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CHAPTER 4

Next Day

Shaurya sat in his minimalist living room, sipping his late morning coffee while finishing up a business call. The strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. His 51-year-old house help, Meera, had left the cup on the table with a stern warning.

“At least finish the coffee before it gets cold,”she had said before bustling away in the kitchen.

Meera had worked for him ever since he had moved into Villa No. 11, and though she only stayed from 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., her presence somehow made the house feel… less empty.

She never overstepped—except for cooking him his daily meals, despite him repeatedly telling her not to. She cooked afternoon lunches for him too, and on days he worked from home, she made sure to prepare an extra portion of his favourite palak dal. She sometimes even kneaded fresh dough, just in case he “suddenly felt like making rotis at night,” which obviously, he never did.

Shaurya wasn’t used to being cared for. Not after the years of being alone in a world that only valued power and success.

And yet, Meera’s silent concern, the way she always made sure things were running smoothly in his house, was somethinghe appreciated more than he would ever admit. She was caring, which was an emotion he rarely got from anyone.

He took another sip of his coffee, letting the warmth seep through him, when—

“SHAURYA AHUJA!”

Shaurya’s grip on his mug tightened as Grandpa’s voice boomed through the morning air like a war cry, echoing across the garden that separated his villa from the Raichand’s.

Not again.

Not today.

Exhaling sharply, he tried to ignore his voice and forced himself to stay calm, but the yelling only grew louder.

“SHAURYA AHUJA, COME OUT THIS INSTANT!”

Shaurya pressed his fingers to his temple, already regretting his decision of moving into this so-called ‘peaceful’ gated community.

Peace? What a joke. Keshav Raichand was impossible, and ignoring him wasn’t an option anymore.

“Let’s continue this later,” he said curtly to his business associate before disconnecting the call.

Placing his coffee mug down with more force than necessary, he pushed himself up, adjusted his steel-grey blazer, and stormed toward the door, fully prepared to shut down whatever nonsense awaited him.

The moment he stepped into the common garden area, Shaurya was greeted by a sight he should’ve expected but still found infuriating.

Grandpa stood fuming, arms crossed over his chest, his expression lined with irritation. Behind him, three gardeners in matching uniforms stood awkwardly, clearly unsure if they should just run away than be involved in this growing battlefield.

Shaurya barely held back a sigh.

“What is this?” Grandpa snapped, stepping forward, his eyes blazing.

Shaurya crossed his arms, unbothered. “You tell me, Mr. Raichand. I didn’t call you. You called me.”

Grandpa took one angry step forward, his boots crunching against the fallen mango leaves.

“Don’t act innocent, Ahuja. You know exactly why I called you here.”

Shaurya waved a hand lazily.

“So, why don’t we skip the dramatic buildup and get to the point? I have actual important things to handle.”

Keshav’s nostrils flared as he pointed towards the gardeners behind him.

“How dare you call professional gardening services to touchMYtree?!”