Chapter 33

A Cup of Tea That Meant More Than Words

When returned from the company that evening, the house felt unusually quiet.

He removed his coat slowly, his jaw tight from a long day of meetings and controlled anger.

His eyes fell on sitting in the hall.

For a second, he hesitated.

Then he said, “Mrs. Raisinghania… a tea.”

It wasn’t “maa.”

It wasn’t soft.

But it was something.

Leelavati’s face lit up in a way only a mother’s could.

She immediately walked to the kitchen, her saree pallu gathered carefully, hands trembling — not from weakness, but from happiness.

In the dining area, watched silently.

When she brought the tea and placed it before Veeresh, Ajay’s voice cut through.

“My wife is not your maid.”

The words were sharp.

The tea trembled in Veeresh’s hand.

Without a word, he threw the cup aside.

The sound of breaking porcelain echoed like something deeper breaking inside him.

He walked away.

Leelavati’s eyes filled instantly.

“Why, Ajay?” she whispered. “He was at least talking to me… you had to spoil it.”

She wiped her tears with the edge of her saree.

“I have no problem giving my son tea.”

Her voice cracked on the word son.

She went to her room quietly.

Ajay stood frozen, guilt heavy in his chest.

Upstairs, Veeresh entered the penthouse like a storm contained in walls.

He passed by the guest room.

Through the slightly open door, he saw asleep, Inayat curled against her.

Peace.

The one thing he never knew how to hold.

He looked away and went further up.

In the kitchen of his penthouse, he boiled water roughly and tore a packet of Maggi like it had offended him.

The flame was too high.

His mind was louder than the stove.

He hissed slightly when hot water splashed on his hand.

A soft voice came from behind.

“Veeresh… slowly.”

He turned sharply.

Leelavati stood there, holding another cup of tea.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly.

She ignored the tone.

“Drink this. You are having a headache.”

He let out a dry laugh.

“Your husband should scold me again.”

She stepped closer.

“I don’t care. Drink.”

He stared at her.

For years, he had kept distance.

For years, he punished them with silence.

But she still came.

Still cared.

He took the cup without meeting her eyes.

She quietly turned off the stove and stirred the Maggi properly.

Served it in a bowl.

Placed it before him like he was still the little boy who came home angry from school.

He ate silently.

After a few bites, he said without looking at her,

“Thanks… Mrs. Raisinghania.”

The formality hurt more than insult.

But she smiled faintly.

Because at least he said thanks.

She left quietly.

Veeresh continued eating alone.

The tea was slightly sweeter than usual.

Just the way he liked.

He noticed.

He always noticed.

He just never said it.

One line:
Kabhi kabhi gussa sirf pyaar ko chhupane ka tareeka hota hai.