📍 Timeline:
Ziyana = 1 year old
Devayn = 6
Rudra = 9
Aarav = 11
Veer = 4
---
The sun fell gently on the Rana mansion that morning — not blinding, not lazy. Just enough to make the windchimes sing softly by the verandah.
Inside the house, chaos bloomed like flowers.
Balloons. Streamers. Gifts. Giggles.
It was Ziyana Rana’s first birthday — and the entire house smelled like vanilla cake, baby powder, and overwhelming love.
And in the middle of it all… lay the tiniest storm, asleep in a cream dress, hugging the same broken toy soldier that had been gifted to her — a year ago — by a boy who hadn’t stopped staring since.
---
☁️
At 6 years old, Devayn Khurana was quiet.
Not because he was shy. But because his thoughts were always… louder than the world around him.
He didn’t run around with the other kids.
Didn’t smile at the camera.
Didn’t dance to the music.
He just stood in a corner of the garden, holding a handmade card behind his back, watching her from afar.
Every time someone else touched her cheek, his fists clenched.
Every time someone made her laugh, something in his chest throbbed like it was jealous of the sound.
> “You gonna give her the card or just burn a hole through her dress by staring?” Rudra smirked beside him, sipping juice.
Devayn didn’t answer.
Rudra peeked at the card. It had shaky handwriting:
> "Happy Birthday Ziyana. From Devayn. Please don’t like anyone else."
> Rudra chuckled. “Smooth, Romeo.”
---
The party was loud.
Too many colors. Too many people.
Ziyana — one year old, confused, wide-eyed — kept blinking at faces she didn’t know, smiling when the camera flashed and crying when someone tried to take her from her mother’s arms.
At one point, a toddler — chubby, overfriendly, the son of a guest — toddled over to her and kissed her cheek.
And Ziyana giggled.
Everyone laughed.
Except one boy.
---
Devayn moved fast.
Crossed the lawn. Pushed through a group of aunties.
> “Don’t do that,” he said, voice deadly calm.
The kid blinked.
“What?” he giggled. “She’s cute.”
Devayn’s eyes darkened.
> “Don’t touch her. She’s mine.”
---
Silence.
Music paused. Adults turned.
The boy’s mother gasped. “Oh my God, beta—”
But someone else laughed.
Rudra.
> “Told y’all,” he grinned. “This little psycho’s been claiming her since the crib.”
Instead of awkwardness… the families smiled.
Arshia aunty blushed.
Devayn’s mother whispered to her husband:
> “He’s been drawing her name in every book he owns. I thought it was puppy love. But this…”
Devayn’s father chuckled, eyes proud.
> “Let him love her. Maybe that’ll save him from himself.”
---
Later that evening…
Ziyana had fallen asleep again, after throwing frosting at her own cake and trying to eat a flower from the centerpiece.
Devayn sat beside her crib, his knees pulled to his chest.
He didn’t speak.
He just watched her breathe.
One chubby little fist was still curled around his broken toy soldier.
The same one he’d given her the first time they met.
She stirred. Opened her eyes.
And then… whispered something.
> “Devu…”
His heart stopped.
Her first real word. After ‘Mama.’
And it was his name.
He stood frozen.
And in that moment — a thousand things changed.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t cry.
He just whispered back.
> “Say it again. Please.”
But she was already asleep again.
Still holding him.
---
Outside, Rudra leaned on the wall, watching his little brother.
He turned to Arshia aunty with a s
mirk.
> “You’ve no idea what you’ve done bringing her into this world. He’s never gonna let her go.”
And she smiled gently, unaware of how true that would become.
Write a comment ...