Page 61 of Okay Boss
“Made it worse,” Raghav cut in. “Your... intensity when speaking about her only confirmed what people already suspected.”
Ishani leaned forward. “Her family is suffering. They can’t handle this kind of attention. This is invasion.”
The words landed like a physical blow. Vikram’s mind flashed to Mrs. Menon’s voice.A middle-class girl. Her father can’t walk down the street. A social death sentence.
“The media will lose interest eventually,” he said, the words hollow.
“Eventually isn’t good enough.” Harshit’s voice entered like a gavel falling. He set down his fork with steady finality, the small sound somehow heavier than if he’d slammed his hand.
Silence. No one interrupted Harshit Khanna when he used that tone.
“Marriage is the solution. The only narrative that definitively ends this one.”
Vikram’s head jerked up, eyes locking with his father’s. Not in shock. The thought had already formed in the darkest corners of his mind. But in surprise at hearing it spoken aloud so clinically.
“Marriage?”
“A clear, unambiguous response. The sindoor was rehearsal. Now it becomes real. The story changes from scandal to romance. From invasion to celebration.”
Raghav nodded, CEO affirming the chairman’s strategy. “It’s clean. Decisive. It shifts the narrative immediately.”
“You make it sound like a business transaction.”
“Isn’t that how you’ve treated relationships in the past?” Raghav’s question was pointed but not accusatory. Simple fact.
Before Vikram could respond, Kavita’s voice cut through. “For families like hers, filling the maang with sindoor is not acting. It is not publicity. It is sacred.”
The table fell silent.
“That girl is caught in a storm she never asked for,” Kavita continued. “Her reputation. Her family’s standing. They won’t recover for a long time, Vikram.”
His mother’s words echoed Mrs. Menon’s with such precision that Vikram’s skin prickled.
Kavita leaned forward, bangles clinking softly. “You did this. The moment you drew that line with your own hand, you made a choice. Whether you knew it or not.”
The accusation hit harder coming from his mother. Not because it was cruel, but because it was true.
“She doesn’t want this. She never asked for any of it.”
“No,” Kavita agreed. “She didn’t. Which is why you should go to her. This instant. And handle it.”
The word “handle” contained multitudes. Fix. Solve. Protect. Claim.
Vikram’s gaze moved to Raghav, seeking something, support, perhaps, or understanding. His brother met his eyes steadily, silent conversation passing between them.
“I won’t push it if she says no,” Vikram said finally, words emerging rough and low.
His father’s nod carried unexpected approval. “But we go. We give her the choice.”
We.Not you. The stress wasn’t lost on Vikram. This wasn’t just about him and Divya anymore. It was about the Khanna name. The family legacy. The proper way to address a situation that had spun beyond control.
An hour later, Vikram sat in the back seat of the family’s least conspicuous car, still luxury, but black, understated, tinted windows.
Beside him, his father stared straight ahead, hands resting on his knees, still as a statue.
Mumbai’s streets blurred outside the windows, neon signs and street vendors melting into streaks of color and light.
The car moved smoothly through traffic, heading toward Andheri West.
