Meanwhile — City K| Mahajan Residence
Reena S. Mahajan was still at her writing desk when she received the email.
"We've been told someone accessed the Neelima Kapoor section of the archive after hours. Without clearance. Possibly forged. No CCTV evidence — power cut."
She exhaled, furious and terrified. Her hands went to her phone.
She began typing: To: Ira N.K
Subject: Urgent – Breach at Archive
Message: Someone's tampering with your mother's history. And perhaps yours. Don't trust anyone until we meet in person. She hesitated.
Bansal Mansion – The Garden of Shadows | Same Night
Mrs. Bansal sat at the wrought iron bench again, sipping her tea.
"By morning," she said, "there will be whispers about theft, plagiarism, and lies. Just enough to unsteady her."
Rekha replied, "And the boy?"
Mrs. Bansal's eyes gleamed. "He lands in City D tomorrow, doesn't he? Perfect. If she survives this... we'll show her what happens when history tries to fight the present."
She tilted her cup in a mock toast.
"To inheritance... and erasure."
City D — Monsoon Month, Studio Ira N.K | 10:06 AM
The new flagship store of City D Luxe had a marble plaque by the door. "Creative Head: Ira N.K."
Just the initials she stitched into every neckline since she was fifteen — like a refusal. Like a shield.
Inside, the studio breathed in whispers: scissors slicing silk, needles tapping rhythmically, steam hissing from the iron tables. The staff moved like dancers — swift, precise, reverent.
"Madam," a junior assistant whispered, "Mrs. Bansal has arrived."
Ira didn't lift her eyes from the charcoal sketch she was lining with gold thread.
"Keep her waiting," she said.
"For how long?"
"Until the guilt becomes a weight."
11:30 AM | The Waiting Room
Mrs. Ravina Chaudhary Bansal sat in a chair far too modern for her silks.
The woman was still impossibly elegant — marble skin, pressed pleats, eyes that had once terrified City D boardrooms. But today, she held a clutch with both hands like armor.
Ira finally entered, the assistant left like a shadow.
Ravina stood up. I believe we haven't met, but I'm quite familiar with you, including your time abroad."
"What do you want?" Ira interrupted, walking past.
"Leave this country within two days. Otherwise..."
Ira smirked, dropping a folder onto the table. "Otherwise what?"
Ravina smirked. "Consider this your only warning. After two days, I bear no responsibility for the consequences."
Ravina continued, her tone now falsely sweet. "You have a brother, correct?"
Ira stiffened. "He was my brother." Her voice remained calm, but cold.
"You let him grow up ignorant of his true identity, even his real name."
"Anupam—"
"Don't," Ira snapped. "Don't say his name."
Silence hung heavy in the air.
Ravina persisted. "His name is Aarav, isn't it? He still knows nothing about the Bansals. You're the only one who can tell him."
Ira turned away. "He stopped asking long ago."
Brooklyn → City D | Next Morning
Aarav Neel arrived on the first flight. No announcement. No driver. Just a backpack and a voice that told him something was shifting. He hadn't spoken to Ira in years. He had once stopped asking why. Why they were raised in different homes, then different continents. Why no one told him the truth. In the early years, his questions were met with silence. Later, with guilt. Eventually, with nothing.
But now, she was back. Ira N.K. — and he had seen her in every newsfeed. Her eyes were the same. He booked a cab. She wouldn't know he was coming.
Inside the café — all warm wood, amber lights, and the scent of brewing coffee — Aarav sat at a corner table, facing the window, his fingers wrapped around a ceramic cup he hadn't touched.
Every few seconds, his eyes flicked to the door. She hadn't changed her number. That surprised him. What surprised him more was that she answered. And then came the silence — the kind that spoke of years and unsaid things.
"I'm in City D," he had said.
Pause.
"I'm at the café near the studio..."
Another pause.
"Ira, please."
She hung up.
But now — ten minutes later — she walked in. She didn't scan the café. She walked straight to him. Dressed in a black linen kurta, her head still shaved, eyes darker than he remembered.
She didn't smile. Neither did he. But he stood up. And for a long moment, they just stared at each other — two strangers with the same eyes, the same silence, the same blood.
"You came," she said finally, softly.
"I didn't know who else to come to."
Ira nodded, lowering herself into the seat opposite him. Her hands rested on the table — bare, slender, ink-stained.
"I saw the launch," he said.
"They told me you'd be safer. Away from the name. Away from the mess. I thought I could protect you… by disappearing."
"And now? What do I need protection from now?"
She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"From the truth."
He leaned back, brows furrowed. "Then tell me."
A long silence. At that moment, A phone notification alerted her: "One day left." You're currently at a cafe with your brother. Take him and leave the country. This is my final warning.
She read the message but not replied.and told to arav The text was clean, surgical — no emotion, no signature. But the words were precise enough to chill her spine.
She didn't respond. Didn't flinch. Just locked the phone and slipped it into her coat pocket.
Aarav noticed the subtle tension in her jaw. "Is everything okay?"
She didn't meet his eyes. "We should go."
"Where?"
"My place. It's safer than out here."
Jor Bagh | Ira's Apartment – 10:28 PM
They arrived to the quiet hum of a night settling into itself. Ira double-locked the door and drew the curtains tight. The scent of cardamom tea still lingered in the air from earlier, a sharp contrast to the storm building inside her.
Aarav kicked off his shoes, eyeing her warily.
"You going to tell me what that was?"
"What?"
"Back there. That message."
She walked into the kitchen and poured water into two glasses, her hands steady only because she willed them to be.
"They know about you now," she said softly. "The people who've been trying to erase Mom. Erase me."
He blinked. "What do you mean 'erase'?"
"I mean… there are pieces of the past someone doesn't want us to find. And now they think I've brought you into this."
Aarav stood still for a moment. Then slowly, deliberately, walked over and took the glass from her hands.
"I don't care what they want," he said. "I came here for you. And if it's dangerous… I'm staying."
Ira's eyes filled. "You don't even know the half of it."
"Then tell me. Everything."