In the heart of bustling Delhi, where life moved at the pace of a storm, the Khanna mansion stood as a symbol of wealth and influence. Its high walls and sprawling gardens were a world of their own, separating the family inside from the noise and chaos of the outside world. But even within the mansion, one person often felt isolated—Rishad Khanna.
At 26, Rishad had everything one could want on the surface: a successful career in his father’s business empire, a luxurious home, and the respect of those around him. But Rishad’s inner world was far more complicated. He was a quiet, introverted son, always keeping his true feelings hidden from everyone. His sharp mind was always busy, filled with thoughts he never shared. While his brother, Rihan, was easygoing and effortlessly charming, Rishad preferred to be alone, locked away in his thoughts.
The only person who ever came close to understanding him was his mother, Soumita Khanna. She was the heart of their home, always there to listen, to support. She had a way of seeing past his silence, noticing the subtle shifts in his mood that no one else picked up on. To Rishad, Soumita wasn’t just a mother—she was a friend, someone who quietly tried to be a bridge between him and the world. She often worried about how closed off he had become, always wondering what he was thinking but never forcing him to speak if he wasn’t ready.
Soumita would sit with him in the evenings, sometimes in silence, just enjoying each other's company. She knew how to be there for him without pressing too hard. “You don’t have to say anything, Rishad,” she’d tell him softly. “But know that I’m here. Always.”
Rishad appreciated his mother’s quiet support, even though he rarely expressed it. She was the only person who came close to knowing how his mind worked. But there was one secret even Soumita couldn’t see—the feelings he had for Alia, the girl who had been part of their family since her parents’ tragic death when she was a child.
Alia had been taken in by the Khannas after losing her parents in a road accident when she was just 8 years old. Vupal Khanna, Rishad’s father, had been best friends with Alia’s father, and he took responsibility for her like a promise. Alia was welcomed into their home, and Soumita treated her like her own daughter. Alia had grown up in the Khanna mansion, becoming part of their family, yet there was always something different about the way Rishad looked at her.
Alia, now 23, was full of life, kind-hearted, and beautiful in a way that made people stop and stare. She had a natural charm, a sweetness that made everyone feel comfortable around her. She was a ray of sunshine in the mansion, her laughter often filling the halls and lifting the mood. To everyone else, Rishad and Alia shared a simple friendship—one of long-standing respect and mutual care. But for Rishad, it was more. He had always admired her, quietly, from the sidelines.
Rishad never found the courage to tell Alia how he truly felt. Instead, he expressed his love in subtle, silent ways—sending her anonymous letters, small gifts, and flowers, each carefully placed where he knew she would find them. Alia was always delighted by these surprises, often marveling at the thoughtfulness of her mysterious admirer. She would tell Rishad about the letters, laughing with excitement as she tried to figure out who it was. Little did she know it was him all along.
One afternoon, Soumita found Rishad sitting alone in the garden, a place where he often sought refuge. The garden was quiet, filled with the soft hum of nature. She noticed the faraway look in his eyes as he watched Alia, who was painting nearby, her brush moving gracefully over the canvas.
“She’s grown into such a beautiful young girl,” Soumita said softly as she sat beside Rishad.
Rishad didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still following Alia’s movements. “She has,” he finally said, his voice low.
“You’ve been watching her more lately,” Soumita observed, her tone gentle but probing. She wasn’t one to push, but she always knew when something was on Rishad’s mind.
Rishad shifted uncomfortably. “It’s nothing, Mom. Just... thinking.”
Soumita smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to hide from me, Rishad. You know that, right? You’ve always kept things to yourself, but you don’t have to carry everything alone. Especially not this.”
Rishad looked at his mother, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. She had always had a way of understanding him, of knowing when something was weighing on his heart. He wondered if she knew about his feelings for Alia.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he said, trying to reassure her, though his voice lacked conviction.
Soumita studied her son’s face, noticing the tension in his jaw, the way his hands fidgeted slightly. She understood more than to ask him for responses. Instead, she simply nodded, giving him the space he needed. “I just want you to be happy, Rishad,” she said softly. “Whatever that means to you, I’ll support it.”
Later that day, after Soumita had gone inside, Rishad found himself alone in the garden once again, watching the sunset cast a golden glow over the mansion. Alia had left her painting to dry, and Rishad took a moment to admire it. She had captured the garden’s beauty perfectly, but it was her presence that filled the space with life.
He sighed deeply, feeling the familiar weight of his unspoken love pressing on his chest. Why couldn’t he just tell her? Why did the thought of revealing his feelings terrify him so much? He imagined what it would be like—telling Alia everything, watching her reaction, hoping she would feel the same. But the fear of rejection, of ruining what they had, held him back.
Just as he was lost in his thoughts, Rihan strolled into the garden, his usual confident smile on his face. “Hey, brother,” he called out, sitting down next to Rishad. “Thinking about business again? You’re always so serious.”
Rishad gave a small smile, shaking his head. “Not this time.”
Rihan raised an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s rare. So what’s got you looking so deep in thought?”
Rishad hesitated, unsure how much he wanted to share with Rihan. His younger brother was always so carefree, never burdened by the weight of emotions the way Rishad was. He admired that about Rihan, but it also made him reluctant to open up.
“Just... life,” Rishad said vaguely, hoping to avoid further questions.
But Rihan was persistent. He glanced over at Alia’s painting, then at Rishad, and something clicked in his mind. “It’s about Alia, isn’t it?”
Rishad stiffened, caught off guard by how easily Rihan had figured it out. He didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes.
Rihan smiled, leaning back on the bench. “I knew it. You’ve been different around her lately. You like her, don’t you?”
Rishad remained silent, his heart pounding. He didn’t want to admit it, not to Rihan, of all people. But the truth was too obvious to deny.
Rihan’s smirk widened as he stood up, clapping a hand on Rishad’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, bro. I won’t say a word. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Rishad wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or uneasy about Rihan knowing. But one thing was clear—his secret wasn’t as well hidden as he had thought. And now, with Rihan aware of his feelings, things were bound to change.
That night, as Rishad sat in his room, staring at the half-written letter he had been working on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his quiet world was about to be disrupted. He wanted to believe that Rihan would keep his promise, but a small voice in the back of his mind warned him otherwise. Rihan was charming and playful, always the center of attention. He is also a big fan of brother Rishad.
As the moonlight streamed through the window, casting soft shadows across the room, Rishad leaned back in his chair, his mind spinning with thoughts of Alia, Rihan, and the growing tension he felt within himself. He had always kept his feelings locked away, safe from the world. But now, the walls he had built around his heart were starting to crack, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep everything hidden.
For now, though, Rishad remained silent, his love for Alia still a secret, hidden beneath the whispers of his heart.
(Coming next part)
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