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He guides me toward the stairs, and as I head up to feed Veer, I hear him walking back to meet the media. The reality of my new life hits me full force—this isn’t just about becoming part of a family; it’s about entering a political dynasty. The constant scrutiny, the media attention, the protocols, and the security measures that seemed so foreign yesterday—is my world now.

As I settle into the armchair in our room to nurse Veer, I can almost hear the buzz downstairs—the cameras clicking and the barrage of questions being fired at my husband. My chest tightens, thinking about the storm that’s about to break over us. In New York, my biggest worry was meeting client deadlines. Now, I’m part of a world where every move is scrutinised, every decision analysed, and where even personal matters become a public spectacle.

The magnitude of this change is overwhelming, but looking down at Veer’s peaceful face as he nurses, I know I have to find the strength to weather it. For us. And for this complicated, messy, beautiful family we’re building.

VISHNU

The press meet is far more chaotic than I expected, but I am prepared for the chaos. Cameras flash nonstop, reporters shout questions for this unexpected press meet, and the atmosphere is charged with curiosity and speculation. Dad stands beside me, calm and collected, his years in politics making him immune to such moments. I, however, am not here as just a political figure. Today, it’s personal.

I adjust the microphone, and the room quietens immediately.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve called this press conference to address the speculation about my absence last month and to share some personal news,” I begin. “I was in New York last month, where I married the renowned fashion designer Simran Thakkar. And we also have an eleven-month-old son together, Veer Walia. He was born out of love, long before our marriage.”

The room erupts into chaos. Reporters jump to their feet, shoving microphones forward, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of questions and accusations.

“Mr. Walia, why the secrecy? Was this a deliberate attempt to mislead the public?” a reporter from Mumbai Times demands.

“Was this timed to coincide with your appointment as party president?” another voice cuts through.

“Is this move orchestrated? Following your father’s footsteps—revealing a child before elections?”

“Had Ms. Thakkar deliberately hidden the child’s existence for financial gain?”

My jaw tightens as I raise my hand. The gesture, though simple, carries enough authority to silence the room.

“She is Mrs. Simran Walia now, not Ms. Thakkar. So, I request the media to address her accordingly.”

I feel the sting of the last question, but I don’t let it show. Dad’s history is no secret, and I know how quickly people, especially the media, can draw parallels to spin a narrative.

“And let me be absolutely clear,” I continue. “My wife, Simran Walia, is an accomplished woman who built her fashion empire through sheer talent and determination. She chose to protect our son from the very circus I see unfolding before me today, and I stand by her decision completely.”

“But Mr. Walia,” a reporter interjects, “the public has a right to—”

“A right to what, exactly?” I cut in, my eyes fixed on the reporter. “A right to dissect a mother’s choice to protect her child? To sensationalise a private matter between two adults for headlines? Let me be clear. My personal life, my wife’s decisions, and most importantly, my son’s welfare are not up for public debate. My decision to marry Simran and to share this news now has nothing to do with politics or public opinion. It was because I wanted to honour my family and my responsibilities as a husband and father.”

“But isn’t the timing a bit convenient,” another reporter pushes. “Just ahead of your appointment as party president—”

“My personal life is not a political strategy. Simran and I made the decision to share this part of our lives when it felt right—not for the media, not for politics, but for us. I’ve spent a decade alongside my father, who has been serving this constituency by building hospitals, improving the education system, and creating job opportunities. If you believe my marriage or my son’s existence would influence my appointment, you’re not just undermining me, but the entire democratic process and the intelligence of our party leadership.”

The room falls silent for a moment, but a veteran reporter from National Daily stands up. “But what about your father’s history with similar revelations—”

“I’m going to address this just once,” I state firmly. “My father’s past is well-documented, and for four decades, he has served this nation with honour and dedication. He had his reasons for keeping parts of his personal life private, but I am not my father, and this is not thirty years ago. I am a man who fell in love, married the woman I love, and have the privilege of being a father to a wonderful son. If anyone here thinks they can twist this into something sordid, remember this: your speculation says more about your journalistic integrity than it does about my family.”

The atmosphere shifts slightly, but another reporter presses on. “Did you only marry her after finding out about the child? Is this just damage control?”

I lean forward, locking eyes with the reporter. “When I found out about Veer, there was no doubt or hesitation. It was a moment of pride. Marrying Simran was not damage control; it was my honour. Let me ask you this: If you found out you had a child with someone you love, wouldn’t your first instinct be to protect and cherish them? That’s what I did. It’s what any decent human being would do.”

The room falls silent again for a few seconds before they continue. I take a few more questions and deflect all other questions trying to drag Simran into the controversy, protecting her from the media circus.

Then, one reporter dares to press further, one last time. “But what about the public perception—”

“The public perception does not dictate how I live my life or love my family. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my father, it’s that the truth has a way of standing tall, no matter how much it’s questioned. My truth is simple: I love my wife, Simran, and I adore my son, Veer. No media narrative will ever change that.”

There’s a shift in the air. The aggressive questions have given way to a reluctant respect. I glance briefly at Dad, who gives me a small nod of approval. He’s proud, I can tell, but he knows as well as I do that these questions are just the beginning. The media thrives on scandal, but I won’t let them drag Simran or Veer into it.

I straighten, glancing at the reporters, daring anyone to continue. When none of them do, I nod once. “This will be all for today. Thank you.”

As the press meet wraps up, I walk away, my focus already shifting from politics to family as I see Ayaan and his father, Kailash Shergill, walking towards us. Dad embraces Kailash uncle before welcoming them inside.