Chapter 10
The next day began at seven.
She arrived on time and drew her chair to a measured distance. Neither too close nor entirely formal. Close enough that he could see her without turning. Far enough that she could pretend she did not notice.
She worked flawlessly.
Notes precise. Reports crisp. No interruptions. No needless questions.
He noticed her anyway.
Her hand moving to tuck a strand of hair when she focused. The pen stopping for a second when he said something that amused her, the hint of a smile she kept in check. The straightening of her spine when a European client came on the line.
By the second morning, he was watching her more than the screen.
He told himself it was supervision. It was not supervision.
That afternoon, between calls, he asked for a light lunch. Less oil. Less masala. Simple.
The thali arrived on time. She placed it on the side table, and returned to her notebook.
He took a bite of the daal. It tasted of nothing. The sabzi followed. The same. The raita was bland. The achaar was missing. The roti, he discovered after some tries, had at least some salt.
He set the plate aside. “Meera.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“What is this?”
She looked up from her notes. Politeness in place. “Lunch, Boss.”
“It has no flavour.”
“You asked for less oil and less masala, Boss.”
“I asked for less. Not none.”
“What? No, Boss.” She gasped. “You did not specify how much less. I did not want to make a mistake. I asked the kitchen to remove all of it.”
He stared at her. “You asked the kitchen to remove all of it.”
She blinked at him. Apologetic. Helpful. “Yes. So you could tell me how much less and we could adjust for tomorrow.”
He pushed the plate away and returned to his work.
The next afternoon, he asked for tea and biscuits.
The tray arrived in twelve minutes. The tea was perfect. Hot, strong, exact to his taste. The biscuits were Parle-G.
He looked at the tray. Then he looked at her. “Meera.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Parle-G.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“There are imported biscuits in the kitchen.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“You brought Parle-G.”
She blinked. Apologetic. “You asked for biscuits, Boss.”
His gaze stayed on her.
“I chose what is served most in the Haveli. Next time I can bring the catalogue.”
He looked at the Parle-G again, then back at her.
She looked polite, composed. At the corner of her mouth sat the ghost of a smile.
He ate the Parle-G.
By the third morning, he began choosing his words more carefully.
She followed those too.
She made faces when he was looking at his screen. Which meant he had begun looking at her more than his work.
That morning, he noticed the papers. He had asked her to print the emails he forwarded. By the previous afternoon there had been a small stack on the corner of his desk.
Now it stood four inches high.
He picked up the top sheet.
A reply. Under it the original mail. Under that the full thread.
He picked up the next. The same thread, printed again.
The next set carried a calendar invite. Acceptance. Confirmation. Reminder.
He went through several before setting them down.
“Meera.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“What is this?”
She looked up. “The printed emails, Boss.”
“There are calendar invites here.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Printed multiple times.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“The same thread again and again.”
“Yes, Boss.”
He stared at her.
“Boss.” Sweetly. Innocently. “You asked me to print the emails you forward. I have printed all of them.”
He set the stack down. His jaw clenched.
There was a spark in her eyes that came close to laughter.
He could have argued. He chose his phone instead. Scrolled to a contact. Pressed the name. His eyes stayed on her.
“Mr Desai. Apologies for missing your calls. I have reviewed your offers.”
He watched her.
Her teeth came together.
He saw it.
“Tomorrow at four works. I am open to a serious discussion.”
He ended the call and set the phone down.
She inclined her head, picked up her notebook, and walked to the door. Her steps even. Her composure intact.
The door closed behind her.
He leaned back in his chair. Satisfaction settled in. Under it, a feeling he chose to ignore.
He checked the time. An hour to the next meeting. He left for lunch.
◆◆◆
Ten minutes to the meeting.
Abhinav crossed the main courtyard toward the office, laptop tucked under his arm, Singapore running through his mind.
The acquisition had taken weeks. Clearances, negotiations, due diligence that had stretched entire teams thin. Fifty million dollars rested on the call he was about to lead.
The afternoon sun pressed down. Heat rose from the stone and pushed through his shoes, climbing through his body. Sweat gathered at his collar despite the fine cotton of his shirt.
A sharp scream tore through the air.
He stopped and saw a crowd forming near the temple entrance.
Another voice followed, urgent. “Someone help! Please!”
He did not hesitate.
He changed direction and pushed forward. Recognition moved ahead of him. People stepped aside on instinct. He barely noticed. His focus had already narrowed to the center of it.
An elderly woman lay on the ground, her head in another woman’s lap. Her skin had gone pale. Her breathing came shallow. Her lips looked dry, cracked.
He passed his laptop to the nearest person without looking and dropped to his knees.
The stone burned through his trousers. He ignored it and slid his arms under her, lifting her in one smooth motion.
“Water,” he ordered, rising at once. “Now. And call a doctor.”
Someone ran.
He carried her out of the sun and into the nearest corridor. The crowd followed, voices rising behind him.
He lowered her against the stone and loosened the dupatta at her throat. His fingers went to her pulse.
Too fast. Too light.
Up close, the reality of it settled in. She was far older than she had seemed. The skin on her hands looked thin, the veins raised. She had felt too light in his arms. And her uneven breathing… If this went wrong, it would go wrong quickly.
His jaw set.
“What is her name?” His voice remained controlled.
“Lakshmi Devi,” the woman answered, her voice shaking. “My aunt. Seventy-six.”
Seventy-six.
He nodded once.
Water arrived. He took the glass and looked up. “Cloth.”
A dupatta came forward at once.
He dipped a corner in water and pressed it to her forehead, then her temples, cooling her skin in slow, measured strokes.
His movements stayed controlled. Only the slightest tremor ran through his fingers when the cloth brushed her skin, barely noticeable, gone as quickly as it came.
Her eyelids fluttered but did not open.
“You’re alright,” he told her. “Stay with me.”
He lifted the glass, supporting her head just enough to bring it to her lips. “Just a little.”
A small movement. Her mouth opened a little.
“Can you hear me?”
Her fingers moved against the stone.
“Good.”
He kept speaking, not asking for answers she could not give. Simple questions. Whether she had eaten. Who had come with her.
Her breathing began to ease. Not enough, but better.
Around them, the tension eased.
Abhinav did not ease with it. Even while focused on her, his gaze moved across the courtyard.
Heat rose from the ground. Only a narrow patch of shade existed at one end. A single water point stood to the side. Devotees lined the walls, trying to escape the sun. An old man leaned against a pillar, looking completely exhausted.
The scene rearranged itself in his mind. This was not devotion. This was neglect.
Something tightened in his chest. Then tightened further.
A doctor pushed through the crowd.
Abhinav moved back at once. He lowered the glass and eased his arm away. “Hold her.”
The woman beside Lakshmi Devi stepped in at once, supporting her from behind.
The doctor took one look at the woman, then at the shaded corridor, the loosened dupatta, the glass of water beside her. His gaze moved to Abhinav, quick and assessing, before he knelt.
“Good,” he murmured.
He checked her pulse, her breathing, her eyes. “How long was she in the sun?”
“Around an hour,” someone answered.
“Did she lose consciousness?”
“Yes.” Abhinav’s reply came firm.
The doctor nodded. “Heat exhaustion. Not heatstroke.”
Relief moved through the small group.
He adjusted her position, lifting her shoulders a little. “Keep her in the shade. No standing for a while. Get her something light once she stabilises.”
He pressed another damp cloth on her forehead and watched, then eased back. “She’ll be fine.”
The tension loosened.
For a few seconds, nothing changed.
Then her fingers moved. Her eyelids fluttered, her breath catching once before settling. She frowned faintly.
Her eyes opened.
At first, her gaze did not settle. It moved past the corridor, past the people around her, as though she had not fully returned yet. The haze cleared in parts. The light. The stone under her. Voices making sense.
Then her gaze found him and stayed. Recognition came without doubt.
“Thakur Sa,” she whispered.
It hit him clean and sudden.
He stilled.
The title had been his for months, placed on him after his father’s death. A name he carried because he had to, not because he accepted it.
He was not the Thakur. Not the guardian or protector. Not the head of anything.
Because it had never meant anything to him.
It belonged to a place, a life he had already chosen to leave.
But in her voice… there was no formality.
Only faith.
She was not offering respect. She was placing him where he had refused to stand.
It unsettled him more than it should have. The instinct to reject it rose at once, sharp, immediate. As if the word was trying to pull him back, trying to claim him, asking something he had no intention of giving.
He looked away.
Her hand rose and caught his wrist, her grip stronger than expected.
“Thakur Sa saved me.” Her voice unsteady yet firm.
And then she tried to bow. Even now. Even barely steady.
“No.” He pulled his hand free at once. “Don’t.”
The doctor and the men near her stopped her before she could bend further.
It should have ended there.
It did not.
It stayed under his skin, raw, with no place to settle.
Meera reached at that moment, her breath uneven from the run. Her eyes moved across the scene. The doctor. The crowd. Lakshmi Devi.
Then him.
Dust on his knees. Sleeves rolled. Sweat along his temples.
She dropped beside Lakshmi Devi at once, her voice soft. “Aunty, are you alright?”
Lakshmi Devi turned her head.
“Thakur Sa helped me.” Her voice was louder this time.
That did it.
The word hit him again, harder this time, and whatever had been tightening inside him… snapped.
He turned to Meera.
She felt it before she looked up. The air changed, sharp enough that her hand stilled on Lakshmi Devi’s shoulder. She rose, instinct taking over.
Abhinav was already looking at her. There was nothing measured about it now.
“One awning,” he said, each word hitting with force. “For a courtyard this size. In this heat. With this many people standing on stone that has been in the sun since morning.”
Meera blinked, caught off guard by the tone as much as the words.
“The budget…” she began.
“Is mine to handle,” he snapped, cutting her off.
People nearby went quiet.
“On a Thursday you have more than five hundred people here,” he continued, his voice rising. “One strip of shade. One water point. Thirty feet away.”
He stepped closer. “She collapsed on my stone.”
The words struck deeper.
Meera felt it.
Her fingers tightened around her dupatta. Her eyes stayed on his face, trying to understand the shift, trying to catch up to what had just happened.
He stopped in front of her. Close enough that she had to lift her chin to meet his eyes.
“Two days.”
The words were low, yet they carried weight.
“Shade across the path to entrance. Multiple water stations. Seating along the walls.”
Her lips parted. Nothing came out.
“I don’t care how it happens,” he went on. “It gets done before someone else falls and does not get up.”
The courtyard fell still.
Meera swallowed. Her grip on her dupatta eased, then tightened again as she drew herself back together.
“Understood, Boss.” Her voice remained even, but the ease was gone.
Their eyes stayed locked for a breath. Then, he stepped back and turned.
A young man hurried forward with the laptop. Abhinav took it without looking and moved across the courtyard.
The crowd parted on its own.
People stepped aside as he passed, one after another, making space without being told.
He did not respond.
Yet he felt it.
The respect. The expectation. The place forced onto him.
It followed him as he walked.
Behind him, Meera stood still. Her pulse had not settled. She turned, her eyes moving over the courtyard again.
The exposed stone. The thin strip of shade. The crowd still gathered.
And now… she saw it. Exactly as he had said it. Her breath finally, finally stabilised.
Two days.
Fine.
She would make it happen.