First Meeting

"You've been at Delhi Public School for three days now, yet you didn't even think to inform me. That's unfair. I never hide anything from you, but you, on the other hand, keep so many things from me," Sumit remarked, his voice laced with frustration.

His words sent a wave of shock through the students inside and outside the classroom. A murmur of confusion spread—how did Sumit know Surbhi?

Sia had already broadcasted to the entire school that her elder sister had come from a village—an unsophisticated, clueless girl who knew nothing about city life. But if that were true, then how did Surbhi know someone like Sumit?

Sumit had no connection to Surbhi's village. His father was a foreigner, and his mother hailed from one of Delhi's most notorious mafia families. There was no conceivable link between his world and hers.

Surbhi, unbothered by the commotion, retrieved a tissue from her backpack and said calmly, "Keep your voice down. Don't create a scene here."

"Oh, come on! You can't treat me like this. I'm your brother. Maybe not by blood, but that doesn't change the fact that I am your younger brother. You can't just brush off my questions," Sumit retorted, his irritation evident.

His declaration sent another ripple of shock through the gathered students.

Sumit was nineteen, Surbhi only seventeen—so why was he addressing her as his elder sister?

Without another word, Surbhi turned toward Riya, who was huddled against the wall, visibly trembling. Her tear-streaked face only reinforced the fear gripping her.

Riya had already been on edge after Surbhi's earlier outburst, but witnessing Vyoma's bleeding wounds had left her utterly shaken.

Surbhi extended the tissue toward her and said, "You scared my desk mate."

Sumit's gaze darkened as he narrowed his eyes at Riya, who was still sniffling like a frightened child.

With a smirk, he remarked, "Big sis, your desk mate is the most timid girl in this entire school. If an ant died in front of her, she'd probably sit beside its corpse and cry. You can't seriously blame me for scaring her."

Riya pouted, dabbing at her tears with the tissue, while the rest of the students stifled their laughter.

She truly was excessively timid. Despite being the class topper, she always sat at the very back to avoid drawing the teacher's attention.

Surbhi, unfazed, lowered her head and muttered, "Just leave. Stop making a fuss. I need to sleep."

As he turned to go, Sumit called over his shoulder, "Fine, I'm leaving. But after school, meet me at the café across the street. I have a lot of questions, and I expect answers."

Surbhi remained silent.

Before leaving, Sumit glanced at the students lingering outside. At his gaze, they panicked and scrambled back to their classrooms.

With practiced ease, he lit another cigarette, slipping one hand into his pocket. His stride exuded a confidence so innate, it was almost as if he truly believed the school belonged to him.

A short while later, the teacher arrived.

Riya tapped Surbhi's back twice. Understanding the signal, Surbhi straightened up, resting her back against the chair.

Even the sleeping pills had done little to help. Five sleepless nights had left her admiral-green eyes bloodshot, exhaustion evident in every fiber of her being.

The teacher distributed the question papers and answer sheets.

It took Surbhi barely twenty minutes to complete the entire test. After submitting her answer sheet, she returned to her seat, lowering her head once more—an action that made Riya's heart sink.

Mumbai

Sharvik played billiards among the city's elite, where conversations revolved around business for some and displays of wealth for others.

Amidst the clinking of balls and murmurs of high society, his phone vibrated. Without hesitation, he stepped away from the gaming zone, seeking the solitude of the balcony to take the call.

It was Mr. Anand Singhania.

Sharvik answered.

"Your engagement is in five days," Mr. Anand's voice carried its usual authority. "I want you to meet your fiancée before then."

Calmly, Sharvik replied, "I'll meet her today."

Mr. Anand paused, momentarily caught off guard. He had expected resistance—questions, perhaps even outright refusal—just as Sharvik had done countless times before. Yet, once again, the young man's unpredictability left him momentarily stunned.

"Do you even know who she is?" he asked, curiosity laced in his tone.

Sharvik's gaze drifted toward the distant horizon. "I know her well."

Mr. Anand chuckled, satisfied. "That's my grandson. You've proven, yet again, that you're always two steps ahead of me."

Sharvik remained silent, offering no reaction.

Mr. Anand continued, his voice turning thoughtful. "There's a condition attached to this marriage. Her family insists that you make her a mother as soon as possible. The old man claims he wishes to see his great-grandchild before it's too late. But I find it hard to believe that's his only motive. Something feels off. You should look into it."

Sharvik's brows knitted slightly in intrigue. The request was indeed peculiar.

"I'll find out," he said. "And the wedding? If the engagement is in five days, when do you plan on setting the date?"

"Let's get through the engagement first. The wedding—whenever it suits you," Mr. Anand replied. "My role was to find a worthy bride for you, which I have done. The rest is your decision. I won't impose anything on you. I'm not one of those domineering old men who dictate their children's lives."

A faint smirk played on Sharvik's lips.

His grandfather had arranged his marriage without consulting him, broadcasted the news across Delhi, and now claimed he wasn't the kind of man to force decisions upon his family.

Of course, Mr. Anand was no ordinary old man—he was far too cunning for that. A fox in the skin of a patriarch.

The call ended, yet Sharvik remained on the balcony, lost in thought.

Soon, Kapil approached, a file in hand.

Sharvik took a measured drag from his cigar before asking, "What have you found?"

"Only what the entire city knows, boss," Kapil replied. "Her background is unremarkable. Born in a small village in Himachal, abandoned by her mother just days after birth. Mrs. Mehta moved to Delhi and married Sanjeev Singhania, leaving Surbhi to be raised by her grandmother."

Sharvik exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "And her father? Any leads?"

"None yet. But I've sent our men to Mrs. Mehta's college. We'll soon uncover details about her father."

"Good. Send some people to her village as well. I want every piece of information on her."

"Consider it done, boss."

Sharvik took another long drag, his expression unreadable.

"Why now?" he mused. "Why, after all these years, did Mrs. Mehta suddenly call her back?"

Kapil's answer came swiftly. "Siya Mehta has a congenital heart defect. She needs an immediate transplant. The Mehta family business is struggling, and despite their efforts, they couldn't find a suitable donor. In desperation, Mrs. Mehta summoned her eldest daughter, Surbhi, to offer her heart for the transplant."

Silence.

Sharvik's eyes darkened, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke in the wind. Cold, unyielding, and lethal.

In his life, he had encountered many shades of cruelty, but this—this was a mother willing to sacrifice one child to save another.

Unforgivable.

His voice was as sharp as ice. "Prepare the chopper. We leave for Delhi."

Kapil nodded. "Understood, boss." He turned to make the necessary arrangements.

Sharvik retrieved his phone, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then dialed a number.

The call connected after a few rings.

His voice was steady, controlled—dangerously so.

"Reinvestigate Devika Oberoi."

Delhi Public School

The midday clamor of students during break time stirred Surbhi from her slumber.

As the last of them filed out, she stretched lightly before making her way toward the door.

Riya called out, "Are you skipping lunch again today?"

Surbhi replied, "I'm not hungry. You go ahead."

Riya hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but Surbhi had already stepped out of the classroom. With a sigh, Riya turned and headed toward the cafeteria.

Surbhi halted outside the art room, gazing at it for a moment before stepping inside. A boy was already there, lost in his artwork.

She barely acknowledged him, but the soft sound of her footsteps drew his attention. His eyes landed on her—and lingered. In all his life, he had never seen such an ethereal beauty.

Without a word, Surbhi approached a blank canvas, picked up two brushes—one in each hand—and began painting with an unhurried, almost detached rhythm. It was as if the act of creating was a mere obligation rather than an expression. Her brushstrokes were sluggish, her colors dark and heavy, forming an image too obscure to decipher.

The boy, now utterly distracted from his own work, observed her with growing intrigue. There was something captivating about the way she painted, something inexplicably haunting. What could she possibly be creating with both hands at once?

Minutes passed before Surbhi set down the brushes. Without sparing the canvas a final glance, she turned and walked out.

The boy, however, found his gaze locked on the painting she left behind. As he stepped closer, a flicker of disbelief crossed his face. His breath hitched, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes were seeing.

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As the school day came to an end, Surbhi slung her backpack over her shoulder and exited the gates, her steps slow, almost lethargic. Just as she reached the sidewalk, a man in a black suit stepped into her path.

She lifted her gaze, her expression unreadable. The man exuded the air of a bodyguard.

With a respectful nod, he spoke, "Madam, the boss wishes to meet you. Please come with me. Our car is parked across the road. He is waiting inside."

Surbhi's eyes flickered toward the opposite side of the street, where a sleek gray Rolls-Royce stood amidst a fleet of black cars. One look at the number plate, and she knew exactly who it belonged to.

Everyone in Delhi did.

Sharvik Singhania.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through her gaze before she wordlessly followed the bodyguard toward the car.

The door was opened for her.

Inside, Sharvik Singhania sat, his attention fixed on a tablet.

Surbhi slid into the seat beside him, slipping her backpack off her shoulder.

For the first time, she was meeting him face to face.

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What happens next?

What had Surbhi painted?

Why is Sharvik investigating Devika Oberoi?

How will this first encounter unfold?

To know…

To be continued…