One Shot Collection #2

49 - Bound by Duty, Driven by Love

When Sanya Rao arrived at the Kapoor household, the sky was still painted with the soft pink and purple hues of dusk. Her father, Raghav, had insisted she wear her best salwar kameez—deep blue with gold accents. She felt nervous as she stepped out of the car, her heart racing, not entirely sure what to expect.

Inside, Shaan Kapoor stood by the window, his broad frame silhouetted against the fading light. He was a man of few words, an officer of the law with sharp features and a strong sense of discipline. His life had always been a regimented cycle of work, care for his son, and the occasional break for himself—a life that had become too controlled, too predictable. After the sudden death of his wife six years ago, Shaan had closed himself off from everything that once brought him joy. Now, at 39, he had learned to live in a world of boundaries.

As Sanya entered the room, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Shaan, with his neatly combed hair, crisp uniform, and piercing eyes, was nothing like the men she had imagined in her quiet dreams. His gaze flicked over her, analyzing, studying her every move. There was no warmth, no softness in his eyes, just a quiet, stoic expression.

"Mr. Kapoor," Sanya said softly, offering her hand in greeting.

Shaan nodded curtly, taking her hand in his for a brief, firm handshake. His grip was cold, professional—nothing like the warmth she had expected. "Miss Rao," he said, his voice low but commanding, as though he were speaking to someone who was merely a matter of duty rather than interest.

They sat down across from each other, the weight of silence thick in the room. Sanya's nerves were evident, her fingers trembling slightly as she smoothed the folds of her dupatta. Shaan, on the other hand, appeared unmoved, his thoughts far away.

"Tell me about yourself, Sanya," he asked, his tone almost clinical.

Sanya cleared her throat, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach. "I... I'm a kindergarten teacher. I love working with children. Their innocence and joy—it reminds me of the simple things in life." She smiled nervously. "I also love reading and spending time with my family."

Shaan raised an eyebrow. "And what about your future? What do you want from life?"

She paused, a little taken aback by his bluntness. "I believe in building a home. A place where love and laughter can grow, even in the smallest moments. I want to create a space where people feel safe and cared for." Her voice softened as she added, "I want to share my life with someone who values that."

Shaan's expression flickered for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a stoic demeanor. He was not someone who could easily open up about his feelings, not even to the woman who would, in his family's eyes, become his future.

"Hmm," he murmured, clearly deep in thought.

Sanya could feel the heaviness of the room. It was as if the walls were closing in, but she held onto the calm she had learned to carry from years of teaching children to navigate their feelings. She looked around the room, noticing the family photos on the walls—pictures of Shaan with a woman she assumed was his late wife and a little boy whose dark eyes mirrored Shaan's own.

"I see you have a son," Sanya said, trying to bridge the silence. Her voice was soft, but she knew this was the moment to show a bit more warmth.

Shaan's eyes briefly flicked to the photo of his son, Aryan. His face tightened, but there was no anger—just an overwhelming sense of loss that he kept buried deep. He nodded slowly, his jaw clenching slightly. "His name is Aryan. He's six now." He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his professional composure. "He's a good boy. Strong, disciplined. He takes after his mother."

Sanya's heart sank, but she quickly masked it with a gentle smile. "Children need both love and discipline," she said, thinking of her own students, who relied on her to make them feel safe, loved, and heard. "It sounds like he's lucky to have you."

There was a beat of silence, a brief moment where Shaan's eyes softened, but it quickly vanished. "I do what I can," he replied curtly, his gaze moving back to the window, where the last light of day was fading. "It's my responsibility. It's what I owe to her."