Page 126 of No Boss
She turned to him, suddenly afraid of what she might see. Regret, perhaps, now that the moment had passed.
There was none.
His eyes met hers, clear, unwavering. “Go inside and change. You’ll get cold.”
The simplicity of it shattered what little composure she had left. Tears slipped down, warm against rain-cooled skin.
His brows drew together.
He stepped closer. His hand rose to her face, cupping it, his thumb brushing away the tears with a care that stood in sharp contrast to the man who had just put another on the ground with a single punch.
“It’s alright, Meera. Everything is alright.”
She tried to speak. There was too much to say. Too much to understand. Nothing came. Only more tears.
“Go,” he urged, softer now. “We’ll talk after.”
She nodded.
His hand remained for a breath, then fell.
She turned and went inside.
“Thakur Sa.”
Abhinav turned.
Devendra stood a few steps away.
Abhinav looked at him not as an employer, not as a man above him, but as the one who had raised Meera. Who had shaped her into everything she was. Whose family had stood beside his for generations with a loyalty that humbled him.
He brought his hands together, head bowing.
“Uncle,” he straightened. “My mother will come to you formally. But I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
Devendra blinked, the moment yet to settle into sense.
“I love your daughter. I know what I am asking. I know what your family has given to this Haveli. I understand what it means.”
There was no doubt in him. It showed in his eyes, in every word.
“I do not take it lightly.”
Devendra drew in a breath. His chest rose, held, then eased. He gave a single nod. Not agreement. Not refusal either. An acknowledgment of all that had just been placed before him.
Abhinav inclined his head in return, then turned and walked toward the family wing.
???
Meera sat on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing.
Water dripped from her hair, from the hem of her kurta, from Abhinav’s shirt hanging loose around her shoulders. She had not changed. Had not even tried.
Her hands lay in her lap, pale from the rain, unsteady.
‘Future Thakurain of Anand Mahal.’
The words refused to settle. They hovered, unreal. She had been the estate manager’s daughter that morning.
