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“To the hospital. I can’t stay here.”
Krish clenches his jaw.
“Ayaan, you haven’t come home and rested once since you returned from Dalhousie. Look at yourself. You are looking like a zombie. You haven’t showered properly, and you have hardly eaten anything. For God’s sake, don’t do this to yourself. Is this how you want uncle to see you when he comes out of the coma? Do you think he will like to see you grieving like this?”
“I’m not grieving,” I growl, forcefully pushing Krish aside. “My father, Kailash Shergill, is alive and will be out of that state very soon. My instincts are still on point. So, I have no reason to grieve. If anyone would be grieving in the coming days, it would be the Walias.”
Krish rolls his eyes.
“The entire nation is now well aware that you’re about to unleash a wave of revenge upon Pratap Walia for his misdeeds. All thanks to your daring challenge and public accusation,” he sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I don’t give a damn if you think I made a mistake by openly declaring his name,” I retort.
“Ayaan, you need to understand that the law doesn’t operate on assumptions,” Krish explains. “We still need concrete evidence to link Pratap Walia to the incident. Merely having a similar model vehicle, which is also missing, won’t be enough to put him behind bars.”
“It was him,” I roar, taking a step forward. “You know it was him. He had a clear-cut motive to do this.”
“Yes, he did. And I can understand your desperation, but we need substantial evidence before taking action. Your public accusation has put them on guard, and they may attempt to conceal or destroy any incriminating proof to protect themselves.”
He is right. The Walias can do anything to hide their dirty secrets. I exhale, looking away and rubbing my palms over my face, trying to figure out this situation.
“I know what I did, and I don’t regret it,” I tell Krish, who shakes his head in resignation.
“I understand, Ayaan. I know how emotionally challenging it has been for you with your Dad’s accident and his going into a coma, but now we need to proceed with caution. Ayaan Shergill is known for his strategic brilliance and his ability to outsmart his enemies without resorting to direct confrontation. I need you to tap into that resourceful Ayaan once again, the one who trusts his instincts and plays every move with calculated precision, leading us to victory.”
I don’t know if I am that Ayaan anymore. But I know I’ll have to be one again.
While I’ve been at the hospital, fraught with worry over Dad’s recovery, I’ve also been closely monitoring the aftermath of my public accusation against Pratap Walia. The situation has sparked unrest within his ruling party, with the media relentlessly pursuing the Walias for an official statement. Pratap Walia’s character is assassinated, and his intentions are questioned on every news channel. His reputation has taken a severe hit, yet amid all the chaos, he chose to remain silent on the matter, further fuelling the rumours of his involvement. His supporters are vehemently denying the accusations, claiming he is being unjustly targeted solely on the basis of the threatening remarks he made towards my father on the day of the accident. Some members of his political party are even pointing fingers at the opposition, suggesting it could be a strategic move to exploit the situation and sabotage the Walias’ position and power.
On the other hand, Dad’s social activists and well-wishers have organised a city-wide rally, demanding justice for him, while in the other parts of the state, his supporters publicly prayed for him and lit candles, hoping for his speedy recovery. The opposition party leaders visited the hospital to show their solidarity, commending my boldness in openly taking a stand to expose the culprit, Pratap Walia. However, I was aware of how dirty the political games were and knew that their presence was mainly driven by their own political agendas and the desire to garner media attention. It’s a bitter truth of our nation, which is governed by politics—only a few genuinely care about the well-being of the people. Most political leaders tend to concentrate on strengthening their support base and take advantage of any opportunity to undermine their opponents.
“Ayaan,” Krish firmly grips my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I’ve assigned a dedicated team to investigate this matter thoroughly. I will handle everything and keep you updated as I’m here now. However, you need to take a break and rest. Lay low for a while, and give me some time to gather solid evidence. Are we clear?”
“I need every update as and when you get it,” I tell him, brooking no argument.
He agrees. Krish will be staying with me at the Shergill Mansion while he is in India. He has delegated all his responsibilities to his team in Austria while he is personally overseeing the scandals and challenges that have engulfed both my father and me. I am immensely thankful to have a loyal friend like him by my side. Taking a deep breath, I gather every ounce of strength within me and turn back inside the home that feels hollow without Dad’s presence.
Even a long shower fails to diminish the worry and seething rage that is eating me up from within. As I lie down on my bed and close my eyes, suddenly, her face emerges in my mind. Meher! The woman I love and the woman who claims to love me in return. Yet she has left me with many unanswered questions. Questions that cast doubt upon her loyalty and love for me, questions that threaten to sever our bond indefinitely, questions that can forever destroy my ability to trust and love. Every word she spoke, every promise she made, intertwines with the venomous accusations from Vishnu and Aksh, suggesting that Meher manipulated me for her own gains.
‘I, Meher Walia, am the power, and I can change the game whenever and however I want.’
‘She played you, Ayaan. She used you. The Queen’s gambit succeeded, leaving the King unaware of his defeat.’
‘She chose us over you.’
‘You forgot that Meher is, after all, a Walia.’
I jolt upright, my hand instinctively reaching for the alarm clock on the bedside table. With a surge of anger, I hurl it against the wall, desperate to silence the raging storm within me and quiet my racing heartbeats. Deep down, my heart insists that she is innocent. I have seen the love in her eyes, and I know she would never betray me. It’s true that everything that unfolded in Dalhousie seems to point in her direction, but I am praying and hoping that I am wrong. Something tells me she didn’t deceive me. My heart cannot go so wrong in judging the woman I love. However, at this moment, my trust in Meher has been severely shaken, and she will need to go to great lengths to earn it back.
These last two days, my mind was completely taken over by Dad’s condition. But now, it’s high time I analyse and fix my relationship with Meher. If she is really innocent and loves me, why hasn’t she made any effort to reach me in the past two days? She must be aware of what happened to Dad, and if her love for me is genuine, she would have done everything possible to get in touch with me to inquire about Dad’s condition, to check on how I’m coping with all of this, and to be by my side, a silent support to the calamity that has fallen upon my family.
Something is definitely amiss. Is her phone seized by her family? But if she could travel to Dalhousie with me without her family knowing about it, she could have used her ways to make a simple call from her servant’s phone or her bhabhi, Aksh’s wife, Devika’s phone, who knew everything about our affair. Why didn’t Devika call me and update me about Meher or pass Meher’s message to me? I grab my phone and dial Devika. She is the only one who can give me details on Meher’s well-being right now. I repeatedly call her number, but she doesn’t answer. And then comes the last blow—her number no longer connects, which means she’s intentionally blocked my number. That’s infuriating!
The door opens, and Krish enters the room, turning on the lights.
“Ayaan? Are you okay? I heard a crashing sound from your room,” he asks, looking at the broken alarm clock on the floor and then at me.
“How is Meher?” I ask Krish.
