The sterile white walls of the hospital room slowly began to fade into warmth, not because of the sunlight that streamed through the window, but because of the way Raneya cared for Razia Begum.
By day, Raneya filled its cold, cavernous halls with warmth. She served Razia Begum like a devoted daughter, never once showing a hint of fatigue or complaint. Every morning began with gentle hands and a genuine smile. She fluffed her pillows, helped her sit up, combed through her graying hair with tender strokes, and talked to her like they were old companions. Every afternoon, her soft humming echoed through the corridors as she gently bathed the old woman, changed her bandages, and fed her breakfast with her own hands.
Razia Begum, once weary and lonely in her grandeur, now smiled like a child waiting for her favorite person. Their bond was unexplainable—almost cosmic. It was as though they had known each other in another life, and fate had brought them together once more. here was no pretense in her eyes—just sincerity. It didn't take long before the hospital staff, and even other patients in nearby rooms, would pause to admire the purity of the bond growing between the young woman and the fragile old matriarch.
Justice Shah observed them often. Sometimes silently from the hallway, other times through the half-open door, where he would find Raneya reading aloud to Razia Begum from an old book of poetry. Raneya's laughter—a sound so full of life—would ring through the space as she cracked soft jokes or told stories. There was a serene innocence about her, one that reminded him of simpler times—of a daughter he never had. It softened something inside him. At first, he had been skeptical of her sudden intrusion into their elite, tightly-sealed world. But her innocence was too raw, too unfiltered to be feigned. Slowly, like an old stone warmed by the sun, his heart softened.
And when Razia Begum slept, which was often due to the medication,Raneya would retreat to the corner window, curl up with a pile of business magazines, and speak aloud to herself with dreamy eyes. It was her ritual. She would flip through the glossy pages, eyes alight with wonder and quiet ambition. More than once, Justice Shah had walked in on her whispering dreams under her breath.
"One day, I'll have not just success, but impact.I will build something that matters. A company that helps people," she once said to him without realizing he was standing there. "Not just for profit. But for a purpose."
He was taken aback—not just by her ambition, but by her vision. The kind that mirrored his own when he was young.
But not everyone shared that sentiment.
Justice Shah smiled fondly. "That's a rare kind of dream. Don't let go of it."
Aahil Shah, the crown prince of the empire, remained unmoved.
He remained a shadow. Whenever he entered the hospital room, it was like a blizzard had blown in, cold-distant- his arms crossed, his gaze sharp and unreadable. . His presence—regal and rigid—commanded attention, yet repelled emotion. Raneya often found herself pausing when he walked by, not from admiration, but from sheer discomfort. His silence was deafening, his eyes sharp with silent judgment.
To the outside world, Aahil was a prodigy—a mogul who had built Shah Media into a global giant. But within these walls, he was a fortress of cold stares and unreadable smirks.
And Raneya, despite her best efforts to avoid his icy aura, somehow always ended up clashing with it. But as the days passed, Raneya began to notice the change in his eyes whenever someone mentioned her name. It was as if her presence threatened him.
And perhaps it did—because Aahil Shah had already begun digging into her past, silently investigating her from the shadows. He had files now. Details. Names. Connections that didn't add up. And what he discovered only made his mistrust grow darker. A girl like her, with no digital trail, no traceable family… and yet standing so boldly in their lives?
But he wasn't ready to expose her just yet.
He preferred the game.
A storm was always better when it struck at its peak.
With proper care and heartfelt companionship, Razia Begum's recovery accelerated. The day of her discharge arrived like spring after a long winter. Raneya helped her into the wheelchair with gentle care, while Aahil stood beside her, silent but efficient. His expression as always—carved in stone.
The car ride back was quiet at first. Aahil drove with mechanical precision, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed ahead. Razia Begum sat in the front seat, humming a song from her youth, her spirit visibly lighter, while Justice Shah sat at the back with Raneya, the golden twilight bathing them in quiet hues. However, he observed her as she stared out of the window—lost in thought.
"Do you need to inform your family about staying with us?" he asked suddenly.
Raneya froze. Her palms began to sweat. Her throat ran dry. She hesitated for a second too long before replying.
"I… I don't have any family," she lied, eyes carefully avoiding him.
From the rearview mirror, Aahil's slow smirk curled at his lips was barely visible, as his eyes flicked, locking with hers. It wasn't a smile of amusement—it was one of knowing mockery—like a lion watching a deer lie about its scent. And yet, he said nothing. Just kept driving.
Razia Begum reached out and grasped Raneya's hand with sudden urgency. "Then don't waste any more time. You're coming home with us. You'll live with me."
Raneya blinked, stunned. "I… I couldn't possibly—"
"Nonsense!" the old woman declared, a spark of stubborn nobility in her eyes. Raneya was about to protest when the old woman continued firmly, "Aahil, tomorrow, take her to her place and bring all her belongings."
To her shock, Aahil nodded. "As you wish," his lips twitching with amusement as he glanced at Raneya. "Tomorrow."
But the moment everyone looked away, he leaned slightly, just enough to let Raneya see the slight curl of his lips in mocking satisfaction-smug and sharp which dug straight into her chest. Something about the way he said it felt off. Like he had already laid the trap and was just waiting for her to walk into it. She bristled in silence, her fists clenching in her lap.