A Glimpse of Red

Wind of change

Paris was waking up slowly, but Nitya Ranjith Singh Rajput had already been running for hours, her feet pounding against the cobblestones, the early morning sun barely touching the horizon. Ram Singh, her loyal bodyguard, followed at a distance, watching the determined stride of his princess. He knew her well enough to recognize that this wasn’t just a run for fitness. Nitya's mind was restless, and she was seeking solace in the only way she knew—pushing her body to its limits.  

Suddenly, she stopped, her breath heavy but controlled. Ram Singh, confused by the abrupt halt, rushed to her side. “Yuvrani sa, are you alright?” he asked, concern etched across his face. 

Nitya looked down at a piece of paper her foot had grazed, then bent down to pick it up. It was an advertisement for Rawal Studios. 

“When did the Rawals enter the film industry?” she asked, her voice calm but sharp, her eyes narrowing as she examined the paper. 

Ram Singh, sensing the shift in her tone, replied, “When Pratham Singh Rawal became the head of the family, he opened this production house to help  his college friend who was struggling to break into the film industry. Now, they've made their mark in Bollywood and have even started expanding into Hollywood.” 

Nitya gave a small, humorless laugh. “What a friend he is,” she muttered, her eyes still fixed on the flyer. “I want a full report on Rawal Studios on my desk before lunch, Ram Singh.” 

Ram Singh hesitated. “Yuvrani sa, they are not in our sectors. The Rawals are in —oil, weapons, construction, and IT. Their businesses don’t pose a threat to us.” 

Nitya’s gaze turned cold. “They aren’t a threat now, but the future is unpredictable. It’s better to keep an eye on everyone. You never know when a friend could turn into an enemy.” 

Ram Singh bowed his head, understanding. “Ji, Hukum,” he replied. As they turned back toward the Singhania house, Ram Singh quietly marveled at how Nitya, usually running for three hours straight, had cut her routine short. But he couldn’t help but feel relieved. She seemed calmer now, as if the paper had calmed her. 

--- 

Back at the Singhania mansion, Preeti Singhania was bustling around the kitchen, preparing a lavish breakfast. Today was special. Riyansh, who rarely joined the family for meals, was finally going to be at the table after the successful launch of Bhumi. Preeti’s excitement was palpable, and Anmol, her ever-observant husband, watched her with a soft smile. He knew what this meant to her. 

 By 8 a.m., the family began to gather. Anmol took his place at the head of the table, Riyansh sat on his right, and Nitya settled to his left. Preeti was still dashing back and forth from the kitchen, serving everyone, even though the staff stood ready nearby. Nitya’s eyes narrowed as she watched Preeti running around. “Is this how it works around here? The staff just stand there while Maasi sa does everything herself?” she asked, her tone cutting. She turned to the staff. “What are you waiting for? Do your job!” Then she turned to Preeti. “Sit down, Maasi sa. I’m not touching a single bite until you do.” 

Anmol’s heart swelled with love as he watched the interaction. He had always wished for a daughter, and though Nitya wasn’t his by blood, she was every bit the daughter he had dreamed of. She understood the unsaid things, the small gestures of care that often went unnoticed by Riyansh, who was usually too engrossed in his work to pick up on them. 

As breakfast began, Anmol turned to Riyansh. “Now that the launch is complete, we need to keep pushing to make Bhumi stand out. We need something more special.” 

Nitya, sipping her tea, chimed in almost absentmindedly, “Why don’t we collaborate with films? Movies are at their peak right now. If a heroine wears Bhumi in a major scene, it could do wonders for us.” 

Riyansh looked at Nitya, surprised by her suggestion. “That’s actually a good idea,” he admitted. “I’ll ask my team to explore it. We just need to find the right production house and the perfect project.” Nitya glanced down at her plate, her voice cool but deliberate. “How about Rawal Studios? I hear they’re expanding into Hollywood now. It’s an Indian company, after all, and it would connect well with Bhumi.” The room fell silent for a brief moment. Preeti and Anmol exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the unspoken understanding that lay between them. They knew there was history between the Rajput and Rawal families. Riyansh, noticing the shift in the room’s energy, spoke carefully. “I’ll look into it, Nitya. Let’s see what we can make happen.” 

As they continued their meal, the atmosphere remained outwardly calm, but beneath the surface, everyone knew that the mention of the Rawals was no small thing. Nitya’s suggestion had opened a door, one that led to a path no one was quite sure they were ready to walk.