"Politics isn't merely about power; it's about wielding influence with finesse, orchestrating the dance of nations on the world stage."
•••
Welcome to a tale that echoes through the luxurious enclaves of the capital to its very downtrodden streets.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Rituraj Agnivanshi's gaze was unsettling.
It was as if he saw through Ananya, looking beyond her surface and into something deeper.
Though Ananya didn't interpret his gaze as romantic-it felt purely platonic-she couldn't shake the sense that there was something more to it. Why did he look at her as if he knew her on a level that others didn't? His intense scrutiny was unnerving, hinting at a depth that went beyond casual observation.
Just as she was lost in thought, Ekta's voice cut through, "Rituraj, allow me to introduce you to-"
"My wife. Mrs. Ananya Trayaksh Dev Khatri."
Trayaksh interrupted abruptly, but Ekta showed no surprise.
She, including the entire Khatri family were now more than aware of Trayaksh's fixation on Ananya.
It was apparent that he had made her a significant part of his life, a glaring contrast to the man who had once asked, Kon Ananya?
Ananya forced a polite smile, joining her palms as she looked at Rituraj. "Namaste."
Rituraj looked at her, and though his expression was polite, the intensity of his scrutiny lingered, making her feel the weight of it.
As the reception bustled with conversations and clinking glasses, Trayaksh engaged in a discussion with Rituraj at one corner, while Ananya found herself chatting with Meenal on the other side.
Her thoughts kept circling back to one question, Why was he looking at me that way?
The grand hall faded into a soft blur as Rituraj's mind was momentarily transported back in time.
A fleeting memory flickering in his vision-
A seven year old him. A sterile hospital room. The air thick with the scent of antiseptic.
His mother placing a swaddled bundle into his arms, and him cradling it with a cautious reverence.
He looked down.
A tiny, little baby girl.
Those small lashes of hers fluttering open, revealing a pair of alluring hazel-green eyes.
The warmth and softness of the tiny life seeping into him, cutting through his steely indifference like a blade.
In that moment, the cold shell that he was, beginning to crack, revealing the raw, hidden depths of a long-buried need.
