Page 8 of Claimed By the Maharaja
And this job was a start over.
“Think of it as a social experiment,” Pooja added lightly. “Remember how we used to people-watch at university?”
Yamini rolled her eyes, but a small smile slipped through.
They had met at a university in the United States. Yamini was taking advanced photography classes, and Pooja had been pursuing a management degree. They hit it off instantly because they shared a quirky sense of humor. They had stayed friends through everything.
Pooja had come back to India a year ago and started an event management business that mostly organized wedding events. Two weeks ago, Pooja had called, excitement spilling through the phone as she spoke about landing a large political event.
Pooja knew that Yamini had always wanted to return to India. So, she insisted that Yamini join her as the head photographer in the event. Pooja stated she wanted an experienced photographer whose work stood out from the others. Although Yamini had been skeptical, Pooja badgered her until she agreed.
“Fine,” Yamini said. “But if this goes badly, don’t blame me.”
“Oh, please,” Pooja replied. “Your pictures will be amazing.”
Yamini smiled at her friend’s confidence.
She then stepped into the crowd, letting her shoulders relax as she slipped into a familiar rhythm.
Blend in. Move quietly. Don’t interrupt moments. Capture them.
Within minutes, she was working in her usual mode.
She moved along the edges of the gathering, unnoticed but present, capturing details others ignored. A quick exchange of glances. A hand tightening around a glass. A forced smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes.
People forgot the camera when it didn’t demand attention. That was the trick. And Yamini had always been good at disappearing when she needed to.
The event hadn’t officially begun because they were waiting for the chief guest.
Yamini checked her watch and realized there were still ten minutes until the start time.
As if right on cue, the mood at the entrance suddenly shifted.
A convoy of white SUVs rolled in, one after another, engines humming low. Security moved swiftly, clearing space. Conversations dropped into hushed curiosity.
“Okay,” Pooja whispered, straightening instinctively. “That must be the chief minister.”
Yamini raised her camera.
The car doors opened, and men in crisp white stepped out first. Then the chief minister followed, his smile practiced and easy.
The crowd reacted immediately. People stepped forward, greetings flowed, and a few phones were lifted discreetly.
Yamini took a few shots, adjusting her angle without thinking.
She lowered the camera, waiting for the event to finally begin. But the chief minister wasn’t moving toward the stage. Instead, he lingered near the entrance, greeting people and exchanging polite words, as though he were waiting.
Yamini frowned slightly. “Why isn’t he going inside?” she asked.
Pooja hesitated. “Maybe… someone else is coming?”
Before Yamini could respond, the air shifted.
A sudden gust of wind swept across the lawns, lifting tablecloths and rattling glasses on tables. Conversations faltered again, and heads turned.
A low, rhythmic thump filled the air and grew louder with each passing second.
Yamini looked up.
