what she thought

★Tithi's POV★

It had only been a few days, but it felt like years had passed since that phone call with big sis, Sara.

She sounded... different. Calmer. Warmer. There was something in her voice that day—a kind of softness she rarely used. I had asked her if everything was okay. And after a bit of pressing, she admitted it.

"I met Asif."

That single sentence made me freeze.

Asif?

my big brother?

The boy who used to carry me on his shoulders and buy me candy with whatever little money he had? The one who called me "my little queen" when no one else did?

That Asif?

My chest had tightened. It was hard to breathe. I had always imagined meeting him again, but only in quiet daydreams. I never told anyone about this, not even big sister, Sara. Not even when we were hiding in the stairwell during those terrible nights at home.

Sara had always been my shield. If there was one person who saved me from that house, it was big sis.

But now she had gone away to attend high school, and I was left behind.

The home we were raised in—if that even could be called a home—was just a prison of silence now. My mother barely talked to me anymore. While my stepfather treated me like I didn't exist unless he was scolding me. The people that I once depended on, once feared, now they just... faded into the background. And with Sara gone, there was no warmth left in those walls.

So, that day, when the call ended and I stood alone in the room staring at my phone. I made a decision.

I wasn't going to wait anymore.

I wanted to see my father again. I wanted to see my brother. And I was going to do it—even if no one approved.

It started with digging. Through old drawers, dusty files, bills, papers in my mother's locked cupboard. I found it eventually—an old file from the divorce. my father's full name. His company name.

It was enough.

The next morning, I packed my school bag like usual. But I didn't go to school.

Instead, I took a bus. Alone. My heart thudded louder with each passing stop.

When I reached the company building, I hesitated at first. But then I clenched my fists, took a deep breath, and walked straight to the reception.

"Can I meet Mr. Ariful Hasan?" I asked.

The woman at the counter blinked in surprise but then gave a kind smile and dialed a number.

"He'll be here in a few minutes, sweetheart. Please wait in the guest room."

I sat in the polished room with my knees bouncing nervously. My fingers tugged at the hem of my hoodie. My heart felt like it was racing against time itself.

Then the door opened.

And there he was.

Tired, older, with fine lines on his face—but unmistakably my dad.

He stared at me. Eyes widen as disbelief written all over his face.

And then, without thinking, I stood up and ran toward him.

"Dad!!"

My voice cracked.

He caught me in his arms, stumbling back slightly. And then he began to cry. Not loudly, not dramatically, just quiet, raw tears.

So did I .

Neither of us said anything for a long time. Just held on.

After what felt like forever, we finally let go. Wiped each other's tears like we used to.

He asked me questions. So many questions.

"How have you been?"

"Does your mother know you're here?"

"What happened?"

But I didn't answer most of them.

Instead, I looked him in the eyes and said what I had wanted to say for so many years.

"I want to live with you and my big brother."

He went silent. His expression shifted.

I thought he would say yes right away. That he'd lift me in the air and spin mrbaround like the old days. But instead, he sighed.

"Sorry... but that won't be happening."

My heart cracked. A coldness washed over me.

But then he continued.

"Unless we talk to a lawyer and make a legal move."

The warmth in my heart returned. As well as hope returned.

He explained everything calmly—how he didn't want a court case, how he wanted to make sure I was safe and that my mother couldn't legally object.

I nodded.

I understood.

He offered to keep me in a guest dorm the company sometimes used for out-of-town employees. Not fancy, but safe. Private. And he would visit often. Stay with her until things are cleared.

I hesitated.

But when he gently placed his hand on my head, I knew it was okay.

"What about big brother?" i asked softly.

"I'll tell him I'm working late tonight. We'll give him a surprise," he said with a smile.

The next couple of days moved like a blur. He talked to a lawyer, papers were filed, arrangements were made. And then finally—on a bright Saturday noon, I was allowed to move in with him.

My bag was packed. my phone was buzzing.

I messaged Sara:

> "I'm home. Thank you."

The apartment felt quiet, but peaceful.

I had lunch with my dad for the first time in years. We laughed, we caught up, We even argued over who used more sugar in their tea.

But I was waiting.

Waiting for him

my brother. my hero.

I paced the living room like a restless cat. While dad just smirked, told her, "He'll be shocked. Try not to give him a heart attack."

I giggled. That old, giddy laugh she used to have when Asif tickled her in the mornings.

And then

ding-dong

my heart leapt.

He's here.

I rushed toward the door. I didn't know what to say. Would he recognize m? Would he be angry? Awkward? Surprised?

I didn't care.

I opened the door.

And there he stood.

Confused. Frozen.

He looked like he was about to apologize and leave—thinking he had knocked on the wrong door.

I almost laughed.

But I didn't..

Tears blurred my vision. Without another thought, I threw herself at him and hugged him tightly.

"Foolish big brother... I missed you."

He stood still. Then, slowly… gently… his arms wrapped around me.

I felt warm, safe , familiar.

"Welcome home, Tithi," he whispered, his voice shaking.

And just like that, i was home.