Present
The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the bedroom, painting golden streaks on the hardwood floor. A rhythmic dhum-ta-dha-dhum echoed through the room as Bhargavi Bhardwaj twirled with precision, her ghungroos jangling in perfect sync. The mirror in front of her reflected a vision of grace and determination—a woman lost in the fluidity of her Kathak practice. Her breath hitched as she stopped mid-spin, catching a glimpse of the tattoo on her forearm: the Oum intertwined with Shiv Damru.
Bhargavi smiled faintly, her fingers brushing the inked design—a constant reminder of the strength her grandfather had instilled in her. She took a sip of her steaming chai, her sharp brown eyes scanning her phone for the day's schedule. KAVI Events had a new client meeting in the afternoon, and SATTVA, their NGO, required her attention for an urgent fundraiser proposal.
Her eyes lingered on a notification. It wasn't urgent, but it pulled her back eleven years, to a memory she often buried. Shakti... never let fear silence your strength, her grandfather had whispered as he bled in her arms.
Shaking the thought away, she glanced at the time and groaned. She was running late.
Across the hallway, Kritika Patel was already in a whirlwind of activity. Her room was a kaleidoscope of energy—bold prints, makeup palettes sprawled across her vanity, and a wardrobe half-emptied as she tried on outfit after outfit.
"Why is nothing fitting today?" she muttered, yanking a teal blazer off its hanger. She glanced at her reflection, adjusted her earrings, and then cursed as her phone buzzed.
Grabbing it, she barked into the receiver in Gujarati:
Aa toh kyare sudhi no drama chhe?" ("How long will this drama continue?")
"Samajhyo ne? Aaje mokli de nai to kaam bandh!" ("Understand? Deliver it today, or stop the work!")
She slammed the phone down, her brown eyes narrowing in frustration. "I swear, Bhargavi, if you don't buy a new toaster today, I'm staging a protest." She stormed out, only to return a moment later to grab her half-finished latte.
In the room next to hers, Nakshatra Nair sat on her balcony, bathed in the soft morning light. Her petite frame was wrapped in a cozy shawl, a cup of chai cradled in her hands. The calmness of her space—adorned with pastel decor and shelves lined with polished stones—mirrored the serenity she carried within.
Her pen hovered over her notebook as she wrote:
"Session 1: Explore the root causes of his anxiety. Build rapport first."
Her thoughts were interrupted as her pen sputtered. "Entha sambhavam ithu!" she muttered in Malayalam. ("What nonsense is this!") Grabbing another pen, she let out a sigh, glancing at the clock. It was time to head to UMEED, her beloved clinic.
A faint smile tugged at her lips as she heard Kritika's loud voice from across the hall. Drama queen, she thought, shaking her head.
The kitchen of Safe Haven was buzzing with energy. Bhargavi was hunched over the toaster, muttering under her breath as she tried to fix it. Kritika, dressed in a chic blazer and pencil skirt, leaned against the counter, sipping her latte and rolling her eyes.
"Seriously, Bhargavi, just buy a new one. This thing belongs in a museum."
Bhargavi didn't look up. "Why waste money when I can fix it?"
Nakshatra entered, placing her bag on the counter. "Let me try." She pressed a button, and the toaster hummed back to life instantly.
Bhargavi blinked. Kritika smirked. "And that's why Nakshatra's the favourite."
The three of them settled around the breakfast table, the air filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread.
"So," Bhargavi began, pulling out her planner, "here's the schedule. Kritika, you're covering the ballroom set up at the Oberoi. Nakshatra, can you handle the SATTVA client check-in?"
"Great," Kritika said, dramatically dropping her head onto the table. "I'll just juggle that with babysitting vendors who think it's okay to delay shipments."
"You love the drama," Nakshatra quipped, biting into her toast.
"And you love being right," Kritika shot back, but the grin on her face softened the words.
"Don't forget," Bhargavi added, "we have choreography rehearsals at six. Don't be late."
Kritika groaned. "Only if you bring coffee."
Nakshatra smiled. "And Bhargavi, don't trip on your way there."
Bhargavi rolled her eyes. "Once. That happened once."
As they stepped out of Safe Haven, the three women carried an aura that turned heads. Bhargavi's confidence was magnetic, Kritika's sass was electrifying, and Nakshatra's quiet determination was inspiring.
They parted ways at the gate, each heading toward their respective tasks, but not before Kritika yelled after them:
"Don't forget, whoever's late to rehearsals pays for dinner!"
Bhargavi laughed. "Not happening, Kritika. That's your job!"
The sound of their banter faded as they disappeared into the bustling streets of Mumbai.
Later that Morning
Bhargavi's phone buzzed as she entered the KAVI Events office. She frowned at the unknown number.
"You don't know me, but I know everything about you. We'll meet soon."
A chill ran down her spine. She looked around, her senses sharpening. Something about the message felt off—like a thread from the past pulling her toward something ominous.
She deleted the message and locked her phone, brushing off the unease. There was no room for fear, not today.
So, guys chapter 1 is here, I hope you love and enjoy it. Please vote and comment.
Lots of Love,
SnowFlake.
Write a comment ...