Let Love Find You

1

Abhira surveyed the sprawling mansion that would now be her home, its grandeur nearly swallowing her whole. It was easily ten times larger than the modest house she had shared with her mother—a home built on love but strained by scarcity. Her mother, a passionate lawyer devoted to pro bono cases, had always struggled to make ends meet. To fill the gaps, she’d occasionally managed a seasonal resort in Mussoorie, offering brief moments of indulgence amidst their otherwise austere lives. But this mansion? It screamed of wealth, privilege, and a lineage Abhira had never imagined.

Her mother had always said they were alone, yet this place told a different story. Abhira's gaze lingered on the opulent walls, her thoughts swirling. Could her father—the man she’d never met—be alive? Had her mother lied about his absence, just as she’d lied about having no family? Twenty years of her life, shrouded in secrets. Why? What was her mother hiding so desperately? Why had Abhira been kept in the dark, tucked away like a secret herself?

She had no answers—not yet, and for now, she didn’t have the energy to care. A dull headache throbbed behind her eyes, demanding her attention more than the mysteries her mother had left behind. Of course, she wanted to know everything. The questions burned within her, but she didn’t dare ask, not now. She was too exhausted—drained from crying, screaming, and the relentless ache of grief.

Her mother had passed away on a stark hospital bed, her final words urging Abhira to return to a family she had never known. In the days that followed, Abhira had performed her mother’s last rites, her tears flowing freely until the world blurred into an indistinct haze. She hadn’t known what else to do.

Anger simmered beneath her grief. How could her mother leave her like this—without answers, without a lifeline? Abhira didn’t know how to navigate a life without her. How was she supposed to live? To breathe? Each question felt heavier than the last, and she had no idea where to begin.

A firm hand settled on her shoulder, guiding her forward. She turned to see Armaan, his grip steady and reassuring. “Come on,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, as he led her toward the sprawling mansion she now had to call home.

Her grandfather, tall and stoic with a white mustache that quivered when he spoke, walked just ahead. He was silent, his hands clasped behind his back, his gait measured. Her uncle, a broad-shouldered man in his forties, carried her suitcase effortlessly, while her aunt hovered close, offering a kind smile every time Abhira glanced her way.

Abhira barely noticed their presence. Her gaze was fixed on the grand house looming before her. Somewhere inside were grandparents she had never met, along with cousins she hadn’t even known existed.

As they stepped through the grand entrance, her eyes landed on an older woman, likely in her late sixties, standing with a tray to welcome her. The woman’s hazel-brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears, so strikingly familiar that Abhira’s breath caught. They were her mother’s eyes—a mirror of her own.

From the details her grandfather had shared during their journey, Abhira knew the woman before her was her grandmother. Though absent at her mother’s funeral due to health issues, she had called Abhira shortly after. Abhira struggled to recall the conversation—it was just another fragment lost in the haze of her grief. In truth, she remembered little of anything following her mother’s death. Those days had passed in a blur, with decisions made for her by her grandfather, her uncle, her aunt, and, to some extent, Armaan.

She hadn’t protested, hadn’t cared. Her world had already crumbled. Her mother had lied to her for years about having no family, only to reveal their existence with her dying breath, leaving Abhira to grapple with the betrayal and loss.

The grand hall was filled with warmth and voices, but Abhira felt none of it. Her grandmother enveloped her in a tight hug the moment she stepped in, her frail arms surprisingly strong. “Welcome home, Abhira,” the woman whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. Abhira didn’t respond, merely nodded as she stepped back, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the tearful hazel eyes staring at her.

Her grandfather patted her shoulder. “It’s good to finally have you here, beta. Akshara…” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “She would be so proud of you.”

Abhira’s jaw tightened. She wanted to scream that her mother wasn’t here to be proud, wasn’t here to say anything anymore. Instead, she muttered, “Thanks,” and looked down at her feet.

Her uncle set her suitcase down gently by the staircase, his movements careful, as though he feared startling her. “If you need anything, just let us know,” he offered, his voice gruff but kind.

Her aunt stepped closer, her hand briefly brushing Abhira’s arm. “Yes, beta. You’re family. This is your home now.”

She forced a small nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. Home. The word felt hollow.

Armaan lingered near the doorway, watching the scene unfold. When she turned back to glance at him, he stepped forward. “I should get going,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “Take care of yourself.”

She didn’t respond at first, the weight of his words sinking in. Finally, she muttered, “You too.”

He hesitated, then added, “Your mom… she’d want you to be happy here.” His voice cracked just slightly, and Abhira’s chest tightened. She hated how his words made her want to cry.

“Thanks,” she whispered, unable to say more.

Armaan gave her a small nod before turning and walking away. As he stepped through the door, Abhira watched him disappear, biting her lip to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

Armaan had tagged along with her from Mussoorie to Udaipur, seemingly pulled from his brooding isolation. It seemed her mother’s death had finally forced him to leave Mussoorie and the resort he’d nearly made his home. His sudden reappearance wasn’t surprising—Armaan had always moved through life on his own terms, and now, for reasons Abhira couldn’t yet understand, he was here. Whether his presence was a comfort or another layer of confusion, she couldn’t decide.

They had never really gotten along—not since a year ago, when Armaan had come on a family vacation to Mussoorie and stayed at their resort. From the moment they met, they’d taken an instant dislike to each other, sparring with words and throwing tantrums like children. It didn’t help that her mother, Akshara, had once been Armaan's mentor and professor—someone he had greatly admired. That connection alone had irritated Abhira, though she couldn’t say why.

Strangely enough, not long after that vacation, Armaan had moved to Mussoorie. Abhira had found his decision both suspicious and absurd.

Who left a cushy job at a thriving law firm to scrape by on pro bono cases in a small hill town?

No one, unless they were completely foolish. Then again, Armaan was just that—foolish.

Sure, Mussoorie was wonderful, but it wasn’t that wonderful. It was beautiful, yes—a haven of misty hills and charm—but to abandon everything for it? Ridiculous.

Abhira had spent her entire life there, and while she loved it, she couldn’t imagine staying forever. Twenty years in Mussoorie was already too long. She craved more—freedom, adventure, a life that extended beyond the winding roads and familiar vistas of her small town. She wanted to see the world, to break free from the life she’d always known. Staying stuck in one place? That wasn’t living.

She watched as his figure disappeared down the stone driveway, his presence now just another memory left behind in this unfamiliar place.

Her grandmother stepped closer, her voice gentle. “Come, beta. You must be tired. Let me show you to your room.”

Abhira followed in silence, the chatter of her uncle and aunt fading into the background. Her mother’s absence loomed larger than the towering walls around her.

This wasn’t home. It was just a place. And in that moment, she felt the weight of her loneliness settle deeper than ever before—more profound than any grief she had known.

She didn’t belong here. Not yet, not ever.