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Under normal circumstances, I might have found her attention flattering, even if I never acted on it. But tonight was different. Very different.

“Not today, Simran,” I growled, my voice hoarse from the alcohol and emotion I could barely keep in check. “I’m not in the mood for any entertainment right now.”

Her teasing smile faltered. “Not just today,” she sighed softly, almost to herself. “You’re never in the mood for me… or my talks.”

I set my glass down a little too hard, fixing her with a look that must have revealed more than I intended. Understanding dawned in her face, and her expression shifted. The flirtatious spark faded, replaced by genuine concern.

“Vishnu,” she said softly, her tone now serious. “What’s wrong?”

The gentleness in her voice almost threatened to unravel me. I didn’t want to look vulnerable, not here, not now, not in front of Simran. Her hand rested lightly on my arm, a gesture of comfort I didn’t realise I needed until that moment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper, as if unsure of my reaction.

I hesitated. Opening up and letting someone in went against everything I stood for, everything I had trained myself to be. Although, the prospect of unburdening myself, even a little, was tempting, I couldn’t do it.

“Just leave me alone,” I dismissed her rudely, hoping she would leave.

Simran, however, didn’t budge. “Well, I’m not leaving until I’m convinced you are okay.”

She took a sip of her own drink before setting the glass on the table before continuing. “I know how much you like to avoid me. But sometimes just having someone around helps, Vishnu.”

Her words, devoid of their usual flirtation, hit me unexpectedly hard. Minutes ticked by. She didn’t look at me, nor did she press for more. I stole glances at her profile, noticing how she sipped her drink slowly, giving me the space I needed while still remaining by my side. It was a kindness I wasn’t accustomed to, and it stirred something deep within me—something I hadn’t felt in a long time, or perhaps ever.

The words began to form on my tongue, heavy with the truth I’d carried for so long. Simran’s patient presence tipped the scales.

“I… I’m Pratap Walia’s son,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the club’s din. “His son… from outside wedlock.”

Simran suddenly choked on her drink, her eyes widening in shock as she turned to face me. Now that I’d started, there was no going back; the floodgates had opened.

“Meher found out yesterday,” I continued, the words tumbling out faster now. “She came to know about the truth that our father and I had kept hidden from everyone all these years… it was all out before her, and... and she’s hurt. Hurt by our father, and perhaps more hurt by me—for not telling her the truth sooner.”

I paused, taking a shaky breath. Simran remained silent, her eyes never leaving my face, encouraging me to continue.

“I had almost accepted my fate. That I’d always be an outsider to the Walia family—existing only as their protector and shielding them from afar. There was a time when I longed to be a part of the family, to call him ‘Dad’ and finally be acknowledged, but as the years passed by, I realised that it was only a dream that could never come true.”

I clenched my jaw, fighting back my hot tears.

“And now, with Meher knowing all of this, it’s like those old wounds have been torn open all over again. She wants our father to accept me officially before the world, to give me the place I’ve never had—the place I rightfully deserve as Pratap Walia’s eldest son. But deep down, we both know he’ll never do that. Not now, not with everything he’s worked for in his political career. And it’s breaking her heart.”

Simran listened calmly. Her silence allowed me to continue, to voice the thoughts I’d never dared speak aloud in all these years.

“I know what that pain is, Simran. The pain a child feels because of being let down by a parent, the same parent who was supposed to be your pillar of strength, the one whose love and approval you craved your whole life. Years ago, when he didn’t accept me as his son before the world, it hurt me badly, and today, that same truth is hurting my sister, who wants to fight for me.”

My voice cracked, the emotion finally breaking through. “I don’t know whom to support. Should I support Dad’s decision like always, to keep me hidden from the world? Or should I support Meher, who is standing by me and fighting for my equal rights as a Walia? I just… just don’t know what to do.”

Rage and frustration boiled over, and I slammed my fist on the bar, welcoming the physical pain as a distraction from the emotional turmoil swirling inside me. Instantly, Simran’s hand was on mine, her touch gentle but firm, stopping me from hurting myself further.

I looked up to meet her gaze and was stunned to see tears glistening in her eyes. She wasn’t just listening; she was feeling my pain as if it were her own. In that moment, something shifted between us. My fingers intertwined with hers, seeking the comfort I had been too reluctant to admit I needed.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly seen. Simran wasn’t judging me or offering empty reassurances. She was simply there, by my side, sharing my burden. It was a connection I’d never experienced before, and it both thrilled and terrified me.

Without thinking, I pulled our joined hands to my chest, pressing them against my racing heart.

“It hurts,” I confessed. “It hurts so damn much that I feel like I’m breaking.”

Simran reacted swiftly, sliding off her barstool to stand close to me. Her free hand came to rest on my shoulder.

“Vishnu,” she said softly. “Don’t say that. I can’t even imagine the level of pain and hurt you are going through right now, but please… don’t give up.”