Chapter 5: Shadows and Secrets

On my way home, I noticed a few cars tailing me—definitely Patel family spies. A rickshaw blared 2000s Bollywood hits as it overtook me. I memorised the license plates, wishing my life was as filmi as it looked from the outside.

I jotted down the plates and sent them to my dad. He’d handle it.

But would the Patels suspect Kabir? I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, cold sweat slick on my palms. Bandra traffic never gave anyone a break, even late at night.

When I got home, I immediately messaged Kabir.

[Busy?]

Kabir replied instantly: [Bol, kya hua?]

[If anyone comes to your studio asking about me, don’t tell them anything.]

[Okay, I’ll keep it a secret.]

My fingers trembled as I typed, watching the double blue ticks appear. I didn’t realise I was holding my breath until he replied.

[Actually, about me and Aryan online…]

Before I could finish, Kabir’s message popped up first.

[Main nahi bataunga tumhare fiancé ko.]

For some reason, that made me feel like I was having an affair. My fingers hovered over the screen for ages.

While I was lost in thought, my mom came in.

"Meera, aajkal kahan jaa rahi ho?"

I quickly hid my phone, feeling guilty. "Bas… personal kaam tha."

She sat next to me, noticing my red, swollen ear. "Abhi tak swelling nahi gaya? Zyada careless mat ho."

I fiddled with my earring, Amma’s voice ringing in my head, and pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t blurt out the truth. "I’ll be careful."

My mom nodded. "Tere personal matters mein nahi bolungi, bas safe rehna."

She tucked a stray hair behind my ear, her eyes soft but worried. For a moment, I wanted to confess everything—about Kabir, about Aryan, about how my heart didn’t listen to reason. But I swallowed it down, like always.

"Abhi situation alag hai, zyada zid mat kar. Sab theek ho jaaye toh jo karna hai kar lena."

"I know, Mom."

If the Patel family enters Mumbai, Sharma family’s position will be threatened. I can’t do much to help, so I just try not to make things harder.

---

Meanwhile, in the studio, the shop was closed and pitch black. Kabir slumped on the old studio sofa, the blue gamcha still draped over the armrest, and stared at the butterfly clip like it held all his answers. A single tube light flickered, reflecting in the glass counter. Outside, a distant horn blared.

Should he not have mentioned the fiancé? Was she angry, is that why she didn’t reply?

The more he thought about it, the less he could control himself. Regret and longing twisted inside him.

He knew she had a fiancé, and he shouldn’t covet her. But whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was her gentle, quiet look and the way she’d said his name. Just remembering it, he was sweating, the restlessness inside him growing.

He grabbed a Thums Up from the table, took a swig, grimaced at the fizz. "Meera Sharma."

Kabir stroked the butterfly hair clip—the one she’d left behind during her cartilage piercing, the one he’d kept all this time. He ran his thumb over the shiny enamel, lost in thought.

A faint red glimmered in his eyes. He lowered his head and gently kissed the hair clip.

"Please, don’t come near me again. I really can’t control myself."

His voice was bitter and full of pain. The clock outside struck twelve. Somewhere in the colony, a dog barked, but Kabir just sat there, unmoving, holding the clip like a lifeline.