ADHURI KAHANI: A tale of an amnesic bond

34. KISSABLE NO NO EDIBLE

ISHAAN'S POV

I stared at the computer screen, my eyes fixed on the numbers displayed in bold. A satisfied grin spread across my face as the profits of the magazine appeared on the screen, significantly higher than before. The sales had skyrocketed, far surpassing the previous issue's performance. My heart swelled with joy, a deep sense of relief washing over me.

We had done it.

The thought that we no longer had to shut down the Indian branch filled me with contentment. More importantly, the people-so many families-would keep their jobs, and the livelihoods that depended on this company would remain secure. The pressure that had been suffocating me for weeks was finally lifted. All the sleepless nights, early mornings, and the relentless push to meet deadlines had paid off. It wasn't just about the numbers on the screen; it was about the future of everyone who worked here.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to breathe, savoring the success we had achieved together.

The sound of my phone ringing pulled my attention away from the computer screen. I glanced at it, lying face down on the right side of my desk. My hand instinctively reached for it, flipping it over to see who was calling. The name on the screen made my heart skip a beat-Dad. He must be calling to ask about the magazine's release, the project that had consumed my every waking hour for months. This time, though, I wasn't dreading the conversation. For once, I had good news to share. The magazine's success was undeniable, and I finally had the answers he'd been waiting for.

"How was the release, Ishaan?"

"It went really well, Dad. Far better than last time. We had to restock within 24 hours-it was a hit."

My father went silent for a few moments, but unlike before, I didn't dread the quiet. This silence wasn't awkward or filled with unspoken expectations-it felt calm, almost comforting. The air between us seemed content, as if the weight we'd both been carrying had lifted. I knew, even without seeing him, that he was smiling on the other end, and I couldn't help but smile too.

"Good! I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Dad," I said, genuinely feeling good about myself.

I heard soft murmurs from behind me, and then the unmistakable sound of Dad gently shushing someone. It didn't take much to figure out who it was. It's Mom. I just know. She's never been one to keep quiet when something's on her mind, and I can almost picture the way she's probably trying to tiptoe around the conversation, eager to say something but restrained by Dad's attempt at subtlety.

"Your mother is asking when you're coming back."

The smile I had earlier faded as soon as my father spoke. His words hung in the air, confirming the conversation I knew would come but had silently dreaded. My chest tightened, and the sense of calm that had just settled over me disappeared in an instant. I wasn't ready for this-not ready to face the inevitable. Not ready to leave this place.

The thought of returning to the U.S. had always lingered in the back of my mind, but now that it was right in front of me, it felt suffocating. I wasn't ready to go back. More than that, I wasn't ready to leave her behind. The idea of walking away from this chapter, from her presence in my life, weighed heavily on me. I wanted to stay. The realization hit me harder than I expected-I didn't just want to finish the work here, I wanted more time. Time with her, time to figure out these feelings that had grown into something more than I could control. But I wasn't sure how to explain that to my father.

"I have a few events to attend, Dad."

I couldn't care less about the events, but my father doesn't need to know that.