Wounded Heart ✔

Chapter - 5

Amira turned back slowly, removing her dark glasses with a measured grace before bending down to touch her grandparents' feet. The gesture, so old-fashioned yet deeply respectful, caught everyone by surprise. Khushi's eyes glistened instantly, and Arnav's lips curved with quiet pride, while Abhishek, Laksh, and Aashi exchanged astonished glances. For all her distance, for all the walls she had built, their Amira still carried the traditions their mother and Badi Maa Tanya had instilled in them.

"How are you, GrandPaa... GrandMaa?" Amira asked softly, her voice laced with the warmth of reverence but tinged with exhaustion.

Raj's stern gaze softened only a fraction. "We are fine, Amira. We only hope that at least now... you have learned to change your behaviour." His tone, firm as ever, carried both rebuke and hidden concern.

Amira merely sighed, not answering, her eyes flicking toward her parents. For a moment, she froze—Arnav's steady gaze carried pride, restraint, and questions unspoken, while Khushi's eyes brimmed with tears, trembling between relief and longing.

"Mom... Dad," Amira whispered.

Khushi couldn't hold back. She stepped forward and pulled her daughter into a fierce embrace, clinging to her as if afraid she might vanish if she let go. For Amira, the hug was startling—alien yet achingly familiar. She didn't move, didn't falter, but a flicker of softness passed her usually guarded eyes. Arnav watched in silence, a sigh escaping him. For the first time in years, his wife looked at peace.

When Khushi finally let her go, Amira turned toward Aashi.

"I'm glad you agreed to come... even after what—" Aashi began, her voice cracking.

"That is fine by me," Amira interrupted gently, her tone flat but not cold. "I miss my birthplace too. No need for thanks. And... I don't like talking about the past."

Before anyone could answer, her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, sighed, and picked up.

"I told you, I'll be fine. Just take care of yourself—and of them. That's all I ask, understood?" Her voice lowered, tender yet commanding. A faint "yes" came from the other end, and she disconnected, slipping her phone back into her coat pocket.

Silence hung heavy until her brothers broke it, eyes trained on her.

"I heard you were nominated as Best Businessman of the Year—alongside Kiaan," Amira said suddenly, turning toward them. Her words, deliberate and calm, landed like thunder.

Both Abhishek and Kiaan stiffened, shock flashing in their eyes.

"Th... thank you," Kiaan muttered, his tone clipped, almost resentful.

"How do you even know?" Abhishek asked, suspicion lining his voice.

Amira shrugged lightly. "I have a friend who works with the board."

She shifted her gaze, resting it on Aman and Meher next. "And congratulations are in order for you too. Aman—for making it into your dream soccer team. And Meher—I heard Myra Fashions offered you a designer position. Well done."

Their surprise was palpable. They hadn't spoken to her in years. How did she still know?

But before anyone could speak, Amira's smirk appeared—so eerily reminiscent of Arnav's and Abhishek's—that it sent a shiver through the family.

"And Lucky," she added smoothly, "next time you try dancing with a girl in a pub, make sure she's actually single. Last time it was just your nose that broke. Next time... it might be something harder to explain away as an 'accident.'"

Laksh flushed crimson, choking on his own embarrassment as the rest of the family turned on him in collective shock.

Ignoring the laughter and murmurs, Amira simply greeted the elders politely, but then her stomach betrayed her with a loud rumble.