Delhi.

The afternoon sun spilled through the old Bhatt mansion’s courtyard, turning everything gold the air, the laughter, the friendship being forged over a half-deflated football. “Goal!” Kashyap shouted, voice cracking with triumph as the ball rolled into a corner marked by two bricks. Beside him, Viaan Oberoi lean, serious, his hair flopping into his eyes grinned despite himself. “That doesn’t count! You moved the brick.” “Did not!” Kashyap shot back, dusting his shorts. “Did too,” Viaan countered, but he was smiling now, that rare, boyish kind that came easily only around one person — Kashyap Bhatt, the boy who’d gone from classmate to brother in a week. From the veranda, an elderly voice cut through the argument.“Enough of your fighting! Come drink nimbu-pani before you melt like butter!” Ahana toddled behind her grandmother — four years old, pigtails bouncing, eyes wide with hero worship for the two boys who ruled her world. She dragged her little teddy along, tripping once, then twice, before Kashyap swooped her up mid-run.“Slow down, hurricane!” he laughed, balancing her on his hip. “Hi Vaan,” Ahana said, mispronouncing his name with all the sincerity of a child who thought the world existed to adore her. Viaan grinned and tapped her nose. “It’s Viaan, not Vaan.”“Vaan,” she insisted. “Like a fairy name.”Grandma Bhatt laughed, the kind of laugh that filled every silence with safety. “Let her be. This little one names stars if you let her.” She turned to Viaan with affection that never needed words. “You eat lunch here today, hmm? You’re too thin, tell your mother I’ll fatten you up.”“Yes, Dadi,” Viaan said, polite and shy. That afternoon, the three of them  Kashyap, Ahana, and Viaan sat cross-legged on the cool floor, sharing mangoes and stories. Sticky fingers, wide smiles, and promises that sounded eternal.None of them knew that years later, those golden afternoons would become the memory they’d measure all warmth against.