Chapter 15: A Seat at Vardhan Table

Siara stilled as the woman before her lifted her chin slightly, her eyes scanning her with an unreadable expression.

She was elegant—graceful in a way that only a woman with absolute control over her world could be. Dressed in a muted green silk saree, she carried herself with quiet authority, her jewelry subtle yet refined.

And then it hit Siara.

This was Ekansh’s mother.

Her sharp features softened as she smiled. “Siara, right?”

Siara straightened, her formal instincts kicking in immediately.

"Yes, ma’am."

The woman’s eyes flickered with something almost amused before she gently corrected, "Aunty. Call me Aunty, beta."

Siara blinked, taken aback.

Ekansh, standing beside her with his usual unreadable smirk, leaned in slightly. “Careful, Ma. She’s not used to being pampered.”

Siara shot him a glare, but Ambika ignored the exchange, stepping forward instead.

She took Siara’s hand, squeezing it lightly.

"Thank you, beta. For what you did for Kavya last night. Agar tum wahan nahi hoti toh kya hota, soch bhi nahi sakti." (If you hadn’t been there, I can’t even imagine what would have happened.)

Siara shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t used to such open gratitude.

"Bas jo theek laga woh kiya," (I just did what felt right,) she said simply.

Ambika smiled knowingly, then turned slightly, glancing toward the hallway.

"Since you’re already here, at least have breakfast with us before leaving?"

"Oh, that’s really not necessa—"

"Of course it is!" Kavya interjected. "Maa makes the best aloo parathas! You can’t say no!"

Siara opened her mouth to refuse again, but one look at Ambika’s expectant smile and Kavya’s excited face—and she knew there was no getting out of this.

A sigh escaped her lips. “Fine. But just breakfast.”

Kavya grinned in victory. "Perfect! You’re going to love it, trust me!"

Siara let herself be led toward the dining hall, a strange warmth settling in her chest.

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The Vardhan dining table was as grand as one would expect—a long wooden structure, intricately carved, with an overhead chandelier that bathed the room in golden light.

The food was already set—steaming hot parathas, bowls of dahi, freshly squeezed juice, and an assortment of side dishes.

Siara, who usually ate a quick breakfast while checking emails, found herself seated at a table where conversations flowed as freely as the food.

"Accha, Kavya," Ambika said while serving parathas, "tumhare college ka cultural fest kab hai?" (When is your college’s cultural fest?)

"Next month, Maa," Kavya replied, taking a bite of her paratha. "Aur iss baar, main fashion show ka part hoon!"

Ekansh smirked. "Ajeeb hai. Mujhe laga tumhe padhai mein interest hai, fashion show mein nahi." (Strange. I thought you were only interested in studies, not fashion shows.)

Kavya rolled her eyes. "Bhaiya, fashion and studies dono ho sakte hain. Aapko nahi samajh aayega." (One can do both fashion and studies. You won’t understand.)

Siara chuckled at their banter, feeling something strange yet oddly familiar settle in her chest.

This…was normal.

This wasn’t how rivals behaved.

The Rajawats and Vardhans were supposed to be at odds—yet here she was, sitting at their table, laughing with them.

Had last night really changed everything?

As she took another bite of her paratha, she couldn’t help but wonder—were they really enemies?

Just as the atmosphere had started to settle, a new voice cut through the warmth.

"Siara did a wonderful thing for Kavya," the woman—whom Siara recognized as Ekansh’s bua—said, her tone pointedly cool. "And for that, we are grateful."

Siara glanced up, immediately sensing the sharpness hidden beneath those words.

Ambika remained calm as she sipped her tea.

"But, bhabhi," Ekansh’s bua continued, turning toward Ambika, "hum yeh nahi bhool sakte ki yeh ladki Rajawat hai." (We can’t forget that this girl is still a Rajawat.)

The warmth in Siara’s chest faltered.

She had almost forgotten. Almost.

Ambika, however, remained unbothered.

"Haan," she acknowledged, placing her teacup down. "Hum business mein ek doosre ke khilaf khade hain," (Yes, we stand against each other in business,) she said, her voice calm yet firm.

"Lekin iska yeh matlab nahi ki hum us ladki ko uski achhaai ke bawajood sirf uske naam se judge karein." (But that doesn’t mean we should judge this girl solely by her last name, despite her goodness.)

Siara’s fingers instinctively curled around her fork.

Ambika was defending her.

Before she could process it further, her bua gave a pointed look.

"Aur waise bhi," her bua continued, "agar Siara ne Kavya ki madad ki, toh Ekansh ne bhi Siara ki madad ki thi. Uske liye kya?" (If Siara helped Kavya, then Ekansh also helped Siara. What about that?)

Ekansh, who had been silently observing until now, finally leaned back, his sharp gaze meeting his bua’s.

"Maine Siara ki madad is liye nahi ki thi ki mujhe koi return mein thank you bole," he said coolly. (I didn’t help Siara because I wanted a thank-you in return.)

Siara turned to look at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

His bua, however, didn’t look convinced.

"Toh phir kyun ki?" (Then why did you?)

Ekansh’s gaze flickered to Siara, something unreadable swimming in his eyes.

"Kyunki…" He exhaled, as if the answer was obvious. "Mai uske mere saamne behosh hote hue nhi dekh skta tha." (Because I couldn’t watch her collapse unconscious in front of me.)

Siara sucked in a breath.

His bua scoffed. "Toh yeh sirf guilty conscience tha?" (So this was just guilt?)

Ekansh’s lips twitched into a smirk—but his eyes remained serious.

"Aap jo Samajhna chahein woh samajh sakti hain," (You can take it any way you want,) he murmured. "Lekin sach toh yeh hai ki maine jo kiya, mann se kiya." (But the truth is, I did what I did with all my heart.)

The room fell silent for a second.

And then Ambika, watching everything unfold, spoke again.

She looked at her sister-in-law and said, "Ekansh ne jo kiya, usme koi shart nahi thi. Aur Siara jo hai, woh sirf ek Rajawat nahi hai. Woh ek acchi insaan bhi hai." (What Ekansh did had no conditions. And Siara is not just a Rajawat. She is a good person.)

She turned toward Siara then, her voice warm.

"Beta, chahe kuch bhi ho, tumhaare liye hamara darwaza hamesha khula rahega." (No matter what, our doors will always be open for you.)

Siara’s breath hitched.

She had no words.

But for the first time in a very long time—she didn’t feel like she was in enemy territory.

She felt… welcomed.