It's Us

Part 2

VIKRAM'S POV

The evening had settled into a serene twilight, the city's lights casting a soft glow that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside me. Seated in my study, I stared at the photograph pinned to the cork board by my desk—a candid shot of Chandu from my farewell party 6 years ago. Her image was a bright burst of life amidst the grayscale of my memories.

As the CEO of Vardhan Group, I had learned to control my emotions, to keep them tightly wrapped in the armor of responsibility. But tonight, the photograph seemed to unravel that control, exposing the raw, unspoken feelings I had harbored for so long.

It was 6 years ago, at the college farewell party, when I first saw Her. The room was filled with the usual mix of excitement and melancholy as we prepared to leave behind the security of our academic lives. I had been surrounded by well-wishers and juniors offering their goodbyes, but it was Chandu who had stood out. Her presence was like a fresh breeze in a stifling room. Her laughter, her energy—it was like a fragment of a world I missed dearly.

I had been captivated by her from the moment she entered the room. There was something about her—her lively spirit, her confidence—that reminded me so much of my amma. My mother had been the heart of our home, a source of warmth and strength. Losing her when I was sixteen, to cancer had left a void that I struggled to fill with duty and control.

My dad had been supportive, but was never able to fill in the gap, the love and comfort only a mother could provide. He helped us out of the grief while he had lost the love of his life. I was extremely grateful to him for that, now I only share a formal relationship with him. Conversations are mostly about the "Vardhan" group, whose responsibilities have been a weight since the past 3 years, right after I completed my MBA.

In the months that followed by bachelors, I found myself inexplicably drawn to learn more about Chandrika. Her successes in modelling, dance, and her business ventures became my quiet obsession. Even after I left for London for my higher studies, I was in touch with my younger brother. Chandrika and Hasya visited our mansion sometimes with Nitya, who is Viraj's close friend from college. I kept asking him about her in the most subtle ways but after all he is was my brother.

Viraj, ever the observant younger brother, had caught onto my growing interest. "Annaya, you're seriously crossing the line," he'd joked one day. "You're practically a stalker!"

His words, though said in jest, stung more than I cared to admit. I knew my fascination bordered on unhealthy, but I couldn't help it. Chandrika's presence in my life, even from a distance, was like a comforting echo of the warmth I had lost. My feelings for her were complex—an admixture of admiration and a yearning that I was too afraid to confront.

The passing of my mother had thrust me into a world where emotional vulnerability was a luxury I could not afford. I had taken on the mantle of responsibility, burying my own desires beneath layers of duty. Chandrika, with her fierce independence and strength, embodied many qualities I admired but felt were out of reach. My heart was torn between the comfort of familiar emotions and the fear of confronting them.

Last night, her cousin Karthik, who had always been a close friend and confidant, had encouraged me to confess my feelings. "Vikram, you can't keep hiding behind your responsibilities forever," he'd said. "Sometimes, taking a leap of faith is what it takes to truly move forward."

Despite Karthik's advice, I had remained paralysed. The fear of rejection, coupled with the weight of my responsibilities, kept me from acting on my feelings. I had convinced myself that my role as the CEO demanded a level of emotional detachment that I couldn't afford to compromise.

Tonight, as I prepared for the campaign briefing with Chandrika, my heart was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The recent interactions with her, though professional, had only intensified my feelings. She was here, in my workspace, and her presence was a constant reminder of everything I had kept buried.

Rina's knock on the door brought me back to reality. "Mr. Vardhan, the briefing for the campaign is about to start. Chandrika is here and ready."

"Thank you, Rina," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. I stood up, straightened my suit jacket, and braced myself for the meeting. My steps felt heavier than usual as I walked down the corridor, each one echoing the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Entering the conference room, I was greeted by Chandrika's vibrant energy. She was engrossed in discussing the campaign materials with the team, her enthusiasm infectious. I watched her from a distance, my heart aching with the familiar pang of longing.

"Good evening, Vikram," she said with her characteristic warmth as she turned to me. "I'm excited to go over the final details of the campaign."

"Good evening, Chandrika," I replied, trying to keep my voice even. "Let's get started."

The briefing was a whirlwind of activity, but Chandrika's insights were nothing short of brilliant. Her creativity and dedication were evident in every suggestion she made. As we worked through the details, I found myself increasingly captivated by her presence. The way she spoke, the passion she exuded—it all reminded me of the warmth I had lost and the emotional connection I had tried to deny.

After the meeting, I stayed behind to discuss a few additional points with Chandrika. The proximity to her, the chance to interact more personally, was both a blessing and a torment. I felt the weight of my unspoken feelings pressing down on me, making it difficult to focus on anything but the urge to confess.

"Chandrika," I said, trying to find the right words, "there's something I need to tell you. But not here. Not now."

Chandrika looked at me with curiosity, her brows knitted in concern. "Sure Vikram." She has a confused facade and chose to divert her out of it, "We should leave early in the morning to Jaipur, it's already 9, it's better if we disperse."

She nodded gently, with a soft smile, her beautiful dimple faintly peeking through. 

As she left, I felt a mixture of relief and regret. The conversation had opened a door, but I was still standing at the threshold, afraid to step through. The path ahead was uncertain, and the courage to confront my feelings seemed just out of reach.

Returning to my study, I felt the weight of the evening's interactions pressing heavily on me. Karthik's words echoed in my mind, urging me to take the leap. I knew I had to confront my feelings, for Chandrika, for myself, and for the possibility of something real and meaningful.

As the city lights outside my window twinkled, I resolved to find the courage to make a decision. The time had come to move beyond the safety of denial and to embrace the vulnerability of confession. For the sake of my own happiness, and perhaps for Chandrika's, it was time to face the truth.