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“Last night?” she scoffs. “You weren’t even there until I fell asleep, Ayaan.”
She shrugs with her hands in the air as if surrendering.
“Fine, I agree I should have told you. But I couldn’t think straight after seeing Vishnu’s birth certificate with Dad’s name on it. I didn’t care who that man was or what were his intentions behind gifting me this. I was haunted by the memories of the past. I was just trying to figure out why my father had to hide such a vital fact from all of us for so long. Why did he never publicly acknowledge Vishnu as his son?”
She rubs her forehead as if trying to ease her headache. Meher seems completely lost. I reach out for her and pull her close to me. This time, she doesn’t resist or attempt to step away, not even when I gently stroke her cheeks with my thumb.
“I should have told you,” she concedes. “But you also shouldn’t have hidden it from me for all these days, Ayaan. You shouldn’t have. It wasn’t right.”
“I know I should have told you,” I admit. “But you had just agreed to marry me, Meher. You know how the situation was. Your father still needed convincing, and there were so many other pressing issues we had to resolve before the wedding. Although I wanted to tell you, I decided not to until after the wedding.”
She attempts to break free, but I hold her close.
“I was wrong to hide from you. I admit it. Just don’t be angry with me, please.”
“Why shouldn’t I be angry with you?” she scolds me. “I don’t understand why all the men in my life always hide things from me. Don’t you all think I’m important enough to know these things? Dad, Vishnu, you... you’re all the same. And then you expect me not to make a big issue out of it. I’m done with this.”
She gently pushes me away and sits on the recliner, wiping her tears.
“I’ll never forgive Dad,” she continues. “What he’s done with Vishnu is wrong. Vishnu is my half-brother, Ayaan. I still can’t believe this,” she says, quivering. “He’s done so much for us, and what is Dad doing for him?”
I sense her anguish. She’s greatly upset with her father.
“Dad doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone except his political career. He’ll never acknowledge Vishnu as his son, and in a few days, he’ll also expel Aksh bhai from his party, ruining bhai’s career forever. Just like every other time, Dad will seal their fates, and no one will be able to do anything about it. Not even me. I’m so hurt. By them... by you. All of you. How could you hide this from me? How?”
The next moment, I march to the closet and retrieve a similar box as hers that Raghav gave me last night. Meher’s eyes shimmer with curiosity as she watches me. I return to her and extend the box towards her. She hesitantly accepts it with trembling hands.
“What is this?” she asks, her voice quivering as she takes the box from my hand.
Meher looks at me with a puzzled expression as I continue.
“You aren’t the only one Raghav met and gifted something to yesterday,” I reveal.
The moment I say this, her jaw drops.
“Open it,” I mutter, swallowing my anger.
Meher looks at me with confusion before opening the box. She goes speechless as she assesses the contents inside.
“Ayaan? This... Your dad…”
I clench my fists and turn away from her to hide my emotions. They say when the storm hits, it takes away everything with it, even the echoes of what once was.
Kailash Shergill steps inside his dimly lit room, lost in thoughts. The revelation about Vishnu being Pratap’s son has stirred something deep within him. It feels like the past is resurfacing and wants to be heard. The walls seem to be closing in on him, and even Ayaan’s growing suspicions are starting to gnaw at him. Kailash has a hunch that Ayaan might have an inkling of where he had disappeared the other day and who he met without Ayaan’s knowledge. The intensity of suspicion in Ayaan’s gaze is so potent that he fears Ayaan will soon connect the dots and uncover the truth on his own. His own son doubting him is a new and unsettling experience for him.
He walks to the big wooden wardrobe and slides it open, his hands trembling as he reaches for the ornate key hidden in a secret compartment of his drawer. The cold metal of the key touches his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. With deliberate care, he inserts the key into the lock and turns it. The door of the locker creaks open, revealing the contents he had kept hidden away from prying eyes, his family, and his son Ayaan for so long — a gold medal with an emblem of a bat with outstretched wings.
Kailash holds the medal, his fingers tracing the intricate details of the bat. The memories, the choices, the consequences — they all come rushing back. The room remains silent as if holding its breath as he contemplates his next move. It is a moment of reckoning, a crossroads where he will have to decide whether to reveal the truth or to continue down the path of deception. The line between good and evil had already started to blur, especially now that Ayaan was suspecting him. Secrets were starting to come out, now that the storm was approaching.
CHAPTER 5
VISHNU
I am speeding down the dark, deserted roads in the middle of the night with no clue about where I’m headed. Meher’s intense outburst about our father concealing my identity as his son still echoes in my mind. I used to believe that no one would ever discover my true relationship with Pratap Walia, a secret hidden for over three decades. However, they say that no secret remains hidden forever, no matter how well it was buried in the depths of the past. Those secrets, even the ones firmly rooted in the shadowy corners of our history, possess the power to shatter even the strongest of hearts.
I suddenly slam the brakes of my car, causing it to come to a screeching halt at the side of the road. I’ve been running away from my past for far too long, but Meher’s confrontation today has resurrected the memories I’d painstakingly buried deep within my heart.
Only a child truly understands the pain of not having both parents to raise them. My mother, Vandita, and I lived with my maternal grandmother in a small village called Ambegaon, approximately 100 kilometres from Pune. While I had no recollection of the village we had lived in earlier, I knew that we had recently moved here for my education. My birthplace lacked even basic amenities, like a proper primary school, prompting our relocation. I was seven years old when I found myself in a physical altercation with one of the boys I used to play with every evening at the modest, muddy ground near the village temple.
