'Ishan Oberoi' - The name that echoes success, power, and resilience. A rising billionaire who carved his empire with his own hands, refusing to ride on his father's wealth. Yet, he never turned his back on his responsibilities as a son. Balancing h...
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AUTHOR'S POV :
Everyone was running here and there; the mansion that usually brimmed with grandeur and serenity now pulsed with chaos. In the Oberoi household, it felt as though a shadow of tragedy had brushed past the walls, leaving behind a tense stillness in the air.
“Aaradhna, where is Ishan?” Sunaina’s voice carried a sharp edge as she set down a basket of fruits on the table, her hands trembling slightly though she tried to hide it.
“I don’t know, Maa,” Aaradhna replied, worry flashing in her eyes as she adjusted the neatly folded clothes in the corner. “He left for a meeting this morning, and he hasn’t been back since.”
“Yeh ladka bhi naa… Zara call karke pucho toh ussey,” Sunaina muttered, shaking her head before disappearing into the kitchen to fetch something.
(This boy… At least call him and ask.)
With hesitant fingers, Aaradhna dialed Ishan’s number. He answered on the very first ring, almost as if he had been waiting. Relief washed over her, but it was quickly replaced with exasperation. What followed was five long minutes of Aaradhna scolding him, her words tumbling out in a mix of irritation and concern, her voice quivering just enough to betray her anxiety. On the other end, Ishan listened in silence before finally offering his explanation.
“Kya kaha, kab tak aayega?” Sunaina asked as she returned, this time carrying a basket filled with dry fruits, her voice taut with suppressed impatience.
(What did he say, when will he come?)
“Maa, usne bola hai woh seedha resort hi pahochega,” Aaradhna replied, pressing her lips together to keep her smile from spilling, relief softening her tone.
(Maa, he said he will go straight to the resort.)
Sunaina exhaled heavily, her expression torn between irritation and resignation at her son’s carelessness. Yet beneath the frustration, a quiet sigh of relief escaped her. Without another word, she turned back to the task at hand.
After ensuring that everything was packed—the clothes, the gifts, the baskets of fruits and dry fruits—the Oberoi family finally gathered themselves. The hum of hurried instructions, footsteps, and closing doors filled the mansion before silence reclaimed the rooms. Moments later, the cars rolled out of the grand gates, carrying with them not just the carefully packed belongings, but also the unspoken weight of concern and anticipation.
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It was already evening, and the resort buzzed with music, laughter, and the faint jingling of anklets as friends and cousins danced in scattered groups. Strings of fairy lights draped over the trees shimmered against the dusk, casting a warm glow across the garden where the mehendi function was taking place. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and henna, thick with festivity, yet laced with emotions that simmered beneath the surface.
