Chapter 2

Sia stayed by the Ganga all moring .. then she went to the temple to help the priest like she always does in her weekend.

Sia left the Ganga behind as dusk settled over Benaras, the city slowly slipping into its evening hush. The air smelled of incense and river water, familiar and grounding. Yet her thoughts were restless, circling around a presence she hadn’t invited into her mind.

By the time she reached the Dasgupta mansion, the lights were already on.

The living room glowed with quiet opulence—high ceilings, muted gold accents, walls lined with framed photographs of political victories and cultural accolades. Voices drifted toward her before she even entered.

“…Delhi doesn’t send people like him without a reason,” Rudra was saying, his tone clipped, practical.

Sia paused just outside the doorway.

Ayaan Agarwaal was seated across from her father.

He looked entirely at ease—one leg crossed over the other, back relaxed against the sofa, as if this wasn’t the house of one of the most influential politicians in the state. That irritated her more than she liked to admit.

Kalyan Dasgupta sat opposite him, posture straight, expression unreadable. Power met power in that room, subtle and restrained.

“This collaboration benefits both sides,” Ayaan said calmly. “Politics needs capital. Capital needs protection. We’re simply acknowledging reality.”

“And reality,” Kalyan replied smoothly, “is rarely as simple as businessmen believe.”

Sia stepped into the room then, her presence deliberate.

Every gaze turned toward her.

Ayaan’s eyes found hers instantly—not startled, not curious. Expectant. As if he’d known she would walk in at that exact moment.

“Sia,” her mother said gently from her seat near the window, sitar case resting beside her. “You’re back early.”

“The Ganga was crowded,” Sia replied evenly. Her eyes never left Ayaan. “And loud.”

Something unreadable flickered across his face. Amusement, perhaps.

Rudra leaned back, arms crossed. “You remember Mr. Agarwaal, don’t you?”

“I do, we met today morning only” Sia said. Then, without breaking eye contact, added, “Hard to forget someone who arrives like a storm and pretends he isn’t one.”

The room went still.

Her father didn’t speak immediately. Neither did her mother. It was Ayaan who responded first.

“I’d argue storms are honest,” he said mildly. “They don’t disguise their intent.”

Sia tilted her head. “Then you won’t mind if people prepare for the damage.”

A beat passed.

Rudra let out a low chuckle. “I like her.. that's my behan ,” he muttered.

Kalyan finally spoke, his voice firm but controlled. “Sia, this discussion doesn’t concern—”

“It does,” she interrupted, calm but unyielding. “Anything that brings Delhi power into this house concerns me.”

Silence followed. Heavy. Evaluating.

Ayaan watched her now with open interest, no attempt to hide it. “You’re studying Political Science, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “Then you already know influence doesn’t knock before entering. It just arrives.”

Sia met his gaze steadily. “And you should know,” she replied, “that not every door stays open just because you have the key.”

For the first time that evening, Ayaan smiled.

Not wide. Not friendly.

But genuine.

Kalyan rose slightly from his seat, signaling the end of the exchange. “We’ll continue this tomorrow,” he said to Ayaan. “Tonight has had enough… introductions.”

Ayaan stood, adjusting his cufflinks, eyes lingering on Sia for a moment longer than necessary. “I agree,” he said softly. “First impressions should be savored.”

As he left, the room felt different—charged, unsettled.

Sia exhaled slowly, unaware she’d been holding her breath.

Her mother looked at her thoughtfully. Rudra smirked. Her father’s expression was unreadable.

Whatever had entered their house that evening hadn’t come quietly.

And Sia knew—deep down—that this was only the beginning.

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