CHAPTER 17
“You killed someone?” the 15-year-old boy, Nilesh, shouted across the yard, his voice dripping with mockery. “Amol, Tushar, Ram, come here! Look who’s joined us!”
The other boys raced over, eyes gleaming with malicious curiosity, circling around Rudra like vultures.
The 16-year-old Rudra, clenched his fists, feeling the weight of their jeers. He tried to move, but they blocked his path, their smirks full of disdain.
“How’d you kill him?” Amol sneered.
“Did you stab him?” Tushar taunted.
“Or shoot him?” Ram teased.
“No, no,” Nilesh chimed in, “he smashed him under his car!”
Their words tore through Rudra. They were just kids like him, no older than 17, but they spoke of death like it was a joke, as if a life lost meant nothing. They were mocking him, playing with his torment like it was some sport. Rudra’s jaw tightened, fury mixing with the crushing guilt that never left him.
“Move,” Rudra growled, trying to shove past them, but Amol shoved him back, sending Rudra crashing to the ground. Laughter exploded around him.
“This one thinks he’s tough,” Amol barked, eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
“Beat him,” Nilesh commanded.
Fists and kicks rained down on Rudra, each blow digging deeper into the guilt that had consumed him since that night. He deserved this—this pain, this punishment. He was a murderer. A killer. He screamed for them to stop, but the words were swallowed by his torment until a guard rushed over, yanking the boys away. Rudra lay on the cold floor, beaten and bleeding, unconscious as darkness swallowed him whole.
Rudra woke up, drenched in sweat, the terror clinging to him like a second skin. His heart pounded, the phantom pain of those kicks still fresh. He sat upright, burying his face in his hands. The nightmares, the memories—they never left. Every night, he relived those two horrific years in the juvenile detention center. His psychologist had tried to make them go away, but nothing worked. Maybe they’d only end when his life did.
He glanced at the clock. 2:00 a.m. The house was quiet, everyone peacefully asleep, while he was haunted. Again. He turned to his laptop, desperate for work to numb the torment.
****************
It was payday. Kashish’s first salary had just hit her account. She whipped up her favorite dessert, Jalebis, and shared them with everyone—family members, the maids, everyone in Raheja Mansion. Shekhar and Anjali congratulated her warmly.
Shekhar placed his hand gently on her head in blessing.
“May you achieve all the success you deserve.”
Kashish’s eyes shone with gratitude as she hugged him.
“Thank you, Shekhar.”
Rudra watched it all from the living room, phone pressed to his ear but his attention fixated on her. The way she beamed, jumping with joy, kissing Anjali’s cheek between bites of Jalebi—it was captivating. She deserved so much more, he thought. For someone so dedicated, her future was limitless. He tried to focus on his call with Jay, but his gaze never left her.
“Did you give Daadi any?” Anjali asked.
“I went to her room, but she was busy with her prayers,” Kashish said casually. It didn’t seem to bother her that Daadi had rejected her offering.
“And Rudra?” Shekhar added.
Kashish’s expression hardened, shocked by the suggestion. Why would Shekhar ask that? He knew how much she hated even being in Rudra’s presence. Why would she share her happiness with the man she loathed most?
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Shekhar continued. “But he’s also your boss. If you’re sharing your happiness with everyone related to your personal and professional life, I think he deserves it too.”
Kashish glanced at Rudra, who was engrossed in his phone call again. Reluctantly, she grabbed the plate of Jalebis and walked toward him. Anjali shot a concerned look at Shekhar.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Anjali whispered. “You know how Rudra feels about her. You’re just encouraging his hopes. These little interactions will only break his heart later.”
Shekhar sighed, knowing she was right.
“I want his heart to break sooner rather than later. Kashish needs to make him understand that he’s chasing something impossible. He’ll only take her words seriously, not ours.”
He had a point, but they both knew—once Rudra’s heart shattered, it might push him further into isolation, away from the family. And this time, there might be no pulling him back.
Kashish approached Rudra, holding out the plate. He hung up, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked at her.
“Shekhar thinks you deserve your share of this,” she said flatly.
Rudra studied her, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“And what do you think?”
She hesitated, unsure how to respond.
“If you don’t want to share it with me, I won’t take it,” he said, his gaze intense.
Kashish swallowed hard, then sighed.
“You want to know what I think?”
Rudra nodded, waiting.
“I think sharing your joy with your enemies only amplifies it,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes gleamed with a wicked smile. “And I don’t need to tell you who my enemy is, do I? So, take it.”
Rudra’s heart raced. Enemy . He’d rather be her enemy than the one title that weighed heavier: her father’s murderer. He reached out, taking a Jalebi from the plate, his eyes locked onto hers as he took a bite.
“Congratulations, Miss Bedi. I hope you climb every ladder of success and make your father proud,” he said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Kashish’s face twisted, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Her father. The mention of him always tore her apart.
“Don’t you dare talk about my father,” she spat, her voice trembling with anger. “You lost that right the moment you took his life.”
Before Rudra could respond, she turned and stormed away, leaving the plate of Jalebis on the table. He clenched his fists, furious at himself for hurting her again.
Shekhar and Anjali looked on in shock. Rudra took a deep breath and walked out. He had ruined a moment of joy, again. Every word he spoke only brought her more pain. How many times would he hurt her, knowingly or not?
This had to stop. He couldn’t keep breaking her like this. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted. Not in this life, or the next.
******************
The next day, Rudra was in his bedroom when Ram Prasad knocked on his door and entered the room.
“Sir, these letters came for you yesterday.”
Rudra took the stack from him, and Ram Prasad left. He quickly skimmed through the envelopes. Two were expected, but the third caught his attention. It was from the Uttam Nagar post office. Uttam Nagar. The name hit him hard. That was where Kashish lived as a child. His pulse quickened as he tore open the envelope, pulling out a letter that sent a cold chill down his spine.
Rudra Raheja,
I need to discuss some unsettled business with Keshav Bedi. If you’re too busy, I can take it up with his daughter. She’s never far from my sight.
Meet me on Sunday at 10:00 a.m. outside the Uttam Nagar Post Office. You won’t recognize me, but I know you. That’s the weakness of rich men. You can always be traced.
—Uday Khatri
Rudra crumpled the letter in his fist. Who the hell is Uday Khatri? What “unsettled business” did he have with Kashish’s father? And worst of all, he knew Kashish? How? Fury surged through Rudra as he stormed out of his room, his heart pounding with worry and anger.
“Ram Prasad!” he barked. “Where’s Kashish?”
“She left early this morning.”
“Where did she go?”
“I—I don’t know, Sir. She didn’t say.”
That didn’t sit right with Rudra. It was Sunday, no reason for her to be at work. Panic clawed at him. He dialed her number. Twice she ignored his call, driving him mad with anxiety. The third time, she finally answered, and he didn’t waste a second.
“Where the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice raw with anger and fear.
Kashish didn’t even need to hear his name to know it was him. But what right did he have to call and interrogate her?
“I don’t need to report to you outside of working hours,” she shot back, her irritation clear.
He forced himself to calm down. She was safe. For now.
“Kashish, I asked you a question. Where are you? Are you alone?” His voice had softened, but she could still hear the urgency in his tone.
“Stop wasting my time,” she spat, cutting the call, leaving him fuming.
She wasn’t going to answer him. Fine. Rudra quickly messaged Jay.
“Trace Kashish’s number for me. Now. I need to know where she is.”
Jay didn’t ask questions; he knew better. Within minutes, Rudra had Kashish’s location. Uttam Nagar. His blood ran cold. What was she doing there? Was this about Uday Khatri? Was Kashish walking into a trap? He couldn’t waste another second. Barking orders at his driver, he rushed out of the mansion, the car racing through the streets of Delhi.
When they arrived at Uttam Nagar, Rudra stepped out, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He spotted her near a huge banyan tree, staring intently at a house in the distance. Relief washed over him—she was safe. But something about her posture, the way she wiped a tear from her eye, told him this place held memories. Painful ones.
Suddenly, she turned and saw him. Her face twisted with fury, and she stormed toward him, her words laced with venom.
“How dare you come here?” she shouted. “Don’t you have any shame? Or did you come to relive the memories of that night? The night you crushed my father under your car?”
Her words cut deep, reopening wounds he’d buried long ago. Yes, this was the place. The banyan tree—the same one he had crashed into the night of the accident. His heart pounded as the horror of that night flashed before his eyes. His legs felt weak beneath him. He stumbled, barely managing to steady himself by gripping a nearby scooter.
Kashish watched, her anger slowly giving way to confusion. Why did he look like he was about to collapse? This place—it was crushing him, just like it had crushed her for the past 11 years.
Rudra’s driver, Mohan, rushed to his side.
“Sir? Are you okay?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.
Rudra nodded weakly, leaning against a pillar to catch his breath. His mind flashed those memories again that he wasn’t ready to confront. Not here. Not now.
“Kashish Madam, please help me take Sir home,” Mohan called out to her.
Kashish clenched her jaw, the last thing she wanted was to help Rudra. He didn’t deserve it. But there was a flicker of humanity in her. She pulled a water bottle from her purse and handed it to him. Rudra refused, but Mohan, sensing the urgency, took it and forced Rudra to drink. Slowly, he began to feel better.
“I’ll get the car,” Mohan said. “Ma’am, please watch him until I return.”
“No. I’m fine. Take her home,” Rudra ordered, his voice firm despite his weakness.
“I’m not going home,” Kashish snapped.
Rudra ignored her protest. “Mohan, get the car,” he repeated.
As Mohan rushed off, Kashish started to leave, but Rudra grabbed her arm, his grip firm. She struggled to break free, but it was no use. When Mohan returned, Rudra shoved her into the car, closing the door behind her.
“Don’t stop the car, no matter what,” Rudra warned Mohan. “Not even if she orders you to.”
Kashish’s eyes widened in confusion. As the car sped away from Uttam Nagar, she stared at Rudra from the rear-view mirror, his face unreadable, but his grip on her arm still burned like a chain she couldn’t break free from.
Why had he come there? Why did he insist on sending her back home? Though she had no concrete answers to his actions, one thing was clear: the sight of him crumbling under the weight of guilt brought her a grim sense of satisfaction. The way he reacted when she reminded him of the accident that shattered her world eleven years ago—his sudden breakdown—made it painfully obvious that he was still haunted by that night. But if his remorse could bring her father back, she would have forgiven him long ago. Tears welled up in her eyes as Mohan pulled the car into the gates of Raheja Mansion. She stepped out and hurried inside, not wanting anyone to see her pain.