Page 39 of No Boss
Relatives appeared from every corner.
Garlands in hand. Blessings ready. Stories lined up, as if they had waited years for this moment.
Abhinav barely found space to breathe before he was taken over.
An elderly great-uncle, Haribhai, caught him near the fountain and gripped his arm as if he had finally found an audience worth keeping.
“The jaw,” he declared, tapping Abhinav’s face with full authority, “is Rajendra’s. No doubt.”
He leaned back, squinting critically.
“The eyes…” his gaze narrowed, searching through memory, “are your grandfather’s.”
This, he announced, made a powerful combination. Historically successful. Especially with women.
A younger cousin nodded at once. Another cousin stepped in to argue about the eyes. No one questioned the jaw.
Abhinav responded where required. Nods at the right places. A smile when expected. Enough attention to pass.
Because his attention kept drifting. Uninvited. Uncontrolled.
Finding her. Across courtyards. Through people. Between movements.
He told himself it was a strategic observation. That he needed to understand how she worked. That was all.
It had nothing to do with his gaze returning to her again and again.
Nothing at all.
She was always moving. Always doing something. Never still.
A cousin spoke about property values in detail.
Abhinav lost the thread entirely.
Because Meera had crossed the courtyard. And every person she passed reacted. Faces softened. Postures eased. Warmth appeared instantly, as if they felt seen.
‘She is an obstacle. A strategic challenge.’
Except, his eyes kept tracking her anyway. The movement of her ghaghra as she walked. The line where fabric ended and skin began. The faint glint of the silver chain at her ankle. The fall of her hair, brushing her back, catching light, refusing to stay in place.
‘Stop noticing the hair. ’
He had known women. Many. Beautiful. Refined. Willing.
None had taken his thoughts beyond the moment.
Meera Chauhan was making him think about things he had absolutely no intention of thinking about.
He resented that with an efficiency that was almost impressive.
‘I need therapy.’
Later, in the far courtyard, he saw her again.
She crouched beside an elderly woman seated on a cushion, her hands unsteady as she spoke. Meera adjusted the woman’s shawl, tucking it carefully, then stayed there.
Fully present. As if nothing else existed.
