The Malhothra mansion hadn't heard laughter echo through its halls in months. But today, the silence cracked-loud, bubbly, and unstoppable.

"Darshhh Bhaiyaaaaa!"

The shriek came from the front door, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps and an explosion of pink luggage bumping against the marble.

Darshan Malhothra turned from his place at the dining table, jaw tight, brow furrowed, just in time to see a blur of messy curls and jingling bangles launch herself toward him like a grenade in human form.

He stepped back.

Too late.

Diya malhothra, his twenty-one-year-old younger sister, threw her arms around him, squeezing the life out of the most emotionally constipated man in India.

"Diya," he said flatly, voice strained, "you're suffocating me."

She pulled back, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. "Oh my God, Darsh Bhaiya, I missed your loving warmth so much! Look at that smile-oh wait-never mind, it's still missing."

Indira Malhothra chuckled from across the room. "Welcome home, Diya beta."

"Hi, Maa!" Diya ran to her mother, wrapping her in a tighter hug. "You look like royalty, as usual. And you smell like money."

Indira laughed. "And you smell like trouble, as usual."

Just then, the heavy footsteps of authority entered the scene-Vikrant Malhothra, every inch the patriarch, walked in with a newspaper still in hand.

"Darsh beta, why is the mansion shaking?"

Before Darsh could answer, Diya rushed forward. "Dad!" she sang, "I missed you even more than I missed ice cream!"

Vikrant grunted, trying not to smile. "That much, huh?"

"Exactly that much! Look at you-still terrifying the nation and still refusing to age!"

"Still refusing to shut up, I see," Darsh muttered under his breath, sinking into his chair again.

Diya spun to face him with narrowed eyes. "Darsh Bhaiya, I just got home and you're already acting like the villain in my Bollywood dreams."

"You say that like it's news."

Indira rolled her eyes. "Diya, freshen up. You've barely entered and already turned the place into a comedy show."

"Maa, come on, let me breathe a little first. I need to absorb the toxic vibes of my beloved brother. It fuels me."

Vikrant raised a brow at Darsh. "You're not scaring her enough."

"She's unscareable," Darsh said dryly. "It's a birth defect."

Diya plopped herself beside him at the table, helping herself to his untouched croissant. "Mmm. Still rich, still tasteless. Just like your personality."

He snatched the plate back, glaring. "Eat your own."

"Can't. Yours tastes better because you're annoyed."

Indira stepped in again, "Diya, behave. He's still your elder."

Diya pouted. "But he's my elder. It's a sibling package. Irritation included."

Vikrant folded the paper, clearing his throat. "Now that you're home, Diya, we'll be having a few dinners with potential partners."

The smile dropped off Diya's face.

Darsh's eyes flicked to her. "Told you you'd regret coming back."

Diya gasped, clutching her heart again. "Traitor! You sold me out!"

"I was the one trying to stop you from returning. You said "I miss my family!"" he mimicked mockingly.

She tossed a grape at him. "I did not sound like that."

"Replay's in my brain."

"You two are going to kill each other someday," Indira said, sipping her tea.

Diya grinned wide. "And it'll be fun!"

Darsh shook his head but allowed the faintest twitch of a smile.

Just a flicker.

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