Author POV

The village was alive with the scent of earth and the distant hum of cicadas. The old Rajput mansion stood tall at the heart of it, its grandeur unmatched by the humble homes scattered beyond its gates.

Ashita Rajput, only nine years old, arrived in the village with her parents, Vikram and Rajni.

She was a little ball of energy, her dark eyes filled with curiosity as she hopped out of the black SUV that pulled into the driveway of her grandmother’s home.

“Daadi!” she squealed. (Grandmother!)

Her grandmother, an old but dignified woman, stood at the entrance, her wrinkled face lighting up with joy.

"Ashita, my little lioness is home,” she opened her arms, and the little girl ran into them, giggling.

Rajni smiled, watching her daughter melt into her grandmother’s warmth. "She’s been excited about this trip for days."

"And she should be! She belongs to this land, after all," her grandmother chuckled, pressing a kiss to Ashita’s head.

And then came him.

Vikram Rajput.

The car door opened, and the village's breath seemed to still.

He stepped out like he owned the land beneath his shoes. A tailored black shirt clung to his frame. His jaw was sharp, his expression stone.

Cold. Calculated. Merciless.

Vikram Rajput stood a few feet away, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. He wasn’t here for nostalgia. He had business. With a nod to his men, he stepped away from the house, walking towards his black Jeep.

“Where to, boss?” one of his men asked.

Vikram’s gaze flickered towards the vast farmland behind the mansion. “A walk,” he muttered, lighting a cigarette. His men followed at a distance, knowing better than to interrupt his thoughts.

The golden hour spread across the green fields as they strolled, the sky dripping with amber light and wind whispering secrets through tall stalks of crop.

As he strolled past the lush fields, something—or rather, someone—caught his attention.

A woman, her dupatta clinging to her curves, was working alongside her husband, gathering crops under the scorching sun. There was something about her—something that made Vikram stop in his tracks.

Vikram tilted his head.

His stare sharpened.

Lust crept into his eyes like poison into clean water.

“Who is she?” he asked without looking away, his voice calm yet commanding.

One of his men stepped forward, lowering his head slightly. “She’s a maid here, boss. Works the farm with her husband. Lives in the village outskirts.”

Vikram took a long drag of his cigarette, His eyes, sharp and calculating, never left the woman’s form. “Her address?”

The man hesitated for a moment, sensing the intensity of Vikram's interest.

“I’ll get it.” A slow smirk tugged at Vikram’s lips.

“Good,” his eyes narrowing as he watched the woman continue her work, unaware of the attention she had just garnered.

While Vikram plotted in the shadows, Ashita had already made herself at home. She ran barefoot across the open courtyard, her laughter ringing through the air as she played with a group of village children. Her silk dress swayed as she spun in circles, her carefree joy infecting those around her.

But amidst the laughter, she noticed someone standing alone, watching from a distance.

A boy.

He was around fifteen, his clothes dusted with dirt, his sharp features hardened beyond his years. Unlike the other children, he didn’t run or laugh—he simply stood there, his hands curled into fists, his dark eyes observing her with quiet restraint.

Ashita tilted her head and grinned. Without a second thought, she ran straight toward him. she ran straight toward the boy, her bare feet padding softly on the grass.

The boy, who had been standing alone, stiffened at her approach. His eyes darted around nervously, as if he expected someone to emerge from the shadows and stop her.

He wasn’t allowed to play with her.

He knew his place.

He was nothing but a servant’s son, and she was the daughter of the man who ruled over everything he had ever known.

Still, she stood in front of him, her hands firmly planted on her hips. Her expression was one of curiosity and challenge. “Why aren’t you playing?” she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of accusation.

He didn’t answer.

His gaze flickered away; jaw tight, a sign of the internal struggle he was facing.

Ashita pouted, her lips forming a small, displeased line. “Come play with me.”

“No,” he said flatly.

Her eyes widened, unused to such a direct rejection. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t.” he replied, his voice steady but filled with a sadness. “I’m not allowed”

“Who says?” she challenged, her brow furrowing in determination.

He hesitated. “Your father.”

Ashita frowned like he’d just spoken something terribly wrong. She crossed her arms.

Ashita scoffed, a sound that was half-laugh, half-disbelief.  “My father is not here. I say you can.”

Before he could protest further, she grabbed his hand, her small fingers curling around his. She started pulling him toward the group of children who were laughing and playing nearby.

The boy tensed but didn’t resist.

Something about her energy, her stubbornness—it was impossible to fight.

That boy stared at her, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Ashita shook her head. “Nope! I live in Mumbai with my parents. We just came here for a few days to visit my grandmother.”

His fingers twitched at the mention of her father. He knew who Vikram Rajput was. Knew what he was capable of.

“What’s your name?” she asked, glancing up at him.

He hesitated for a second before muttering, “Ranvijay.”

She scrunched her nose. “That’s too long for me. I’ll call you Ronny.”

Ranvijay’s lips parted slightly in surprise. No one had ever dared to rename him before. “Then I’ll call you Ashu.” he responded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Ashita’s grin widened, and she squeezed his hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “Deal,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“How long are you staying?” he asked, his voice quieter.

Ashita shrugged. “A week, maybe two. Then we go back to Mumbai.”

Something in his chest tightened.

It was odd—why should he care? But he did.

Just a little.

Ashita beamed, tugging him toward the other children. “Come on, Ronny! Let’s play.”

Ranvijay allowed himself to be pulled along, the warmth of her hand in his and the sound of her laughter slowly easing the tension in his chest.

For the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of something light and hopeful, something he hadn’t expected to find in this small, unexpected encounter.

For the next hour, the courtyard filled with innocent laughter. Ronny chased Ashu around flower pots, and she teased him when he almost tripped over a broken tile. In that brief sliver of time, two children found joy in a world that didn’t know what to do with it.

And just like that, a bond was formed. A bond neither of them understood, a bond that fate would twist into something far darker than innocent childhood friendship.