The fifteen days had flown by like a beautiful dream that Aditi never wanted to wake up from.

But today, the cab was parked at the gate again, this time with the trunk open, swallowing the suitcases she had helped pack just an hour ago.

The morning air in Bhopal felt unusually heavy, as if the city itself was sad to see them go. Aditi stood on the pavement, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her kurta.

She felt a familiar lump in her throat, the kind that usually came when she walked back into her own silent house, but this time, it was much worse.

Meena came forward first, her eyes soft with maternal affection. She took Aditi's face in her hands.

"Aditi, rona nahi bilkul. Hum bohot jald wapas aayenge, promise."

(Aditi, don’t cry. We will come back soon, promise.)

Meena said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Aur jab bhi mann udaas ho, mujhe call karna. Theek hai?"

(And whenever you feel upset, call me. Ok?)

"Ji, Aunty. Pakka."

(Yes, Aunty. Promise.)

Aditi whispered, forcing a small smile. Meena's husband stepped forward next. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

"Yeh hamari taraf se ek chhota sa gift hai. To remember us by."

(This is a small gift from us.)

He said, opening it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny heart charm. He patted her head lovingly as she slipped it onto her wrist.

"Hamesha khush rehna, beta."

(Always stay happy, dear.)

Sarthak didn't wait for a formal goodbye. He practically lunged at her, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug that lifted her feet off the ground for a second.

"Oye, don't forget me! My Instagram is going to be so boring without your commentary."

Sarthak joked, though his voice was thick with emotion.

"WhatsApp par roz update chahiye mujhe. Aur Bhopal ki kachori ki photos mat bhejna, jalan hogi!"

(I want daily update on WhatsApp. Just don’t send photos of Bhopal’s kachoris, it will feel jealous!)

Aditi laughed through her unshed tears.

"Nahi bhejungi, Sarthak. Take care of yourself."

(I won’t.)

And then, there was Siddharth. He was standing near the driver's door, looking as composed and serious as the day he arrived. Aditi looked at him, her heart thumping against her ribs.

In these fifteen days, they hadn't had many long conversations, but they had shared a million silent moments. He had looked at her across dinner tables, walked beside her through crowded markets, and offered her a sense of security she had never known.

She expected him to give her that polite nod, the one he used for colleagues or acquaintances. She expected him to say "Goodbye, Aditi" and get into the car.

Instead, Siddharth took three long strides toward her. Before she could blink, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a firm, protective hug.

Aditi froze. Her brain stopped working. Her hands hung limp at her sides. Is this really happening? she wondered. 

After a few seconds of shock, the warmth of his embrace seeped into her bones. She realized she wasn't dreaming. She slowly lifted her arms and wrapped them tightly around his waist, burying her face in his chest for a brief moment. He smelled like sandalwood and home.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered.

"I'll miss you, Aditi."

Before she could process that, he pulled back just enough to look at her. Then, in front of his mother, his father, his brother, and the elderly Guptas, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead.

"Apna khayal rakhna."

(Take care.)

He said softly, his voice full of a depth that made her knees weak. The silence that followed was deafening. Sarthak's jaw practically hit the pavement. Meena and her husband exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated shock.

Even Nani and Nanu stared with wide eyes. Siddharth, however, didn't look at anyone else. He gave Aditi's hand a final squeeze, turned around, and got into the passenger seat without another word.

As the car pulled away, Aditi stood there, her hand instinctively going up to touch her forehead. She watched the SUV disappear around the corner until it was just a tiny speck. A single tear finally escaped, rolling down her cheek.

"Wo chale gaye."

(They left.)

She whispered to the empty street. But for the first time in her life, she didn't feel abandoned. She felt loved.

The drive to the airport wasn't long, and the car was unusually quiet. Siddharth focused on the road, his eyes fixed ahead, while Sarthak kept glancing at him from the back seat, vibrating with the need to say something. Meena and her husband were in the back, whispering to each other in low tones.

The moment they pulled into their driveway in Delhi and stepped inside their house, the dam finally broke. As soon as the main door clicked shut, Sarthak blocked Siddharth's path to the stairs.

"Bhai! Hold on! Stop right there!"

Sarthak shouted, pointing a finger at him. Siddharth sighed, trying to look annoyed, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes.

"Sarthak, let me take the bags up. I'm tired."

"Nahi, nahi! Baaki sab baad mein, pehle explanation!"

(No, no! Everything later, first explanation!)

Sarthak grinned mischievously.

"What was that back in Bhopal? The hug? The forehead kiss? Hello? Since when did my Serious Big Brother become a romantic hero?"

Meena walked over, crossing her arms but with a warm, knowing smile on her face.

"Siddharth, beta, humein bhi thoda surprise toh hua."

(Siddharth, we were also a little surprised.)

"Exactly!"

His father added, joining the circle.

"The way you looked at that girl... it didn't look like just neighbours to me."

Siddharth looked around at his family, feeling like a witness in a courtroom. He tried to maintain his poker face, but his ears were turning a deep shade of pink.

"Maa, please. She was sad. She's a good girl, and she has a tough time at home. I was just being supportive."

Siddharth said, trying to deflect, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.

"Supportive?"

Sarthak barked a laugh.

"Bhai, supportive log haath milate hain, forehead kiss nahi karte! Tu toh aise hug kar raha tha jaise use chhodna hi nahi chahta."

(Bhai supportive people shake hands, not kiss foreheads! You were hugging her as if you didn’t want to leave.)

"Aur woh 'I'll miss you'?"

(And that ‘I’ll miss you’?)

Meena teased, stepping closer and poking his arm.

"Maine kabhi nahi suna tumne kisi dost ko aise miss kiya ho."

(I never heard you miss any of your friends like this.)

Siddharth looked down at his shoes, his usual confidence completely failing him. He tried to think of a logical, professional excuse, but nothing came to mind. All he could see when he closed his eyes was Aditi's shocked, teary face and the way she had eventually hugged him back.

"Woh... she's special."

Siddharth finally admitted, his voice barely audible. He looked up, and for the first time, the serious mask was gone. There was a genuine shyness in his eyes, a softness that made him look younger.

"She's not like anyone I've ever met. Bas ho gaya."

(Done now.)

Sarthak let out a loud "Whooo!" and slapped his brother's shoulder.

"Ho gaya! Matlab bhai ko pyaar ho gaya!"

(Done! Means love is done!)

"Maine aisa nahi kaha!"

(I didn’t say that!)

Siddharth snapped, though the blush was now creeping up his cheeks.

"Kehne ki zaroorat nahi hai, Siddharth."

(There is no need to say, Siddharth.)

Meena said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Tumhari aankhein sab keh rahi hain. Aur hum khush hai. Aditi bohot pyaari bachi hai."

(Your eyes are saying everything. And we are happy. Aditi is a very sweet girl.)

Siddharth didn't try to argue anymore. He knew he couldn't win against them, especially when they were right. He grabbed his suitcase, his heart doing a strange little dance in his chest.

"Main change karne ja raha hoon."

(I am going to change.)

He muttered, quickly heading up the stairs. Sarthak watched him go, shaking his head.

"Bhai toh gaye! Completely gone!"

(Bhai is gone!)

Upstairs in his room, Siddharth sat on the edge of his bed. He pulled out his phone and opened WhatsApp. He scrolled down to the chat with "Aditi (Bhopal)." He saw that she was online.

He started typing. 

Reached safely. Mom is already missing you.

He paused, deleted the message, and typed again. 

Reached safely. Mom is already missing you. And I miss you too.

He hit send, his heart racing faster than it ever had during a business presentation. He realized that Delhi felt too quiet now. The robot had finally been rebooted, and as he stared at the "typing..." status under her name, he knew that this wasn't the end of a trip. It was the beginning of something much bigger.