"Take Me Back"

Episode 13: The Velvet Rebellion

The silence in the ballroom was so heavy it felt like it could shatter the crystal chandeliers. Natasha stared at the folder on the table, her face turning a mottled shade of purple that matched the wine in her glass.

"What is this nonsense?" Natasha hissed, her voice low but sharp. "Security, take this woman out!"

"Wait," Kabir’s voice boomed. It wasn't the voice of a broken man anymore; it was the voice of the boy who used to promise me the stars, now tempered with the steel of a man.

He picked up the folder. His eyes scanned the bank statements—proof that his father hadn't gambled everything away, but had tucked away a contingency fund that had only just matured. It was the exact amount of the original debt, plus interest.

"The debt is settled, Natasha," Kabir said, his eyes finally lifting from the paper to meet hers. There was no fear left in him. "The contract is void."

"You think you can just walk away?" Natasha laughed, a shrill, desperate sound that drew the attention of the surrounding cameras. "My father will ruin you. He will pull every investor from your firm. You’ll be back in that London basement by morning!"

"Then let him," Kabir replied. He reached up and slowly unpinned the family crest Natasha had made him wear on his lapel. He dropped it into her champagne glass. Plink. "I’d rather be a beggar with my soul than a king in your cage."

The room erupted into whispers. Flashbulbs started going off like a storm of lightning.

Kabir didn't look at the cameras. He didn't look at the crying Natasha. He stepped off the stage, walking straight toward me. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

"Aria," he said, stopping inches away. "You said you only write epilogues now. But this isn't an ending."

"It isn't?" I whispered, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst.

"No," he said, taking my hand in front of everyone. "This is the first page of the book we should have written five years ago. Will you help me write it? This time, without the secrets?"

Outside, the Mumbai rain began to fall again—not a storm this time, but a gentle, cleansing drizzle.