14. IMAGE ISSUES
VEERAJ
I am beginning to think my family attracts media scandals the same way honey attracts bees.
I sit in one of the conference rooms at the palace, staring at my brothers while Vihaan paces the length of the room like a man moments away from a breakdown.
Honestly, the reaction feels too dramatic. "What is with this family and media issues?" Vihaan throws both hands in the air. "Why do you people keep creating work for me?"
I lean back in my chair. Devraj bhai sa presses his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. I look back at Vihaan.
"You're acting like I committed a crime."
"You practically did."
I sigh. The man is exhausting.
"I didn't know somebody was secretly taking photographs."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
Vihaan stares at me. Then he taps on his tablets screen and slides it across the table toward me. "Look."
I pick it up.
Immediately regretting it. Because there it is. The photograph. The one currently causing everyone to lose their minds.
For a moment I simply stare at it. The image had clearly been taken from a distance.
The street lights cast everything in warm gold.
Diya stands in front of me wearing the helmet.
My hand is gripping the front of it. Pulling her slightly closer.
Her face tilted up. Mine tilted down. The angle makes it look far more intimate than it actually was.
Like we're sharing a secret. Like we're moments away from kissing. Like the rest of the world disappeared around us . . . maybe it did but it's not for everyone to know.
I suppress a groan.
"What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?" I ask.
Vihaan makes a sound that can only be described as suffering. "Are you blind?"
"No."
"It looks like you're kissing her."
"There is no kissing."
"Your noses are practically touching."
"That's because she got stuck in the helmet."
"Do you hear yourself?"
I rub my forehead. This conversation is lowering my IQ. "We were standing close."
"Standing close?" Vihaan repeats. "The grumpiest Shekhawat alive. The man who avoids eye contact with most of society. The same man who barely tolerates people standing within five feet of him. And suddenly he's staring into a woman's eyes in the middle of the night."
I open my mouth. Close it. Then open it again. Nothing comes out. Because unfortunately . . . That sounds worse when he says it out loud.
Vihaan immediately notices. His eyes widen. "Aha."
"There is no aha."
"There absolutely is."
"There isn't."
"You hesitated."
I look at Devraj bhai-sa. "Can we replace him?"
"No." Bhai-sa chuckles.
Vihaan points triumphantly. "He likes her."
I stare at him. Then slowly lift my hand. And show him my middle finger. "I don't like her."
"Sure." Vihaan collapses into a chair. Looking exhausted. As if he's the victim here. Unbelievable.
The room falls quiet for a moment.
My gaze drifts back toward the photograph. And annoyingly . . . I remember that night.
The wind. The motorcycle. Her trying to remove that helmet with enough confidence to power an entire city despite being completely stuck.
The outrage on her face when I insulted her hair.
The way she shoved the helmet into my chest. The way she stormed away.
The way she looked back once before disappearing inside. A strange feeling settles in my chest.
Not unpleasant.
Not comfortable either.
Just . . . There.
I put the tablet down. Immediately. Because I don't particularly enjoy examining that feeling.
"So what's the solution?" I ask.
Devraj bhai sa becomes serious again. "The solution is simple."
Nothing involving the media is ever simple. "We meet her parents."
I sigh. Of course. "Do we have to?"
"Yes."
"It was a photograph."
"It affected her reputation." That immediately shuts me up. Because regardless of how ridiculous I think this situation is . . . He's right.
Diya didn't ask for any of this. The photograph might be harmless to me. It isn't harmless to her. Especially considering how people might treat her.
Something uncomfortable twists in my stomach. I don't like it.
"We've invited them here," Devraj says. "It wouldn't be proper not to address it."
I nod once. Fair enough.
"There's one more thing," Vihaan says.
I don't like that tone. "What?"
"You don't need to continue the NGO visit."
I look up. "What?"
"The board got what they wanted."
I stare at him. For some reason . . . The words don't bring the relief they should. I would've celebrated. Two weeks ago I would've happily walked away.
Now?
My mind immediately fills with images. Laila helping me understand what Raj silently signed. Keshav talking about his weird dreams. Rani pretending she doesn't care when she absolutely does. Lucky being a menace.
The chaotic courtyard. The noisy lunch hours. The donation room.
Diya.
Arguing. Talking. Teasing Looking far too pleased whenever she thinks she's won something.
I blink. Annoyed. Because I shouldn't miss any of it. I am not attached. Not really. I've only been there for two weeks. And yet the idea of not going tomorrow feels strangely . . . Empty. Like part of my routine has been removed without permission.
"Veeraj?"
I look up. Bhai sa is watching me carefully. I clear my throat. "Fine."
Vihaan smirks but he's wise enough to not comment.
Bhai-sa's phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and immediately stands. "They'll be here in thirty minutes."
I nod.
He picks up his coat. "I need to look after Aadhya till Meher comes back from school. It was my turn today."
The words come out automatically. "You should go. I can handle this."
Bhai-sa pauses and smiles slightly. "I'll be here for you, Veeraj."
Something settles in my chest. A familiar feeling. The same feeling I've had my entire life around my brothers. Especially Bhai-sa. Steady. Certainty. No matter what disaster appears. No matter what mistake gets made. No matter how complicated things become. They show up. He shows up. Every time.
Bhai-sa claps my shoulder before heading toward the door. Vihaan follows him out after throwing me one final annoying grin.
And suddenly I'm alone. The conference room grows quiet. The photograph still sits on the table.
I shouldn't pick it up again. I know that. Yet somehow . . . A few seconds later . . . I do.
My gaze lands on Diya.
The photograph captured the exact moment she was glaring at me. Annoyed. Defiant. Completely unimpressed by who I am.
A small huff escapes me.
Then I put the tablet down again. Because in less than thirty minutes I'll be meeting her parents. And something tells me this situation is about to become far more complicated than a stupid photograph.
Much more complicated.