The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife

CHAPTER 23: LITTLE PIECES OF HIM

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the large windows of their Bandra apartment, casting a warm golden glow across the living room floor. Six-year-old Aarav Malhotra was a whirlwind of energy, racing across the room with a toy airplane in his hand, making engine sounds that echoed through the space. “Vroom! Vroom! Look mummy, main pilot ban gaya hoon!” (Vroom! Vroom! Look mummy, I’ve become a pilot!) he shouted, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief and intelligence far beyond his years.

Aarya watched from the kitchen island where she was preparing his evening snack, a soft smile playing on her lips despite the quiet ache in her chest. Aarav was the living embodiment of everything beautiful and painful in her past. At six, he had his father’s sharp jawline, the same intense hazel eyes that could shift from playful to deeply thoughtful in seconds, and an effortless charm that made strangers smile. But his kindness, his gentle way of comforting her when she was tired, and his love for stories — those came from her.

“Beta, dheere dheere! Gir jaoge!” (Son, slowly! You’ll fall!) Aarya called out, laughing as he zoomed past her, nearly knocking over a vase. She caught him mid-run, scooping him up into her arms despite his giggles and protests. “Arre, mera sher kitna energetic hai aaj. School mein kya hua?” (Oh, my lion is so energetic today. What happened at school?)

Aarav wrapped his small arms around her neck, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. “Mummy, maine aaj class mein sabse best drawing banayi! Teacher ne kaha main artist ban sakta hoon. Aur maine science project mein rocket banaya tha — bilkul real wala!” (Mummy, today I made the best drawing in class! Teacher said I can become an artist. And I made a rocket in the science project — a real one!)

Aarya’s heart swelled with pride as she carried him to the dining table. She set him down gently and placed a plate of fresh fruits and yogurt in front of him. “Wah, mera beta toh bahut intelligent hai. Ek din tum bade architect banoge, buildings banayenge jo duniya dekhegi.” (Wow, my son is very intelligent. One day you will become a great architect and build buildings the world will see.)

They ate together, Aarav chattering nonstop about his day — the friends he played with, the new words he learned, and how he helped a classmate who fell down. His charm was magnetic; even at six, he had a way of making people feel seen. It reminded Aarya so much of Rishaan — the same natural leadership, the same ability to light up a room. But unlike his father, Aarav had a softness, a deep empathy that made him run to hug her whenever he sensed she was sad.

After snack time, they moved to the balcony for their daily “story hour.” Aarya sat on the cushioned chair with Aarav curled in her lap, a picture book open between them. The Mumbai skyline stretched before them, the sea shimmering in the distance. These moments were her sanctuary — the one place where the weight of the past felt lighter.

“Mummy, yeh story mein papa kyun nahi hai?” (Mummy, why isn’t there a papa in this story?) Aarav asked suddenly, his small finger tracing the illustrated family on the page. His innocent question pierced her like a knife, as it always did.

Aarya’s breath caught. She hugged him closer, kissing the top of his head. “Beta, yeh story mein alag family hai. Humari story mein sirf hum dono hain… aur hum bahut khush hain na?” (Son, this is a different family’s story. In our story, there’s only the two of us… and we are very happy, right?)

Aarav looked up at her with those familiar hazel eyes, so strikingly like Rishaan’s. “Lekin sabke paas papa hota hai. Mere friends ke paas hai. Mummy, mera papa kahan hai? Woh pilot hai? Ya doctor? Kab aayenge ghar?” (But everyone has a papa. My friends have one. Mummy, where is my papa? Is he a pilot? Or a doctor? When will he come home?)

The questions were innocent, born of pure curiosity, but they tore at Aarya’s heart every single time. She struggled to keep her voice steady, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. How could she tell this bright, loving boy that his father had forgotten them? That the powerful man whose blood ran in his veins had once called their love a lie?

She cupped his face gently, her thumb brushing his cheek. “Aarav beta, tumhara papa bahut badi company chalate hain. Woh bahut busy hain duniya ke kaam mein. Par unki taakat tum mein hai. Unki aankhein tumhari hain, unki hansi tumhari hain. Hum dono milkar unki yaad ko zinda rakhte hain.” (Aarav son, your papa runs a very big company. He is very busy with work for the world. But his strength is in you. His eyes are yours, his smile is yours. We both keep his memory alive together.)

Aarav nodded thoughtfully, his intelligent mind processing her words. “Toh main bhi bada hokar unki tarah strong banunga. Aur mummy ko kabhi akela nahi chhodunga.” (Then when I grow up, I will become strong like him. And I will never leave mummy alone.)

Aarya pulled him into a tight embrace, her heart breaking and healing at the same time. “Haan beta. Tum mera hero ho.” (Yes son. You are my hero.) She protected him fiercely from the painful truths — the public humiliation, the rejection, the years of struggle. Aarav only knew love, security, and the quiet strength of his mother. She had made sure of that.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, they played together on the living room floor. Aarav built towers with his blocks, narrating grand stories of kings and architects. “Dekho mummy, yeh building tumhare jaise hai — bahut sundar aur strong!” (Look mummy, this building is like yours — very beautiful and strong!) His charm shone through every word, every gesture. He even helped her set the table for dinner, carefully placing spoons with concentration that mirrored Rishaan’s focus in boardrooms.

After dinner came the bedtime ritual Aarya cherished most. She tucked Aarav into bed, reading him his favorite story about a brave little prince who built his own kingdom. As his eyelids grew heavy, he reached up and touched her face. “Mummy, main tumhe bahut pyaar karta hoon. Tum meri best friend ho.” (Mummy, I love you very much. You are my best friend.)

Tears welled in Aarya’s eyes as she kissed his forehead. “Main bhi tumhe bahut pyaar karti hoon, mera jaan. So jao ab.” (I love you very much too, my life. Sleep now.) She stayed by his side until his breathing evened out, watching the little boy who carried so many pieces of the man she once loved.

Once Aarav was asleep, Aarya moved to the study corner to finish some work. She opened a drawer to find a pen and froze. There, tucked beneath some papers, was an old photograph she thought she had hidden away more carefully. It must have slipped out of her old suitcase during their last move.

In the photo, she and Rishaan stood at the ancient temple during their secret wedding. He was kissing her forehead tenderly, marigold garlands around them, the golden sunrise framing their silhouettes. They looked radiantly happy — two souls who had defied the world.

Aarav’s voice suddenly broke the silence. The little boy had woken up and padded into the room, rubbing his eyes. “Mummy, mujhe paani chahiye… yeh photo kaun hai?” (Mummy, I need water… who is in this photo?)

He had found the old wedding photograph.

To be continued...