It's Us

Part 3

CHANDRIKA'S POV

The clock on my phone read 9:30 PM as I arrived at my parents' house, the familiar sight of their home bringing a sense of comfort and nostalgia. The evening air was crisp, carrying with it the gentle hum of the city that I had come to appreciate more as the days grew colder. I stepped inside, greeted by the warm, inviting aroma of my mother's cooking—an olfactory reminder of countless evenings spent here, filled with love and laughter.

"Kanna, you're just in time!" My mother's voice, warm and welcoming, called from the kitchen. "I've made your favorite, Naatu kodi pulusu and Rice. Come, sit down."

I smiled at her, feeling a surge of affection. "Thanks, Ma. It smells amazing."

As I settled at the dining table, my father looked up with a grin. "You look well. How's the campaign going?"

"It's going great," I replied, my mind briefly wandering back to the day's events. "We had a productive meeting this afternoon. Vikram Vardhan was in high spirits."

My father nodded, clearly pleased. "That's good to hear. You've always been so dedicated to your work. I'm proud of you."

I felt a flush of warmth at his words. My parents had always been my biggest supporters, and their pride in my accomplishments was a constant source of motivation.

My thoughts drifted to my uncle and aunt, the quirky beings who always kept any gathering lively. It's not that my parents aren't like that but my parents' constant concern about me would power their words when conversations are meant to be light hearted and comical. I remember once I tried to talk in the Brahmanandam meme language, they took it seriously, earning me an hour of class, which only broke when Karthik Anna diverted my dad.

With curiosity I asked my mother, "Ma where are babai and pinni?"

"They went to meet Kavita's sister, her health is not keeping up well"

I hummed, mixing the gravy with rice.

Tonight, as I sat with them, my thoughts kept drifting back to the meeting with Vikram Vardhan.

The campaign briefing had gone exceptionally well. Vikram's presence was a mix of formality and warmth, his professional demeanor tempered by moments of genuine interest and encouragement. I had been keenly aware of his attention, a subtle reminder of how much he valued our collaboration. But beneath the surface of our interactions, there had been an undercurrent of something more personal, something I couldn't quite place.

During the meeting, I had been struck by how much Vikram's demeanor reflected a hidden depth. There was a certain vulnerability in his eyes when he spoke to me, a flicker of emotion that seemed out of sync with his usually composed exterior. I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to his feelings than mere professional admiration.

As the meeting drew to a close, Vikram had asked to speak with me privately. The request was unexpected, and my heart had skipped a beat. What could he possibly want to discuss that wasn't covered in the briefing? I had sensed a weight in his voice, a hint of hesitation that suggested he was grappling with something more personal.

I took a sip of the steaming tea my mother had poured for me, the warmth of the cup seeping into my fingers. "Ma, Nanna, can I ask you something?"

My father looked up from his newspaper, while my mother paused mid-bite, both of them attentive. "Of course, kanna. What's on your mind?"

"I was wondering," I began, choosing my words carefully, "how did you and Nanna handle uncertainty and difficult decisions when you were younger? Did you ever face moments where you weren't sure which path to take?"

My mother set her fork down and leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. "Oh, absolutely. Life is full of uncertainties. When we were younger, we had to make many decisions that seemed daunting. But we always tried to listen to our hearts and trust in the process. The important thing was to stay true to ourselves and our values."

My father nodded in agreement. "That's right. And remember, Chandu, it's okay to be uncertain. Sometimes the best decisions come from being honest with yourself and taking the leap even when you're afraid."

Their words resonated deeply with me. I had always admired their ability to navigate life's challenges with grace and wisdom, but tonight, their advice seemed especially poignant. My thoughts returned to Vikram, to the weight of the emotions I sensed in him, and to my own feelings of confusion and uncertainty.

After dinner, I helped my mother clear the table, my mind still preoccupied with the day's events. As we worked together, she chatted about the latest neighborhood gossip and the upcoming family gatherings. Her casual conversation was a comforting distraction, yet my thoughts kept circling back to Vikram.

The brief moment we had shared after the meeting felt significant, though I couldn't quite understand why. There was an intimacy in Vikram's gaze, a vulnerability that seemed at odds with his usual composed demeanor. It made me wonder if he was grappling with feelings of his own, perhaps feelings he hadn't yet come to terms with.

I recalled the look in his eyes when he had asked to speak privately. It had been a fleeting moment of openness, a crack in his otherwise polished exterior. I wondered if he was struggling with something deeper, something personal. The thought both intrigued and worried me.

As I said my goodbyes and prepared to leave, my mother embraced me tightly. "It was so nice to have you here tonight, kanna. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't," I promised, my voice filled with genuine affection. "Thanks for everything, Ma. I'll see you soon."

As I walked back to my car, the night air felt crisp and invigorating. My thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions—Vikram's presence, his subtle hints of vulnerability, and my own feelings of uncertainty. The encounter had left me with more questions than answers, and I was left grappling with the implications of it all.

The drive back to my apartment was a quiet one, the rhythmic hum of the engine offering a meditative backdrop to my thoughts. I felt a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension, as if something significant was on the horizon but remained just out of reach.

Arriving at my apartment, I settled into my living room, the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. I sat down on the couch, my mind replaying the events of the day. Vikram's gaze, his words, and the underlying tension all seemed to merge into a single, complex puzzle.

In the stillness of the evening, I allowed myself to reflect on the possibility that Vikram's feelings might mirror my own. Could it be that he, too, was grappling with emotions he hadn't fully acknowledged? The thought both excited and scared me. If Vikram was indeed struggling with his own vulnerabilities, it would mean that our connection was deeper than mere professional admiration.

The uncertainty of the situation was daunting, but my parents' words echoed in my mind. They had faced their own challenges with courage and authenticity. Perhaps it was time for me to take a leap of faith, to confront the feelings I had kept hidden for so long.

As I prepared for bed, I took one last look at the photograph of Vikram that I had saved on my phone—a candid shot from a recent event. His smile was genuine, his eyes holding a depth that intrigued me. I couldn't deny the connection I felt, nor could I ignore the growing realization that there might be something more between us.

The evening had been a blend of reflection and revelation. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt a sense of resolve forming within me. The path ahead was uncertain, but it was time to confront my feelings and the potential for something meaningful with Vikram. For now, I would allow myself to dream of possibilities, knowing that the journey ahead would be one of discovery and courage.