Page 126 of Cherish my Heart
His lips linger against mine, the kiss deepening just enough to say all the things words never could. And in that moment, with the sun rising behind us and his heartbeat steady against my palm, I know—this is forever.
EPILOGUE 1
ABHIMAAN
1 YEAR LATER
The car ride is unusually lively for a morning that, for me, already feels like an event. Rudrani’s little voice fills the backseat, narrating some animated tale about a drawing she made in school, her tiny hands moving as if she’s trying to show me every brushstroke in the air.
Shivani sits beside her, smiling indulgently, while Aditi’s mother—Maa—is in the front passenger seat, occasionally turning around to listen and nod.
I’m behind the wheel, stealing glances in the rearview mirror at this picture-perfect chaos. This family… it’s become my anchor without me realizing. There’s warmth here I never thought I’d have. Not after growing up in an orphanage where “family” was just a word they wrote on paperwork.
Shivani leans forward suddenly, resting her chin over the headrest of my seat.
“Do you know what she named her business?”
I shake my head, suppressing a smile. “I tried to ask,” I admit, “but apparently, I should be patient becausesabr ka fal mitha hota hai.”
Shivani chuckles. “She’s right. You’ll like it.”
Maybe it’s the way she says it, or maybe it’s the way Maa glances back at me with that knowing look that makes my chest tighten. This family has accepted me more wholeheartedly than Aditi’s fiancé ever seemed to be accepted. I’m not just tolerated here. I’m wanted.
I still remember the night Maa told me to call her that. I had come home late from a meeting with Aditi, shoulders heavy with exhaustion, tie loosened, brain still whirring with work details. She’d been waiting up, a cup of chai in her hand. “You don’t have to call me Mrs. Malhotra,” she’d said softly. “Call me Maa. You are like a son to me… and I think you need a mother.”
I almost cried then, standing in the kitchen like a fool, staring at her as my throat closed up. No one had ever said that to me before. Not in my thirty-two years.
We pull up to the location, and I’m still lost in that memory when Rudrani squeals, “We’re here!”
The building in front of us is elegant but understated, painted in a warm beige with tall glass windows reflecting the morning light. There’s a small crowd gathered—friends, family, a few media people—and a ribbon stretched across the entrance.
I park, step out, and as my shoes hit the pavement, I freeze.
Because there, walking towards me with that purposeful stride and a nervous-but-bright smile, is Aditi. She comes right to my side, her hand finding mine like it’s instinct, and before I can say a word, she leans down and kisses my knuckles.
“You are the reason I’m here,” she says softly, eyes locking with mine. “So I decided to name my brand Maan. After you. Isn’t it beautiful?”
For a second, I forget how to breathe. I just… look at her. At this incredible woman standing in front of me, her hair swept up in a way that shows the delicate curve of her neck, her face glowing not from makeup, but from pride. My heart pounds like it’s trying to remind me it’s still there.
“Darling,” I whisper, voice rough, “this is—”
She cuts me off, wagging a finger with a half-smile. “Don’t say anything. Let’s just enjoy the moment because I’m already stressed, and I really don’t want to shout at you today.”
I can’t help it—I chuckle. Then I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“Come on,” she says, pulling me forward by the hand. “Maa!” she calls out, and Maa joins us.
She hands her mother the ceremonial scissors, but before Maa can do anything, Aditi thrusts another pair into my hand. “You are an important part of this journey. So don’t argue and just do the honors. We can discuss it later,” she scolds lightly.
I almost argue—almost—but there’s no winning against her when she’s like this. So I nod, and together, Maa and I cut the ribbon. The crowd claps, Rudrani cheers, and Aditi grins at me like she’s just won something bigger than this moment.
Inside, the space is a perfect balance of modern and traditional—high ceilings, warm lighting, and clean white walls with accents of royal blue and gold. On mannequins draped in intricate fabrics, each design looks like it belongs in both a runway show and a grandmother’s treasured trunk. Shelves display accessories—hand-embroidered clutches and statement jewelry—that speak of heritage yet feel fresh. The faint scent of new fabric mixes with sandalwood from the decor.
Aditi moves effortlessly from person to person, greeting guests, introducing her team, and explaining pieces. I stand back, just watching. Watching her confidence, the way she laughs, and the way she listens intently when someone speaks to her.
I’ve seen her stressed, exhausted, and stubborn beyond reason. But here, in this moment, she is completely in her element—commanding the room without even trying. And I… I couldn’t be prouder.
This isn’t just her dream coming true—it’s her proof to herself that she can do it. And while everyone else might see the businesswoman in front of them, I see the girl who once curled up next to me on the couch, doubting if she was good enough.
