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I stared into the amber depths of my whiskey glass, the ice cubes clinking softly as I swirled the liquid. The club’s pulsing music and dim lighting faded into the background as my mind drifted to the recent events that had shattered this carefully constructed facade I’d maintained for over three decades.

The confrontation at Walia Mansion yesterday kept playing in my head like a broken record.

Meher’s voice, filled with disbelief and anger, echoed in my ears.

“How could you keep this from me, Dad? Vishnu is your son—my brother! And you’ve been hiding this fact all these years?”

I could still see the pain etched on our father, Pratap Walia’s face—the man I had called ‘Sir’ for most of my life. As he tried to defend and explain himself, I realised that no words could ever erase the weight of the sin he committed by keeping his illegitimate son—me—hidden in the shadows while maintaining a picture-perfect image to the world. He had sacrificed not just my identity but also my heritage, all to protect his career and his web of lies.

For years, I had swallowed my father’s excuses, forcing myself to accept the bitter pill of secrecy. I buried my resentment deep within, convincing myself that protecting his political career was somehow noble, that I was making a sacrifice for the greater good. But Meher, my half-sister, saw through the facade that I had so carefully constructed. Where I had found a way to cope, she saw only betrayal. The fire in her eyes, when she spoke about our father’s deception, burned hotter than my own suppressed anger.

She gave Dad an ultimatum to acknowledge me as his son publicly, and give me the recognition I deserved, or he would lose his daughter too. Her ultimatum sent shockwaves through our family. I was stunned by her willingness to put her own relationship with our father on the line for my sake. It was a heartfelt gesture of love and solidarity that I had never expected, and it forced me to confront the pain I had tucked away during all these years.

Once Meher left, I’d slipped away too and hadn’t returned to Walia Mansion since then. It had been more than 24 hours now, but I still felt the weight of that moment heavy on my heart.

Last night, I had checked into a hotel as I just couldn’t bring myself to return home, not until I could muster the courage to face Meher again. The gravity of our father’s sin to keep me hidden away like a shameful secret was now glaringly obvious, keeping me hidden away like a shameful secret. But I was no better. I had perpetuated the lie, keeping Meher in the dark all these years. She wasn’t just my half-sister; she was my baby sister, a beacon of innocence in our complicated family dynamic. Meher had every right to know how much she had meant to me from the moment she was born, even before we had ever met. I had robbed her of that knowledge, of the connection we could have shared in all these years.

After sulking alone yesterday, here I was today, at this upscale club, desperately seeking to drown out the flood of emotions threatening to consume me.

My baby sister, Meher, was bravely fighting for my rights, and a part of me was overcome with gratitude. After years of silence and secrecy, someone was finally standing up for me, demanding that I be acknowledged. But another part of me understood my father’s predicament. His entire life—his career and his reputation—could be destroyed if this became public knowledge. Becoming the Chief Minister of the state had been my father’s dream for decades, and with the elections just around the corner, how could I bear to take that dream away from him?

Hence, I was torn between my loyalty to the man who, despite everything, was still my father, and the sister who was willing to upend her entire world for my sake. These thoughts were playing havoc with my mind, and I signalled for another drink, hoping it would help me escape the storm raging within me.

As the night wore on, more memories surfaced. I recalled the countless times I stood guard at family functions, watching from the sidelines as Meher celebrated birthdays, achievements, and milestones. I was there for all of it, but always as an outsider peeking in. The pain of those moments, which I’d suppressed for so long, came rushing back with a vengeance.

I thought about my mother again. Her face, etched with both love and sorrow, appeared in my mind. I could almost hear her final words, telling me to stand by my father no matter what. But would she have asked that of me if she knew the price I would pay? The years of loneliness and the heartache of watching a family I could never truly be part of?

The club began to spin around me, the effects of the alcohol finally taking hold. I vaguely registered someone approaching my table and looked up to see Ayaan Shergill, Meher’s husband. He slid next to me with concern etched on his face.

We talked, though the details were hazy. He didn’t try to offer comfort, yet I felt his assurance that Meher and he were on my side. Still, no matter how well-intentioned his words were, they couldn’t erase the three decades of pain and loneliness that had taken shelter within me.

As Ayaan made his way out of the club, I was once again left alone with my thoughts. I’d spent my entire life in the shadows, protecting others. But who protected me? Who stood up for the boy who grew up without a father’s open love and acknowledgement?

As I sat there, surrounded by the pulsing beat of the club and the haze of alcohol, I realised that for the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do. I felt utterly lost. I’d always prided myself on my strength, on my ability to push aside my own needs for the greater good. But now, as the truth of my parentage was laid bare, out in the open, I found myself faltering, not knowing how to proceed with my life.

Despite being surrounded by strangers lost in their own worlds of music and laughter, I’d never felt more alone in my life.

Just as I was about to drown my sorrows in whiskey, a flash of vibrant colour caught my eye. Through the haze of inebriation and the pulsating club lights, I spotted Simran weaving her way through the crowd towards me. Her presence here, of all places, felt like some cosmic joke.

Simran, Meher’s closest friend. I wondered what she was doing here. Was she with someone or alone?

Simran and I shared a different equation altogether. As Meher often said, she had the hots for me, and she did nothing to hide it. Despite my sorrow, my mind drifted back to our first encounter at her boutique. I remembered how Simran’s eyes had lit up when she saw me, her flirtatious comment catching me off guard. “Who is this hottie?” she had murmured to Meher, unaware that I could hear her every word. I had brushed off her attention then, as I was focused solely on my duty to protect Meher.

Then there was that ridiculous incident at the supermarket. Simran had dragged me out for a simple shopping trip, which quickly turned into a game of hide-and-seek among the aisles under the pretext of looking for cat food. She knew I wanted to head back to her apartment at the earliest since Meher was waiting for us there alone, but Simran had other plans. When I finally caught up to her, she was standing by the c*ndom display, feigning innocence. She goofed up again, and her clumsiness had sent the entire rack of c*ndom boxes tumbling down, covering us both in them. The embarrassment on her face had been almost endearing, while I seemingly avoided the eyes of the shoppers who thought we were a desperate couple in search of best flavoured protection.

That day set the tone for our subsequent interactions. At every meeting, Simran would find new ways to flirt or tease me, while I maintained my stern demeanour. I recalled the dress fitting for Meher’s wedding, where Simran had insisted on helping me choose an ethnic outfit. As she adjusted the collar, her fingers lingered a little too long, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror with an unmistakable heat.

Even during Meher’s wedding reception, she had cornered me during a quiet moment. “You clean up nice,” she had purred, straightening my tie unnecessarily. “Ever thought about modelling instead of bodyguarding?”

I had brushed off her compliment, as always, but I couldn’t deny the small thrill her teasing had always stirred within me.

As those memories flashed through my mind, I realised that lately, Simran had been a constant, if sometimes exasperating, presence in my life. Her relentless flirting had become almost comforting in its familiarity, a stark contrast to the earth-shattering revelations I’d faced today.

Now, as Simran got closer, I braced myself for whatever outrageous comment she was about to deliver, unsure if I had the energy to deflect her flirty advances tonight.

A coy smile played on her lips as she reached me.

“Well, well, well! I can’t believe that I’m seeing the most irresistible man in all of Mumbai here. What a coincidence,” Simran purred, sliding onto the barstool next to me. “I must have pleased the gods today to stumble upon you here. Maybe if I’d asked for a million rupees, that would’ve appeared in my bank account too!”