Wounded Heart ✔

Chapter - 8

The morning sun filtered softly through the windows of Amna Mansion, touching everything with a golden glow, yet it was Amira who seemed to illuminate the room. Her presence carried calm authority, tempered by warmth—a rare blend that drew attention without effort.

"Namaste, God bless you," Arnav and Khushi said in unison, their voices gentle but filled with pride, bestowing blessings on the young adults before them.

Amira's gaze swept across the room, taking in the familiar and the new, then she spoke, voice steady, clear, and resonant. "These are my elder siblings—Abhishek, Laksh, and Aashi; my grandparents, Raj and Pooja; and my Choti Maa, Aarti, and Chote Papa, Yashwanth. And these," she gestured gracefully toward the new faces, "are the Kapoors—Aashi's in-law family as well as my aunt and uncle. This is my family."

"Good morning," her friends greeted softly, hands folded in respect, which was returned warmly by the Khurana elders.

Amira's lips curved in a serene smile as she turned toward her friends. "So, Amy, what did you cook for breakfast?" Adira asked, drawn immediately by the mouthwatering aroma that filled the room.

Amira chuckled softly, a glint of mischief in her calm demeanor. "Well, for Kavya and Nandini, Chocolate Pancakes; Aloo Paratha with Chole Masala for Anvesh; Waffles and fried fries for Arjun; Masala Dosa and Sambar Idli for Maan; and for Adira, Half-boiled Omelette, Toast, and Methi Paratha with Paneer Butter Masala. Juices—Mango and Orange. Is this sufficient, or should I add more?"

Her family's jaws dropped, eyes wide in disbelief. In barely three hours, she had prepared a spread that would have daunted even a professional chef.

They exchanged stunned glances before the realization struck—the depth of her care, the effortless command of her surroundings, the strength she carried quietly beneath her serene exterior. Then, almost in unison, they moved toward her, enveloping her in hugs and squeals of joy.

"We love you," they whispered, laughed, and cheered, the emotion raw and unfiltered, filling the mansion with warmth.

Amira simply smiled, fond and unshaken, absorbing their love silently. It wasn't the reaction she sought—she didn't need it—but it was a rare comfort, a gentle reminder of the bonds that had remained unbroken despite years of distance and silence. In that moment, the mansion was alive, not just with voices and laughter, but with the quiet, unwavering strength of family—anchored in her presence.

Later, everyone moved to the dining room, where the morning sunlight caught the glint of polished wood and the faint aroma of fresh flowers mingled with the smell of breakfast. Amira moved gracefully between the table and the counter, serving each dish with quiet efficiency. Her friends eagerly filled their plates, their eyes sparkling as they watched the spread she had prepared.

Once everyone was seated, Amira placed herself at the head of the table. She picked up her fork, took a measured bite, and for the briefest moment allowed herself to savor it. Around her, the Khuranas and Kapoors were visibly impressed—the meticulous presentation, the flavors, the care evident in every bite. Even her friends, who had tasted her cooking before, seemed almost reverent, the room filled with satisfied murmurs and quiet appreciation.

Raj leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "So, Maan, what do you all do for a living?" he asked, voice warm but inquisitive.

Maan straightened, a subtle pride in his expression, yet he remained poised, his tone calm. "Mr. Khurana, myself, Anvesh, and Arjun manage AM Industries, Amyra Constructions, and AA Music Company. Kavya oversees operations at the music company," he replied, his words measured, deliberate.

There was a brief pause around the table. Many had expected modest jobs, perhaps small-scale endeavors, but the revelation drew surprised glances and raised eyebrows.