words came out.
Without another word, Laxmi held his hand and walked him straight to the medical room. The nurse cleaned his scratches, dabbed antiseptic, and applied band-aids. Abinav winced once, but Laxmi immediately patted his head.
"Bas... ho gaya. Strong boy ho tum."
("That's it... done. You're a strong boy.")
When they returned to the staff room, she made him sit beside her desk. She slid a biscuit packet toward him from her drawer.
"Kha lo thoda". ("Eat a little".)
Abinav looked at the packet, then at her face. Still hesitant. Was this real? Was she really not going to shout at him?
She smiled gently, tearing open the packet for him.
"Main tumse kuch nahi poochhungi, Abinav. Jab tumhe bolna hoga, tab bolo. Tab tak... bas meri paas raho. Theek hai?"
("I won't ask you anything, Abinav. When you feel ready, you can tell me. Until then... just stay with me. Okay?")
The boy blinked, startled. For the first time in a long while, no one was demanding answers from him. No one was pointing fingers. His throat tightened, and a silent tear rolled down his cheek.
Immediately, Laxmi wiped it away with the edge of her dupatta.
"Arre... rona nahi. Tumhe pata hai, tumhari aankhon ka paani mujhe bilkul pasand nahi."
("Hey... no tears. You know, I don't like to see water in your eyes at all.")
Her words were playful, but her voice carried a warmth that wrapped around his fragile little heart.
For the first time, Abinav leaned against her, resting his head lightly on her arm. He didn't speak—but he didn't need to.
And Laxmi understood. In that silent moment, without words, a bond was born—one that neither of them knew would change their lives forever.
✨ "Sometimes, the smallest hearts carry the heaviest burdens—until one gentle soul decides to share the weight."
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