The early morning calm in Mumbai was often misleading. Outside the gates of Safe Haven, the streets began to stir with life, but within its walls, an uneasy stillness lingered—a silent testament to a shared grief buried beneath layers of resilience and resolve.
Bhargavi stood barefoot in the tranquil backyard, the cool grass grounding her. The garden, nurtured with care by Nakshatra, was a sanctuary amidst their chaotic lives. Her eyes rested on the vibrant marigold blooms, her fingers unconsciously tracing the "Oum" tattoo etched on her forearm. The golden hue of the flowers stirred bittersweet memories of her grandfather, Mahadev Bhardwaj.
Her chest tightened as she closed her eyes, the haunting image of that fateful day flashing vividly in her mind. Eleven years had passed, yet the memory remained sharp—her young heart gripped by cold fear, her grandfather's lifeblood pooling around him as he clung to her hand with fading strength.
"You're my Shakti," he had whispered, his voice quivering yet resolute. "Never forget that. Stand tall, fight for what's right, and make me proud."
A tear slipped down her cheek as she clenched her fists, the weight of that promise pressing against her heart. It was the fire that fueled her every step, driving her relentless pursuit of truth and justice against Rameshwar Pratap Rathore.
Yet, amidst the pain, there were glimmers of warmth. She remembered sitting on his lap as a child, chanting Sanskrit verses under his patient guidance, his deep voice steady and soothing. His laughter rang in her ears as she recalled him watching the three girls practice their Kathak and Bharatnatyam routines, always cheering the loudest at their performances. A faint smile touched her lips as she thought of the silver bracelets he had gifted them after their first stage performance together—a symbol of his unwavering faith in their bond and potential.
The sharp voice of Kritika jolted Bhargavi out of her thoughts.
"Vivi! You're zoning out again," Kritika called from the kitchen doorway, her tone a blend of affection and mild exasperation.
Bhargavi turned quickly, brushing her face with the back of her hand. Kritika stood there, impeccably dressed even at this early hour, holding a steaming cup of tea.
"Here," Kritika said, handing her the chai. "Pixie's setting up breakfast. Let me guess—you were off brooding again?"
Before Bhargavi could respond, Nakshatra's soft voice floated from deeper inside the house.
"Sparky, stop pestering her. She needs a moment, too."
Kritika rolled her eyes theatrically but smiled. "Fine. But only because Pixie said so."
The trio soon gathered around the breakfast table, a cosy nook bathed in golden sunlight streaming through the large bay window. Nakshatra had outdone herself, as always, with an impressive spread—fluffy idlis with chutney, fragrant poha, and a platter of fresh-cut fruits.
"Why do you always go overboard?" Kritika teased, popping a piece of idli into her mouth.
"It's called caring," Nakshatra replied with a playful smirk. "Besides, you two have packed schedules today. You need proper fuel."
As they ate, their conversation meandered from work updates to more personal reflections. Kritika animatedly vented about a particularly difficult client who insisted on micromanaging every detail of an event. Nakshatra chimed in with anecdotes from her clinic, a mix of funny and poignant stories about her patients.
Eventually, Nakshatra broached the unspoken subject that lingered in the room.
"You were thinking about Dadu again, weren't you, Queen B?"
Bhargavi tensed slightly at the nickname but nodded. "It's hard not to, Nakshu. He believed in us so much. And... I can't shake the feeling that I've let him down by not getting justice yet."
Kritika reached across the table, her usual fiery demeanour softening. "Hey, none of that. You've done so much already, Vivi. And we're in this together. Don't ever forget that."
Nakshatra added, her voice steady and reassuring, "He'd be proud of you, Bhargavi. Proud of all of us. And we'll finish what he started—together."
Their hands met in the centre of the table, a silent reaffirmation of their bond and shared purpose.
As the morning progressed, the three women prepared for their day. Bhargavi chose a comfortable yet polished look—black trousers paired with a mustard blouse. Kritika, ever the fashion icon, donned a sleek white dress accented with gold jewelry. Nakshatra opted for a simple but elegant beige jumpsuit, striking a balance between her friends' contrasting styles.
Stepping out of Safe Haven, they parted ways to tackle their respective responsibilities. Bhargavi headed to a meeting at KAVI Events, Kritika to oversee a fundraiser setup at SATTVA, and Nakshatra to her clinic, UMEED.
Each carried her burdens—Bhargavi wrestled with the haunting memories of her grandfather, Kritika navigated the complexities of her strained relationship with her parents, and Nakshatra bore the quiet weight of always mediating between others. Yet, they carried these struggles with grace, leaning on one another when the load grew too heavy.
As the sun climbed higher, their silver bracelets caught the light, glinting with quiet strength. They were more than just accessories—they were symbols of resilience and a promise to Mahadev Bhardwaj: to remain strong, united, and unwavering in their purpose.
So guys, here's chapter 2. I hope you love and enjoy reading it. Please vote and comment.
Lots of Love,
SnowFlake.
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