CHAPTER II ALL THE THINGS SHE PRETENDED NOT TO FEEL
Morning in the Rajvanshi house didn't so much begin as it resumed - a slow, heavy inhale of memories still lingering from the previous night's gala.
The glitter clung to the marble floors like a forgotten promise, half-empty glasses stood like solemn memorials, and the air was thick with the faint, maddening scent of roses.
For everyone else, it was just another morning-after. For Ishaani, it was a battle for survival.
She had risen before the sun, her fists pounding against the bag in a relentless rhythm, bruising her knuckles until the pain became her solace - a raw, uncomplicated agony that obeyed the laws of the universe. Pain didn't smile at her like Tara had. Pain didn't whisper, "Don't call me di."
By the time she had showered, secured her hair into a sleek bun, and pulled on an oversized shirt that she hoped would conceal everything, she had perfected her performance.
The detached youngest sister. The unfazed one.
The one who didn't, at any given moment, melt like butter in the presence of Tara Kapoor.
"Good morning, champ," Vedika chimed from the breakfast table, her attention glued to her iPad. "You missed Devika's call. She's already grumpy in Geneva."
"Of course she is," Ishaani muttered, reaching for a glass of orange juice as if it could quench her mounting anxiety. "When is she not?"
Vedika smirked, that mischievous glint in her eye. "She asked if Tara was staying for lunch."
Ishaani nearly choked on her juice. "Tara? She- she's coming again?" Panic tightened her chest.
Vedika arched an elegant brow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "She left half her files last night. Said she'd drop by after her meeting. What's wrong? You sound like someone who's just seen a ghost."
"I don't- I'm fine," Ishaani said too quickly, voice unnaturally high. Vedika simply hummed, the sound knowing. "You're something, all right."
Before Ishaani could launch into a retort, the doorbell chimed, and her pulse betrayed her - it skipped like a stone on water.
Tara Kapoor, in the soft morning light, was a sight both beautiful and heart-wrenching. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves casually rolled up, hair tied in a way that screamed effortless sophistication. Sunglasses perched atop her head, she held a stack of papers like a declaration of intent.
"Sorry to barge in again," Tara said, a radiant smile lighting her face as she greeted Vedika first. "I left my presentation binder. Couldn't exactly email the studio this one."
"Come in, come in," Vedika said, ushering her inside as if she belonged. "You know you're family."
That word - family - landed like a jagged bruise on Ishaani's ribs.
Tara gave Ishaani a brief flicker of acknowledgement, not a full glance, but enough to make Ishaani forget how to breathe.
Turning away, she pretended to butter toast with disconcerting focus. Her reflection in the polished silver betrayed her: shoulders too rigid, expression far too rehearsed.
"Good morning," Tara's voice floated softly behind her, a melody laced with familiarity. "Morning, di - I mean, Tara di," Ishaani corrected herself, a little too bright, a little too eager. "You found your files?"
"I did," Tara replied, her gaze lingering upon Ishaani. "But I think I might've left something else." Ishaani blinked, confusion clouding her thoughts. "What?"
Tara's lips curved into a knowing smile, yet she offered no explanation. Instead, she walked past Ishaani, toward the sideboard where her folder lay waiting.
And Ishaani fought against the urge to stare.
She tried with every fibre of her being - God help her, she truly did.
But Tara moved with a grace that felt inherent, every gesture echoing a quiet strength.
Ishaani's gaze followed her against her will: the elegant lines of her wrist, the slow roll of her sleeves, the effortless confidence in her posture.
When Tara bent slightly to retrieve her file, Ishaani's breath hitched in her throat, as her eyes ever the traitors, slid reverently over the curve of Tara Kapoor's derriere- and she loathed herself for it.
She looked away so fast it almost hurt, unaware of Tara's glance that caught the movement, the brief, knowing smile that ghosted across her face. She noticed. Of course, she did. The stealth charging of her eyes was never noticed, but acknowledgement scarcely ever caught Tara's interest.
Ten minutes later, Vedika had retreated for a call, leaving the two of them in an electrified silence. Tara sat effortlessly at the table, glancing through her papers, while Ishaani pretended to be absorbed in her phone, her heart pounding like a war drum.
The warmth of Tara's presence wrapped around her, a fierce heat that made her skin prickle. The slightest brush of Tara's shoulder against hers sent sparks racing through her veins.
"You're unusually quiet," Tara murmured, her eyes still skimming the pages, a hint of curiosity in her tone.
"I'm always quiet," Ishaani replied flatly, feigning indifference. Tara turned slightly, a teasing glint in her eye. "Always? Seems a bit... monotonous, don't you think?"
Ishaani's lips twitched momentarily before she smirked, her defenses ready to clash. "Maybe I just prefer to observe rather than partake in idle chat."
"Is that so?" Tara leaned in slightly, her interest piqued. "So, what do you observe about me?" Ishaani's heart raced as she met Tara's gaze. "Perhaps that you're far too comfortable assuming to be family."
Tara's laughter brightened the room, a sound that felt both warm and dangerously intoxicating.
"Well, family can be the most complicated of all relationships, can't it?
" Ishaani swallowed hard, the weight of unspoken words and burgeoning feelings dangling in the air between them, like a carefully balanced flame ready to ignite.
"You weren't, once." Tara's voice cut through the air, a gentle blade that made Ishaani pause.
Ishaani smiled faintly, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features. "People change." The words felt practiced, rehearsed for a moment like this-an attempt to deflect, to steer the conversation away from the depths she already felt pulling at her.
But Tara didn't let it go. She looked up, her gaze penetrating, as if she might peel away the layers of Ishaani's carefully constructed facade. "Not you. Not really."
That gaze again. It was too much, too intimate. Somewhere deep within, Ishaani felt her composure crack, the way porcelain does before shattering into shards.
"I'm fine," she blurted, her voice climbing higher than usual. The words rushed out, desperate and half-hearted. Tara didn't move. She didn't need to; her eyes were already speaking volumes, watching, waiting.
When Ishaani bent to pick up the pen she'd just dropped, her hand brushed against Tara's knee. Just a brush. But in that fleeting moment, she flinched-not out of disgust, but because she felt it too much. Too much closeness for the defenses she had erected.
Tara noticed. Of course, she noticed. "Ishi," she said softly- per usual, the sharpest blades were wielded by the softest palms- breaking the silence that hung heavy between them. "Are you alright?"
The nickname, so familiar yet almost foreign. No one called her that anymore. And in that moment, already teetering on the edge of emotional collapse, Ishaani felt a laugh bubble within her throat. "Yeah. Totally. Just-still sore from boxing."
Tara's eyes flicked down to Ishaani's hands, where faint bruises and callouses told stories of battles fought, both in the ring and within her own heart. "You hit harder than you should," she said quietly, a note of concern threading through her words.
"Better that than feel harder than I should," Ishaani muttered before she could stop herself. The confession hung in the air, a threadbare joke hiding an uncomfortable truth she hadn't meant to voice.
Tara's lips parted slightly, her expression a mix of surprise and understanding, but she didn't answer. Instead, she looked at Ishaani the way people do when deciding whether to cross a line that can't be uncrossed, a moment fraught with unspoken possibilities.
"I should go," Tara said finally, her tone composed but laced with reluctance. "You'll be late for your training."
Ishaani nodded, the weight of her unspoken thoughts pressing firmly on her chest, not trusting her voice to carry them.
As Tara walked toward the door, Ishaani's gaze lingered, traitorous and fatigued, tracing the curve of her back, the strength in her hands, and the memory of what it felt like to be swept away by her voice.
Halfway through the doorway, Tara paused, catching Ishaani's gaze. Their eyes met, electrifying silence enveloping them.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Tara smiled faintly, though the warmth never reached her eyes. It never did with Tara Kapoor; her glaring eyes were the only way to wonder if she even ever cared a dime about you. "You'll hurt yourself if you keep pretending you're fine."
And just like that, she was gone again. Leaving Ishaani standing in the morning light, enveloped by the echoes of everything she couldn't say.
Her reflection in the glass appeared calm, perfect, poised. But her eyes remained fixated on the door, the space where Tara had just stood.
For the first time in years, Ishaani realized: she could punch through concrete, but she couldn't fight this. The truth of her feelings loomed larger than any opponent she had ever faced, and the battle within her raged on.