Chapter 8: 06 | how would he maintain his composure now...?

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Video Attached: Synchronicity by Gaurav Dagaonkar of 'Pee Loon' and 'You Sang To Me', This singer is just fabulous with his mix and merges kind of version. You would love the video!

Year: 2015

Krishna's voice was sharp and commanding as he yelled into his phone, "Get those damn flowers there in an hour!" He snapped the call shut, tossed his phone aside, and snatched an elegant bridal dress from the designer boutique. His sister had noted it in his Evernote app the night before, and now, as he rushed out of the shop, he draped the delicate fabric across the passenger seat of his sleek black Mahindra Bolero—his pride and joy, the only jeep he called his own.

Jumping into the driver's seat, he revved the engine, feeling a thrill as it roared to life. "Yeah, babe!" he grinned, enjoying the familiar power under his hands as his jeep smoothly glided onto the road. Today was a big day—it was his sister's wedding.

It had been a tough battle for her, convincing their conservative parents to accept an inter-religious marriage. After a year of melodramatic appeals and stubborn persistence, coupled with unwavering support from their older brother, they finally welcomed Xavier L. Joseph into the family. Xavier was her batchmate from the National Institute of Technology, Calicut, where the two had fallen in love amid the picturesque surroundings of Kerala—lush coconut and palm trees, the scent of eucalyptus in the air, and the humid, tropical climate. It was during the long hours of working on their final mechanical engineering project that they had grown close.

Rather than a grand, traditional Indian wedding, the couple chose to keep things simple and understated with a court marriage, valuing privacy and the blessings of close family and friends over an elaborate affair. A wise decision, Krishna thought, sparing everyone from the complexities of a multi-faith ceremony and the inevitable arguments over cultural customs.

Krishna had laughed when his sister first told him about her romance, partly because he had always scoffed at the idea of falling for a classmate. During his post-graduation, he'd had no shortage of admirers, girls who circled him like bees, but he had never felt even a flicker of interest. The funniest incident had been during his IPS training when a fellow trainee had confessed her feelings for him. In his usual flirty style, he had teasingly asked what she meant by 'different', playfully biting his lower lip. The girl, unimpressed, had fired back a stream of insults, calling him a jerk and much worse.

He chuckled at the memory, recalling the day his best friend jokingly called him a 'Modern-World Vishwamitra.'

Maybe a girl with a tiny mole above that beautiful cupid's bow of her delectable lips is your Menaka...

His laughter quickly faded as he was jolted back to the present. His jeep screeched to a halt, the abrupt stop sending a rush of heat to his head. He pulled over, hands shaking as he killed the engine. Leaning back against the leather headrest, Krishna closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath. The vivid images of her that had haunted his dreams for years suddenly felt all too real.

How could she still have such a hold over him after all this time? Did she still have those kind, loving eyes? Did her long, raven hair still cascade around her like a garland? Did she still wear those cute ethnic dresses he had admired? And more importantly, did she even remember him?

He cursed himself silently, wondering if he was just another faded memory in her past. Back in his college days, he had gone out of his way to catch glimpses of her, jogging nearly six kilometers along Mahatma Gandhi Marg to the AIIMS campus and back. He remembered that day he had spotted her with Arihant's AIIMS Pre-Medical Entrance Examination book, silently wishing every day that she would pass that exam.

But luck had not been on his side. Even if she had made it into AIIMS, the sprawling campus meant the odds of running into her were slim to none. Two whole years of post-graduation had slipped by, spent on hopeless wishes and daydreams. And when he left Delhi, she stayed with him, not as a tangible reality, but as a cherished, secret fantasy. His dream girl, his Menaka, the one he had never even spoken about to his closest friends.

His eyes fluttered open, fixing on the sight in front of him: the imposing fortress of Nagpur Railway Station. His mind was a storm of memories, flashing images of her and that very spot where he had first—and last—seen her. He rubbed his eyes roughly, trying to banish her from his thoughts, but her presence was too stubborn, too ingrained. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, frustration boiling over. "Damn it, Samiksha! What the hell are you doing to me?!" he shouted into the confined space of his jeep, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

For a few minutes, he sat in silence, wrestling with the urge to break down. When he finally managed to calm his breathing, he knew he had to keep moving. His family was waiting for him back at the Police Quarters, and his sister's wedding was too important for him to be distracted by his tangled emotions.

Krishna took a deep breath, determined to shove aside the ghost of his past, the memories of his Menaka, before they consumed him entirely. He couldn't afford to be lost in nostalgia now; his sister's big day demanded his full attention. And so, he drove on, hoping to bury that euphoric, intoxicating feeling before it destroyed him, just like a drug that kills its addict a little more each time.

---

Krishna stared daggers at his sister, his eyes blazing with the intensity of someone ready to unleash an Astra right at her. He didn't say a word, just glared as if she were the cause of some criminal mastermind escaping his ironclad trap.

"What? Why are you staring at me like one of your damned suspects slipped through your fingers because of me?" Subhadra Kumari Singh, his ever-defiant sister, shot back, adjusting the pleats of her saree with a scoff.

Krishna threw his hand up in exasperation, gesturing towards her as if she were the root of all his frustrations. "Please, enlighten me," he spat out, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "What in the— I mean, what on earth did you see in that guy? How—" But before he could finish his rant, one of their cousins barged in, pushing him aside in a hurried exit from the room.

His house, which had resembled a haunted mansion just a week ago, was now crammed to the brim like a bustling motel thanks to the ongoing wedding chaos. He had debated with himself whether he should book additional rooms for the guests or make do with the cramped quarters. Ultimately, his frugal nature had won out—why waste money? Besides, he prided himself on being a wise man.

"Arey Krishna, come on," their mother interrupted, patting his arm gently. "Beta, be a good boy and go now. It's not his fault that his friends dropped in to surprise him," she said, smiling warmly.

"Exactly! His friends, not mine!" Krishna shot back, clearly irritated. "And I'm not some Rana to cart around Bashkor Banerjee and his damn luggage all over India."

Something didn't sit right with him about his sister's fiancé. Subhadra, with her usual fiery independence, would never settle for someone mediocre. And yet, her fiancé—Xavier L. Joseph—seemed to be pulling the wool over her eyes, playing the innocent while subtly roping Krishna into chauffeur duty for his buddies. It was ridiculous on so many levels, starting with the fact that Krishna couldn't care less about Xavier or his entourage.

But Subhadra, ever stubborn, refused to see it. That prick, Xavier L. Joseph.

"You're not that good of an actor, so stop trying to compare yourself to the legend Irrfan Khan," Subhadra retorted, applying a coat of bold, blood-red lipstick. She glanced at him in the mirror, evening out the color. "It's your call. I won't force you to do anything," she said, fixing him with a piercing look. "But remember, you're supposed to take care of your sister and her groom. Although, wait—you're not Jagdish Bhaiyya. Your heart isn't as soft as our big brother's, is it?"

There it was—her words struck his weak spot like a precision arrow. She always knew how to get under his skin, pulling the Jagdish Bhaiyya card every time. Jagdish Bhaiyya this, Bhaiyya that.

Krishna sighed, shaking his head. "You know what? Fine, I'll go," he declared, jabbing his finger at her as if daring her to keep talking. "But not because of that lazy fiancé of yours who doesn't even have a ride-hailing app on his phone. I'm going because I'm Krishna Veer Singh, and I have a reputation to uphold."

Subhadra rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "Whatever. Cabs aren't available in his area right now," she defended Xavier, "Xav only called me for help because there were no other options. Trust me, he'd be the last person to expect anything from you."

Krishna grimaced and turned to leave. "Tell your lover boy to save his excuses for someone who cares... What a stupid baby!"

As he stomped out toward his jeep, Subhadra's voice rang out sharply behind him. He paused, glancing back as she yelled, "Don't you fucking dare call him names!" she snapped, only to receive a smack on the arm from their mother, who scolded her for cursing like a truck driver.

Nonsense.

Trying to shake off the tension that Subhadra's wedding preparations had inflicted on his shoulders, Krishna rolled them back and pulled the jeep keys from his pocket. Sliding into the driver's seat, he buckled his seatbelt and decided against wearing his sunglasses. The sun was blazing, but after the burn Subhadra had given him, even the sun's fiercest rays felt like nothing.

The engine growled to life, its familiar rumble soothing him in a way only his jeep could. With a resigned sigh, he shifted into gear and pulled out, ready to tackle the task ahead. Damn, Xavier and his friends.

How would he maintain his composure now...?