CHAPTER 2
Yamini had a habit of saying yes to things she would later regret.
At the top of that list was agreeing to the college bad boy’s marriage proposal five years ago. And next on the list was agreeing to photograph an elite event.
The venue stretched out in front of her, an old heritage property perched against the hills, its stone walls softened with strings of golden lights. The lawns were already filling up with guests, polished and poised, holding crystal glasses and conversations that sounded important.
“This is a terrible idea,” she said under her breath, adjusting the strap of her camera as she stepped out onto the lawn.
Her friend Pooja didn’t even look at her. She stood near the entrance, headset on, directing volunteers with sharp efficiency. “It’s a brilliant idea,” Pooja said, already moving on to the next instruction. “And stop that face. You’re an award-winning photographer, not a nervous intern.”
Yamini made a face anyway.
“That award was for documenting migratory birds in freezing weather,” she muttered.
“Exactly,” Pooja shot back. “Which means humans should be easy.”
Yamini let out a soft huff. “Humans judge. Birds don’t. The bird won’t care about angles or lighting or how they look from their left side.”
Pooja finally turned, grinning. “You’ll be fine. You always are. And you look perfectly professional and capable.”
Although capable was debatable at this point, professional was true.
She was wearing a simple, well-fitted suit in muted blue tones. No bright colors, nothing that drew attention. Practical shoes that would let her move quickly without thinking about her footing. Minimal jewelry, just a watch and a pair of small gold studs her mother had given her years ago.
Her dusky skin caught the warm lights easily, and her naturally wavy hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail to keep it out of her face, though a few strands had already escaped. She ignored them and adjusted her grip on the camera instead.
This wasn’t her kind of assignment.
She was used to uneven ground, shifting light, and people who didn’t know they were being photographed. Fishermen hauling nets at dawn. Children running barefoot through narrow lanes. Women who laughed without checking who was watching.
But this event was filled with well-dressed people, their smiles curated and their conversations careful. Although she had led the first two decades of her life in similar circles, the last five years were the exact opposite.
“You agreed to this,” Pooja reminded her, glancing over her shoulder. “You flew back from the US a week ago for this. A new beginning.”
Yamini didn’t answer immediately.
Six months ago, she had walked out of a marriage that had drained her patience, her savings, and whatever illusions she had left. A week ago, she had packed up the last of her life in the US and come back to India with two suitcases, a camera, and no real plan beyond starting again.
Although home still felt complicated. It was still home.
And this job was a start over.
“Think of it as a social experiment,” Pooja added lightly. “Remember how we used to people-watch at university?”
Yamini rolled her eyes, but a small smile slipped through.
They had met at a university in the United States. Yamini was taking advanced photography classes, and Pooja had been pursuing a management degree. They hit it off instantly because they shared a quirky sense of humor. They had stayed friends through everything.
Pooja had come back to India a year ago and started an event management business that mostly organized wedding events. Two weeks ago, Pooja had called, excitement spilling through the phone as she spoke about landing a large political event.
Pooja knew that Yamini had always wanted to return to India.
So, she insisted that Yamini join her as the head photographer in the event.
Pooja stated she wanted an experienced photographer whose work stood out from the others.
Although Yamini had been skeptical, Pooja badgered her until she agreed.
“Fine,” Yamini said. “But if this goes badly, don’t blame me.”
“Oh, please,” Pooja replied. “Your pictures will be amazing.”
Yamini smiled at her friend’s confidence.
She then stepped into the crowd, letting her shoulders relax as she slipped into a familiar rhythm.
Blend in. Move quietly. Don’t interrupt moments. Capture them.
Within minutes, she was working in her usual mode.
She moved along the edges of the gathering, unnoticed but present, capturing details others ignored. A quick exchange of glances. A hand tightening around a glass. A forced smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes.
People forgot the camera when it didn’t demand attention. That was the trick. And Yamini had always been good at disappearing when she needed to.
The event hadn’t officially begun because they were waiting for the chief guest.
Yamini checked her watch and realized there were still ten minutes until the start time.
As if right on cue, the mood at the entrance suddenly shifted.
A convoy of white SUVs rolled in, one after another, engines humming low. Security moved swiftly, clearing space. Conversations dropped into hushed curiosity.
“Okay,” Pooja whispered, straightening instinctively. “That must be the chief minister.”
Yamini raised her camera.
The car doors opened, and men in crisp white stepped out first. Then the chief minister followed, his smile practiced and easy.
The crowd reacted immediately. People stepped forward, greetings flowed, and a few phones were lifted discreetly.
Yamini took a few shots, adjusting her angle without thinking.
She lowered the camera, waiting for the event to finally begin. But the chief minister wasn’t moving toward the stage. Instead, he lingered near the entrance, greeting people and exchanging polite words, as though he were waiting.
Yamini frowned slightly. “Why isn’t he going inside?” she asked.
Pooja hesitated. “Maybe… someone else is coming?”
Before Yamini could respond, the air shifted.
A sudden gust of wind swept across the lawns, lifting tablecloths and rattling glasses on tables. Conversations faltered again, and heads turned.
A low, rhythmic thump filled the air and grew louder with each passing second.
Yamini looked up.
A shiny black helicopter appeared over the horizon, descending steadily toward the open stretch of the lawns.
She sensed a shift in the air. Anticipation from the guests tightened into something almost electric. Security moved faster and became tighter. Even the chief minister straightened.
Yamini’s fingers stilled around her camera.
Who was coming?
Yamini wondered if it was another minister, someone more powerful than the chief minister. Was it the Prime Minister?
Just as she speculated, the helicopter lowered further, sunlight striking the gold-colored insignia along its side.
Her breath caught as she recognized that crest.
No.
For a moment, Yamini stared, unable to believe what she was seeing. It was the Royal crest.
Jogra royal crest.
As soon as her mind registered the fact, her spine went rigid. She stepped back instinctively, lowering her head and angling her face away, before slipping into the crowd.
Her pulse thundered as she watched from a safe distance.
Dust and wind spiraled as the helicopter touched down and the blades slowed.
A moment later, the door opened.
Expensive black boots touched the ground, and then he stepped out.
Tall and broad, he was dressed in a tailored dark suit and sunglasses. Security closed around him with seamless precision.
He began walking toward the entrance.
The air shifted among the crowd with breathless excitement and hushed conversations. The chief minister straightened further.
The organizing committee rushed forward. Their energy had changed, becoming alert.
Yamini couldn’t stop herself from looking.
Pooja leaned closer, awed. “That’s Maharaja Bharat Singh Jogra. I’ve never seen him in person. They say he owns more than half the steel industry in the country.”
Yamini didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond.
Her throat felt tight, and her hands trembled slightly, but she forced them steady and lifted the camera again.
As he passed near the edge of the crowd, she angled herself slightly away, focusing on her settings.
Don’t look. Don’t look, dammit.
He didn’t slow. He didn’t even glance in her direction. He walked right past her.
Only when he disappeared inside did Yamini release the breath she had been holding.
But her pulse didn’t settle.
“I was not prepared for this level of VVIP,” Pooja whispered excitedly. “A maharaja is the chief guest for the event!”
Yamini stared down at her camera, willing her hands to steady.
This event was supposed to be her new beginning. But of course, her life always chose to incline towards drama.
The man she hoped to never see again had just descended into her life in a helicopter.
So bloody awesome.