Just A Friend?

Chapter Forty-Five

Prabhas descended the grand staircase with deliberate steps, each one echoing softly against the polished marble. His gaze wandered, soaking in the magnificence of the mansion, and for the first time, he truly grasped the opulence surrounding him.

The decorations, crafted with a blend of elegance and extravagance, transformed the house into something out of a dream—a dream that seemed far removed from his own reality. The chandeliers, dripping with crystals, cast a warm, golden glow, making everything shimmer like a fairy tale. Every detail of the space was designed with an eye for beauty, a testament to Rahul's wealth and refined taste.

The staircase itself was a marvel, each step perfectly measured, smooth as glass, and reflecting the light like a mirror. As he reached the final step, he paused, taking in the scene below. The space was more congested than before, alive with the buzz of laughter and chatter.

To his left, older men gathered around a poker table, laughing heartily as they tossed cards and chips with easy camaraderie. Their voices boomed, filled with the kind of joy that comes from shared stories and long friendships.

Nearby, young women were engrossed in snapping selfies, their laughter and playful banter filling the air with youthful energy. One child, eyes squeezed shut, counted loudly as he played hide and seek, while the other kids darted around the room, giggling as they tried to find the perfect hiding spots.

Elderly ladies sat together on a plush sofa, deep in conversation, their expressions animated as they exchanged juicy gossip, their heads bobbing in unison. Some guests wandered about, their expressions betraying a certain level of stress, likely from the responsibilities of the upcoming rituals.

Yet amidst all this, not a single person seemed to notice Prabhas. He moved through the crowd like a shadow, blending in with the throng, feeling both invisible and strangely relieved by the anonymity.

He scanned the room, searching for the backyard, the one place where he knew Rahul would be. But the mansion was a labyrinth, its corridors winding and endless, each one looking more identical than the last.

He was hopelessly lost. His pride prevented him from asking for help, but the longer he wandered, the more he realized he had no choice.

Just then, his eyes caught sight of a middle-aged man struggling under the weight of two large bags, one in each hand. The bags looked heavy enough to cause the man's shoulders to sag, yet he soldiered on with grim determination. Without a second thought, Prabhas strode over, offering a hand.

"Need some help with those?" he asked, his voice kind and genuine.

The man looked up, surprised, but his expression quickly softened into one of gratitude. "I wouldn't say no to that, young man," he replied with a tired smile, passing one of the hefty bags to Prabhas.

Together, they walked to a nearby room where a group of women was busy arranging items with meticulous care. The room was buzzing with quiet activity, the women's hands moving deftly as they prepared for the next day's ritual. As Prabhas set the bag down on the floor, he was about to make a quiet exit when a voice called out to him.

"Prabhas, is that you?"

He turned to see a familiar face—Rahul's mother, her features soft and kind, lit up with recognition. She approached him with a warm smile, her sari trailing elegantly behind her.

"What are you doing here, son?" she asked, her voice filled with a motherly concern.

Prabhas grinned, a boyish smile that made him look years younger. "Just lending a helping hand, Aunty. It's nothing, really."

She laughed, a gentle, musical sound that filled the room. "How sweet of you! But there's no need for that. You're a guest here, Prabhas. You should be relaxing, not working. This is your house too, remember?"