The festive air was thick with the scent of gulal and the sound of laughter. The entire courtyard was bathed in a riot of colors as people celebrated Holi with boundless joy. Amidst the energetic crowd, Vansh stood beside an elderly man, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"Are you planning to celebrate Holi by just standing beside this old man?" the elder asked, his tone playful yet firm. "Go, celebrate with your younger friends. Go now… go, go!" He nudged Vansh lightly with his wooden walking stick, his wrinkled face displaying mock sternness.
Instead of leaving, Vansh took a handful of bright pink color and gently smeared it on the old man's cheek. His touch was respectful, his voice warm. "Happy Holi, Dadu," he said sincerely.
The old man's stern expression softened instantly. He dipped his fingers into a plate of powdered color and applied some on Vansh's cheek. "Happy Holi, beta," he blessed him, the deep affection in his voice evident. Then, with a chuckle, he waved him off. "Now go and enjoy with your friends. This old man doesn't want to keep you tied down."
Vansh laughed, stepping back. "Okay, okay, I'm going. But if you need anything, just call me."
"Good," the old man said with a teasing glint in his eyes. "No need to waste your colorful youth on an old fellow like me." He watched as Vansh jogged away, his posture relaxed but his eyes lingering on the young man with quiet fondness.
From a distance, Drishti observed the scene unfold. She had been standing there for a while, her heart beating just a little faster. She had wanted to walk up to them, to introduce herself to the old man who seemed so significant to Vansh. But her courage wavered.
She clenched her fingers into her dupatta, biting her lip. Why am I hesitating? she scolded herself.
When she had seen Vansh and the elder together, she had assumed that someone—either Vansh or her uncle—would call her over, introduce her formally. But neither of them did. And now, as she watched Vansh leave, disappointment pooled in her chest.
Did they forget about me? she thought bitterly. Here I am, thinking they would welcome me into their circle, yet they didn't even remember to introduce me.
A frustrated sigh escaped her lips, but she forced herself to brush the feeling aside. Every dog has its day. There will be another chance.
With that thought, she squared her shoulders and attempted to socialize, though the lingering sting of being overlooked refused to leave her entirely.
A Meeting of Business Minds
Elsewhere in the grand mansion, a different kind of conversation was taking place. Mihir Singhania, a man of commanding presence, was engaged in a discussion with an older businessman. The two men stood slightly apart from the Holi festivities, dressed in crisp traditional attire, their expressions composed yet amiable.