K3G Returns! #MissionDesi

Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Date(?)

THE FUNKY MUSIC BLARING OUT OF THE SPEAKERS WAS NOT ENOUGH TO UPLIFT YUVI'S MOOD. Nor were the neon lights flashing through the dark interiors of the mansion, or the gargled cheers of the partying crowd. Normally the life of the party, right now, the ladies' man was too preoccupied with worries about his lovelorn brother.

The only reason he had come to this party was because he had promised his friend Raghav, who had thrown this mansion party in celebration of his separation with his longtime clingy girlfriend. 

"A breakup party," he had called it and Yuvi had resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, he loved parties, he loved recklessness, and he loved drinks. He loved dancing and girls. And he loved his oddball friends. But celebrating a breakup while his family was mourning one, wasn't exactly his cup of tea.

Yuvraaj Raichand may have been a wild party boy, but his family always came first. 

Irregardless, Krish had begged him to attend the party, reassuring him that he would be fine. Yuvi then made him swear that he would get of the house as soon as possible. What he needed was a huge chill pill.

"Okay, mom," Krish had joked before weaseling his cousin brother out the door.

"YUVI, CHANGE THE SONG! MAKE IT FASTER!" A few of his friends called out to him from the dance floor, snapping him out of his chain of thoughts. He sighed to contain his annoyance, and did as they asked.

If his family knew what he was doing right now. . .he didn't even want to know what would happen.

Yuvi had always been the baby of the family. Krish was older; he had been the first of the new generation to handle responsibilities. He had walked straight into his father's shoes, and now, he was becoming the businessman his father had wanted. 

But Yuvi? Sure, he had gotten his MBA to please his family. He had gone to boarding school as a child in London, as all the Raichand men (minus Krish) had. But was it what he really wanted?

He didn't like business. He didn't like management. In fact, he detested it with a bit of searing passion. He didn't want it. Not any of it. He didn't want the highlight of his life to be a new deal with foreign investors. There was no thrill, not like. . .music.

Yes. Yuvraaj Raichand, son of Pooja and Rohan Raichand, was a secret DJ. And what he really wanted, was to be a music producer.

Yuvi was surprisingly a man of secrets. And this was his biggest.

So naturally, when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd, his heart rate picked up a little bit in nervousness. 

Priya Kapoor, with every ounce of boredom in her expression that Yuvi had, sauntered over to him. She looked ravishing in an off-shoulder black dress, a stark contrast that accentuated her smooth, milky skin; ending just about mid-thigh, it hugged every curve, slip, and slope of her striking figure. Her stilettos clicked against the floor as she walked, her large hoop earrings swinging as she moved. Every single element came together like one whole orchestra, working to create the one and only Priya Kapoor.

She leaned against his DJ-ing table with an amused expression, brushing the loose curls of her raven hair away from her face.

A smirk came upon her nude-painted lips. "I had heard about the great Yuvraaj Raichand's musical talent," she remarked snidely, cocking an eyebrow. "But this is the first time I've ever witnessed it. Your family must be thrilled."

Yuvi bristled with anger at her mocking tone. She had hit him. Low. "What do you want, Priya?"

She feigned shock. "What? I can't converse with a musical genius such as yourself? Artists and their tantrums," she retorted sarcastically, tapping her fingernails against the table.