Epilogue
Seven Years Later
Verma & Associates had changed in many ways, but the soul of the firm remained untouched…sharp minds, relentless cases, brutal cross-examinations, and an unshakeable commitment to justice. What had changed, however, was the pair now standing at its helm.
KUSHAL NAIR & ARUNDHATI NAIR.
In the last seven years, their reputation had not just grown, it had multiplied. Every major publication had featured them. Every high-profile client wanted them specifically. And every big law school in the country had cited Verma & Associates as the firm that had redefined modern litigation.
Kushal, with his razor-sharp instincts, was still the strategist everyone feared in court. He could dismantle a fabricated claim with a single question, twist an argument so cleanly that opposing counsel often needed a moment to breathe.
Arundhati’s cross-examinations were still the stuff of legends. She could pick apart a lie without raising her voice, without losing grace. Judges respected her. Clients adored her. Opponents dreaded her.
Together, they had doubled the firm’s client base, diversified into three new legal divisions, and expanded Verma & Associates across two cities, each branch carrying their strong and ethical imprint.
Raj Verma had now gloriously retired from active practice, more silver-haired, slightly slower in movement, but far more mischievous than before.
Every morning, without fail, he still walked into the office and settled into his favourite leather chair, the one placed right by the window in the corner office.
He wasn’t the firm’s head anymore, but his presence was like oxygen.
He offered the kind of wisdom no classroom, no courtroom, no textbook could replicate.
He corrected drafts, gave finishing touches to arguments, pointed out loopholes Kushal had missed, and occasionally gave Arundhati a knowing look when she overworked herself.
In short, he refused to let go entirely, and Kushal and Arundhati didn’t want him to. After all, his presence anchored the entire firm. He was their foundation, their mentor, their family.
And now, seven years later, the firm he had built with his sweat and brilliance was soaring higher than ever, under the leadership of the two people he trusted the most.
Today’s morning meeting at the conference room of Verma & Associates wasn’t routine.
Files lay open on the long oak table, screens projected timelines and evidence charts, and ten of their brightest associates sat looking at the power duo, Kushal and Arundhati, who discussed the Batra Divorce case with the team.
The case was so volatile, so public, and so deeply emotional that every lawyer in the room felt the pressure of it.
Mrs. Batra, their client, was a well-known businesswoman with a strong, stubborn spine.
She had only one demand—sole custody of her child.
No joint custody. No shared parenting. Not even alternate weekends.
She was willing to grant her soon-to-be-ex-husband, Kabir Batra, a high-profile politician with influence in every corridor of power, only “occasional meets.”
A proposition the court was already frowning upon.
The media was circling like vultures, speculating everything from domestic abuse to extramarital affairs to political cover-ups. Every headline had the potential to become a weapon in court. Every move could shift public sympathy.
Kushal leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, as he addressed. “We need to stop reacting to their moves and start dictating the tempo,” he said.
Arundhati agreed. “Mrs. Batra refuses to budge,” she said calmly. “She’s clear that Kabir isn’t getting even fifty percent custody.”
One of the associates, a young lawyer named Priyansh, hesitated. “But ma’am… Kabir Batra has never been proven unfit as a father. The court won’t take away equal custody just because the mother wants it.”
“Which is why we don’t argue with sentiment,” she replied. “We argue with facts.”
Kushal nodded once. “And our strongest fact is—Kabir Batra hasn’t spent more than four to five consecutive days with his kid in any given month for the last three years. His schedule is merciless. His public life consumes him.”
He gestured to the associate across the table, and a screen lit up with calendar entries, travel logs, and security movement charts of Kabir Batra. Every date stamped. Every gap documented.
Arundhati took over seamlessly.
“We can build a narrative of inconsistency, not incompetence. Kabir is not a bad father. But he is an absent one. And courts don’t like giving children to ghosts.”
The team of lawyers nodded in unison.
“However,” Kushal added, sighing, “we cannot paint Kabir as a villain. He’s a public figure with political goodwill. The moment we attack him, he’ll retaliate with twice the force.”
Arundhati nodded. “Which means our strategy should be simple. We’ll argue what’s in the best emotional and psychological interest of the child.”
She flipped another page and continued, “Mrs. Batra’s demand for sole custody is extreme. We need to convince her to soften it, at least on paper. Because if we enter the next hearing with an all-or-nothing approach, the judge may give her nothing.”
Kushal leaned back in his chair, tapping the table lightly. “Let’s prepare for two fronts: A courtroom strategy strong enough to counter a politician’s influence. And a diplomatic approach for the media, because one wrong headline can sway public perception.”
He turned to the team.
“We need every interview Kabir has done in the last five years. Every live debate, every press conference, every statement where he has admitted his commitments outweighing his personal life.”
Arundhati added, “And also let’s gather behavioural patterns of the kid. School counsellor reports. Teachers’ feedback. Emotional attachment indicators. Everything.”
She closed the file gently.
“And one more thing,” she said, turning to Kushal. “We’ll talk to Mrs. Batra again. Not as lawyers. As people. She’s hurt. She’s angry. But divorce is not a battleground for vengeance. It’s a transition. Let’s remind her of that.”
Kushal totally agreed while the team recognised the gravity of what lay ahead.
Then Kushal looked around the table. “Cool. So, everyone knows their part. The next hearing of this case will set the tone for the judgment. We walk in prepared, we walk out winning. Let’s get to work.”
The team dispersed with renewed focus, leaving only the two of them at the table. Arundhati moved past Kushal to gather the remaining files, but he caught her wrist deliberately.
She gave him a warning glare.
“We’re at work.”
He smirked, leaning in just enough to test her resolve.
“You think that’s ever stopped me in the last seven years?”
Before she could scold him, he stole a quick kiss.
She pushed him back with a shocked laugh.
“Kushal!”
“Yes, Mrs. Nair?” His voice dipped, sinful and amused.
“You have another meeting in three minutes.”
“I know,” he said, brushing a finger under her chin, “but you are far more interesting than any meeting.”
She truly tried to keep her face stern, but the corners of her lips betrayed her, curling into a smile he would always win with.
“You’re getting better at this flirting bit, Mr. Nair. But we are neither newlyweds nor newly in love. So, I suggest you stop doing that at the workplace at least.”
He smirked, pulling her further close to him and said, “Not my fault, Mrs. Nair. Ever since we have given our marriage a second chance, you’ve wrapped me around your little finger.”
“And you love it.”
“I do,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Just like I love watching you run this firm like it was built for you.”
Her heart fluttered…seven years, and he still had this effect.
“It was built for me,” she quipped softly. “And for you.”
“And look at us,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. “We are running it like a damn empire.”
A soft knock pulled them back to reality. Everyone at Verma & Associates had learned one rule by now:
Never walk in abruptly on Kushal and Arundhati’s cabin door. No matter if the blinds are drawn or not.
Kushal groaned before pulling away, allowing the so-called person to get inside.
Arundhati hid her smile before continuing to pick the remaining files.
It was a junior associate who had come to inform Kushal that his next meeting was up and the client was waiting in his cabin.
Kushal signalled him to leave, stole a quick kiss of his wife before walking out.
Arundhati’s laughter blended with the shuffle of papers, the murmur of associates outside, and the hum of a law firm that had doubled in size and glory under their partnership…partners in law, life, and everything in between.
**************
Evening - Penthouse
The moment Kushal and Arundhati entered their home together that evening, a tiny set of feet came pattering at full speed.
“Maaaammaaa!”
“Daddyyyy!”
Amaira Nair, their five and a half years old daughter, curly-haired, bright-eyed, loud enough to wake the neighbours, and already frighteningly sharp, barrelled into Arundhati first. Her tiny arms wrapped around her mother’s legs, who bent down, scooping her up.
“Hi, my baby,” she cooed, kissing Amaira’s cheek.
“You came late,” Amaira tattled instantly. “I counted the minutes.”
Kushal raised his brows. “Did you? How many?”
Amaira held up her fingers… then gave up and said, “More than FIVE. Too many.”
She then launched herself toward her father, Kushal, who lifted her effortlessly, tossing her slightly before catching her, then raining kisses on her cheek. She shrieked with laughter.
“Daddyyyy stop! I’m a big girl!”
“Not big enough to escape my kisses,” he teased, planting three more on her cheeks until she wriggled like a worm.