I turned to my computer, emailing HR to get me a replacement.
Footsteps faded, and the door opened, then swung shut.
I sighed. My car broke down on the way to work this morning. And now, I had to fire my fourth assistant in three days.
Naniji used to say bad things came in threes. I wasn’t superstitious by any means, but a gnawing feeling creeping up the back of my head told me the third was close.
I felt on edge throughout the day. After a tedious meeting with finance, my phone rang. Dad.
I had been avoiding him and Ayaan. I didn’t trust myself not to explode and tell them exactly what Rekha did. I hadn’t told them because a part of me still wanted to maintain peace within the family. It was hard since we worked at the same company, but not impossible.
The office door slammed open. Dad strode in, looking pissed. ‘Why are you not answering your phone?’
‘I was busy.’
‘I don’t care,’ he said, his voice clipped. ‘Look at Lehenga Bazaar’s website.’
‘What did they do now?’ I muttered as I googled it.
I was tired of the bullshit they kept trying to pull. I thought after the lawsuit, they would learn their lesson and stop. They—fuck.
My jaw tightened.
A full-length image of a model draped in handwoven silk in vibrant colours dominated the screen. The silk was unmistakably close to the kauseya weave –ourweave. The Mahalas’ weave. The slight tweaks were just enough to pass as ‘inspired’.
The headline read ‘Introducing Eternal Weaves: A Limited Heritage-Inspired Silk Collection’.Below it was a timer taunting me, counting down one month.
I went to the page displaying the collection preview. My blood ran cold. Heavily inspired versions of our plans. Our work. They stole everything.
I swiped a hand over my mouth. ‘Fucking hell.’
‘Jai,’ Dad ground out, low and hard. ‘We have spent crores on this line.Crores.’
‘I know.’
‘The board has called for an emergency meeting. While I try to put out the fire, you will clean up your mess. I want this gone, Jai, and I want it gone yesterday.’
He turned around and stormed out.
My fist slammed on the desk.
My breath came in shallow bursts. My blood pounded in my ears. My insides burned with fury, helplessness and disbelief – all tangled together.
I could imagine it. The launch. The press raving. Influencers swooning. The Mahala family forgotten. Their work, our hard work … claimed by fucking Lehenga Bazaar.
How could they –anyone– do this? Everything we built, dreamed of … it was all on a one-month countdown to destruction.
Naniji’s voice echoed in my head:bad things come in threes.
The third had arrived. And it was catastrophic.
Every plan, every option, every counterattack raced through my mind at an impossible speed, colliding with streams of panic and a rage that threatened to combust.
Sharanji’s words echoed in my ear. ‘If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even have dreamed of any of this. Wewould have spent our entire lives in our little Bhagalpur. But you have transformed our lives. Thank you.’
I had promised him that the world would know them and the kauseya weave. That they would be able to make a comfortable living out of it. Build a legacy they could pass on to future generations. I didn’t know if I could keep my word now.
Dadaji wanted to recognise and honour artisans for their work. But in the world of fashion, ideas were owned by the ones who released them first. We couldn’t launch kauseya without the world thinking we copied Lehenga Bazaar. Even if we went ahead with the plan, the Mahalas’ legacy would always be overshadowed by Lehenga Bazaar’s Eternal Weave.
