ACT I- CHAPTER I THE AFTERTASTE OF GOLD
The chandeliers hung low, their light dimmed to a soft honey glow, casting an ethereal ambiance that whispered secrets of the night.
Laughter faded into the cool air, blending with the gentle rustle of leaves as it wafted into the garden outside.
The Rajvanshi mansion had played host to its most exquisite gala yet, meticulously orchestrated by the second eldest of the Rajvanshis, Vedika, who had a talent for making every detail feel like surgical precision.
The elite of Delhi's old money had glided across the marble floors, their every movement a dance of privilege.
Champagne flowed in abundance, spilling like golden light through crystal flutes.
Yet, amidst the revelry, all Ishaani could focus on was one person.
Tara Kapoor
Back from London. Back from a life that shimmered with gloss and gravitas.
Back into the orbit that Ishaani had vowed never to revisit.
And yet, despite the years that had passed and the faded memories that lingered, Tara's mere presence owned the very air filled in Ishaani's lungs.
Ishaani recalled the moment she had walked into the hall and saw the tall woman, poised and precise, standing by the French windows.
She had sustained in her mind that it was, but a mere hallucination- that it was a mirage of the mind for she had no one whom she would've felt attracted to, otherwise.
Right down to the bones were the chills that she had caught, which ran along her marrow, when she basked in the aftermath of realizing it was in fact The Tara Kapoor.
The sheer authority which her ciliated sensory tissues had crowned themselves with, as she felt her skin bumping, her throat tightening, and the thought lingering of what she will say to her.
Standing near the French windows, half-turned toward Vedika, she spoke in that British-lilted Hindi that made people pause mid-sentence. When she said "tum (you)" it felt both intimate and reverent, as if reciting an ancient incantation.
And Ishaani? She felt as if she were unravelling.
"I swear, she's not real," Sparshi would have exclaimed if she were here.
But Sparshi wasn't. None of Ishaani's friends were.
Just her, wrapped in a below the waist flowy dress, which she had supposedly drawn from Amaya's wardrobe, half-hidden behind the marble columns, watching a woman she had once called Tara di with an ache that was both familiar and forbidden.
Her fists still throbbed from the morning's training; she could almost sense the dull sting beneath the epidermis of her knuckles. Boxing made sense. People, however, remained a complex puzzle.
As Vedika laughed softly at something Tara had said, Ishaani's pulse raced uncontrollably.
Her sister-sharp, practical Vedika, who draped her ambition like a diamond necklace-radiated joy because her best friend had returned.
It ought to have felt sweet, grounding, even comforting.
Instead, a tempest swirled within Ishaani, brewing somewhere between her ribs and throat.
She caught snippets of their conversation.
"Did the UN summit go well?"
"Oh, Devika stole the show, as always. Geneva suits her."
And then-Tara's laugh. Low and controlled, like a distant purr that wrapped around Ishaani's heart.
The kind of laugh that, if resonated through a hall would halt anyone and butcher their self-confidence to mere shards of glass, for the arrogance and lethality wrapped around it was a mere noose tightening.
At that moment, Tara's gaze flicked toward Ishaani, their eyes locking for just a breath-a single heartbeat-and in that instant, the weight of years folded like origami.
Ishaani was fifteen again, barefoot on a sunlit veranda, scrambling after Tara with scraped knees and a heart far too loud for its age.
Tara had been the dream everyone adored, the figure everyone feared-a teenager whose posture was regal, whose words could slice or soothe, depending on her whim.
Back then, Ishaani had only sought approval. She wanted to be seen.
Now, at twenty-four, she had crafted a life that didn't demand anyone's validation. Except... Tara's. Or, at least that was a thought she fed on.
"Didn't recognize me, Ishaani?" Tara's voice cut through the noise like a melody.
Tara said as she glided toward Ishi like a jaguar who had assessed the situation far too precisely.
Without addressing her, Ishaani who heartily was anticipating a warm hug from her was left stunned whilst her hand was grasped in a tight handshake.
Tara Kapoor at 5'10 additionally with her graceful heels, and Ishaani at 5'6 courtesy of her heels.
Through the sauntering oscillatory thrumming of her heart, Ishaani wondered if Tara could hear the beating against her own palm.
Tara's veiny arm was visible through the blouse of her saaree, the tight grasp accentuating them further, whilst Ishaani's hand barely held on, doing her utmost to remain respectful.
Tara simply pulled back and looked over Ishaani's face with cruel assession, in mirroring uniqueness to a queen raking over the jester.
Ishaani blinked, caught in a moment of vulnerability. "Oh-I did, di," she managed, too quickly, too politely. "Just didn't want to interrupt."
"Interrupt what?" Tara pressed further, taking a step out of Ishaani's personal bubble, her heels clicking with a characteristic "click" on the marble floor. The air around her was tinged with white tea and sandalwood-unfairly elegant. "A crowd that left you five minutes ago?"
Ishaani's throat tightened uncomfortably. "Old habits, I guess."
"Still quiet?" Tara raised a brow, leaning away further.
Her tone was curious, perhaps even nostalgic.
"You used to follow me around, narrating the entire house gossip.
I thought you'd grow into a politician." Tara's voice per usual was clipped and distant, as Ishaani vividly remembered.
For all Ishaani believed in, Tara could be conversing with her for the sake of interacting with Vedika's bratty baby sister.
"I grew into a boxer," Ishaani shot back, the edge in her voice serving as both defense and challenge.
Tara's eyes sparkled with intrigue, "Of course you did."
She regarded Ishaani with an intensity that felt almost assessing, perhaps even admiring. And Ishaani hated how her pulse quickened under that scrutiny. She despised that Tara's gala smile like sunlight-too bright, too deliberate.
Just then, Vedika interjected, her voice breaking the tension. "You two finally talking?" she exclaimed, wrapping an arm around Tara's waist. "I swear, she was hiding behind the bar just to avoid you."
"I wasn't hiding!" Ishaani protested, the words tumbling out like broken glass. She wasn't expecting the sheer snitch from her sister.
"Sure," Vedika laughed. "Tell that to the ice bucket you were conversing with."
Tara chuckled throatily, the sound resonating in Ishaani's chest, haunting and longing. "She's shy now. I'll have to bully her out of it again."
Again. The word struck like a spark. Once, that had been Tara's role-an older girl with glossy hair and gentle arrogance, while Ishaani had been the scrawny kid eager to be her sparring partner.
"Still call me 'di,' hmm?" Tara asked suddenly, tilting her head. Ishaani froze. The way Tara pronounced it-softly, as if savoring the word-was dangerously intimate.
"Well, yeah," Ishaani stumbled over her words. "That's what I've always called you."
"Old habits," Tara echoed, her lips curving in a smile that twisted something within Ishaani. "You should be careful with those. They tend to linger longer than people do."
With that, the ground seemed to shift beneath Ishaani's feet. Whether it was the champagne coursing through her veins, the music that enveloped them, or the resurgence of youthful longing, everything felt out of balance.
Vedika excused herself to greet a guest, leaving Ishaani and Tara in a cocoon of silence. The room gradually emptied, and through the French doors, darkness settled like a soft blanket, the night heavy with the scent of impending rain. Tara leaned against the railing, gazing out at the shadows.
"Delhi's different," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You've been gone for seven years," Ishaani replied, stepping closer to share the weight of the night. "It would be."
"Tara leaned back against the cool stone of the wall, her gaze fixed on the twinkling city lights beyond the window. "I missed the chaos," she said, her voice tinged with longing. "London's too... sterile. Polite. Here, people mean what they say-even when they shouldn't."
Ishaani caught the flicker of Tara's eyes, a silent communication that hung thick in the air between them.
A silence that was both suffocating and electrifying, stirring emotions she'd buried deep.
The tightness in Ishaani's chest was almost unbearable-as if the universe was conspiring to conjure memories of every moment she had wished Tara hadn't left.
"You've changed," Tara said, her voice breaking the stillness.
"So have you," Ishaani murmured, trying to maintain a facade of composure.
A stern look crossed Tara's sculpted face, a mix of control, irratibility and something more profound.
"I hope for the better." She responded nonetheless, still embraced by the devastating gnaw in her chest, eager to put Ishaani in her place, just like she used to.
You've become devastating, Ishaani wanted to shout. You've turned into a problem I can't punch my way out of. But all that escaped her lips was, "You still talk like you own every room."
Tara's eyes sparkled with the arrogance, pretentiousness Ishaani remembered all too well. "Do I?" "You know you do," Ishaani replied, her heart racing as Tara stepped fractioned her eyes, their breath mingling in the charged space between them.
Tara Knew.
How could she not?
She commanded a room like Stalin once her steps tracked into any space. Her assessments were vigorously volatile warping into her Human Chess with the glittering, whispering, secret-bearing somebodies.
"You should rest," Tara said in a declarative tone, already minutely turned on her heel to perhaps take her leave without inconsideration. "Your sister worked you too hard tonight."
"Not really. She doesn't really mind helping hand.
" Tara's lip titled in the right direction of her cheekbone, as she continued eyeing Ishaani.
"Still the pure, little baby of the sister.
" She muttered, enticing the reddest shade out of Ishaani's traitorous skin tone, who slopped on the verge of defense, with her throat bobbing and her mouth opening. And Tara cut her off.
"Don't change that. You need the purity to survive this family.
" Before Ishaani could conjure a response, Tara turned away-graceful, controlled, and utterly untouchable.
The kind of woman who left behind a trail of undone hearts and unfinished sentences.
Ishaani remained frozen, fists half-clenched, her heart performing somersaults it had no right to.
Just then, Vedika's voice echoed from the hall, breaking the spell.
I'm not a Baby....neither am I Little! Ishaani had the insatiable urge to yell out, yet it only echoed in the chambers of her larynx.
"Tara! Car's here!" A wave of relief coursed through Ishaani, mixed with an annoyance she couldn't quite name. The night was coming to an end, the enchantment dissipating like smoke.
As Tara passed her on her way out, she leaned in close enough for Ishaani to feel the warmth of her breath.
"Don't call me di next time. Makes me feel old.
" And just like that, she was gone, leaving Ishaani alone in a sea of candlelight, the taste of her own heartbeat lingering on her lips-sweet, bitter, and infinitely complicated.