Page 10 of The Defiant Wife

Interesting.

She stops in front of me."Hi," she says.Her voice is warm and confident,"I'm Diya Goyal. Founder of this NGO."The smile she offers doesn't reach her eyes.Not even close.Ah.So she definitely doesn't like me.Good to know.

I extend my hand."Veeraj."

She takes it immediately.No hesitation.No nervousness.No awe.Her handshake is firm.The kind that belongs to someonewho refuses to be intimidated. For some reason, that surprises me.

"We're happy to have you here."

I highly doubt that.Something tells me she's tolerating me.Not welcoming me.Before I can respond, she has already moved on.

Efficient.

Dismissive.

As though introductions are complete and no longer worth discussing.She turns toward the courtyard and claps twice.

The effect is immediate.Conversations stop andchildren look up.Several heads swivel in our direction.And suddenly I understand something.

This place revolves around her.Not because she's demanding attention.Not because she's trying to command the room.People simply give it to her.Naturally.

"Kids," she calls.Her voice softens instantly.It's subtle but definitely noticeable.The sharp edges disappear.Warmth replaces them."This is Mr. Shekawat. He'll be with us for a month. Come on, let's greet him."

A collective gasp travels through the group.Then they're moving.All of them.Toward me.Very quickly.Far too quickly.Within seconds, I'm surrounded.

Small faces. Curious eyes. Tiny shoes. Tiny hands. Tiny humans. Too many tiny humans. "Good morning, sir!"

The greeting comes out surprisingly synchronized.Almost musical.

I blink.Diya beams proudly behind them.The children continue moving closer.One grabs my sleeve.Another peers up at me.A third seems determined to stand directly on top of my shoe.Instinctively, I take a step backward.

A small frown immediately appears on Diya's face.Wonderful.I've offended someone already.This has to be a personal record.The thing is—I genuinely don't know what to do.

I have no experience with children.

None.

Sure, now that Aadhya has been born, I occasionally find myself performing uncle duties. But she's barely two. Half the time she communicates through random sounds and attempts to eat things she shouldn't.

It's different.

Easier.

If I'm being completely honest, Aadhya mostly gets passed back to her parents whenever she starts crying. Or to Poorvi or Vihaan.Anyone more qualified than me.

So when I say I know nothing about children, I mean absolutely nothing.

"Hello," I say.

Brilliant. Exceptional. A truly inspiring contribution to the conversation.

The children stare. Waiting. Apparently "hello" wasn't enough.

A little girl with two braids squints at me."Are you really a prince?"

I nod.

"Diya didi said you were."