Ayaan pov
The night stretched endlessly before me, the sky cloaked in thick, ominous clouds. Not a single star was visible, as if even the heavens had abandoned their light. The scent of the sea filled the air, carried by a faint breeze that barely touched my skin. It looked like it could rain any moment, but that wasn't what troubled me.
I let out a tired sigh and loosened my tie, allowing myself some space to breathe. Yet, even with the open sky above me and the vast sea stretching endlessly before me, I felt suffocated. The weight pressing down on my chest was unbearable, an invisible force squeezing the air out of my lungs.
I lifted my head, staring at the sky. Why?
The question echoed in my mind, demanding answers I didn't have. It was too much—too overwhelming.
Leaning back slightly, I pressed my hands into the damp sand, feeling its coldness against my fingertips. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, their steady sound filling the silence around me. But instead of grounding me, they pulled me deep into my thoughts.
And then, my past came rushing back like a storm.
FLASHBACK - Year ago
POLITICAL SUB-HEADQUARTERS
The atmosphere inside the conference room was thick with tension. The walls, adorned with portraits of past leaders, seemed to watch us with unblinking eyes, as if judging every decision we made. The long mahogany table in the center of the room was scattered with documents, charts, and political strategies, each one more important than the last.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temple. The weight of the upcoming elections sat heavy on all our shoulders. There was no room for mistakes, no space for hesitation.
"We need to run multiple campaigns across different constituencies to ensure our dominance," said the Campaign Strategist, his fingers tapping impatiently against the table as he eyed the map pinned to the board. "We have to reach the people—show them why we are their best choice."
"No," came a firm voice from across the table. My uncle, Rajveer Rathore, the Chief Political Advisor, sat with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning the room. "Repetition won't help us. If we follow the same formula as last time, we risk losing our grip. We need something different."
I shifted my eyes to my father, Vikram Singh Rathore, the Party Head. He hadn't spoken yet, but his silence spoke volumes. He was watching, analyzing, absorbing every detail before making his move—like a king waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The room was filled with senior members of our party, each with years of experience in politics. Suresh Trivedi, the State Coordinator, sat with his arms resting on the table, his brows furrowed in deep thought. Beside him, Neelam Kapoor, the Public Relations Head, flipped through a stack of reports, waiting for her turn to speak.
"We cannot afford to be reckless," said the Finance Head, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the budget sheets. "Our funding is strong, but we need to invest wisely. Large-scale campaigns require resources, and we have to be strategic."
A younger member, hesitated before speaking. "Sir, perhaps we could—"
Before he could finish, my father finally spoke.
"We don't need multiple campaigns," his deep voice cut through the tension like a blade. "We need one move that will secure our victory."
Silence.
Every eye in the room turned to him, waiting.
I clenched my jaw. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
My father leaned forward, his fingers interlocked on the table. "The people don't trust words anymore. Promises mean nothing to them. What they need is action—proof that we are different." His gaze swept across the room. "The opposition is strong, but they are predictable. We need to shake the ground beneath them."
The meeting had shifted into a more serious mode, the weight of the upcoming elections pressing down on all of us. I was supposed to be focused, engaged. But then—
Vibration.
I felt it in my pocket. My phone.
Discreetly, I pulled it out, lowering my gaze to check the screen.
One new message.
I clicked on it, barely giving it a thought—until I read the words.
"I'm pregnant."
My heart skipped a beat.
For a moment, everything around me blurred. The voices, the political discussion, the pressure of my family's legacy—all of it faded into the background.
No. This... this can't be true.
Before I could process it, another message came.
"Ayaan?"
I felt the blood rush to my head. My body acted before my mind could catch up.
I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the marble floor. The sudden movement made every head in the room turn toward me.
"Ayaan?" My father's sharp voice cut through the silence.
"I—sorry, but I need to take this." I didn't wait for approval. I simply walked out, my pulse racing.
The moment I stepped out of the conference hall, I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself. The dimly lit corridor stretched ahead of me, leading to a shaded balcony area. From here, the city sprawled beneath me—its glittering lights looking almost peaceful in contrast to the storm inside my mind.
I wasted no time. With slightly shaky hands, I called her.
The phone rang once. Twice. Then—
"Hello?"
Her voice. Soft, yet carrying an undeniable weight.
I swallowed, my throat dry. "is it true?"
A pause. Then—
"Yes."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. A strange sensation washed over me—a mix of shock, disbelief... and something else. Something I hadn't expected.
Happiness.
A short, breathless laugh escaped my lips as I ran a hand through my hair. "We're going to have a baby," I whispered, almost in awe. Saying it out loud made it feel real. More real than the elections, the meetings, or the legacy I was being forced to carry.
I quickly switched to a video call. After a second, the screen lit up, and there she was.
Her face came into view, her dark eyes holding a strange mixture of emotions. But I was too caught up in the moment to notice.
"This... this is the best news I've ever gotten," I said, my smile growing.
But she didn't respond.
My excitement only grew. "Rhea, this is amazing. I know this wasn't planned, but we'll figure it out." I exhaled sharply, shaking my head with a grin. "We'll get married. I'll take care of you—I'll take care of both of you."
Her silence finally made me pause.
I frowned. "Rhea?"
She exhaled slowly. Something was wrong.
"Ayaan..." she hesitated. "We need to talk when you get back."
A strange sense of unease settled in my chest.
"What is it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
"Not now," she said softly. "Just... come back soon."
I hesitated for a moment, searching her expression for answers. But she wasn't giving me any.
Still, I forced myself to stay optimistic.
"I'll be back in a week," I promised, offering a reassuring smile. "And then, we'll talk. Properly." I took a breath. "I love you, Rhea."
She nodded, her expression unreadable. "We'll talk then."
The call ended.
For a few moments, I stood there, staring at the darkened phone screen. Something about her voice... about her words... didn't sit right with me.
But I ignored the feeling.
Instead, I tucked my phone back into my pocket and walked back to the meeting hall. A small, lingering smile played on my lips.
Rhea and I... we were going to have a baby.
At that moment, I had no idea how much everything was about to change.
As I stepped back into the room, all eyes turned to me.
The conference hall, which had been buzzing with intense discussion moments ago, fell into a strange silence. Dozens of gazes bore into me—some curious, some impatient, and one... sharp enough to cut through steel.
My father's.
Vikram Singh Rathore sat at the head of the long table, his expression unreadable, his fingers interlocked as he rested his elbows on the table. He had spent his life building an empire, a political dynasty that was both feared and respected. And I was his only heir.
He didn't have to say a word.
His silence alone was enough to make my stomach twist.
I took a slow breath, adjusting my suit as I walked back to my seat. My chair had been left slightly pulled out from when I had rushed away.
I slid back into it, lifting my gaze to meet his.
"Everything okay?" my uncle, , asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was my father's right-hand man—a man who could smell weakness like a predator tracking its prey.
"Yes," I said smoothly, leaning back in my chair as if nothing had happened.
But my father wasn't convinced.
He watched me for a long moment before finally speaking, his voice calm but firm.
"What was so important that it made you walk out of this room in the middle of a crucial discussion?"
The weight of his words settled in the air like a storm cloud.
I could feel the curiosity radiating from the other party members.
Sanjay Mehta, our campaign director, was watching me with interest, his pen tapping lightly against the table. Ashok Sinha, the senior advisor, adjusted his glasses, his usual disapproving frown deepening.
Even the younger MLAs and district heads—who normally never spoke unless spoken to—seemed intrigued.
I knew they wanted an answer.
But I wasn't about to give them one.
"Nothing urgent," I replied, forcing an easy smile. "Just something personal. It's taken care of now."
My father's expression remained unreadable.
"Personal?" he echoed, his voice quiet but carrying undeniable authority.
The room was so silent I could hear the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall.
I nodded. "Yes. Nothing that concerns the party."
It was a subtle but deliberate way of closing the topic. A statement that made it clear I wasn't going to elaborate.
Most of the members got the message. Rajveer didn't.
He leaned back in his chair, studying me with keen eyes.
"You know," he mused, "one thing I've learned in politics is that personal and professional lives are never truly separate. They always find a way to intertwine."
I gave him a polite smile. "And one thing I've learned is that not everything needs to be discussed in a meeting."
A faint smirk played on his lips, but he let it go.
For now.
My father, however, was still watching me. He knew I was hiding something. But instead of pressing further, he simply exhaled and shifted his attention back to the discussion.
"Where were we?" he asked.
Sanjay immediately straightened in his seat, flipping through the campaign notes.
"We were discussing the upcoming rally in Varanasi," he reminded. "The opposition is planning a massive event there next week. If we don't counter it with something equally impactful, we'll lose the entire region's support."
"Not just any rally," Rajveer interjected. "We need a game-changer."
My father nodded slowly. "Something that reminds the people why they trusted us in the first place."
I listened quietly, trying to refocus my mind.
But I could still feel my phone burning in my pocket.
rhea's words echoed in my mind.
"We need to talk when you get back."
What did she mean by that? Was something wrong?
"Ayaan?"
I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts as my father called my name.
"Yes?"
"You'll be handling the Varanasi rally," he stated.
I straightened. "Me?"
Rajveer nodded. "It's time you take a more active role. The people already see you as the face of the new generation. They trust you more than any of us. You need to be there—make speeches, interact with the locals, remind them why we are the better choice."
I should've been prepared for this.
But my mind was still a mess. Rhea. The pregnancy. The unknown weight of her words.
Still, I couldn't afford to falter.
I took a breath and nodded. "I'll handle it."
My father's eyes remained on me for a few more seconds before he finally turned to the rest of the team.
"Then it's decided," he said. "Sanjay, work with Ayaan on the speech. Ashok, ensure we have full media coverage. Rajveer, make sure security is tight. We leave no room for errors."
A series of nods followed.
The meeting resumed.
But even as I participated, discussed strategies, and agreed on plans—my mind was elsewhere.
My hands remained steady, my words confident. But inside, a storm was brewing.
I was going to be a father.
And I had no idea what that meant for the life I was building.