01
RUDRAKSH
“I don’t think you understand, Aakash. You don’t have a choice here. Follow the plan—or I’ll buy your company, gut it, and fire you first.” I snarl into the phone and end the call abruptly. I can’t stand it when people try to use their useless, stupid brains.
Then my eyes glance at the notification bar—six missed calls from my mother and one from my father.
Shit, I’m screwed.
My father will understand, but my mother? She’s going to lecture me for hours about not picking up her calls, and then, when I least expect it, she will casually drop the reason why she was calling. Fantastic.
I try calling her. But she doesn’t pick. No answer. Great. I dial my father next. The moment he picks up my call, he chuckles. No, he doesn’t. He bursts into laughter at my misery, and I pull away my phone from my ear as I stare at it and shake my head. Great.
“You’re gone, son. All the best. I’m passing the phone to her,” he chirps before I can even greet him, and I can hear the huge smile behind his words. He is enjoying it too much.
I love my parents. Truly. But sometimes my mother, well, she can be scary. Truthfully, she’s the best mother I could’ve asked for. I’m grateful for her—and for my entire family. A small smile lingers on my face as I hear my mother’s voice from the other side.
“Mr. Rudraksh Malhotra,” uh-oh.
“I need an appointment to talk to you,” she says, sarcasm dripping from every word, and I suppress a chuckle, not wanting to hear another lecture.
“Mom, I was on another call. You know I always pick up when I can. I don’t want to die young,” I reply, a small smile playing on my lips.
“Shut up. I’m your mother. I’m more important than your work calls. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I probably got my temper from her. My father is a pretty calm guy. But it’s just about anger, which is the bad part of mine. I have issues with people in general. Neither do I like them, nor do I tolerate most humans.
“I talked to you about Mr. Singh’s daughter, remember?” She reminds me of the marriage proposal.
Of course. Marriage proposals again. She’s been relentless lately, trying to get me to settle down. I don’t get why. I already have a family. I don’t trust women. She knows that. Why should I ruin someone’s life when I don’t even believe in love?
That’s what women want— love —and I can’t give them that.
“Ma, please—” I begin tiredly, but she cuts me off.
“You won’t find a girl for yourself. I know you too well.
So, I’ve taken the liberty of finding one for you.
She’s beautiful, a good girl. I met her at a charity event.
She’s kind and soft-spoken, and I’m sure you’ll like her.
I’m your mother. I’m meeting her family today.
They’re on board with the relationship. You’ll benefit in business too.
The Singh Empire is a big name.” She informs me about everything there is for me to know in one go.
My eyes travel to the glass window of my office.
The city skyline basks under the bright sunlight as I slowly walk to the floor-to-ceiling glass window.
“You’re getting married—that’s it. If you want to meet her, I can arrange it. I’ve sent you a photo. Take a look.” She announces with finality in her tone, and I close my eyes slowly.
Wow. Not a request. It’s already decided. Why call me at all if the decision was already made?
“What’s her name?” I ask. If I’m marrying her, I need a background check. I don’t repeat mistakes.
“Shivani Singh Rathore.” She says, I can hear the smile in her voice, “Trust me, Rudraksh—you’ll like her.” She adds.
We’ll see, Maa.
“Do you want to meet her?” She asks after a beat of silence.
“Okay. Set an appointment for the day after tomorrow.”
She sighs. “It’s not a business deal, Rudraksh. You’re hopeless—just like your father,” she complains, and I can already see her shaking her head.
“Hey, I’m hopeless, but I’m a hopeless romantic—for you, Anjali.” I hear my father say in the background, and my mother shrieks.
That’s my cue to end the call. I don’t want to hear whatever happens next. I crave what they have. I just don’t know if I’ll ever have it. I don’t think I can trust anyone again.
When I click open the picture my mother sent, I’m genuinely surprised by how beautiful she is.
Slowly, I trace my thumb on the screen. Shivani has deep brown eyes, and her black hair cascades down her small frame like a waterfall.
She carries herself gracefully in the white kurti she’s wearing, its intricate embroidery highlighting her delicate features.
Her smile lights up the photo—but there’s an emptiness in her eyes. Or maybe I’m just imagining it.
I’m analytical by nature—but even I can admit, she looks like a goddess.
But my admiration fades just as quickly, and usual skepticism returns. I can’t let my guard down. No, that cannot happen. Not even for a pretty face. The past taught me one thing—trust isn’t strength, it’s weakness. It’s a risk I can’t afford.
Later in the day, I call my tech team and give them her details. “I want every bit of information you can find on her,” I say.
Let’s see if you really are as sweet and kind as my mother claims, Shivani.