Live Broadcast – National TV,
As before, CBI airs the exposé. Rajiv Rathi and Ravindra Sahni are exposed. Media narrative flips. Artisan leaders begin returning to the UDC cause.
Living Market Courtyard – Artisan Gathering,
Chand Bai, once angry and betrayed, now stands beside Rishika.
"The man who leaked this wasn't a CEO, or a builder. Just a worker who had enough courage left to speak. And you… listened."
Applause from the gathered crowd.
Press Room, Upadhyay Group, A reporter raises his hand. "Who was 'Friend of the Forgotten'?"
Rishika answers with quiet conviction: "A man who buried truth for survival. And then unearthed it for justice."
Veer adds: "The foundation of this market may be concrete. But its soul is built on truth."
INT. MADHVAN VILLA – FAMILY LOUNGE – LATER
Amar Madhvan sits beside Gayatri Devi, their expressions solemn as the priest delivers the final verdict.
PRIEST (respectfully, after deep pause): The Kundalis align with 30 gunas out of 36. An auspicious match. No doshas. No malefic influence. The stars are in harmony.
GAYATRI DEVI (relieved, folding her hands): Then we proceed with God's blessing.
The priest nods and opens his copper notebook. Pages etched with ink and tradition.
PRIEST: There is a Mahurat – a sacred window – on the 13th of next month, Thursday, during the Brahma Muhurta for the engagement ceremony. Venus is ascendant. It is a rare and prosperous alignment.
INT. MADHVAN VILLA – PRIVATE ALTAR ROOM – LATER
In keeping with Hindu tradition, the first engagement invitation is not sent to any human. It is offered to Lord Ganesha, the remover of obstacles.
A golden envelope, embossed with the family crest and delicate Sanskrit verses, is placed at the feet of the idol amidst mogra and rose petals.
GAYATRI DEVI (soft prayer): Let every step of this union be guided by you, Vighnaharta. Shield them from storms. Allow them joy, wisdom, and balance.
A bell chimes. Camphor flames dance. The Madhvan matriarch's eyes close as the moment solidifies—a sacred beginning.
INT. MADHVAN VILLA – STUDY ROOM – LATER
The head butler enters with a tray stacked with shimmering cream and gold envelopes — the official invitations. Beside them, a guest ledger—handwritten, decades old.
Amar Madhvan (to Riyansh ): Begin with family, then our allies. The Upadhyays, of course, and the Oberois and Singhaniyas. Business isn't just boardrooms; it's relationships that span generations.
Riyansh (nodding): The courier will take personal invitations to their homes. But I'll visit the Upadhyays myself.
City D – THE UPADHYAY MANSION,
Veer Upadhyay receives the cream-and-gold envelope from Riyansh personally. The air between them is layered—cordial, deep, and strategically respectful.
VEER (after opening the invite): An auspicious match, I hear. May the stars bless this union. We'll attend—family, in full.
CITY M – THE OBEROI ESTATE,
The envelope arrives in the hands of the Oberoi family's old steward. Mrs. Oberoi smiles at the seal and looks up from her embroidery.
Mrs. Oberoi: So it begins—the next chapter of legacy.
SINGHANIYA MANSION – SEAVIEW BUNGALOW
The Head butler personally hands over the invitation to Mr. Singhaniya, who scans it with his classic monocle.
MR. Singhaniya (chuckling): A Thursday? Lucky day. I was married on one. Let's hope their luck matches mine—and not my wife's temper.
INT. MADHVAN VILLA – NIGHT BEFORE PRESS ANNOUNCEMENT
The family sits together in a candlelit drawing room. Glasses of paan-infused sherbet pass around as Gayatri Devi addresses the family.
Gayatri Devi(firmly): This engagement is not just of two hearts. It is of histories, legacies, and futures. The world will watch, the media will speculate—but what matters most is the spirit we carry into that hall.
Amar Madhvan: Respect. Grace. And clarity of purpose.
Riyansh (raising his glass): To beginnings—whether arranged by stars, by wisdom, or by choice.
All (in unison): To beginnings.
EXT. MEDIA OUTLETS – NEXT DAY
By Friday morning, leading social media pages and entertainment tabloids had flooded the internet with posts titled: "Madhvan-Bansal Alliance: Empire Meets Elegance"
" Engagement Confirmed – Ceremony Set for Next Month"
Guestlist Includes: The Upadhyay Dynasty, Oberoi Conglomerate, and Singhaniya Consortium.
MITAL'S HOUSE —AT NIGHT,
The sky, a canvas of burnt gold and violet, cast a warm, diffuse light across the terrace.
Vivaan stood at the railing, guitar in hand, meticulously adjusting the tuning pegs. The chords he strummed were fragmented—nascent musical ideas, like scattered pieces of a puzzle he was still assembling.
From inside, the rhythmic pulse of Dev's beatpad resonated—precise, measured, yet vibrant. Dev emerged, laptop tucked under his arm, sipping from a thermos. He appeared relaxed, comfortable, as if he inherently belonged in a world where sounds coalesced into meaning.
"Ready?" Dev inquired.
Vivaan gave a slight nod. "Try bringing the hi-hat in a bit earlier. On the second loop."
Dev smiled. "Look at you, taking charge."
He implemented the adjustment, and together they nurtured the sound. Dev layered the rhythm, providing a structural foundation, while Vivaan wove in the melody, initially hesitant, then gaining confidence.
Minutes drifted by, perhaps an hour. Time became fluid.
"Let's re-record the hook. From the beginning."
Vivaan resumed strumming, his tempo slower now. A beat. A pause. Then Dev added the underlying rhythm, synchronizing perfectly.
Vivaan adjusted the microphone stand, brushing aside a stray strand of hair that repeatedly fell across his eyes. Dev sat cross-legged on the woven mat near the soundboard, his laptop open but untouched. He observed Vivaan, though he feigned indifference.
"You always stare like that when I'm tuning," Vivaan remarked, without looking up.
Dev smirked. "You always blush when I catch you noticing."
Vivaan paused, his fingers hovering over the fretboard.
For a moment, the air between them was still. Then Dev rose and stepped closer. Not too close, but close enough for Vivaan to register his presence.
"Try that D7 chord again," Dev said, his voice softer, almost preoccupied. "But slower… like you're confiding a secret you're afraid someone might overhear."
Vivaan inhaled sharply, his fingers instinctively returning to the guitar strings. He strummed a slower, gentler melody, evocative of falling silk. Dev approached, adjusting the microphone, their hands briefly brushing. Neither reacted.
For a fleeting moment, the world contracted to the hum of the amplifier, the whisper of the wind, and the synchronized rhythm of their hearts.
Vivaan turned slightly, their shoulders touching. "This track," he stated, maintaining eye contact, "doesn't feel like a demo anymore."
Dev's voice (low and intimate): "Because it's not. This one's real."
He retreated slightly, breaking the physical connection but not the palpable tension. It lingered, unspoken, like unfinished lyrics.
Vivaan cleared his throat. "Let's record it, then."
Dev nodded, his gaze lingering on Vivaan before returning to the console.
As the opening chords resonated across the terrace, silence fell between them. Yet, in that silence, something had undeniably shifted. Unspoken. Unacknowledged. But present.
Waiting. After the Sunset – Inner Echoes
Nightfall | Mital's Rooftop,
The final track was recorded, the equipment packed. The golden hue of evening had faded into indigo shadows.
Yet, neither Vivaan nor Dev left.
They remained on the rooftop, where the breeze was softer and moonlight washed the tiles in silver. They stood beside one another in comfortable silence.
Vivaan leaned against the old stone parapet, his gaze lost in the city lights below.
Dev stood a few feet away, sipping ginger tea he'd unconsciously made for two. He didn't offer Vivaan the second cup. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps the silence felt too profound to break.
Vivaan, glancing sideways, felt the warmth of Dev's presence in the space between them. His chest tightened, not unpleasantly, like a sustained, unresolved chord.
He recalled Dev's look earlier – not dramatic, not flirtatious, but as if he saw something… and then chose silence. And why hadn't Vivaan stepped away when their hands brushed? Why had he wanted that moment to linger?
He closed his eyes briefly, as if to dispel the questions, but they lingered within.
Dev, too, wrestled with his own internal dialogue. For years, music had been his sole escape, his purest truth. He'd mastered emotional detachment, translating feelings into melodies rather than experiencing them. But Vivaan disrupted that rhythm. Vivaan, with his quiet grace, his pauses before speaking, the way he played a chord as if it mattered to someone.
Dev found himself watching the tilt of Vivaan's head, moonlight catching in his lashes. A sudden, terrifying thought arose: If he looked at me right now, would I look away?
He didn't get the chance to find out.
Vivaan stirred, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. "Strange," he said with a half-smile, "it felt like something shifted today. In the air."
Dev exhaled a low, nervous laugh. "Yeah. Probably just the monsoon coming in." But they both knew better.
Vivaan simply nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the city.
Dev finally placed the untouched second cup of tea beside Vivaan on the ledge. Not offering it, just placing it there. A gesture. A possibility.
They didn't speak again.
But long after Dev left, Vivaan remained on the rooftop, staring at the now lukewarm tea, wondering why it made his heart ache and feel full at the same time.