ep 1
It was one of those mornings where the sun didn’t just rise — it entered like it belonged. Golden rays filtered softly through sheer curtains, brushing against polished wooden floors and warm walls.
The house — no, the mansion — stood proud and serene, not ostentatious, but designed with quiet sophistication. A blend of modern structure and cultural soul, its every corner whispered the touch of two people who had built it not just with money, but with meaning.
Inside, morning routines had already begun. The faint aroma of incense still lingers in the air — the remnants of aarti from a freshly finished pooja (worship). Downstairs in the kitchen, the comforting crackle of the stove played in the background as breakfast simmered and lunch for the day’s tiffin was carefully packed.
The man in the kitchen — calm, grounded, carrying the weight of two lives with quiet pride — had just finished preparing Pohe, along with freshly brewed tea. With a habitual glance at the wall clock, he wiped his hands on a towel, picked up a steel tiffin box, and moved toward the stairs.
He didn’t knock.
The door to the study room opened gently, revealing a familiar sight — and one he had already predicted.
There she was — Aaravi, hunched over a thick file, glasses on, chewing the end of a pen with concentration written across her face. And yet, the very moment she noticed him at the door, her expression shifted from focus to guilty amusement.
She laughed nervously, already knowing what was coming.
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
How many times have I told you not to skip breakfast? (stern, arms crossed, tone fatherly)
Aaravi Sharma/FL
Hehe… Bhaiyya, I was just coming down. Promise.😅😅 (smiling sheepishly)
Her guilty tone and mischievous glance didn’t move him. His sigh wasn’t just exasperation — it was a habit, laced with warmth.
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
Work will always wait, Aara. Your health won’t. Come on, let’s eat together — then we’ll leave for the company. (softer now, voice full of layered care)
Aaravi Sharma/FL
Bhaiyya, you go ahead and start, I’ll just— (still trying to finish the thought)
But before the sentence could leave her lips, her hand was empty.
Nischal had already walked over, taken the file from her grip, placed it firmly on the table, and — with no room for arguments — took her hand gently but with finality.
She followed.
Not because she was scared.
Because she respected him. Because she trusted him. Because she knew that if she opened her mouth now, she’d get a mini-lecture with love and disappointment baked in.
The breakfast table was set with love, like always. Simple steel utensils, soft cotton napkins, and freshly made Pohe — her favorite. The smell alone made her stomach grumble in betrayal.
Nischal served her first, as he always did, before serving himself.
Aaravi Sharma/FL
Bhaiyya, you really make the best pohe in the world. With this tea? I swear, nothing tastes better. 😌🤌(after the first bite, eyes closing in satisfaction)
She leaned back in exaggerated pleasure, a warm smile brightening her face.
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
Someone didn’t want breakfast fifteen minutes ago. (mocking tone)
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
Sorry, Bhaiyya. I promise I won’t skip next time.(laughs, sheepish again)
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
Hmm. I’ll believe that when it actually happens.😑 (pretending to glare)
He paused then, tone shifting back to business.
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
By the way, the client — the one from Italy — will be arriving this afternoon. Everything ready? Documents? Designs? Presentation?
Aaravi Sharma/FL
Bhaiyya… you’ve asked me this thirteen times since yesterday. Don’t worry. Tara, you, and I have gone over everything. Twice. We’re prepared. (groaning slightly)
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
I know… I just—he’s an important client, Aara. If this deal goes well, it’ll be a turning point for the firm. (nodding, but still anxious)
He hesitated before continuing.
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
And one more thing, Aaru— (gently)
Aaravi Sharma/FL
I know. I won’t be involved. I’ll keep my distance. (cutting in, softly)
There was no bitterness in her tone, only quiet understanding. They’d had this conversation before.
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
I don’t doubt your capability, Aaravi. You’re one of the finest minds we have. But this isn’t about trust. It’s about risk. I looked into them. They’re not like gangsters or something…. But they’re powerful, Aara. Really powerful. No criminal record, but the kind of power they hold in Russia… it’s not corporate or political. It’s invisible. Like they don’t exist on paper, yet they walk through walls in the business world.
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
I don’t want to put you in that orbit. Not unless we absolutely have to. (measured, not controlling — just deeply concerned)
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.
Nishchal Sharma/ FL Brother
I’m not trying to restrict you. But I don’t want you involved in this project. Not directly. Not with him.
Aaravi Sharma/FL
I understand. And I trust you, Bhaiyya. I know you’re not saying this because you doubt me. You’re doing it because… you care. (softly)
There was silence — the kind that felt comforting, not awkward.
A shared understanding.
They both got up, rinsed their cups, packed their tiffins — homemade food, as Aaravi insisted every day — and left the mansion, the sun casting golden halos on their backs as they walked side by side.
Two people. One soul, split in two. A brother and sister who had already survived the worst — and were about to face something far darker.
But for now, it was just a normal morning. With pohe, tea, and the promise of something bigger ahead.
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