The dinner table, once warm with soft lights and gentle conversation, had turned into a silent battlefield — each word, each glance, a carefully measured dance of expectations and unspoken truths. Kabir sat there, feeling the pulse of his heart in his throat, the weight of his family’s legacy pressing down on his shoulders.
Across from him, Sia was a portrait of quiet grace. Her back was straight, her face calm — too calm — and he could see the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes that she fought so hard to hide. She didn’t look at him directly, but he felt every silent plea in the small, controlled movements of her hands.
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