Simar's POV

Delhi was glowing in the golden haze of late afternoon, the air buzzing with laughter, dhol beats, and the sizzle of samosas being fried nearby. The Sharma wedding was the kind of event that could shut down a neighborhood - glittering, loud, and unapologetically grand.

I adjusted the dupatta of my pastel pink anarkali and knelt beside my three-year-old nephew, Veer, who was tiptoeing toward the sweets table like a tiny thief.

"Veer, not before dinner," I whispered with a mock glare.

"But Bui," he whined, his big doe eyes pleading with me. "Just one?" I sighed, my resolve melting. "Okay, one. But don't tell your mom."

He grinned, victorious, and popped the ladoo into his mouth, holding tightly to my hand. Veer wasn't just my nephew-he was my little soul-buddy. Ever since he was born, he'd become my shadow. Kids didn't usually cling to me-I was always too busy running The Cozy Corner, my restaurant-but Veer was different. He stuck to me like I hung the moon.

As I stood up, brushing invisible specks from my outfit, my eyes accidentally met those of a baby across the garden.

He sat on a cushioned chair in a navy blue tuxedo, impossibly tiny and heartbreakingly handsome for someone who couldn't even say words. Yet... there was something in his eyes. Huge, dark, and filled with a depth no baby should carry. He wasn't looking at the crowd, the lights, or the noise.

He was looking at me.

And he wasn't just looking-he was reaching.

A woman beside him, maybe his nanny, tried to hand him a toy. He swatted it away, arms still raised toward me.

Confused but drawn, I stepped closer. The moment I did, he flailed his hands with urgency.

"Hi, sweetheart," I whispered, crouching to hislevel. "Who are you?"

He leaned forward, tiny arms stretching out, and then...

"Mumma."

It was soft. Fragile. But clear as day.

I froze. The nanny beside him gasped audibly. Even a few nearby guests turned in surprise.

"Mumma?" I echoed, my heart lurchingThe nanny's eyes welled with tears. "He's never... he's never spoken before. Not even 'Papa.' He's fifteen months old. Silent until now."

I blinked, completely stunned. "What's his name?"

"Rian," she said in a whisper. "Rian Rajvanshi."

Reyansh's POV

I had absolutely no intention of coming to this wedding.

Crowds. Small talk. Overdressed people. Matchmaking aunties. No, thank you. But my mother insisted.

"For Rian," she said. "Do it for him."

So here I was, suffocating in a sherwani, ready to leave the moment my parents turned their heads.

Until I saw her.

She was crouched on the lawn, cradling my son. My son, who refused to be held by anyone but family. My son, who cried at the sight of strangers. My son, who had never spoken a word.

But there he was, curled into her neck like he'd known her forever. And she was holding him like he was hers.

Her dupatta had slipped down her shoulder, her hair fell across her cheek, and she whispered something to him that made him smile.

And then she looked up.

Our eyes met.

And for a moment, everything stopped. Rian was still, content. The noise of the wedding faded. The ache in my chest-one I didn't even know I carried-softened.

Who was she?

Why did my son speak for her?

And why, for the first time in years, did I feel something shift in me?

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Hey your author here 😉

I'M Sunflower 🌻

Thank you for reading the first chapter of "Love In The In-Between"!I hope you're enjoying the story so far. If you have any thoughts or feedback, please don't hesitate to share them in the comments. I'M excited to share the next chapter with you guys. ☺️