The haveli, which had once fallen silent after Kavya and Abhi’s passing, began to echo again with the soft giggles of a baby.

They named her Ira Singh — a name chosen by Poornima. “Ira means Earth,” she said gently. “Steady, strong, and full of life… just like her parents would have wanted.”

Veerendra and Pratap’s eyes shone with pride as they blessed the child. “Our great-granddaughter,” Veerendra said, holding Ira in his trembling hands, “the light of this family. May she bring peace where there was pain.”

Pratap chuckled. “Looks like the Rathores and Singhs have finally found something worth uniting for.”

Everyone laughed softly — a laughter that eased the grief which had lingered too long.

---

A New Beginning

Poornima had started taking the lactation pills as the doctor advised. Each time she held Ira to her chest, she felt something indescribable — a connection that healed every broken part of her heart.

When the baby suckled a little too strongly, Poornima would whisper softly, “Slowly, my little one… Amma is here.”

Veeresh often stood by the door, watching the scene silently — her gentle voice, the baby’s content sighs. He never imagined that at this stage in life, he’d feel the weight of fatherhood again — and love it.

Sometimes, Ira would grab his finger, and Veeresh would smile. “You’ve got a strong grip, little princess,” he’d say, tickling her tiny palm until she laughed.

In the evenings, Veerendra would take Ira along to the estate. “Let her see the fields,” he’d say proudly. “This is her heritage.”

The workers adored her, calling her Chhoti Maalkin.

Pratap, too, couldn’t resist spoiling her. “You’ll grow up to rule hearts like your great-grandmother,” he’d joke, bouncing her in his arms while Poornima laughed.

And in quiet nights, when Ira fell asleep between them, Veeresh would glance at Poornima — her eyes closed, her arm protectively around the baby — and think of the doctor’s words, and the old lady’s prophecy from the temple.

“Three children…”

His heart skipped. Was it a sign? A glimpse of destiny unfolding?

He smiled faintly, brushing a soft kiss on Ira’s forehead.

“Maybe,” he whispered to himself, “the story isn’t over yet.”