CHAPTER 5
VISHNU
*Eighteen months earlier*
The club was a blur of faces and bodies as I made my way to the bar. I ordered a double whiskey, neat, and retreated to a secluded corner at the bar counter. As the alcohol burned its way down my throat, the memories I’d suppressed for so long began to surface.
I was born out of wedlock, a secret my father kept buried for years. I was about four, and by the time he learned of my existence, he was already married and had a daughter, Meher. His political career was just starting to take off at that time, and admitting to having a son from an affair would have ignited a scandal, threatening to ruin everything he had worked for.
After knowing about me, he had taken over my responsibility secretly, all in a hush-hush manner, but it was never enough for me. I had a loving mother, but I still craved the love and support of my father, who was barely present in my life. Forget living with us, he would hardly visit us once a month. When I was twelve, my mother passed away, and my dad sent me off to boarding school in Dehradun with the promise that he’d finally accept me as his son before the world once I graduated.
I remembered the day I graduated, filled with hope and excitement. At 22, I thought I was finally going to take my rightful place in the Walia family, just like Dad had promised. But instead, I was relegated to the servant’s quarters, and was offered a position as his bodyguard—the only way I could be close to the man who was my father but could never publicly acknowledge me.
So, I became his shadow, always present but never truly seen. I protected him, his family, his reputation—all the while burying my own dreams and desires. I did it for my mother, Vandita, to honour the promise I made to her on her deathbed. To always stand by him, to protect him. No matter what.
I stared into the amber depths of my whiskey glass, the ice cubes clinking softly as I swirled the liquid. The club’s pulsing music and dim lighting faded into the background as my mind drifted to the recent events that had shattered this carefully constructed facade I’d maintained for over three decades.
The confrontation at Walia Mansion yesterday kept playing in my head like a broken record.
Meher’s voice, filled with disbelief and anger, echoed in my ears.
“How could you keep this from me, Dad? Vishnu is your son—my brother! And you’ve been hiding this fact all these years?”
I could still see the pain etched on our father, Pratap Walia’s face—the man I had called ‘Sir’ for most of my life. As he tried to defend and explain himself, I realised that no words could ever erase the weight of the sin he committed by keeping his illegitimate son—me—hidden in the shadows while maintaining a picture-perfect image to the world. He had sacrificed not just my identity but also my heritage, all to protect his career and his web of lies.
For years, I had swallowed my father’s excuses, forcing myself to accept the bitter pill of secrecy. I buried my resentment deep within, convincing myself that protecting his political career was somehow noble, that I was making a sacrifice for the greater good. But Meher, my half-sister, saw through the facade that I had so carefully constructed. Where I had found a way to cope, she saw only betrayal. The fire in her eyes, when she spoke about our father’s deception, burned hotter than my own suppressed anger.
She gave Dad an ultimatum to acknowledge me as his son publicly, and give me the recognition I deserved, or he would lose his daughter too. Her ultimatum sent shockwaves through our family. I was stunned by her willingness to put her own relationship with our father on the line for my sake. It was a heartfelt gesture of love and solidarity that I had never expected, and it forced me to confront the pain I had tucked away during all these years.
Once Meher left, I’d slipped away too and hadn’t returned to Walia Mansion since then. It had been more than 24 hours now, but I still felt the weight of that moment heavy on my heart.
Last night, I had checked into a hotel as I just couldn’t bring myself to return home, not until I could muster the courage to face Meher again. The gravity of our father’s sin to keep me hidden away like a shameful secret was now glaringly obvious, keeping me hidden away like a shameful secret. But I was no better. I had perpetuated the lie, keeping Meher in the dark all these years. She wasn’t just my half-sister; she was my baby sister, a beacon of innocence in our complicated family dynamic. Meher had every right to know how much she had meant to me from the moment she was born, even before we had ever met. I had robbed her of that knowledge, of the connection we could have shared in all these years.
After sulking alone yesterday, here I was today, at this upscale club, desperately seeking to drown out the flood of emotions threatening to consume me.
My baby sister, Meher, was bravely fighting for my rights, and a part of me was overcome with gratitude. After years of silence and secrecy, someone was finally standing up for me, demanding that I be acknowledged. But another part of me understood my father’s predicament. His entire life—his career and his reputation—could be destroyed if this became public knowledge. Becoming the Chief Minister of the state had been my father’s dream for decades, and with the elections just around the corner, how could I bear to take that dream away from him?
Hence, I was torn between my loyalty to the man who, despite everything, was still my father, and the sister who was willing to upend her entire world for my sake. These thoughts were playing havoc with my mind, and I signalled for another drink, hoping it would help me escape the storm raging within me.
As the night wore on, more memories surfaced. I recalled the countless times I stood guard at family functions, watching from the sidelines as Meher celebrated birthdays, achievements, and milestones. I was there for all of it, but always as an outsider peeking in. The pain of those moments, which I’d suppressed for so long, came rushing back with a vengeance.
I thought about my mother again. Her face, etched with both love and sorrow, appeared in my mind. I could almost hear her final words, telling me to stand by my father no matter what. But would she have asked that of me if she knew the price I would pay? The years of loneliness and the heartache of watching a family I could never truly be part of?
The club began to spin around me, the effects of the alcohol finally taking hold. I vaguely registered someone approaching my table and looked up to see Ayaan Shergill, Meher’s husband. He slid next to me with concern etched on his face.
We talked, though the details were hazy. He didn’t try to offer comfort, yet I felt his assurance that Meher and he were on my side. Still, no matter how well-intentioned his words were, they couldn’t erase the three decades of pain and loneliness that had taken shelter within me.
As Ayaan made his way out of the club, I was once again left alone with my thoughts. I’d spent my entire life in the shadows, protecting others. But who protected me? Who stood up for the boy who grew up without a father’s open love and acknowledgement?
As I sat there, surrounded by the pulsing beat of the club and the haze of alcohol, I realised that for the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do. I felt utterly lost. I’d always prided myself on my strength, on my ability to push aside my own needs for the greater good. But now, as the truth of my parentage was laid bare, out in the open, I found myself faltering, not knowing how to proceed with my life.
Despite being surrounded by strangers lost in their own worlds of music and laughter, I’d never felt more alone in my life.
Just as I was about to drown my sorrows in whiskey, a flash of vibrant colour caught my eye. Through the haze of inebriation and the pulsating club lights, I spotted Simran weaving her way through the crowd towards me. Her presence here, of all places, felt like some cosmic joke.
Simran, Meher’s closest friend. I wondered what she was doing here. Was she with someone or alone?
Simran and I shared a different equation altogether. As Meher often said, she had the hots for me, and she did nothing to hide it. Despite my sorrow, my mind drifted back to our first encounter at her boutique. I remembered how Simran’s eyes had lit up when she saw me, her flirtatious comment catching me off guard. “Who is this hottie?” she had murmured to Meher, unaware that I could hear her every word. I had brushed off her attention then, as I was focused solely on my duty to protect Meher.
Then there was that ridiculous incident at the supermarket. Simran had dragged me out for a simple shopping trip, which quickly turned into a game of hide-and-seek among the aisles under the pretext of looking for cat food. She knew I wanted to head back to her apartment at the earliest since Meher was waiting for us there alone, but Simran had other plans. When I finally caught up to her, she was standing by the c*ndom display, feigning innocence. She goofed up again, and her clumsiness had sent the entire rack of c*ndom boxes tumbling down, covering us both in them. The embarrassment on her face had been almost endearing, while I seemingly avoided the eyes of the shoppers who thought we were a desperate couple in search of best flavoured protection.
That day set the tone for our subsequent interactions. At every meeting, Simran would find new ways to flirt or tease me, while I maintained my stern demeanour. I recalled the dress fitting for Meher’s wedding, where Simran had insisted on helping me choose an ethnic outfit. As she adjusted the collar, her fingers lingered a little too long, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror with an unmistakable heat.
Even during Meher’s wedding reception, she had cornered me during a quiet moment. “You clean up nice,” she had purred, straightening my tie unnecessarily. “Ever thought about modelling instead of bodyguarding?”
I had brushed off her compliment, as always, but I couldn’t deny the small thrill her teasing had always stirred within me.
As those memories flashed through my mind, I realised that lately, Simran had been a constant, if sometimes exasperating, presence in my life. Her relentless flirting had become almost comforting in its familiarity, a stark contrast to the earth-shattering revelations I’d faced today.
Now, as Simran got closer, I braced myself for whatever outrageous comment she was about to deliver, unsure if I had the energy to deflect her flirty advances tonight.
A coy smile played on her lips as she reached me.
“Well, well, well! I can’t believe that I’m seeing the most irresistible man in all of Mumbai here. What a coincidence,” Simran purred, sliding onto the barstool next to me. “I must have pleased the gods today to stumble upon you here. Maybe if I’d asked for a million rupees, that would’ve appeared in my bank account too!”
Under normal circumstances, I might have found her attention flattering, even if I never acted on it. But tonight was different. Very different.
“Not today, Simran,” I growled, my voice hoarse from the alcohol and emotion I could barely keep in check. “I’m not in the mood for any entertainment right now.”
Her teasing smile faltered. “Not just today,” she sighed softly, almost to herself. “You’re never in the mood for me… or my talks.”
I set my glass down a little too hard, fixing her with a look that must have revealed more than I intended. Understanding dawned in her face, and her expression shifted. The flirtatious spark faded, replaced by genuine concern.
“Vishnu,” she said softly, her tone now serious. “What’s wrong?”
The gentleness in her voice almost threatened to unravel me. I didn’t want to look vulnerable, not here, not now, not in front of Simran. Her hand rested lightly on my arm, a gesture of comfort I didn’t realise I needed until that moment.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper, as if unsure of my reaction.
I hesitated. Opening up and letting someone in went against everything I stood for, everything I had trained myself to be. Although, the prospect of unburdening myself, even a little, was tempting, I couldn’t do it.
“Just leave me alone,” I dismissed her rudely, hoping she would leave.
Simran, however, didn’t budge. “Well, I’m not leaving until I’m convinced you are okay.”
She took a sip of her own drink before setting the glass on the table before continuing. “I know how much you like to avoid me. But sometimes just having someone around helps, Vishnu.”
Her words, devoid of their usual flirtation, hit me unexpectedly hard. Minutes ticked by. She didn’t look at me, nor did she press for more. I stole glances at her profile, noticing how she sipped her drink slowly, giving me the space I needed while still remaining by my side. It was a kindness I wasn’t accustomed to, and it stirred something deep within me—something I hadn’t felt in a long time, or perhaps ever.
The words began to form on my tongue, heavy with the truth I’d carried for so long. Simran’s patient presence tipped the scales.
“I… I’m Pratap Walia’s son,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the club’s din. “His son… from outside wedlock.”
Simran suddenly choked on her drink, her eyes widening in shock as she turned to face me. Now that I’d started, there was no going back; the floodgates had opened.
“Meher found out yesterday,” I continued, the words tumbling out faster now. “She came to know about the truth that our father and I had kept hidden from everyone all these years… it was all out before her, and... and she’s hurt. Hurt by our father, and perhaps more hurt by me—for not telling her the truth sooner.”
I paused, taking a shaky breath. Simran remained silent, her eyes never leaving my face, encouraging me to continue.
“I had almost accepted my fate. That I’d always be an outsider to the Walia family—existing only as their protector and shielding them from afar. There was a time when I longed to be a part of the family, to call him ‘Dad’ and finally be acknowledged, but as the years passed by, I realised that it was only a dream that could never come true.”
I clenched my jaw, fighting back my hot tears.
“And now, with Meher knowing all of this, it’s like those old wounds have been torn open all over again. She wants our father to accept me officially before the world, to give me the place I’ve never had—the place I rightfully deserve as Pratap Walia’s eldest son. But deep down, we both know he’ll never do that. Not now, not with everything he’s worked for in his political career. And it’s breaking her heart.”
Simran listened calmly. Her silence allowed me to continue, to voice the thoughts I’d never dared speak aloud in all these years.
“I know what that pain is, Simran. The pain a child feels because of being let down by a parent, the same parent who was supposed to be your pillar of strength, the one whose love and approval you craved your whole life. Years ago, when he didn’t accept me as his son before the world, it hurt me badly, and today, that same truth is hurting my sister, who wants to fight for me.”
My voice cracked, the emotion finally breaking through. “I don’t know whom to support. Should I support Dad’s decision like always, to keep me hidden from the world? Or should I support Meher, who is standing by me and fighting for my equal rights as a Walia? I just… just don’t know what to do.”
Rage and frustration boiled over, and I slammed my fist on the bar, welcoming the physical pain as a distraction from the emotional turmoil swirling inside me. Instantly, Simran’s hand was on mine, her touch gentle but firm, stopping me from hurting myself further.
I looked up to meet her gaze and was stunned to see tears glistening in her eyes. She wasn’t just listening; she was feeling my pain as if it were her own. In that moment, something shifted between us. My fingers intertwined with hers, seeking the comfort I had been too reluctant to admit I needed.
For the first time in my life, I felt truly seen. Simran wasn’t judging me or offering empty reassurances. She was simply there, by my side, sharing my burden. It was a connection I’d never experienced before, and it both thrilled and terrified me.
Without thinking, I pulled our joined hands to my chest, pressing them against my racing heart.
“It hurts,” I confessed. “It hurts so damn much that I feel like I’m breaking.”
Simran reacted swiftly, sliding off her barstool to stand close to me. Her free hand came to rest on my shoulder.
“Vishnu,” she said softly. “Don’t say that. I can’t even imagine the level of pain and hurt you are going through right now, but please… don’t give up.”
“I’ve never told anyone this before,” I admitted, my voice hoarse. “I’ve never let anyone see...”
“I see you, Vishnu,” Simran interrupted gently. “I see your pain, your strength, and your loyalty. You are the strongest man I know, to have hidden all this pain for years and never ever complained. You’ve carried this burden for so long, protecting everyone else. Maybe it’s time to let someone protect you for a change.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow. Protect me? The concept was so foreign, so at odds with everything I’d built my life around that I had trouble processing it. Yet, in that moment, it was what I wanted—more than anything.
“I don’t know how,” I confessed quietly, the admission costing me more than I cared to admit. Laying bare my vulnerability before her made me feel exposed in a way I had never allowed myself to be.
Simran’s hand tightened on mine. “You begin by not pushing people away. By letting someone in, even if it’s just a little bit.”
Perhaps for the first time, I looked at her. Like really looked at her—seeing past her flirtatious personality.
“Why?” I asked, unable to comprehend why she would want to take on my burdens. “Why do you care?”
Simran’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Because behind that tough exterior, I’ve always seen someone worth caring about. Someone who deserves more than he’s been given.”
Her words washed over me like a healing balm, soothing wounds I hadn’t even realised were still raw. I wasn’t used to hearing that someone saw me… or that someone truly cared. And in that moment, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in years—hope.
I watched as tears spilled down Simran’s cheeks, her empathy for my pain both unexpected and overwhelming. Without thinking, I reached out and gently brushed away the moisture from her cheek. The tenderness of the gesture surprised me, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop.
My fingers lingered, tracing the soft curve of her cheek, and then skimmed over the corner of her lips. The air between us seemed to crackle with tension, humming with a new kind of energy I hadn’t felt in years. Simran’s palms rested against my chest, her touch soothing yet electrifying as she tried to calm my racing heart.
We drew closer, the distance between us shrinking until I could feel the warmth of her breath on my face. My body responded to her proximity in ways I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time. The world around us faded, leaving only this moment, this connection. Simran and my connection!
Suddenly, reality crashed back as the music changed its tempo. I jerked away, the spell between us broken. Simran blinked hard, her eyes wide as she cleared her throat. But she couldn’t hide the faint blush colouring her cheeks.
“Give it some time, Vishnu,” she said softly, getting back to the main topic. “This too shall pass. When you have fought all these battles alone so far, I’m confident you’ll win over this one too. Just give yourself some time to heal and come out of it. Sitting here and drinking yourself into oblivion is not going to help. You need to rest. Let me take you back to Walia mansion.”
The mere thought of returning to that house, with all its secrets and pain, made my stomach churn. “I don’t want to go home,” I admitted. “I can’t go there. Not now. Not tonight.”
“Stop acting like a child. If you don’t want to go home, fine. But then you’re coming with me to my place. I can’t let you stay here and spend all your time drinking alone.”
Her offer caught me off guard. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “I don’t need anyone with me, Simran. Just go home.”
“I know you don’t need anyone,” she retorted, her tone brooking no argument. “But I’m not going to leave you alone like this. And you can’t decide that for me. I know where I belong, and right now, that’s here, with you. Nowhere else.”
Her words left me speechless with their sincerity. We locked eyes again, and I saw a depth of care there that I’d never noticed before. After a moment, Simran broke the tension with a teasing smile.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice lighter. “You’ll be safe at my home tonight. I have a spare bedroom where you can crash for the night, and then tomorrow you can decide what you want to do next. Be my guest tonight.”
A part of me wanted to agree. I was mentally exhausted, and Simran’s attention, support, and understanding had been a balm to my wounded soul. But another part of me, the part that had spent years keeping everyone at arm’s length, rebelled against the idea.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think—”
“I’m not leaving without you,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “We can sit here all night and wait for the staff to push us out when they close. I don’t mind. But even then, I am not leaving without you. So, you better come with me now.”
Before I could protest further, she settled the bill and turned to me with an exasperated sigh. “Vishnu, come on. Stop being so stubborn. You know I can’t drag you out myself. Have some pity on me and just help me by walking to the car.”
Her persistence wore down my resistance. With a resigned sigh, I tossed some cash on the table for my drinks and followed her out of the club.
The cool night air hit me like a splash of cold water as we stepped outside, clearing some of the alcohol-induced fog from my mind. Simran led the way to her car, and I found myself watching her. There was a grace to her movements I’d never noticed before, a quiet strength that seemed to radiate from her.
As we drove through the city’s deserted streets, I found my gaze continually veering to her profile. The streetlights cast a golden glow on her face, highlighting the determination in her eyes as she focused on the road ahead. In the silence of the car, everything began to sink in—the evening, the confessions, the relief.
Sharing my burdens with Simran had lifted some weight off my chest. The relief I felt was palpable, like taking a deep breath after being underwater for so long. Who would have thought that opening up to Simran, of all people, would bring the calm I’d so desperately been seeking?
As we pulled up to her apartment building, I realised that for the first time in years, I wasn’t facing my demons alone. And while a part of me still rebelled against the idea of needing anyone, a larger part of me was grateful for Simran’s stubborn insistence on being there for me. I would forever be indebted to her for tonight.