The door of the hotel room unlocked with the swipe of the card as Rishvik entered, a bag slung over his shoulder, dressed in a black leather jacket over a black turtleneck, paired with black trousers. He locked the door behind him and slipped off his black boots, placing them neatly by the entrance.

The room was breathtaking, one of the most premium suites in the city, reserved for VVIP guests. Plush cream carpets cushioned every step, while soft golden lighting bounced off the polished mahogany furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city lights glittering below, almost like a mirror of the stars he had once sung about. A king-sized bed, adorned with silk sheets and velvet cushions, dominated the center, and a crystal chandelier hung gracefully above, casting a gentle glow.

Every detail screamed luxury, a private minibar stocked with rare beverages, an expansive work desk, and a sleek entertainment system. Even the bathroom, with its marble floors and deep soaking tub, had the kind of elegance most could only dream of.

Rishvik, however, wasn't surprised or impressed. He moved through the suite as if it were any ordinary room, nodding once to himself, detached, his gaze empty yet observant. To him, this level of extravagance had become ordinary the lights, the luxury, the meticulous perfection, all as common as air he had long stopped noticing.

After slipping into a soft robe, he walked toward the expansive bathroom. Standing beneath the shower, he closed his eyes, letting the cold water cascade over him, drenching his hair and skin. The chill bit into him, sharp and awakening.

He wore a mint-green t-shirt and white knee-length shorts.

Glancing at the clock, he realized it was nearly 2 a.m. His stomach growled, he hadn't eaten properly all day.

Opening the fridge, he found only a few snacks and some fruits. Ordering food seemed impossible at this hour; he didn't want to disturb anyone. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed an apple and a bottle of soft drink, sinking into the large beige sofa. He switched on the TV, the flickering light painting soft shadows across the room.

Biting into the apple, he rose and walked toward the huge balcony. Sitting on the swing, the chill night air wrapped around him, the background muffled TV sounds still coming. From the 37th floor, the city lights stretched endlessly below, a sea of gold and white, twinkling like stars mirrored on earth. He leaned back, letting the silence and the cold brush against his skin as he closed his eyes and felt the breeze against his face.

FLASHBACK

"Rishi! Why haven't you finished your tiffin?" Fleur's voice called from the kitchen, half-annoyed, half-playful. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the 6-year-old sitting cross-legged on the floor, one hand on her hip, the other holding the half-eaten lunchbox.

"Solly Mumma," little Rishvik said, his voice sugar-sweet and filled with mischief. "I was eating Halshit's lunch. He got vely tasty aloo ka palantha!"

Fleur's eyebrows raised, a smile threatening to form but she held it back.

"Oh? So that means you don't like Mumma's food anymore?" she said in a soft, hurt voice, pretending to be offended.

Rishvik shook his head with a grin, his baby teeth peeking through. "No! I don't like it! Hihihihihihihi!"

Her mouth formed a small O, and she let out a dramatic sigh. "Okay then, Rishi. I won't make you food anymore."

Rishvik blinked in confusion, watching as Fleur walked away, quietly picking up his tiffin and heading to the kitchen. She didn't scold him or laugh, nothing. Just silence.

A few moments later, the little boy followed, his small hands clutching the edge of her dupatta. She didn't turn around. The sound of running water filled the silence as she started washing the dishes, ignoring him completely.

"Mumma," he said in a small voice, "do you know I made a dlawing of a supelhelo today?"

No answer.

He tugged her dupatta again. "Mumma? Are you listening?"

Still nothing.

His tiny face fell. After a few failed tries, he climbed onto one of the dining chairs, legs dangling mid-air. His lips trembled, his eyes filled with tears, and within seconds, soft sobs escaped his mouth.

The sound instantly broke Fleur's resolve. She turned, drying her hands in a hurry, and rushed to him.

"Arrey, Rishi! Kya hua, bachha?" she said, her voice melting. She lifted him into her arms, his head falling into the crook of her neck. "Mumma's here na? No need to cry."

The little boy sniffled, his arms wrapping around her neck tightly. "When I called you, you didn't listen, Mumma."

Fleur smiled, gently brushing her fingers through his dark brown hair

"Mumma was teaching you something important," she said softly. "You should never say mean things to people, even if it's for fun. Sometimes they get hurt... and then they stop talking to you."

Rishvik looked up at her with tearful eyes, voice shaky. "If I already said it, then what should I do?"

Fleur pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Say sorry, and give them a big hug."

He nodded quickly. "I'm solly, Mumma," he said, voice tiny, arms tightening around her.

Fleur chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "It's okay, mera bachha," she whispered, hugging him close.

After a few moments, she pulled back and smiled. "Ab chalo, superhero drawing nahi dikhaoge?"

Rishvik's eyes lit up. He wriggled out of her arms, wiped his cheeks with the back of his hands, and ran towards his school bag with small, quick steps.

FLASHBACK ENDS

He thought about how careless he had been back then, when he playfully said he didn't like his mother's food. And now, years later, he would give anything to taste it again. The food that wasn't made to be perfect, but made with care... with love.

He could dine in the finest restaurants of the world, eat meals crafted by Michelin-star chefs, every bite measured and flawless, yet none of it could fill him the way his mother's simple food once did. It was never perfect, but it was peace. It was home. It was a love that vanished hunger before the first bite.

He remembered how she always knew when he was hungry, just by looking at his face.

"I really miss your food, Mumma..." Rishvik whispered, his voice barely audible against the soft hum of the night. The city lights shimmered in the distance, his eyes closed.

Within moments, he drifted off on the large swing, one big enough to be mistaken for a bed, the half-eaten apple resting beside him, and the cold breeze wrapping him like an old lullaby.