Page 123

“Gosh, living with Simran has changed you,” Meher observes. “You were never one for bold talk before.”

“Agreed,” Devika quips, shaking her head in amazement.

I take it as a compliment, leaning into Vishnu’s embrace as he introduces me to the next couple from his political party. This time, I don’t bend down to take blessings. Instead, I smile, thank them for their wishes, and engage in polite conversation. My back might be killing me, but my heart is light. This prank from Meher and Devika feels like the first step toward healing our friendship, and right now, surrounded by my new family and my old friends, I feel truly blessed—sore muscles and all.

CHAPTER 31

VISHNU

Night

I make my way through the quiet mansion, the bustling sounds of the reception now replaced by a peaceful stillness. All the guests have left, including Meher, who’d returned back to Shergill Mansion with Ayaan but promised to visit again soon. It’s nearly eleven, and Dad has summoned me to the drawing room.

Veer has been asleep for a while now, curled up with his cute sister Avika in Devika and Aksh’s room. They generously offered to let Veer stay there until Simran and I could change and settle him back in our bedroom. Once Simran freshens up, she’ll bring Veer back, while I head to see what urgent matter Dad needs to discuss that couldn’t wait until morning.

As I walk toward the drawing room, a thought crosses my mind—Raghav, Ayaan’s twin brother, was the only one missing from tonight’s party. It’s hardly surprising, given the distance he still continues to maintain from our families. Still, with our siblings married to each other—my sister Meher to his brother Ayaan—Raghav and I, despite being far from playful or overtly close, share an unspoken understanding.

He remains an enigma. A man of few words, his presence—or absence—always carries a weight that lingers long after. There’s something about him that you can’t quite put into words, as if he’s still carrying the shadows of his past and is unable to fully step into the light. His interaction with the family is always point-to-point, almost businesslike, never straying beyond what’s necessary. It’s as though he’s built a fortress around himself, impenetrable and guarded, keeping even those who care about him at arm’s length.

Who would have thought that the man who once stood shoulder to shoulder with his father, Tej Kundra, in a bitter quest for vengeance against the Shergills and the Walias, would take a 180-degree turn? But Raghav did just that. After discovering his father’s true colours, he walked away from it all, to lead a path of his own. It was a dramatic change.

He’s like a closed book, refusing to let anyone read even a single page of his story. Not Meher, not Kailash uncle, hell, not even Ayaan—despite their best efforts—have been able to unlock his story. Ayaan, who has always been a man of action, has tried time and again to bridge the gap between them, but even he admits that Raghav’s walls are almost impossible to breach. Maybe it’s because those walls aren’t just built out of mistrust or pride—they’re built out of pain, regret, and the kind of self-imposed punishment that only someone who’s truly haunted can inflict upon themselves.

He left the mafia life behind, that much is true. With Ayaan’s influence, Raghav was granted a clean slate—a fresh start on the condition that he would never return to his old ways. And Raghav has honoured that promise diligently. Since then, he’s kept a low profile, devoting himself to managing ‘RK Estate,’ the vineyard named in memory of his mother, Rukmini Kundra.

Yet, even with this new life, Raghav still remains a mystery. His visits to Mumbai have been far and few over the past eighteen months, and when he does make an appearance, it is usually at Kailash uncle’s insistence. It’s heartwarming, though, how Kailash uncle—who raised Ayaan as his own—extends the same fatherly care and guidance to Raghav. He makes it a point to visit RK Estate every couple of months, trying to make sure Raghav doesn’t drift away entirely.

But I can’t help wondering if Raghav even wants to be a part of this world. It feels like he’s resigned himself to living on the periphery, watching from a distance without ever stepping fully into the fold. Maybe he believes he doesn’t deserve to, or maybe his scars run too deep to let him try. Either way, Raghav is like a ghost—a presence you can feel but never fully grasp.

As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone buzzes with a message from the man himself—Raghav. I open it to read it.

‘Congratulations and best wishes on your wedding! Definitely didn’t see that coming. And an 11-month-old baby boy? You really like doing things out of order, don’t you? By the way, wasn’t Simran the one Meher tried setting me up with? She did say we would make a nice pair. P.S. Is something burning?’

A grin tugs at my lips. Trust Raghav to have such a distinctive way of offering his wedding wishes. Without breaking stride, I type back:

‘Simran is mine… she was mine from the very beginning. You never stood a chance. P.S. - And you need those wedding wishes way more than I do. Now that I’m off the market, you’re officially Meher’s new favourite subject. Brace yourself—your turn’s coming next. All the best.’

I hit send, knowing full well it will rile him up. His reply comes instantly—a single emoji of a raised middle finger. I chuckle, shaking my head.

That’s Raghav for you—reticent, to the point, completely unbothered.

I push my phone in my pocket and step into the drawing room, where Dad is sitting on one of the plush sofas, his posture relaxed and his face glowing with happiness from the day’s events. He gestures for me to sit, and I do, sensing this is going to be one of those serious father-son talks.

“I am so happy, Vishnu,” he begins. “The wedding, the rituals, the reception—everything went off so smoothly. Even our guests seemed quite accepting of the situation. They were particularly warm towards Simran and Veer.”

“Yes, everything was great,” I agree, then add with a slight grimace, “except for the media circus. But otherwise, things seem stable for now.”

“You handled them with remarkable poise,” Dad observes, pride evident in his tone.

“There’s no point in reacting to every piece of gossip or speculation, Dad. We can’t change what they say, but we can focus on what truly matters.”

He leans back, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest as he observes me with quiet pride.

“You’ve slipped into the role of husband and father so naturally. It’s almost as if you’ve been preparing for it your whole life.”

I can’t help but smirk, silently acknowledging the truth in his words. The transition to being a father and Simran’s life partner has felt surprisingly natural, as if these roles were always meant for me.

“But just as you’ve taken over your family responsibilities,” he continues, his expression turning serious, “it’s time for you to take on the official responsibility of your position in the NEP party—as the party president.”