Chapter 2 "The return of storm"

Utsav

Age thirty two

Is everything in place? He's returning

after so many years-we can't afford a single mistake," Raghav said, his voice trembling with worry. "You know how furious he can get. If anything goes wrong during his arrival, we won't be spared his wrath."

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The engines roared like thunder cracking through the heavens. The familiar hum of the jet signaled the descent, but I didn't bother looking out the window. I had no interest in what lay beneath the clouds-not this land, not its people, not its memories. India. My birthland. My curse.

As the aircraft eased onto the private Mehrotra Realty airstrip, I adjusted the cufflinks on my crisp white shirt with mechanical precision. Every movement, every breath, every thought had a purpose. I hadn't come back to reminisce. I had come for one reason-and one reason only.

Aditya's wedding.

A formality, a duty, an obligation. Nothing more.

The scent of the land hit me like a punch to the gut-damp soil, dust, heat, and something else... something intangible. Like a ghost that hadn't yet learned how to die. I stepped out onto the tarmac, one polished black shoe after another, letting the sound of my footsteps echo like a verdict being delivered.

As I descended from the aircraft, a sharp gust swept across the airstrip. My coat shifted slightly with the wind, but I didn't adjust it. I didn't need to. Every movement I made was calculated, deliberate. The suit clung to me perfectly-black, sharp-cut, tailored to precision. My shoes hit the ground with a muted click, the sound of dominance.

I could feel the tension even before I stepped out. I thrived on it. Let them tremble. It kept them obedient.

Raghav was standing there, stiff as a statue, his throat visibly moving as he swallowed the lump of dread forming in it. Beside him was a younger man-nervous, fidgety, trying not to look directly at me. I didn't blame him. Most people didn't hold my gaze for long.

The sun glared down, but I didn't remove my sunglasses yet. Let them wonder what my eyes were saying. Let them guess.

The poor man was trying too hard to seem unaffected, but fear has a scent, and it was pouring off him.

"Is everything done? The cars, the gifts, all of it?" I asked, slipping off my sunglasses with the same disinterest I applied to removing a pair of surgical gloves.

"Y-yes, sir... everything is done!" he stammered, eyes darting nervously to the guards behind me.

I held his gaze a moment longer-just long enough to make him sweat. Raghav had been with us a long time, one of Aditya's most loyal aides, and by extension, mine when I allowed it. He was resourceful, dependable. But like most people in this country, he operated on fear more than respect. And fear, I had learned, was easier to control.

Without replying, I walked toward the convoy. The line of matte-black SUVs shimmered under the heat, each vehicle precisely positioned, security teams locked in formation. Power moved with me, not behind me. I didn't need an announcement. The silence of those around me was enough.

The door shut with a soft thud. Inside the cool leather interior, I settled into the back seat. Raghav climbed in beside me, still too stiff for comfort, while his junior-Akash, if I remembered right-occupied the front.

I didn't look outside. I didn't need to. The trees, the roads, the skyline-they were all ghosts of a life I'd buried decades ago. A life that ended before it had even begun. People always assume nostalgia is warm, like sunlight filtered through old photographs. For me, it was ash.

The convoy began moving, engines humming like the pulse of a giant machine. I focused on my phone, flicking through updates, not really reading them. My mind wasn't here. Not in this car. Not even in this moment.

Up front was the junior-Akash, if I remembered correctly. I always remembered names. He kept looking into the rearview mirror, his eyes darting away every time our gazes nearly met. Pathetic.

"Akash Singhania," I said without lifting my eyes.

He jumped, his posture straightening like a scolded schoolboy. "Yes, sir," he answered quickly.

"You know me?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, voice steadier now.

I looked up, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

"Then don't look at me like that. If you want someone's attention, don't act like a dog wagging its tail. I don't respect grovelers."

He flushed deep red, his eyes snapping forward.

The silence returned. Good. I preferred it that way.

We were halfway to the mansion when the cars suddenly screeched to a halt.

My jaw tensed. "What happened?" I asked, my tone calm but cold enough to drop the temperature inside the car.

"I'll check, sir," Raghav said and scrambled out.

I waited, finger tapping against the phone, the seconds stretching like wire. I hated delays. Time, to me, was sacred-whether in the operating room or outside it. Every second wasted was a second stolen.

Raghav returned, breathless.

"There's a Bollywood singer... Maya Shekhawat," he said cautiously. "She's... blocked the road. The media's all over the place. Fans, cameras..."

I sighed, finally lowering my phone.

A child's tantrum.

"Tell her-or the media-I don't like to be kept waiting," I said. "Clear the path. Now. Or you're fired."

I didn't need to raise my voice. The words were scalpel-sharp. They always were.

Raghav ran. I leaned back, closing my eyes.

And then the most unexpected thing happened.

She didn't move.

Instead, she stepped forward and stood right in front of my car, raising her hand to stop the driver. Her voice rang out, challenging, fearless:

"Tumhare baap ka raaj hai kya?"

My eyes flicked open. I didn't look at her-not directly. But I could see the silhouette, the audacity, the fire. She wasn't just another celebrity high on stardom. There was something defiant in the way she stood. She wasn't afraid.

Raghav rushed to her, pleading, whispering. But she held her ground. Her words to him carried over faintly through the windows:

"Tell your powerful man the roads belong to the people. Not even stars... or shadows like him."

Shadows.

Interesting word choice.

When she finally moved aside, Raghav re-entered the car, drenched in tension.

"She's gone, sir. The road's clear."

I didn't reply immediately.

"Who was that woman?" I asked, tone neutral.

Raghav blinked in surprise. "Maya Shekhawat, sir. A Bollywood singer. She's famous for her voice... and a bit of a fierce reputation."

I considered that.

"In my world, that's not fierce," I said, voice low. "It's spoiled. She should learn to respect power. Otherwise, she'll end up in trouble she can't sing her way out of."

The rest of the ride was quiet. But something lingered. Her words. Her eyes. That strange fearlessness.

We reached the estate soon after. As the cars pulled up in front of Aditya's mansion, I stepped out into the sun again, slipping my sunglasses back on.

The mansion hadn't changed. Opulent. Eccentric. A statement of power soaked in wealth. Exotic animals rested in glass enclosures-panthers, a lion... Aditya's ridiculous way of showing the world he could tame even the wildest things.

I approached the gate, guards falling in behind me.

Aditya stood there, waiting. Tall, casual, cocky. His shirt half-open, revealing a tattoo I didn't recognize. His grin was wide, arms open.

"Welcome, bhai," he said. "I'm honestly surprised you came. I thought you'd skip the family drama."

I didn't smile.

"You're marrying someone uncle didn't approve of," I said coldly. "Do you have a death wish?"

Aditya just shrugged. "He already arranged someone for me. One of his business partners' daughters. But I'm not doing it. I love Aditi."

I scoffed. "Love," I muttered. "A beautifully packaged disease. One that eats away at logic and destroys empires."

"You sound exactly like him," Aditya said.

That made me pause.

For a moment, just a moment, I let the corners of my mouth lift. A ghost of a smile. "Tu khud bhi marega," I muttered in Hindi, "aur mujhe bhi marwaayega."

He laughed, pulling me into a half-hug. For a second, I let him.

But even that second felt... dangerous.

Because behind the cool façade, behind the sarcasm and smirks, I carried something no one else could see. A storm. A secret. A tragedy that had never been buried.

People thought I hated India because I left.

The truth? I left because India stole something from me.

Something sacred.

No one dared talk about it. Not in whispers. Not in silence. Because it wasn't just a loss-it was a wound carved into time. A tragedy wrapped in silence, sealed in shadow.

And now, here I was. Back where it all began. A land of buried sins and half-told truths. Every breath I took here felt like a betrayal of the boy who once lived, laughed... and lost everything.

I walked through the gates with Aditya beside me, unaware that we were already standing at the edge of a story that would change everything.

I wasn't here for family. Or love. Or sentiment.

I was here because Aditya was about to destroy everything-and someone had to stop him.

Or maybe... just maybe...

Let it all burn.

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