Chapter 2: The Ring and the Past

“I heard that during your illness, thanks to Mr. Arjun’s unwavering care, you two are about to share some good news.”

My throat tightened as I looked at Priya on stage.

She curled her lips and raised her left hand, showing her ring finger.

On it was a simple silver ring.

...It was the one I had bought for her while working part-time, just to cheer her up.

The distinguished Mehra family heiress, wearing such a cheap ring, looked a bit out of place.

Her fingertips gently caressed it.

The room caught its breath. Someone in the back whispered, “Yeh toh badi simple hai, Mehra family ki ladki, aur itni choti si ring?”—the way Indian aunties notice every detail, from toe rings to watches.

“Yes, he and I are about to get engaged.”

As she spoke, her gaze swept across the audience. Whether by accident or not, it landed on me in the corner—just for a few seconds, then she looked away.

The microphone was handed to Arjun: “Mr. Arjun, I heard you’re currently shooting with Director Lata. She rarely uses new actors. Is this because of President Priya?”

He smiled and admitted, “Of course. I’ve always been confident in my professional skills, but I won’t deny that Priya has really done a lot for me. I am fully deserving of this favour.”

His candid attitude won him the crowd’s praise.

Someone asked, “Can you tell us about how you and President Priya supported each other during tough times?”

Arjun’s smile suddenly froze. In the awkward silence, even time seemed to slow down.

After a long moment, Priya chuckled softly and took the microphone. “There’s not much to say. The memories between us are enough for just the two of us to know.”

My eyes suddenly stung. I gripped the pen in my hand and quickly lowered my head.

Every time I closed my eyes, I would remember the past.

When Priya was a teenager, her stubborn personality offended many people. After she fell from grace, some came to create trouble on purpose. To protect her, I was pushed down the stairs and ended up covered in blood. Those people panicked and ran away.

I gritted my teeth, pretended nothing had happened, and walked back to her: “Let’s go home.”

But Priya suddenly grabbed my hand: “You’re hurt, let’s go to the hospital.”

“I’m not—”

“I smell blood.”

Her voice suddenly rose, and tears rolled down from her clouded eyes.

She called out, but it was my brother’s name: “Arjun. When I get better, I want to give you the grandest wedding in the world.”

Her words echoed in my ears, carrying the weight of every broken promise and every prayer whispered before a temple lamp. My hand shook as I scribbled notes, pretending the sting in my eyes was from the harsh fluorescent lights, not old grief.