Roohi's POV

The office was quieter than usual. Late evening light streamed in through the tall glass windows, casting long shadows across the sleek interiors of the CEO's cabin. I sat across from Aryan, sipping my tea as he scrolled through some documents.

"Aryan, you've been staring at that paper for the last ten minutes," I teased, raising an eyebrow. "Lost in deep thoughts?"

He smiled, shaking his head. "Not really. Just... memories."

I tilted my head in curiosity. "Memories?"

"You know, I grew up in an orphanage," Aryan began, his voice calm yet laced with something deeper ,something Roohi couldn't quite place. "Papa adopted me when I was fifteen. Before that... I lost my family in an accident when I was ten."

My breath hitched. I didn't expect him to open up like this. "I'm sorry, Aryan..." I said softly, my heart aching for him.

Aryan shook his head with a small smile. "No, don't be. I love the family that adopted me. They've always taken care of me like their own son. I owe everything to them." He paused, his eyes lingering on the picture. "But still... I miss Maa, Baba... and my elder brother."

I saw something flicker in his gaze-longing, perhaps even regret.

"He used to draw so well, you know," Aryan continued, a bittersweet chuckle escaping his lips. "I used to watch him for hours, wondering how he could create something so beautiful with just a pencil." He exhaled, his fingers tightening around the photograph. "And I had a little sister too... but now, I don't even know where she is."

Roohi felt her heart clench. The pain of being separated from family, of not knowing if they were even alive, was something she couldn't imagine. She wanted to say something comforting, but she knew that sometimes, words weren't enough. Instead, she reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his.

He reached into his drawer, pulling out an old, slightly worn-out photograph. He hesitated for a moment before sliding it across the table toward me.

"I found this in my things a few years ago," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I knew who they were... my real family. I was left in an orphanage when I was little. The only thing I had with me was this picture."

I picked up the photograph carefully, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn't yet understand. It was an old family photo - a woman, a man, a little boy, and a younger child.

My breath hitched. The woman in the picture looked eerily familiar.

No. It couldn't be...

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling as I traced the image of the woman.

"This is..." My voice broke as realization struck me like a tidal wave. "This is Vivaan's mother."

Aryan's brows furrowed. "What?"

I looked at him, my mind racing. The resemblance - the warmth in her eyes, the smile. I had seen this woman before. In Vivaan's sketches. In the fading photographs at his home.

I reached for my phone with shaky hands, scrolling through my gallery until I found a picture of Vivaan. It was one I had taken at his last art exhibition. I turned my screen towards Aryan.

He stared at the image.

Seconds passed.

Then, his fingers clenched the edge of the table.

"Vivaan..." His voice barely came out, just a whisper.

His lips parted, his breathing unsteady. I watched as his eyes darted back and forth between the photograph and the image on my phone. His hands trembled as he took my phone, staring at it like it was the most unbelievable thing he had ever seen.

"He's my... brother?" His voice cracked. "Vivaan is alive?"

Tears stung my eyes.

I reached out, placing a hand over his. "Yes, Aryan. He's your brother. And he's alive."

He let out a choked laugh, though his eyes glistened with tears. He pressed his palm against his mouth, his shoulders shaking.

"All these years..." His voice trembled. "I thought... I thought I was alone."

I squeezed his hand. "You're not alone, Aryan. Not anymore."

His hands curled into fists, eyes burning with emotions too heavy to name.

"My uncle... he lied," Aryan whispered. "He told me I had no one left. That I was abandoned." He looked up, eyes locking with mine, filled with a raw, desperate hope. "Vivaan... Does he know? Does he know I'm alive?"

I shook my head. "No."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "How... how do I even tell him?"

I smiled softly. "Leave that to me."

For the first time in years, Aryan wasn't just the CEO I worked under. He wasn't just the ambitious, brilliant leader everyone admired. He was a lost brother, finally finding his way home.

And I was going to make sure that reunion happened.

No matter what.

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