-• a closure or a beginning •-

Yuvraaj Singh Chauhan

I fold the last of my shirts in the suitcase. Normally, I don't pack my own suitcase, Zoya does it for me. I never had the time, nor any interest in what I was wearing. And I trusted Zoya's taste, she knew perfectly which outfit goes with which event or function I'm supposed to attend. But she isn't coming with me to New York this time. And I cannot call her every second there to ask what I need to wear when. Especially not in front of Sara. She already thinks of me as a manchild. I'm not. I'm just constantly busy. But she'd never try to understand that. According to her, I'm a man who thinks of women's existence only necessary to make his life convenient and easy, which is not true. And I don't know when she's going to realise that, hopefully before we part ways for good.

Are you sure about that? You tricked her into sharing a suite with you.

I slow down folding the pants and clear my throat, blocking the randomly popping thoughts. Maybe it's because I don't have people to talk to that I talk to myself so often in the head.

My phone starts ringing on the desk. I breathe out in relief. Confrontation with people unnerves me. Confrontation with myself makes me anxious. Reaching the blaring device, I slide the answer button and press the screen to my ear, sandwiching it between my ear and shoulder as I continue folding the pants.

"Yes,"

"I've convinced the board to undertake the palace under our contract for the chain of hotels and resorts. They want fifty percent of it to be under the management's control, leaving only the main palace for domestic use. And they're only agreeing if the investor works on twenty percent return profit. You really want to do this? It's a deal benefiting only us."

I hum.

"Alright, I'll set up a meeting with Arush.. Will you be in New York then?"

"Possibly," I answer him.

"Why are you doing this, Yuvraaj? You don't regret things."

"I don't. She became an exception." I answer, an unamused smile on my face. "Like always," I whisper under my breath.

"Sorry? I missed what you said last," he informs.

"Nothing," I mumble. "I've an architect in my mind. She'll be perfect for this job."

"Leah?"

"Yeah, but I'll need to convince her first."

"Her fees are exceptionally high. And she's notorious among the engineers for her complex work. They crib about how often she meddles into their work once the project is in progress."

"I know. But she's best for this. She knows Sara inside out. And she had been to that palace more than I did. She is familiar with that place."

"I'm too."

"You're not an architect." I snort.

"Alright, if you say so. See you after you return from New York. Bye,"

"Bye," Hanging up, I toss the phone beside the open suitcase. Grabbing the discarded pair of pants, I sit down on the empty side of the bed, staring mindlessly at the floor.

There was a time I used to consider that woman a waste of my time. When I considered talking to her as a chore. When I didn't want to look at her lest she distracts me from other important tasks. And now here I am, wishing her attention towards me the moment it goes astray, stranded between my want to cut off the last ties with her and the need to keep her attached to me by any means.

I thought I was abandoned by the emotions that make you feel more than rage. I didn't expect them to corner me like this. I wasn't prepared to face the war that should be constantly fought, there's no defeat or victory waiting for me at the end, only an endless struggle between my heart and my head.

I supposed getting rid of her would help me get rid of these unnecessary feelings.

But the thought alone makes me uneasy. I don't covet life with her, but I also detest it without her.

Now that she's here, now that she makes me think beyond my siblings and business, how can I let go of the purpose that made itself become mine without burdening me with its responsibility?

Sara, as always, happened to me in little moments, moments I didn't pay attention to, moments I acted in without planning or a strategy, moments that were unexpected and unwanted, moments that were so insignificant I never thought they'd end up becoming of utmost significance together.

Sara becomes the moment and I become the time, and it so effortlessly happens that we end up becoming my most remembered memory.

I startle with the realisation of it all.

Fuck.

Fuck!

I shouldn't be thinking about her. Not logically, not emotionally, and may God strike me hard, because definitely not poetically. What is wrong with me?

I drop my head in my hands. And hold it tightly. This New York trip is going to ruin me. I can already foresee it.

Ten days with her?

In the same four walls?

Twenty-four seven?

What was I thinking when I made that decision? Why does the thought of acting like a couple in front of the world make me feel a hundred different emotions when I cannot even name one? I'm not confident enough. And that's pathetic. Because I've been handling millions of dollars worth meetings since the age of 20! This is not the Yuvraaj Singh Chauhan I've built myself to become.

"I hate you so damn much, you little rebel." I mutter under my breath. "You make me a different man. I'm not used to him. He's.... He's so human, so emotional, so fucking sensitive."

How can a man like me who has handled a family of six, a business empire of billions, and the responsibilities that were never his, turn into someone who can't even think straight around her?

I drop myself back on the bed, watching the ceiling in my view, clutching the unfolded pants still in my hands. I've so much work to do. And here I am, lying on the bed like a highschool teenager caught up in the intense throes of his first crush. Can I be more pathetic?

Sitting straight, I finish packing up for the ten day trip and stuff the suitcase in the corner of my room, heading towards my study to get some work done when the presence of someone at the doorstep halts me abruptly.

Vivaan smiles softly when our eyes meet.

"Something important?" I inquire.

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, I need you to sign over your part of the property to me, please and thank you."

I shake my head at his words and continue my way towards the study room. He is in the mood to play around. If I entertain the man's not-so-funny jokes, he'd misunderstand my sympathy towards his nonexistent sense of humor as my interest in the lack of it.

Unfortunately, the second eldest of the Chauhan follows me. For him to be the second in line as the senior of the house, he sure lacks the seriousness for it.

When I sit down in my desk chair, he grabs himself one of the visitor's chairs and settles down, dragging it closer to the desk and crossing his arms on the edge of it.

My brows shoot up. He is determined to take this conversation ahead. I don't know what the topic is but I'm sure I'm not going to like it. If it's professional, I'd consider it, but if it's personal, I'll have to get him out of my room as soon as possible. And with our different professions, that bear absolutely no similarities except for money, I've a hunch he's planning to dig up my personal life because he's a guardian angel carrying solutions for everyone's problems in his pockets.

"Spill," I demand.

He presses his lips unsurely.

"C'mon, spit it out." I knock the desk.

"Don't intimidate me!" He slaps the desk.

I lean back in the chair, interlace my hands on the lap and wait for him to open his mouth so he can get out with it and I can get over with it. As I mentioned before, I have things to finish before the New York trip. And I only have three days to make that happen.

Rubbing my temples, because my siblings, along with the heartbeat of my heart are also the headache of my head. And sometimes I just want them out. Preferably the universe. But I can make do with my room.

"Look, Vivaan, I'm absolutely swarmed with-"

"Sara," he quacks out brokenly.

I stiffen. "What about her?"

"Still hate her?"

"Don't have a reason to."

He nods slowly. "Then?"

"Then?" I repeat.

"What do you feel?"

"What do you mean?"

He blinks, rubs his nape, looks around the room, catches my gaze again. "Is there any chance she'll reconsider getting her position back?"

I cock a brow in question.

"In our lives," he adds.

My brows dip.

"As our bhabhi," he squeaks.

"Out!" I point towards the door.

He flinches and scoots back.

"Get out, Vivaan. Go cut up people's stomachs or whatever shit you do." I snap.

His shoulders slouch. "Why are you getting so worked up? If it's a no, say it. I'll tell our poor siblings to not harbour any hopes."

I frown. "What hope?"

He shrugs. "She came here on the day of Raksha Bandhan. Remember the last thing she screamed at you when she stormed out of this place?"

"This is not my home! It never was. And I'm never returning here! I'd rather die than spend another second in this golden cage."

"I'd rather die than spend another second in this golden cage." Vivaan murmurs, falling back in his chair as he purses his lips thoughtfully.

I clench my hand into a fist.

Unlike him, I remember what she said word by word. It haunts me to this day.

"We'd walk through an inferno for our siblings, she only travelled twenty miles. Not a big deal." I open a random file on the table. I should stop doing this. This is not me. I don't pretend to be busy. I am busy.

"You like her."

I slap the file close, snap my gaze towards him.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Just my thoughts."

"Keep them to yourself. It's not necessary you speak all that's in your mind."

He sighs. "That ring," he points at my finger,  "you keep finding excuses so you can wear it always."

"I don't!" I snap. "I don't need to find excuses to wear a ring I paid for! I don't care why I wore it in the first place. I can't throw away an expensive ring just because I once threw away the relationship it signified."

"So you admit you fucked up."

I clench my jaw and look away. "Please leave, Vivaan." I command.

He nods and gets up from the chair, putting it back in its place. "Just-" I glare at him. He blinks nervously. But he still opens his mouth to speak further, "New York might be an opportunity to you." When I don't respond, he clarifies, "either get a closure or find a beginning. Stop torturing yourself like this. You're not just our brother. You're not just our guardian. We're not your only responsibility. You are too. Thinking about yourself won't make you selfish." The stiffness in my shoulders tries to cave in. I force them upright. "All our siblings are grown up now. They have their own lives. No one's going to bother with us. You need someone too. Someone who's not a responsibility, but someone who's a partner. Taranya says Rudra is her fifty. And that she's either a ten or a ninety with someone else. Maybe Sara is your fifty. Maybe she has always been." He taps the chair one last time and walks out of the room.

My shoulders finally cave in.

I take a shaky breath. Release it slowly.

In the midst of the ever so consuming confusion, I didn't need his words to add into the mess. I hate the way he picked on the reason for my hesitation so easily. I'm not a bachelor at this age because I don't crave a partnership, I'm a bachelor because I just couldn't think beyond my siblings. The one time I did, she left me before I could even make sense of my feelings. I didn't want to put myself through that ever again. Then came Taranya, with her innocent blue eyes, at the tender age of fifteen, and I knew I cannot ever look away from these beautiful six lives to care about my own.

I exhale deeply.

This is just a phase.

I haven't ever been with a woman, not emotionally, just once intimately, it's the only reason why I'm feeling so strongly towards my ex-wife. Nothing else. Certainly not love.

Just a phase.

My phone starts ringing.

Leaning in to check the caller ID, I baulk at the name flashing on the screen. Why is she calling me? If she has any issues regarding the travel she should have contacted Zoya. Not me. We've nothing to talk about.

Of all times, now, at eleven o'clock in the night? It's almost midnight.

Hesitantly, I go to pick up the phone. It stops ringing in time. I sigh in relief.

The shrill ring echoes again.

Licking my lower lip, I grab the phone and press on the answer button. Taking a deep breath, I clear my throat, compose myself and slide my thumb to answer the call. "Hello," my voice comes out curt and crisp, just as I wanted it to be. Good job.

"What the hell, Yuvraaj!?" She shrieks from the other end.

Wait.

Did I do something wrong?

Did I?

Why can't I remember anything?

Fuck.

"I'm sorry?" I apologise. Even though I don't remember what wrong I did, she must have a valid reason to blow up on me. She always does.

"You should be, you arsehole! I'm calling the cops on you this time! Enough is enough!" She shouts.

I sit straight in alarm. "What? Cops? What did I do?"

"You just said sorry!"

"That's because I thought I did something wrong!"

"You don't even know what wrong you did? You commited a crime! God, what kind of entitled man are you!? How many crimes do you commit daily that it's now a regular occurrence to you? You're such a prick!"

"What did I do, woman!?" I yank myself out of the chair.

"You sent a spy on me! Again!"

"I'm sorry- what!?"

"You sent a spy -"

"I'm not deaf!" I bark. "I heard you the first time."

"You asked what!"

"It was a reaction!"

"How would I know?" She snaps back. "Get him off me, Yuvraaj! Do you not realise stalking is a serious criminal offense!"

"I sent no such thing behind you! I got rid of Dheeraj immediately after he was caught! What are you talking about!?"

"What?" Her voice lowers down a notch.

The drop in her tone gets me worried. "Yes, I sent no spy behind you. What exactly happened? Why do you think you've a stalker?"

"This whole morning the same car has been following me around. I thought I was just seeing things. Then I remembered the stunt you pulled last month. I thought it was you."

"No, Sara, it's not me." My stomach clenches anxiously. "Are you somewhere safe? Where are you right now?" I stride to my room to grab the car keys.

"I'm home." She replies.

"Is uncle Virat home?" I pause in my steps.

"No, I'm alone." She mutters.

"Shit." I grunt softly. "Have you noted down the number?"

"I have."

"Then call the police. I'm on my way."

"You don't need to. I'll handle it-"

"Sara, please. Call the police. Give them the details. I'm coming to you." I state with the tone of finality.

After a moment of hesitation, she relents, "Okay,"

I open the door of my car and slide in. "Stay safe for me, little rebel."

"Don't -" her words are cut off by the sound of bell.

"Who's it?"

"I don't know. It cannot be Uncle Virat. He was returning home tomorrow. He's staying at Taranya's place tonight." She whispers.

My hand trembles as I revv the engine and pull out of the porch. "Don't open the door until I come."

She doesn't respond.

"Sara?"

"Sara?"

I pull the phone away and see her still on the line.

"Sara, you're worrying me!" I speed down the road. "Sara!" I scream into the phone, blaring the horn to get the traffic out of my way.

"I'm here." She hisses. "I was trying to look through the peep hole!"

"You don't have an intercom!?" I growl out.

"I need to fix it. It suddenly stopped working last month."

"God, woman, you stress me the fuck out!"

"It's -" the line cuts off abruptly. I pull the phone away and dial her number again.

"The number you're trying to reach is currently switched off-"

I hang up and toss the device aside, pressing aggressively on the accelerator.

The last time I was this wrecked was when Agastya had gone missing in the middle of the night. I hate this fear. I only accept it when my siblings' safety is compromised. Never for someone else.

And yet, I find myself wishing and praying that she stays safe until I reach there.

Please.

Anyone who's listening in the skies above, keep her safe.