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-• who would you rather be? •-

People having something to hide are of two kind.

Those, who have done something morally wrong.

And those, who had something morally wrong happened to them.

Who would you rather be?

"His vitals look fine." I tear my eyes off the unconscious body and focus on the man in front of me. "I'm not sure why he isn't responding. But coma patients are usually like these. You never know when they wake up. It might be today, tomorrow, it may also takes weeks, months, years-"

"It's already been years." I cut him off. "Three years, to be precise." My eyes lock with his amber ones.

He sighs. "Or never."

"So there's hope, but I can't have it?"

"Something like that." He nods.

I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jacket and look down at the young boy. I've stolen three years of his life. He's innocent. He always was. Would he ever forgive me for doing this to him? I won't if I was in his place. So I hope he doesn't either. I don't want to feel more shitty about myself.

"Do we really look alike?" I ask softly.

The amber swirls shift to the sleeping reflection of mine. He gazes at the face for three long seconds and then looks back at me, nodding softly. "You do. He just lacks a bit of muscles, that's all."

"Virendra used to beat me up because he said looking at me reminded him of his half brother. I grew up hating my own face, only to realise I actually took most of my features from my mother." I smile, shallow, empty. "Isn't it funny?" My smile grows as I stare into his eyes. "When you hate someone, all you need to do is find a reason to justify it. No matter how insignificant it is. Maybe it is to make yourself feel more like a human. Only monsters kill without remorse. And nobody wants to see themselves as one. Nobody wants to be afraid of themselves."

"Do- Do the scars hurt anymore?" He asks, hesitance shining through his tone.

"No," I shake my head. "They sometimes burn. Like someone poured acid on them. It's usually when I wake up in the middle of the night after a nightmare. But all I have to do is stand under a cold shower and the scars stop burning."

He steps closer and places a hand on my shoulder, a certain kind of warmth emitting his bright amber eyes. The kind you feel when you're sitting with your family around a bonfire. "You're only 21, Shourya. You still have so much to look forward to. Is revenge your only goal in life? Is past all you think about?"

I move my shoulder away, causing his hand to drop. "Would you say the same if your mother was alive?"

He stiffens.

"See," I smile condescendingly. "It's been nineteen years since she died. But you still freeze at the mention of her. I live with the man who destroyed my family. I'm yet to find the man who sexually assaulted me when I was sedated. I used to think my father was dead. But after talking to Mr. Chauhan, I'm not sure anymore. So, yes, Mr. Vivaan Singh Chauhan, revenge is all I live for. That's what keeps me alive."

"And what will you do after you've achieved your revenge?" He asks me.

I shrug. "Buy a beautiful, cosy house in the outskirts? Read a newspaper in the morning? Have a cup of tea with my wife in peace before our kids wake up? Drive them to school? Go to work with a briefcase and come back to them before the night falls? Kiss my wife goodnight? Sleep without nightmares?"

"Why did I assume you'd say splurge all the riches and live a luxurious, powerful life?"

I chuckle. "These leather jackets and black jeans often make people misunderstand me." I look down at myself. "I'll be the richest. I'll be the most powerful. But that's my greed. What I told you just now is my dream."

He stares at me in awe. "Bhai wasn't joking when he said you're a strange kid."

"You've lived with him for over three decades and you still think he can joke around?"

Vivaan snorts out a laugh. "You know my brother more than anyone, don't you?"

I shrug. "He's not that hard to figure out once you've found a way to get under his skin."

He nods, looking impressed. "It's hard to get along with him. I'm glad you do."

"We don't." I shake my head. "I use him, he tolerates me."

"He doesn't use you?"

"I used to think he does. But recently I've realised he never needed me. He could have done everything on his own. He just saw potential in me and thought it isn't worth wasting."

"I can see why he takes so much liking to you."

"He likes me?" I motion my hand towards the door, a gesture to start walking. It's past six in the evening. Vivaan obliges wordlessly. "I'm starting to think either you don't mean half of the things you say, or you're just unintentionally funny."

"Why? Because I can read people correctly?" He holds the door open for me.

"Thank you," I step out before answering, "And no, quiet the opposite actually."

"You're saying I can't read people at all?" He releases the door and walks alongside me. We take the stairs to the ground floor.

"I'm saying you think you do, but you actually don't."

"And that's why you called me unintentionally funny?" He reverts to me with the question I had said as a statement.

I nod. We reach the ground floor and I put on my mask.

"Did you just call me dumb?" He turns around in the middle of the lobby. People glance at us weirdly.

"No, I called you funny."

"Unintentionally funny."

"Stop doubting my eloquence, Mr. Chauhan," I grab his arm and drag him towards the exit.

"Do you usually manhandle my brother too?"

"Unless I start getting suicidal thoughts, no." I deadpan.

He laughs merrily. Like a choir of kids singing a Christmas song with bells and violins. Honestly, it's quiet irritating. I open the door of his car and nod at him to get inside.

"Do you trust this hospital to keep him safe?" He looks past me at the two storey building.

I nod.

"Why?"

"I've my reasons." I answer.

"Alright, I get it. You're just another carbon copy of my brother." He sighs. "Let me know if you need my skills some day. I might not look like it because of my Godly features, but I'm one of the best surgeons in India."

"Did anyone told you you're a narcissist?"

His smile falters a little but he clings to it desperately. "Yeah," his voice turns down a notch, a light, breathy whisper. "My father."

I suck in a deep breath.

"It's too late."

The memory in my head replays for the umpteenth time. Since that evening six months ago, I've unlocked a new nightmare tormenting me in whatever scrapes of sleep I get.

"Did Taranya settle in well?" I ask the question that has been lingering in my mind for the last one week.

He hums. "She's trying to."

"Will she come back this time?"

He shakes his head. "Possibly, no. This time she wanted to go there on her own. It's good, I guess. She'll be only reminded of all the bad here. It's not easy to face your father's murderer every day."

"True." I concede. "It's not easy. At all."

He exhales deeply. "I shall take my leave now."

I look back at him and nod. He gets inside the car and closes the door. The window lowers. I bend down to meet his line of sight. "Did you forget something?"

"Yes." He says. "To tell you that I love your dream. I want to see you live it one day." He smiles broadly at me.

I press my lips together, nodding at him slowly in response. "Drive safe."

He chuckles. "You know how to wish well too?"

I don't answer and stand straight, stepping back to clear his path. He shakes his head in amusement before stepping on the gas. With a wave, he's off to the city.

I turn around and walk to the back of the hospital, fishing out my phone to call the person who made me trust this place with my half brother's life.

"I'm waiting at our usual place." I say once the call is answered and hang up. A few minutes later, I hear the crunch of leaves before the person walks around the corner and meets my eyes. I stand straight.

"Sorry, did I make you wait?" She asks me softly.

I shake my head and take out the stash of money stored in the envelope to hand her. She receives it with both of her hands. A gesture to express her gratitude. I hold back a smile.

She's the same nurse who used to work for Virendra. She was trusted with the task to sedate me whenever I needed to be punished. And she was also the first person to discover me naked that morning after I was assaulted. She washed me while I was half conscious, dressed me in clean clothes and even attended my wounds. That morning, after I found her beside me, looking at me guiltily, as if she was about to burst out in tears, I suddenly found myself not hating her anymore.

"Oh, she's trapped too."

That's what I thought.

After that day, everytime I was sedated, she made sure the door was locked. Only Virendra had key. That's how I realised it was someone else who did that to me. Even after looking through all the guards and hooligans he had hired over the years, I failed to find that person.

"Do you have any new order for me?" She asks after having put the money inside her coat.

I shake my head. "Just protect him."

She nods. "I will. May I ask you something?"

I raise a brow in encouragement.

"How long is this fight going to last?"

"Three more years." I answer. "Why? You think I won't provide you with the monetary relief after I get my revenge?"

She smiles. "No. I want to see you happy. That's all." She looks at me tenderly. I grow stiff. "You fund my daughter's education at this young age. I couldn't be more embarrassed as a mother, but still so much proud as someone who has watched you grow in front her eyes."

I look down at my feet.

"You've grown up to become a man many men fail to become in their lives." She smiles. "Don't ever regret making a choice that brings you joy." With that, she leaves me to mull over her words in my silence.

My phone rings. The shrill sounds startles me. I take out the phone and the name on the screen dampens my mood further.

"Yes, Secretary Khan?"

"Where are you?"

"I came out of the city to get some fresh air." I answer, sounding bored.

"Your grandfather wishes to see you. He's at the headquarters of Jumbo Steels."

I frown. "I'll be there in thirty minutes." I hang up and shove the phone in my pocket, walking back to the parking lot where my car is parked. Getting in, I slam the door close and pull out.

Due to traffic, it takes me longer than expected. When I walk inside my office, I find the old man sitting in my chair.

"Dadu?" My tongue burns at the name.

He turns the chair around and smiles at me. "Shourya, come here my grandson," he beckons me over. I walk up the stairs seperating us and kneel in front of him, my hand on the desk.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you work." He slides a hand over the glass edge of the desk. "But your secretary told me you rarely even come to office. I thought this is where you spend most of your time after University. Was I wrong?" He looks down at me with feigned confusion.

"Lately, I've been distracted."

"Why?" He tilts his head to the side. "Is Princess Taranya's absence affecting you the wrong way?" He gets up from the chair. I grit my teeth. I hate that he can walk again. He looked good in the wheelchair. But the bastard is obsessed with living long. "You know you can never make her your wife, right?"

I look at him sharply. "You never said that. In fact, I remember you saying something exactly opposite of it."

He hums, hands clasped on the back as he stares outside the glass wall. "You were young back then. I thought it's fleeting. And we could have used her for a little while. But it's when she returned from England that I started noticing you're getting serious about her. She's illegitimate, Shourya. A bastard child can never become Rajawats' Daughter in Law." He looks over his shoulder at me.

I get up from my position. "Too bad. I already want her as my wife."

He chuckles at my confidence, sounding impressed. "Forget about me, do you think she'd ever say yes to you?"

I swallow.

"They all think I murdered their father. They'd never approve of you for her. So start thinking straight, Shourya. Even in history, women have always been infamous for starting wars. Don't let her affect you so much. You're made for greater things."

Like your downfall.

"And if I convinced her to marry me?"

He smirks. "Alright, at the end of the day, I'm your grandfather. If marrying her stops you from making her your distraction, get her."

"I'm hoping you don't go back on your words at the last moment."

He walks closer to me. "I won't need to. Because that's never happening." He pats my shoulder and walks past me. "Drop me home, kid. Mr. Khan has his daughter's birthday to attend tonight."

I inhale a deep breath to keep my patience and follow him out of the office. His secretary tags along until we reach the basement parking. I get inside on the driver's seat. He settles next to me.

"Buy something nice for your daughter." He hands the man a wad of cash. Secretary Khan bows, deep respect and loyalty etched in his eyes. I look away before my face becomes the vessel of my thoughts. "Let's go," he says to me.

I step on the gas and drive out.

When we stop at the red light, he ignores the handicapped woman with a kid on her hip selling guavas for living but pulls out his wallet when a man, clearly an addict, stops at the window. I stare at him in confusion.

"If you give power to the capable hands, they'll flourish." He eyes me, throwing the money on the greedy addict's face. "But if you give it to incapable hands, they'll end up destroying themselves." He smiles.

My confusion turns into abhorrence. But I don't show it.

"And this city looks better without poverty." He looks at the hardworking woman with disgust.

I clench the wheel to the point my knuckles turn white. Releasing a low breath, I calm myself and start driving again. We reach Rajawat Estate and I stop at the porch. When I don't get out of the car, he raises a questioning brow.

"I've a flight to take. I've to be in Delhi for a conference arranged for young entrepreneurs tomorrow morning. Maybe I'll be able to make some connections on my own?"

He nods. "Sounds like a good idea. All the best."

"Thank you. I'll see you day after tomorrow. Take care." I tell him. "And let me know if you need me." I force myself to add. It's hard acting like an ideal grandson.

"Don't worry about me. Go ahead, you're already late."

I nod and look forward, driving out of the palace.

My jet awaits me at the airport. I shake hands with the pilot and make way to the lounge. Once I'm properly buckled up, the plane takes off. I count to ten in my head until we're stable in the air.

"Would you like to be served with refreshments, sir?" The stewardess offers politely.

"A glass of red wine will do." I reply.

"Give me a minute. I'll return shortly." She retreats.

I land in Delhi by nine o clock. Thanking the staff, I get off the flight and drive to the hotel. The manager escorts me personally to my suite.

"Did I receive any visitor?" I ask as he's about to leave.

"Were you expecting someone, Prince Shourya? Would you like me to call them?" He suggests.

"No," I shake my head. "But if someone drops by, escort them to the in-house bar and let me know."

"I will, Prince Shourya." He bows and exits the room.

I strip off my business suit and change into a comfortable pair clothing. Pouring myself another glass of wine, I stand in the gallery, staring at the city beneath my feet.

"You called me dumb."

"I'd never use such crude language to describe a woman's lack of intellect."

"Sugarcoating doesn't make it better!"

I chuckle. It was the first time she approached me on her own for a casual conversation. Or perhaps because she was hungry after seeing me eat the noodles.

Taking my phone out, my thumb lingers on her contact number. Before I can make the decision, the device starts to vibrate in my hand. I answer it. "Yes?"

"There's someone wanting to meet you, Prince Shourya. As per your wish, we escorted him to the in-house bar." The manager says.

"Thank you." I hang up and place the glass on the bannister, stepping back inside the suite. I pull out my black hoodie from the suitcase and put it on.

The elevator ride lasts a few seconds. His presence stands out among the little number of people lounging in the bar. I walk towards his table. The eyes stray from the view outside the window and look up at me.

"Hi, I'm Shourya Singh Rajawat." I stretch my hand out towards him.

He gets up and shakes my hand. "Who doesn't know you? I'm -"

"I know." I cut him off. "Tarun Mahajani."

He sits down after I do. "Why did you want to meet me?"

"Because I need you to do something for me. And I couldn't tell you that over phone."

Personally, I prefer to be the first kind.

The one who does the wrong, rather than suffer it.

Because I've suffered enough.

But I'm curious, who would you rather be?

Writing chapters from his point of view is going to be even more interesting now! I hope you feel the same as you read them.

Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.