CHAPTER VI SUBCONSCIOUS SUPPRESSION
By the time Ishaani stepped out of her room, hair still damp at the nape and curling into her collar like it had opinions, sleeves shoved up as if she was about to lift bricks instead of shop, Tara was already waiting by the door.
Keys dangled from her fingers. Sunglasses sat on her head, not for the sun—just there, like punctuation. A full stop. Or a warning.
Vedika clapped her hands once, sharp and decisive. “Alright. Diwali run. Let’s go before the mall turns into a battlefield.”
Ishaani grabbed her phone, slid it into her pocket, bent to tug on her shoes. “I’m ready.”
Tara’s gaze swept over her slowly. Not leering. Not obvious. Just… thorough. Mildly amused, like she was watching someone insist they could swim while already drowning. “Are you, though?”
Ishaani refused to blush. Refused. She crouched to tie her laces with unnecessary force, yanking like the shoelaces had personally wronged her. Tara’s smile deepened. Of course it did.
The car ride was normal. Which was suspicious.
Vedika drove like she did everything else—confident, borderline aggressive, one hand on the wheel, the other slicing the air as she talked. “Amaya’s at some birthday thing. She’ll be back tomorrow. Mumma has lunch with her bridge friends—don’t ask, it’s basically a cult.”
“Bridge terrifies me,” Ishaani muttered, staring at the passing traffic.
“It should,” Vedika said solemnly.
Ishaani leaned back, watched the city smear itself across the window. Then, quietly, “Devika di?”
Vedika’s mouth flattened, a micro-expression only family ever caught. “Can’t make it this Diwali. Work’s insane. She said she’ll come later.”
“Oh.” Ishaani nodded, fingers worrying at her sleeve.
Devika Rajvanshi, ever the whirlpool of thunderstorms, a bristling wall of irrevocable strength always a step upfront to guard Ishaani.
No matter how colossal her identity as the storm cold diplomat must be, Ishaani always witnessed her oldest sister as a teddy bear who protected her at times.
So, naturally, she felt disheartened when she heard that Devika won't make it back for Diwali. After a beat, softer, like she didn’t want the words overheard, “I miss her.”
Vedika met her eyes in the mirror, smile gentler now, melting into a bit sympathetic. “She knows.”
Tara listened. She always did. Silent, observant, cataloguing moments like they were either secrets or weapons. With Tara, it was impossible to tell which ones mattered more.
The mall hit them like a punch to the senses. Lights everywhere. Music bleeding into other music. Incense tangling with coffee and the sharp, intoxicating smell of new fabric. Diwali displays screamed excess—gold, maroon, glittering chaos designed to overwhelm and win.
Vedika inhaled deeply, reverent. “I love capitalism.”
Ishaani snorted. “You say that every year.”
“And I mean it every time.”
They started with clothes, because of course they did. Ten minutes in, Ishaani had three shopping bags looped around her forearm, handles biting into her skin.
“Ishu, carry this,” Vedika said, handing her another without slowing down.
“And this,” Tara added immediately, placing a glossy bag on top like a final insult.
Ishaani stared at them both. “You’re evil. Both of you.”
Vedika shrugged. “You’re the strong one.”
Tara tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Besides, you look good carrying things.”
Ishaani opened her mouth, shut it again, and walked on, jaw tight.
Vedika adjusted her tote, eyes lighting up like she’d just remembered violence was legal in certain forms. “Okay. Now—heels.”
Ishaani’s soul exited her body.
“Why do you hate me,” she muttered, tightening her grip on the bags she’d somehow acquired simply by existing.
Tara didn’t even look over. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Vedika scoffed. “She loves drama.”
“I don’t—”
“You boxed someone for looking at you wrong once,” Vedika said.
“That was contextual.”
Tara smiled then. Slow. Knowing. Like she’d just been handed confirmation of something she already suspected.
The heels store was a temple of suffering. Mirrors everywhere, reflecting too much from too many angles. Polished floors that felt like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Shelves lined with stilettos like weapons—nude, black, gold, straps thin enough to qualify as threats.
Vedika clapped her hands again. “Okay, Ishu. Sit.”
Ishaani hesitated, dread pooling in her stomach. “Why do I have to—”
“Sit.”
It wasn’t Vedika.
Tara’s voice cut clean through the noise. Low. Even. Unarguable.
Ishaani sat. Immediately. She had always been complying to Tara's voice since Tara had been commanding Ishaani alongside Vedika from the young age of 16.
Her body betrayed her before her brain could catch up. She dropped onto the cushioned seat, heart thudding, hands still full of bags. The world seemed to tilt, just slightly, as Tara stepped closer.
Vedika blinked. Looked between them. Smirked. “Wow. That worked better than expected. She still listens to us Tara."
Tara picked up a pair of heels—black, 'is it louboutins?'—and crouched in front of Ishaani like this was exactly where she belonged, yet still managed to steal the last gasp of Ishaani's breath, “Lift your foot.”
Ishaani swallowed. Did it.
The mirror caught everything. The way Ishaani’s shoulders went rigid. The way Tara’s fingers lingered for half a second too long at her ankle. The way Vedika didn't notice anything since Tara had since the beginning of time, bossed Ishaani around, had her wrapped around her pinky finger.
Outside, the mall roared on—lights, laughter, chaos—but inside that little store, the air felt tight. Charged. Like something had shifted, quietly, irrevocably.
And Ishaani, sitting there with her heart in her throat and her ankle in Tara’s hands, knew one thing with terrifying clarity.
This was not just a Diwali shopping trip anymore.
Vedika blinked, then laughed, sharp and delighted. “Wow. That looks better than expected.”
Tara shrugged, all calm innocence, like she hadn’t just bent reality a little. “She should wear these more often. It would give her a composure similar to ours.”
Ishaani glared at the floor, jaw tight, like if she looked up she’d combust on the spot.
A sales associate swooped in, cheerful in that vaguely predatory way retail teaches you. “What size?”
“Seven,” Vedika said instantly. “But I want options. High. Thin heel.”
“Vedika di,” Ishaani whined, voice low and pleading, “I cannot be responsible for what happens next, when I trip in those thin heels.”
Tara leaned down, set the bag she was holding neatly at Ishaani’s feet—too neat, too deliberate. “You’ll survive.”
She crouched to help with the straps.
That was the mistake.
Tara’s fingers moved with slow precision, unhurried, looping the strap around Ishaani’s ankle like it was a quiet claim. Her knuckles brushed skin, yet again—warm, intentional. Ishaani’s calf tensed on instinct, muscle jumping beneath her touch.
“Relax,” Tara murmured, barely audible. “I’m not hurting you.”
That made it worse.
Vedika, blissfully unaware, scrolled through her phone. “These better not be ugly.”
The buckle snapped shut. Click.
“Stand,” Tara said.
Ishaani stood. Immediately. Like her body had been waiting for the order.
The heel shifted her balance, added height, changed the way she carried herself. Tara stayed close, one hand hovering near Ishaani’s waist—not touching, just present. A warning. A promise.
“Walk,” Tara said.
Ishaani took a step. Then another.
The mirror betrayed everything. The way Ishaani’s shoulders squared. The way her jaw set. The way Tara’s gaze tracked her movement with predatory appreciation, like she was studying form, strength, intent.
“Turn,” Tara added, yet the purr under the vague command made Ishaani turn to look at Tara, flustered.
Ishaani swallowed and turned.
Vedika finally looked up. Froze. Then grinned. “Oh. Oh hell yes. My baby looks powerful.”
Ishaani guloed down, and reached for her sleeves. “Can I sit now?”
Tara didn’t move. “Not yet.”
The second pair was worse. Thinner heel. Sharper angle. Less mercy.
Ishaani hissed in a whisper, so as to avoid Vedika's ears as Tara slid it on. “You’re enjoying this.”
Tara didn’t deny it, as she didn't spare Ishaani a single glance. “Maybe.”
The third pair was a disaster waiting to happen.
Ishaani wobbled. Tara caught her by the waist without thinking—hand firm, fingers digging in just enough to steal her breath. For half a second, the world narrowed to that single point of contact, heat sparking under skin.
“You good?” Tara asked softly, as her light brown orbs cascaded down Ishaani's probable red countenance.
Ishaani nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah.”
“Then stand straight.”
“Fuck you.”
Tara smiled, menacingly as her eyes shielded a stoney turmoil, "Say that again and you'll be on the recieving end of it, honey.”
Ishaani felt the blood drain away from all parts of her body as it surged upwards to her face, neck and ears.
She was on the verge of dying, because Tara Kapoor so casually castrating And verbally edging Ishaani was not on her bingo cards.
'recieving end?!' Tara noticed the haze behind Ishaani's orbs and tilted her head thoughtfully, as she smiled fully in the way you name it condescending, "Jaan, don't try using that word around me.
Not, unless you wish for it to be fulfilled. "
Tara pulled back with the ghost of a smirk, but Ishaani was speechless and ripoed off of her dignity. She watched Tara tap Vedika's shoulder to garner her attention.
Vedika cleared her throat loudly. “Okay! Buying the second pair. Ishu, take these.”
Bags. Again. Always.
They moved on.
The kurti store wrapped around them like warmth. Wooden racks. Soft lighting. Fabric spilling in jewel tones—emerald, wine, saffron. Brass-framed mirrors. Air thick with starch and sandalwood.
Vedika vanished into the racks instantly. “Ishu! This one!”
A deep maroon kurti was shoved into Ishaani’s arms.
“And this.”
And another.
“And—oh, Tara, look at this embroidery.”
Tara examined it, nodding once. “She’ll try it.”
Ishaani stared. “I didn’t agree.”
Tara’s gaze flicked to her. “You’ll try it.”
That tone again. Calm. Absolute.
The trial room curtain swished shut behind Ishaani like a verdict being passed.
She changed slowly, hyperaware of everything—the slide of fabric over skin, the way the kurti hugged her shoulders, traced her arms. When she stepped out—
Vedika gasped. “Oh my god.”
Tara didn’t react right away. She just looked. Eyes dark. Measuring. Like she was committing the sight to memory.
“That colour,” Tara said quietly, “was made for you.”
Ishaani’s mouth went dry.
“Turn,” Vedika said.
She did.
Tara stepped closer, fingers ghosting the fabric at Ishaani’s waist. Not adjusting. Not fixing. Just touching.
“You look like trouble,” Tara murmured.
“I—this isn’t—” Ishaani tried, voice betraying her.
Tara leaned in under the pretense of fixing, voice dropping. “You’re blushing.”
“Because you’re staring.”
“Because you like it.”
Vedika clapped again, as she looked up from her screen. “Okay! Next.”
The second kurti was darker. Heavier. The third had a mesh texture that made Tara’s jaw tighten, just briefly.
Inside the trial room, Ishaani leaned against the mirror, breathing hard, as her abs tightened and her veins were a little too present on her skin, her phone buzzing uselessly in her pocket.
Still nothing.
She stepped out for the last time, arms full of fabric.
Tara took the pile from her, fingers brushing over veins, grip firm and grounding. “You’re done.”
Thank the Lord!
Starbucks felt like mercy.
Cool air. Dark wood. The smell of coffee slicing clean through everything else. They collapsed into a corner table, bags piled like trophies.
Vedika ordered first. “Cold brew. Extra ice.”
“Ma'am?” the barista asked, looking at Tara.
“Americano,” she said. Then glanced at Ishaani. “What do you want?”
Ishaani blinked. “I—uh—latte?”
“Soy,” Tara added.
Ishaani stared. “How did you—”
Tara smiled. “You've been getting the same thing since the past 7 years. Predictable”
They sat.
Vedika scrolled, sipping. “Successful run.”
Ishaani slumped back. “I’m never shopping again.”
Tara leaned back, eyes on Ishaani over the rim of her cup. “You did fine.”
“Did I?”
Tara’s gaze dipped to Ishaani’s arms, listlessly, still tense, veins raised from carrying too much for too long. “More than fine.”
Vedika stood. “Excuse me.”
She disappeared.
The table felt smaller instantly.
Tara leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You okay?”
Ishaani nodded. Then shook her head. “No.”
Tara waited. Always did.
“You held yourself together today,” Tara said. “I’m proud of you.”
Ishaani’s chest tightened. “You can’t say things like that.”
Tara tilted her head. “Why not?”
“Because I—” Ishaani stopped.
Tara stepped back just as Vedika returned, grumbling, certainly because somebody didn't pick her call up.
“Ready?” Vedika asked, a frown ever present.
Ishaani nodded, heart still racing.
They gathered the bags. Walked out. Let the mall swallow them whole again.
And Ishaani knew, deep in her bones, with terrifying certainty—
This was only the beginning.
_____________
The panic did not announce itself. It never kicked the door down or screamed for attention.
It arrived like fog—quiet, invasive—seeping under the doors of her ribs until Ishaani could no longer tell where her body ended and the night began.
Her chest tightened first. Not pain. Pressure.
As if someone had wrapped a belt around her lungs and begun pulling, slow and methodical, testing how much she could take before she broke.
She jolted upright in bed, heart skidding, palms already damp, breath coming too fast and not deep enough.
Breathe. Just breathe.
The room lay steeped in shadow, save for the faint amber glow of Diwali lights filtering through the curtains—tiny suns strung along the balcony railing outside, blinking patiently like they had all the time in the world.
The house slept. Properly slept. The kind of deep, ancestral quiet that came with old walls, old money, and even older routines.
The silence pressed in on her ears until it rang.
Her phone lay face-down beside her.
No new messages.
Of course.
Her throat closed. Something sharp lodged itself there, unnameable and stubborn.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feet touching the cool marble floor, grounding herself the way the therapist once taught her.
Name five things you can see. Four you can touch.
Three you can hear. Two you can smell. One you can—
It didn’t work.
The air felt wrong. Too thick. Too used. Like it had already been breathed by too many ghosts. Ishaani dragged in another breath and felt it snag halfway down. Her skin crawled. She needed space. Needed movement. Needed out.
She slipped into the hallway barefoot, moving carefully, like she was breaking into her own house.
The Rajvanshi place stretched wide and hollow at night—arches dissolving into shadow, long corridors that threatened to echo if you breathed too loudly.
Her heart thudded in her ears, each step a quiet rebellion.
Light spilled from the far end.
The balcony.
She hesitated, fingers curling at her sides. Then the panic spiked again, sharp and mean, clawing up her spine, and she moved before she could talk herself out of it.
The balcony doors stood open, sheer curtains breathing in and out with the night breeze like living things.
The garden below glowed softly—diyas lining the pathways, fairy lights wrapped around trees like constellations dragged down to earth and forced to behave.
Somewhere, a fountain murmured, steady and eternal, like it knew secrets no one else did.
And there—reclined on the wide divan as if she owned the night itself—was Tara Kapoor.
Laptop open across her thighs. Phone pressed to her ear.
Sleeves rolled up. Hair loose for once, spilling down her back in dark, unrepentant waves.
She wore a black tank top and loose lounge pants, bare feet crossed at the ankle, posture relaxed in a way that suggested absolute control.
She looked dangerous in the quiet way. The kind of woman who never raised her voice because she never had to.
“Yes,” Tara was saying, tone clipped, razor-calm. “I know what Sahastra claims to be. I am telling you what it actually is.”
She glanced up.
Saw Ishaani.
Something flickered across her face—not surprise. Recognition. Like she had felt the shift in the air before Ishaani ever stepped into the light.
Tara turned back to the call without missing a beat. “Send me everything. Offshore trails, shell companies, board overlaps. Especially anything that touches Sen or Malhotra.”
A pause.
“Yes,” Tara said coolly. “That Sen.”
She ended the call and set the phone aside, already closing the laptop halfway, eyes returning to Ishaani like they had never left her in the first place.
“Well,” she drawled lightly, one brow lifting, “either I am hallucinating, or you are sleepwalking in a tank top that should be illegal.”
Ishaani swallowed. The words stuck. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Tara’s gaze swept over her—slow, unapologetic, taking inventory. Ishaani became acutely aware of herself in that instant. The thin cotton tank clinging to her skin. No bra. Shorts riding higher than she would have chosen if she had been thinking clearly. She crossed her arms automatically.
“Don’t,” Tara said.
Ishaani froze.
“Don’t cover up,” Tara continued, voice softer now, coaxing without asking. “You look… comfortable.”
The word landed strange. Warm. Dangerous. Unsafe in the way good things often were.
Ishaani stepped closer without fully deciding to, pulled by anxiety and worse judgment. “You are working.”
“Always,” Tara said easily. Then her mouth curved, sharp and knowing. “But I can multitask.”
She patted the space beside her on the divan. Once.
Ishaani hesitated. “What if Vedika—”
“She is dead to the world,” Tara interrupted. “Snoring like a chainsaw. You are safe.”
Safe.
The word cracked something open in Ishaani’s chest, a fault line she had been carefully ignoring. She crossed the remaining distance and sat. Not touching. Close enough to feel Tara’s heat, though. Their thighs hovered a breath apart, almost brushing, almost not.
They sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, watching the garden lights sway and blink like they were conspiring.
“You okay?” Tara asked lightly, eyes forward, tone deceptively casual.
Ishaani nodded automatically.
Tara hummed. “That was a lie.”
Ishaani exhaled, shaky, defeated. “My head got loud.”
Tara shifted then—fluid, predatory—and withdrew her hand from where it rested between them on the divan. Ishaani felt the absence immediately, a cold echo where warmth had been.
Before she could overthink it, she let her pinky drift sideways.
Barely a touch.
Just a press.
It was ridiculous. Childish. Desperate.
Tara noticed instantly.
She did not react right away. She let it happen for half a heartbeat—long enough for Ishaani’s breath to hitch, long enough for hope to spark and panic to chase it.
Then Tara pulled her hand away.
Ishaani’s stomach dropped.
But Tara did not move away.
Instead, she slid closer and hooked an arm around Ishaani’s neck with casual dominance, pulling her in—firm, unyielding—until Ishaani’s head tipped sideways and landed in Tara’s lap.
“Oh,” Ishaani gasped, the sound knocked out of her.
“Shh,” Tara murmured, pressing her palm to Ishaani’s cheek. “Relax.”
“What if—” Ishaani whispered, panic flaring sharp and sudden. “What if Vedika comes—”
Tara gave her cheek a light slap. Not hard. Just enough to startle.
“She will not,” Tara said evenly. “And even if she does, she will be too asleep to care.”
Ishaani let out a weak, breathless laugh. “You are insane.”
“Yes,” Tara agreed calmly. “But you like it.”
She did.
Tara’s fingers slid into Ishaani’s hair, slow and deliberate, nails scraping lightly against her scalp. Not soothing. Claiming. The kind of touch that reminded you exactly where you were.
“You had a panic attack,” Tara said quietly.
It was not a question.
Ishaani swallowed as her eyes widened a fraction out of sheer disbelief yet, she tried to maintain the conversation, "How did you—"
“I just know,” Tara said. “You do not have to tell me more.” Tara looked down at Ishaani with her stable expression, continuing, "I'm here if you need an anchor."
Her thumb brushed Ishaani’s temple, grounding her, anchoring her back into her body.
They stayed like that—Diwali lights glowing above them, the garden breathing below, the night holding its breath as if it knew better than to interrupt.
After a while, Ishaani murmured, almost shy, “Did you really like the kurtis?”
Tara’s hand stilled.
“Is that what you are worried about?” she asked.
Ishaani nodded against her thigh. “You looked like you did.”
Tara tilted her chin down, eyes dark and intent. “I did not like them.”
Ishaani’s heart skipped.
“I liked you in them,” Tara corrected. “There is a difference.”
Heat flooded Ishaani’s face. “You cannot say things like that.”
Tara smirked. “Watch me.”
She leaned down, lips close to Ishaani’s ear—but did not kiss her. Did not touch her mouth.
Control.
“You are going to be trouble,” Tara murmured. “I can already tell.”
Ishaani’s fingers curled into Tara’s pant leg, grounding herself there, clinging without apology. “I already am.”
Tara laughed softly, low and dangerous, the sound vibrating through her chest into Ishaani’s bones.
Above them, the Diwali lights blinked on—steady and bright—like witnesses who knew better than to interfere.