Page 2 of When Love Trespassed

Two Weeks Ago - Serene Meadows

“Madam, cash only,” he grumbled, folding his arms.

Nandini blinked. “Excuse me? Why can’t I pay by UPI?”

“Madam, these days even UPI gets delayed because of server issues,” he huffed, frustration written all over his face. “Just last week, a customer paid me through UPI. The money got deducted from their account instantly but never showed up in mine. I waited the whole day, and still nothing.”

He rubbed his forehead dramatically, clearly still annoyed by the memory.

“I had to take a whole day off, go stand in line at the bank, lodge a complaint, fill out forms, follow up not once, but twice just to get my own money. It took four days and two follow-ups for the amount to reflect in my account. Who’s going to compensate me for this delay? ”

“Bhaiya, even weddings get delayed, trains get delayed, so what?” she argued. “People still get married. People still board trains and travel across the country, don’t they?”

The driver gave her a long, pitiful look as if she were a lost cause beyond saving.

“The payment is done. Check your phone,” she said, shoving her screen toward him.

The driver sighed dramatically, checked his phone, and with great reluctance accepted defeat.

“It’s better to be stuck in Delhi traffic than argue with customers like you.” And with that, he drove off, muttering about the downfall of cash culture in the country.

“What? You… Hello? Stop,” she shouted, flailing her arms as if she could summon him back with sheer willpower, but the cab only sped up.

For a moment, she debated chasing after him and demanding an apology for his unnecessary dramatics. But instead, she groaned in frustration and decided to raise a complaint against the cab ride on the app.

With that decision made, she turned towards Villa No. 10, but her expression suddenly sobered as the memories of the last few months settled heavily on her shoulders.

Eight months of hard work… shattered.

Her organic skincare startup in Mumbai had been more than just a business venture; it had been her dream, her passion, her way of proving to the world, and to herself, that she could build something meaningful without relying on her family’s wealth.

She had poured her heart and soul into it, from sourcing ethically grown ingredients to designing sustainable packaging.

It was meant to be something different, something hers.

But in the end, it hadn’t mattered.

When her investors pulled out at the last minute, citing “market uncertainties” and “high risks,” the entire foundation of her startup crumbled overnight.

She had fought, scrambled to find alternatives, but in the unforgiving world of business, hope alone wasn’t enough.

Suppliers backed out, orders remained unfulfilled, and before she knew it, she was drowning in debt with nothing to show except sleepless nights and a shattered dream.

The thought of staying back in Mumbai, watching all her efforts turn to dust, was unbearable. So, when her grandfather had insisted she come home to clear her head, she had reluctantly agreed.

Even her parents, who had been comfortably settled in London for decades, had wanted her to move there instead, to join her father’s ever-expanding business empire.

It was the safe choice, the obvious one.

But Nandini had never been one for the obvious.

She didn’t want to be just another Raichand heir, sitting in a glass-walled office, discussing profits and losses.

She wanted to create something of her own, to leave her mark on her homeland.

And now, she had nothing.

She let out a slow breath and looked up at the villa.

Villa No. 10 wasn’t just her childhood house—it was home.

The place where she had grown up, the place that had shaped her into the woman she was today.

It was where her grandfather, Keshav Raichand, had taught her to ride a bicycle in the front yard, where he had told her bedtime stories, acting out every scene with dramatic flair, and where he had indulged her every whim—from mango pickle-making sessions to letting her paint freely on the backyard wall.

She remembered the summer afternoons when they would sit under the old mango tree, sipping chilled nimbu pani as her Daadu narrated tales from his youth. How he had been a self- made man, building everything from scratch, brick by brick, mistake by mistake.

She had wanted to be just like him.

And now, she had failed.

“Nandu!” A deep voice, rich and full of warmth, pulled her from her thoughts.

Her heart squeezed as she turned to see her grandfather, Keshav Raichand, standing on the porch, a broad smile lighting up his face.

At seventy-five, he was still a force to be reckoned with.

His white kurta-pyjama was crisp, his silver hair neatly combed back, and his eyes—sharp, wise, yet mischievous.

They held the same spark she remembered ever since she was a child.

He had the aura of a man who had seen life in all its shades but refused to bow down to age.

He wasn’t the kind of old man who needed help walking; he was the kind who still played chess with his neighbouring friends here, and won. Who could still walk thousands of steps every day to keep himself fit. Who believed in living, not just existing.

“Daadu!” A lump formed in her throat as she rushed towards him.

He engulfed her in a bear hug, squeezing her just tight enough to remind her that no matter what, she had a place here in his heart and his home.

Nandini closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of sandalwood and home.

“You’re finally here,” he murmured, patting her back before she bent down to touch his feet.

He blessed her with a warm smile, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to read everything she wasn’t saying out loud. Then, in his usual boisterous manner, he turned towards the house and shouted, “Lakshmi! Make tea for us. Nandini is back home!”

Lakshmi Aunty had been his caretaker and cook for years.

At 75, he definitely needed someone to look after him, even if he’d never admit it aloud.

And Lakshmi, a woman in her fifties with a no-nonsense attitude, had been doing just that—managing Keshav Raichand’s well-being like a mother hen.

The familiarity of it all, the warmth of being home, eased something inside Nandini.

She had lost a dream, but she hadn’t lost herself.

And maybe, just maybe, home was exactly what she needed right now. She dropped her bags near the entrance and turned to her grandfather.

“You’re okay, right?” she asked, scanning his face for any signs of exhaustion. “You’ve been eating properly?”

Grandpa scoffed. “Nandu, I am not some weak old man who forgets to eat.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Last time I called, Lakshmi Aunty said you conveniently ‘forgot’ to have lunch because you were too busy scolding the new neighbour.”

He huffed, crossing his arms.

“That’s different. That man is a menace! Always complaining about the leaves falling into his fancy swimming pool.”

Nandini tried not to smile. “And you, of course, ignored all his complaints?”

He shrugged, completely unapologetic. “It’s not my fault he bought a house next to a decades-old mango tree. Maybe he should’ve done some research before moving in.”

Nandini bit her lip, holding back a laugh. Same old Daadu. Before she could say anything, Lakshmi Aunty appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits.

“Hot tea is here,” she announced. Then, eyeing Nandini, she smiled. “Finally, you’re home. Now, maybe I will see your grandfather smiling and enjoying himself instead of arguing all the time with the new neighbour.”

Grandpa groaned. “Don’t start, Lakshmi. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up here today with the exact count of leaves fallen in his pool.”

Nandini giggled, taking the cup of tea from the tray.

“He actually does that?”

He shook his head, frowning.

“Oh, this is nothing. Didn’t I tell you? He’s even sent me legal notices in the past few months. None of which are going to deter me.”

Nandini sipped her tea quickly and placed the cup down before standing up. “Okay, that reminds me, I really need to go and see Daadi.”

Her grandfather nodded.

“She was missing you too, Nandu,” he replied with that quiet affection only he could express. “Go meet her.”

With eager steps, she made her way to the back garden. And then, there it was.

The mango tree —a tree her grandmother had planted decades ago. Her Daadi had adored this tree, tending to it like a child, and even though she had passed away, it remained untouched, a living memory of a woman who loved it so deeply.

Its towering branches stretched towards the sky, the leaves swaying gently as if waving at her in greeting. Nandini’s lips curled into a soft smile as she stepped closer, her fingers instinctively reaching out to touch its rough bark.

“Missed you, Daadi,” she murmured, resting her forehead against the trunk.

The leaves rustled overhead, a few stray ones drifting down as if answering her.

“I know, I know,” she sighed dramatically, pulling back and looking up at the branches. “It’s been too long. But life’s been… complicated.”

A stronger gust of wind swept through the garden, making the branches sway.

She huffed, placing her hands on her hips.

“Oh, don’t start! I can already hear you, ‘Nandu beta, no excuse is good enough for staying away from home for so long!’ ”

She mimicked her grandmother’s affectionate tone, shaking her head. “But I was busy, okay? Trying to build something of my own.”

She traced her fingers over the bark, her voice softening. “It didn’t work out, though.”

The leaves shivered above her as if offering comfort.

“I know what you’d say,” she continued, a small, wistful smile playing on her lips. ‘So what? If you fall, dust yourself off and keep walking, my dear.’ ”

She chuckled. “Easy for you to say. You never gave up on anything, did you?”