Introduction

🍽️ Scene: “Goodbye, But Pass the Pickle First”

Setting: Khanna Residence, Lucknow – 8:35 PM

Weather: Cardboard boxes everywhere, fans whirring, and the comforting smell of dal tadka in the air

POV: Author Narration

If the Malhotra dining table is a shrine of silence and shadows, the Khanna family’s dinner is a comedy show that refuses to stick to its script.

Cardboard boxes line the corners, half-packed with framed memories and old sweaters that nobody wore but refused to throw. Tomorrow, they shift to a new house across town—a so-called “fresh start.”

But tonight?

Tonight, they are chaos wrapped in paratha.

Dr. Aarush Khanna, 56, cardiologist and doting father, is busy arguing with his wife over packing the pressure cooker.

> “Nisha, we don’t need three of these in the new kitchen!” “And we didn’t need your sister’s advice in our marriage either, but here we are,” she fires back.

Professor Nisha Khanna, 54, physics lecturer with a sarcasm sharper than her eyeliner, continues her lecture—not on string theory, but on who misplaced her turmeric box.

At the center of it all sits Amaira Khanna, 27.

A neurologist with a heart too soft and a laugh too loud.

She’s barefoot, in a hoodie, hair messy, helping Mayra butter the rotis while secretly texting a patient’s test result to a junior resident. She’s the kind of woman who giggles while holding scalpels—and cries during toothpaste ads.

> “Mayra, that’s the fourth roti you’ve burnt!” “They’re toasted! That’s a trend now,” Mayra defends, with flour on her nose.

Mayra Khanna, 25. The youngest, the softest, the dreamer. Currently working in Malhotra Vogue under Raghini Malhotra’s watchful eye. She still believes every heartbreak deserves a cupcake, and that love might just fix everything.

And then, like a well-timed villain cue—

Amar Khanna, 30, enters the kitchen.

Cold stare. Rolled sleeves. A man who treats silence like a sword.

To most, he’s the overachieving eldest brother.

To his sisters?

He’s that guy who once froze their Barbie dolls in a science experiment and never apologized.

> “Smells like someone’s trying to poison us again,” he remarks, glancing at Mayra’s roti. “It’s called cooking with love,” she huffs. “Then kindly exclude me from your affection.”

Unknown to his family, Amar is also the founder of Alectrona Corp—a secretive, cutting-edge tech and weapons conglomerate.

He’s never been seen at the company. He sends encrypted emails. His employees call him “Mr. Vox.”

Even more secretly, he’s a silent investor in Aarav Malhotra’s Nova Entertainment, which he claims is just “a side distraction.”

Amaira suspects something—but she lets it go. Everyone’s allowed one mysterious hobby, right?

> “You’re shifting tomorrow. Shouldn’t you girls be panicking already?” Amar asks, smirking as he sits. “Already did that. At 5 p.m. We’ve moved on to denial now,” Amaira grins.

The family finally sits. Sort of. Cutlery clinks. Voices overlap. Laughter blooms and fades.

Somewhere in the background, a packing tape roll spins lazily off the table. No one bothers.

🎭 Meanwhile… In Another Corner of Lucknow

Aarav Malhotra stares at his whiskey glass, letting ice melt slowly.

He thinks of the company board meeting he postponed.

Of the rumors about a hacker linked to his data breach last year—rumors pointing toward a ghostlike figure called “Mr. Vox.”

Of Karthik’s chair that still sits at his family table, untouched.

And of course, of his mother asking about marriage between gulps of red wine.

💡 The Invisible Thread

If Amaira met Aarav...

Her chaos would clash with his control. Her laughter would cut through his silence.

She’d find him brooding and dramatic. He’d find her annoyingly cheerful.