The apartment door rang at 09:47 p.m.. a single, firm press that carried the quiet authority of someone who didn’t need to ring twice.

Tapsee was wiping down the kitchen counter, the pink chiffon saree still soft against her skin after the long day. A few strands of hair had escaped her bun and curled damply at her nape from the kitchen heat. Harish was out at another late “client dinner,” Sarita and Ramesh were in the living room, the TV murmuring the evening news at low volume.

Sarita rose first, smoothing her dupatta. “Kaun hoga itni der se?” she said, voice laced with mild concern as she walked to the door. Ramesh followed, switching off the TV.

Tapsee paused, cloth in hand, a small flutter starting in her chest for no reason she could name. She stepped quietly to the edge of the kitchen doorway, staying half-hidden.

Sarita opened the door.

Sanjay stood framed in the threshold—tall, broad-shouldered, navy T-shirt slightly rumpled from travel, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The faint scent of rain and cedar drifted in with him. His salt-and-pepper hair was damp at the temples, the scar on his left eyebrow catching the hallway light like a quiet signature. He looked tired, but when his eyes landed on Sarita and Ramesh, they warmed instantly.

“Bhabhi…” His voice was low, rough around the edges from the long flight, but the smile that curved his mouth was genuine, soft. “Bhaiya. Sorry itni late ho gayi. Flight delay thi aur phir cab mein traffic…”

Sarita didn’t let him finish. She stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug, the way only family who’ve worried for months can. “Arre Sanjay! Bas karo sorry-vorry. Aaja andar, Sanjay. Dekho kitna patla ho gaye ho—army mein khana nahi dete kya?” She laughed, patting his back firmly. “Aa ja, aa ja. Thak gaye honge poore.”

Ramesh clasped Sanjay’s forearm, pulling him in with a warm thump on the shoulder. “Welcome home, Sanjay. Sach mein, dil se khushi hua. Bahut din ho gaye the. Chalo, andar aao. Paani lao, Tapsee!”

Sanjay stepped across the threshold, kicking off his shoes neatly. “Bhaiya, aap log theek ho? Sab changa?”

“Sab changa,” Ramesh replied, voice thick with affection. “Bas tu aa gaya, ab sab changa hai.”

Tapsee stepped forward then, out of the shadow, hands folded in front of her in a quick namaste. Her bangles clinked once—soft, betraying.

Her eyes lifted.

And stayed.

One heartbeat. Two.

On the way the T-shirt stretched across the solid width of his chest when he breathed, on the strong line of his collarbone where a bead of sweat or rain had gathered, on the quiet power in his arms as he set the duffel down, on the steady column of his throat when he swallowed. Heat rose under her skin before she could stop it.

Then she blinked, gaze dropping to the floor, cheeks blooming with warmth she prayed no one noticed.

"Sanjay Uncle… welcome,” she said, voice quieter than she intended.

He looked at her—really looked—dark eyes steady, searching for a second longer than necessary. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, small and real.

“Tapsee,” he said simply. No “beta.” No “bahu.” Just her name, spoken low and deliberate, like it belonged on his tongue. “Thank you.”

Sarita was already moving, fussing in the best way. “Chalo chalo, andar baitho. Tapsee beta, paani laao na. Aur Sanjay ke liye kuch khaane ka bhi—flight mein airline ka khana khaaya hoga na? Bilkul bhaari, bekaar. Main abhi kuch garam karti hoon. Aloo parathe bana deti hoon—tu pasand karta tha na?”

Sanjay chuckled, the sound low and warm, easing the tiredness from his face. “Bhabhi, aap yaad rakhti ho sab. Bas paani hi kaafi hai abhi. Baaki kal subah.”

Ramesh waved a hand. “Arre kal kal. Aaj toh ghar aa gaya hai tu. Baith, baat karte hain. Flight kaisa tha? Koi dikkat toh nahi hui?”

Sanjay sank onto the sofa with a small exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. “Flight theek tha, bas delay. Par yahan aate hi sab theek lag raha hai.” He glanced toward the kitchen doorway where Tapsee stood, still holding the glass of water she’d poured. Their eyes met again for a brief, electric.

“Especially the welcome.”

Tapsee’s fingers tightened around the glass. She stepped forward and offered it to him, careful not to let their fingers brush.

He took it, his “Thank you” soft, almost private.

Sarita bustled past her toward the kitchen. “Tapsee, beta, tu bhi baith ja. Sanjay se baat kar. Woh itne din baad aaya hai...”

Tapsee nodded, lowering herself onto the armchair opposite him, saree folds whispering against the cushion. She kept her gaze on the water in his glass, on the way his thumb absently traced the rim.

But she felt it. His attention on her, warm, restrained, patient.

Like the first slow unfurling of something neither of them had named yet.

The rain picked up outside, tapping the windows like it knew secrets too. Inside, the apartment felt fuller, warmer, alive in a way it hadn’t been for a long time.

And Tapsee, for the first time in months, didn’t mind the quiet ache in her chest quite so much.