Whisper in the Night|18+(hold)

Chapter 3: The Return of Karan Singh

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Kaira's POV:-

The dry hum of the airport's air conditioning was a familiar lullaby, but my nerves thrummed a different tune. Finally, I was here, outside the glass doors, waiting for bhaiya and bhab—no, soon-to-be bhabhi. Only if I approved, of course. My gaze swept through the organised chaos: suitcases rolling like noisy beetles, tearful reunions, the shrill pitch of hurried phone calls, and the lingering scent of stale coffee mixed with distant jet fuel. My personal brand of vigilance was in full swing.

Five years. Five long years since I'd last seen him. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, a cocktail of excitement and a strange, protective apprehension swirling within me.

And then, he emerged.

He walked with that familiar long stride, a silhouette against the glaring afternoon sun through the terminal doors. He looked the same, yet subtly different – perhaps a touch more lines around his eyes, a deeper set to his jaw, but still undeniably my bhaiya. My hand practically shot into the air, waving with the unbridled enthusiasm of a child spotting an ice cream truck.

"Hi, bhaiya!" I yelled, my voice cutting through the general din, perhaps a little too loudly.

A slow smirk spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with that familiar playful amusement. "Ye kya hai? Bada bhai aya hai, pair-vair chu." ("What is this? Your elder brother has come, touch his feet.")

I rolled my eyes, planting a hand on my hip. "Haan haan, bilkul aap ho uske layak... statue ban jao main phool chadha deti hoon." ("Yeah, yeah, you're totally worthy of that... become a statue and I'll offer flowers.")

He let out a deep, rumbling laugh, shaking his head. But I caught his eyes narrowing, instantly picking up on the way my gaze kept darting past him, scanning the space behind his broad shoulders.

"Tu baar-baar mere piche kyu dekh rahi hai?" ("Why do you keep looking behind me?") he asked, one eyebrow raised in feigned innocence.

"Woh... aapki 'someone special' nahi aayi?" ("Um... your 'someone special' didn't come?") I feigned an innocent tone, but my curiosity was a neon sign flashing above my head.

The corner of his mouth quirked into a knowing smile. "Lo, aa gayi." ("Look, she just arrived.")

I turned.

And there she was.

She wasn't just walking; she was gliding. Tall, impossibly graceful, the kind of beauty that made the bustling crowd around her fade into a blurry backdrop. She moved with an undeniable confidence, a quiet power that suggested she knew every eye was on her. This wasn't someone who merely entered a room; she owned it.

"Hi," she greeted, her voice a warm, melodic whisper, her smile effortless and utterly charming.

"Hello," I managed, mirroring her friendliness even as a tiny, cynical voice in my head whispered, Damn, she looks like she just stepped out of a Vogue cover.

"Kaira, ye hai Aradhya. Bataya tha na maine?" bhaiya said, his voice surprisingly softer, a note of gentle affection I rarely heard. "Aru, Kaira—meri behen." ("Kaira, this is Aradhya. I told you about her, right? Aru, Kaira—my sister.")

"Karan kaafi baatein karta hai tumhare baare mein," ("Karan talks a lot about you,") Aradhya said, her smile broadening as she looked at me.

My mouth, it seemed, had a mind of its own, a faulty filter. "Par bhaiya aapke baare mein to kabhi nahi karte." ("But bhaiya never talks about you.")