The Weight of a Name

Arnav’s POV

Arnav Malhotra had faced boardroom betrayals, hostile takeovers, and cutthroat negotiations that could make even the strongest men crumble. But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared him for this.

“He’s your son, Arnav… our son.”

The words echoed in his mind like a gunshot in a silent valley, sharp and irreversible. His grip on the edge of his desk tightened, the cool mahogany surface grounding him as the rest of the world blurred. For a few seconds, the only thing he could hear was the deafening thud of his heartbeat.

Four years.

Four long years, and Isha had never told him.

Images—unbidden and relentless—flashed before his eyes. A little boy’s laughter. Tiny hands wrapped around his finger. First steps, first words… moments he should have been there for. Moments he had missed.

His chest tightened, the air in his office suddenly feeling too thin, as if the walls themselves were closing in. He turned his gaze back to Isha, who stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of guilt and defiance.

“You…” His voice was rough, almost alien to his own ears. “You kept my child away from me?”

Isha flinched, her hands clasped in front of her. “Arnav, I—”

“You what, Isha?!” His voice rose, the controlled CEO façade cracking under the weight of betrayal. “You thought it was okay to raise my son without even telling me he existed?”

Her chin trembled, but she didn’t look away. “Do you think it was easy for me? We were falling apart, Arnav. You were buried in work, we fought every other day… I didn’t even know if you wanted me in your life anymore. How could I tell you I was pregnant when you were already halfway out the door?”

His stomach churned. Memories of their last months together slammed into him—heated arguments, cold silences, the way they’d both stopped trying to bridge the gap. But beneath the anger, there had always been something else… a connection neither of them could fully destroy.

“You still had no right,” he said quietly, but the edge in his voice was razor-sharp. “I missed four years of his life, Isha. Four years.”

Her eyes glistened. “Do you think I don’t regret that? Every single day, I look at him and wonder if I made the wrong choice. But Arnav… back then, I was scared. And after he was born, I—” She stopped, swallowing hard. “I didn’t want him to grow up feeling unwanted. And if you had rejected him—”

“Rejected him?” Arnav’s voice broke, his anger now tangled with disbelief. “He’s my blood. My son. Do you really think I could ever turn him away?”

The silence between them was heavy, almost suffocating. Arnav dragged a hand down his face, trying to process the enormity of what she had just told him. A child. His child. Living somewhere out there, probably with Isha’s smile and—God—maybe even his eyes.

“What’s his name?” he asked finally, his voice low.

Her lips parted, her tone soft. “Aarav.”

Aarav. The name hit him like a punch to the gut, both foreign and intimately his. He tried to picture the boy—what he looked like, what kind of laugh he had, whether he was shy or mischievous. And then, just as quickly, a wave of grief swept over him for all the birthdays, bedtimes, and scraped knees he had never been there for.

He turned away from her, moving toward the window. Mumbai’s skyline stretched out before him, glittering under the afternoon sun, but all he could see was the faint reflection of a man who suddenly felt like a stranger to himself.

I have a son.

The words tasted surreal in his mind.

“Why tell me now?” he asked without turning around.

“Because…” Her voice trembled. “Because Aariv is starting school next month. And he’s… different from other kids. They ask him about his father. Some of them tease him. He’s starting to notice. And I can’t stand the look in his eyes when he asks me why he doesn’t have one.”

Arnav closed his eyes briefly, his jaw clenched. The thought of his son—their son—being bullied, feeling alone, made something primal flare in his chest. “So now you want me in his life.”

“I want you to be his father,” she said softly. “I want him to know you, to have the family he deserves.”

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “And marriage is part of that plan?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Yes.”

Arnav studied her for a long moment. He could read people better than anyone—years in business had taught him that. But right now, Isha was a closed book. Was she doing this for Aarav? For herself? Or was there something else at play?

“You think a marriage on paper will fix everything?” he asked finally.

“No,” she admitted. “But it will give Aariv stability. And… maybe it will give us a second chance.”

Second chance. The phrase was a minefield—equal parts hope and danger. Arnav wasn’t sure he believed in them anymore. But he did believe in responsibility. And there was no universe in which he would turn his back on his son.

“I need time,” he said finally, his voice quieter now.

Isha nodded, relief flickering in her eyes. “I understand.”

But Arnav knew she didn’t. She couldn’t possibly understand the storm raging inside him. How could she? In the space of a single conversation, she had upended his entire world.

When she left his office a few minutes later, the silence felt deafening. Arnav sat back in his chair, his gaze fixed on nothing. His mind was a kaleidoscope of emotions—anger, guilt, confusion, and a strange, aching tenderness for a little boy he had never met.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it.

For the first time in years, Arnav Malhotra felt utterly powerless. And he hated it.

But beneath the chaos, one thing had already crystallized into certainty.

He was going to meet his son.

To be continued ~~

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