Reclaimed Legacy

(36) - A Mirror of Loss (I)

Hello everyone,

Hope you all are doing great - thank you for waiting patiently for this chapter, I was able to rewrite almost all the chapter but some parts needed some more contents to be added and editing, so I decided to divide the chapter into two. I must say, the YRKKH wikipedia is pretty useless - you will find me skipping details on many things, forgive me for that but I have tried to give attention towards things which are kind of important for the story. 

I have introduced some characters here, you can find them in Singhania, Rajvansh and Maheshwari family sections and you can check on what Abhira calls them through that section and figure out who all are mentioned by Abhira here. 

Happy Reading!!

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In the dim, solitary quiet of his study, Brij Bhushan Singh Brar sat, his fingers wrapped around the stem of a cigar—no ordinary cigar, but a Gurkha Royal Courtesan. The gold and diamond accents glinted faintly in the low light, an opulent mask for the deadly habit it served, inch by inch eating away at life itself. Bhushan was not a man accustomed to regular smoking, but tonight, he craved the slow, familiar burn. Tonight, tension gripped him in a way it hadn't in years. Abhira, his only grandchild and the one who bore the combined spirit of his two sons, had arrived home today evening after spending a week at Blackstone. She was tired from travel and had retired to her room without seeing anyone, promising to meet them all in the morning. The longing to talk to her right now was there, but the dread was stronger. 

The weight of tomorrow's truth pressed down on him, not because he feared facing it but because he feared losing her gaze—her respect, her affection. How would she look at him once she knew everything? What if those beloved, all-seeing eyes turned on him with judgment, with resentment, or worse, with hatred? Abhira had inherited parts of each of his sons—Abhinav, her birth father, and Abhijay, the man who had raised her. Both his boys were gone, taken too soon, but Abhira remained, a living relic of their legacy and a testament to their shared blood. The past few years had been an agony of patience and sorrow, seeing her each time with no memory of her heritage, of the bonds that tied her to them all. Only now, when he had finally tasted the peace of her remembrance and saw a glimpse of her understanding the truth about herself, did he tremble with the new dread that she might judge him, that she might feel betrayed by his choices. 

He pressed out the cigar, watching the embers dim, as if extinguishing his worries were so easy. From his desk, he unlocked a drawer and pulled out a photograph—Nandhini. His second wife, his late wife, the only woman he had loved. Her face, frozen in time, met his, and he allowed himself a sigh. If only she were here, how much simpler it would feel. 

"Tell me, Nandhini," he murmured softly, voice thick with years of grief and guilt, "will your gudiya rani forgive me? After tomorrow... will she still see me as her Daarji?" 

The empty silence of the room seemed to answer, and he let himself believe, for a moment, that she was there, listening in her patient way. The families of Akshara had come—Maheshwaris, Rajvanshs, and Lambas,—all here in London for Abhira, and they are staying at the Singhania House. And in his own home, the Rathores settled in, too, each one longing to finally embrace her without restraint, to reclaim her as one of their own. Only he was gripped with this quiet fear. 

"I was cruel, wasn't I, Nandhini?" he asked the photograph, his fingers grazing the edges, his thumb lingering on her serene smile. "To keep them away from her all these years, to keep her in the dark... but it was for her sake only."