"Mumma... MUMMA! Mat jao, Mumma, please... Mumma vapas aajao!"

A little boy screamed, his tiny voice echoing through the void. He stood alone in a black, empty space—nothing around him, only darkness.

 His tears fell freely as he cried out for his mother.

Then, a hand gently rested on his shoulder. He turned, hope flickering in his eyes—it was his papa.

"Papaa... dekho, Mumma nahi aa rahi," the boy whimpered.

His father knelt, voice soft yet firm. "Mumma aur main... humesha tumhare saath hain."

As his words faded, his father began to disappear into thin air, leaving the boy alone once again.

"Papa... please... mujhe akele mat chhodo... PAPA!"

a man jolted awake, sweat dripping from his brow, his chest heaving. He rubbed his face, catching his breath.

 Reaching for water on the bedside table, he found it empty. Sighing, he walked into the kitchen, filled a bottle from the filter, and returned to the huge glass window.

The city below sparkled with life even at 2 a.m., but he felt hollow inside—dead from within.You must be wondering who he is.

He is Veer Singh Rathore—the son of Meher Singh Rathore and Vikram Singh Rathore. 

Fifteen years had passed since he lost his parents, but their absence had never left him.

Now, Veer is a global sensation—a singer, a superstar admired by millions—but fame could never fill the void in his heart.

He slowly walked back to his room. His steps were heavy, weighed down by memories he could never escape. 

Opening his cupboard, he revealed a small collection of photos—images of Meher and Vikram, his parents.

He crouched down, placing his back against the lower part of the bed, and began to look at the pictures.

In one, Vikram held him protectively while Meher kissed his cheek. In another, they smiled warmly, a perfect family frozen in time. 

Veer's lips curved into a soft, bittersweet smile as memories of his childhood flooded back. But then, a tear slipped from his eye. 

He tried to blink it away, but more followed, and soon he was crying, clutching the photos to his chest.

His sobs echoed through the house—or rather, the walls that had never felt like a home. For him, it was just four walls. 

He still remembered that day—fifteen years ago—when he lost both his parents in a single tragic moment, leaving him utterly alone.

A lot had changed in these fifteen years. The scared, bubbly boy who once laughed at everything had disappeared. 

In his place stood a young man who was gloomy, heartbroken, and profoundly alone. He had family now, yes—but not a home. Not the warm, loving home that had belonged to Mumma and Papa.

Veer left Rajasthan when he was seventeen. It was his decision, and no one opposed it—except Lavyana and Zoravar, his foster parents. 

They had adopted him, loved him fiercely as their own, even though they never had a child of their own.

But Veer never called them "Mom" or "Dad." He was too broken.

Zoravar had wanted him to stay in Rajasthan; after all, Veer was the only heir of Rathore Industries.

But Veer hated the business world—the world that had stolen his parents from him. He left, and he never looked back.

Ten years had passed since that day. In that time, he had become a global star—Veer Singh Rathore, the singer adored by millions.

But even in the spotlight, he was alone. A star admired by the world... but a star whose heart was still shattered, still aching for the home he had lost.

he was lost in his thoughts when his phone buzzed on the bedside table. He picked it up, squinting at the screen: Lavyana Aunty.

He answered, voice hoarse from lingering tears. 

"Aunty... sab theek hai? Itni raat maine kyu call kiya?"

On the other side, Lavyana's voice was gentle, betraying her own sleepless night.

"Tumhari yaad aa rahi thi, Veer... isliye call kiya."

Veer, still clutching the photos, hummed softly.

"Ghar kab aaoge, beta?" she asked, a small hope lingering in her tone.

Veer paused, his fingers tightening around the pictures. 

"Aunty... is bare mein... mujhe phir baat nahi karni. So jao, bahut raat ho rahi hai. Good night."

He cut the call immediately, throwing his head back on the bed. Another lone tear slipped down his cheek.

Meanwhile,

in Rajasthan, Lavyana sat on her bed, phone still in her hand. She stared at it, lost in thought.

A warm hand circled her waist, and a deep voice murmured, "Veer se baat kar rahi thi?"

Lavyana hummed. "Voh... ghar aane ki baat pe, humesha phone cut kar deta hai, Zoravar."

Zoravar sighed, turning to face her. 

"Maine bhi chahata hoon ki voh wapas aaye... lekin... abhi use waqt do."

Lavyana's eyes glistened with tears. 

"Das saal...das saal- lamba waqt hota hai, Zor. Aur kitna waqt?"

Zoravar caressed her cheeks gently. 

"Voh zaroor ayega, aur hum us din ka hamesha intezar karenge... hmm."

Lavyana nodded, and Zoravar kissed her forehead softly.

Phasing into her quiet longing, she whispered, 

"Voh abhi bhi mujhe aunty hi bulata hai... Main uske muh se 'Mom' sunne ko taras gayi hoon."

Zoravar looked at her, fingers threading through her hair. 

"Uske liye asaan nahi hai, love... lekin mujhe yakeen hai, voh tumhe 'Mom' zaroor bulayega."

Lavyana buried her face into his chest, hugging him tightly, the weight of years of separation heavy yet softened by hope.

Author's POV

Next Morning;

Veer was in his deluxe apartment, lying on the sofa. He wasn't asleep—just staring blankly at the ceiling—when the digital lock beeped and clicked open.

A loud voice echoed through the apartment.

"YAA VEER! ARE YOU STILL SLEEPING? OH GOD—"

The man stopped mid-sentence when he saw Veer already awake, eyes open, staring at him.

 Veer raised one eyebrow, and the man nervously chuckled.

"Hehehe... good morning, rockstar."

Veer shook his head, pushed himself up from the couch, and walked to his personal bar.

 He poured himself a drink, his voice raspy and tired.

"Itni subah-subah chillane ki kya wajah hai, Rudra?"

Rudra let out a frustrated sigh and followed him inside.

"Well... the Chairman wants to see you."

Veer nodded lazily and took a sip.

Rudra leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"Tu kyun pita hai yaar itna? Tu jaanta hai iss se teri awaaz pe asar padega. Still—"

Rudra stopped when Veer let out a dry, humourless chuckle.

"Maine peeta hoon... taaki main gaa sakun. Hosh mein aaj tak maine koi gaana likha bhi nahi... na hi gaya."

Rudra rubbed his face, completely fed up.

"Veer, tujhe pata hai aaj concert hai aur—"

Veer cut him again, voice low and detached.

"Pata hai mujhe. Aur isi liye toh aur pi raha hoon... kyuki Veer Singh Rathore ko hosh mein gaana nahi aata."

The way he said it wasn't pride—it was exhaustion.

A reminder of the mask he wore for the world.

Rudra exhaled heavily. Veer Singh Rathore—the biggest sensation of India. The star of Stellar Arts Entertainment, the number one company in the country.

 A place that produced singers, actors, global icons.

And Veer...

Veer wasn't just their biggest star—he was the face of the entire industry.

But right now, standing barefoot in his dark living room with a drink in hand... 

he looked nothing like the legend the world worshipped.