Rekha’s gaze landed on her. Recognition and calculation surfaced in her expression before she refocused her attention.
I took a seat beside Ananya. Dad and Rekha took the couch across the coffee table. Ayaan sat cross-legged on the armchair on the side.
Awkwardness settled in the room like an impermeable winter fog.
I couldn’t bring myself to offer water or tea. Or attempt the pleasantries that might’ve softened the edges of their callous behaviour. They could say their piece and leave.
‘Lehenga Bazaar has taken down Eternal Weave,’ Dad said finally. ‘They also want to compensate the Mahalas. Fifty lakhs. If you drop the lawsuit.’
‘That decision is Sharanji’s to make,’ I said.
‘If you talk to him—’
‘No.’ The word came out harder and quicker than intended. The only reason he was even mentioning LB was to protect Rekha. ‘I didn’t realise that, along with HoA’s CEO, you were Lehenga Bazaar’s advocate too.’
His jaw tightened. ‘Fine.’ He paused. ‘Drop your lawsuit against Rekha then.’
A dry laugh escaped me. ‘No.’
Rekha’s composure cracked ever so slightly, her face tightening around the eyes and mouth.
‘Jai.’ Dad’s voice wore down to something rawer. ‘She is my wife. Youcannotsue her. Once the word gets out, the media will rip us apart. Our reputation—’
His words slammed against the icy walls of my temper. ‘And I am your son.’My voice cleaved the moment in two. ‘You kicked me out. You don’t get to come to my house and lecture me aboutreputation.’
He stared at me, shock breaking across his face – or perhaps the belated realisation that I was no longer the boy who would absorb his expectations without a whimper.
Ayaan didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He stared at a fixed point somewhere between the coffee table and the floor, his jaw tight, doing the thing he had alwaysdone when there was conflict – going very still and hoping it passed over him.
‘I’m trying to find a solution,’ Dad said. ‘Just tell me what you want.’
I leaned back in my seat. ‘An apology.’
Silence.
My father had never apologised to anyone in his life. Maybe that was the problem. He had gone through life without a shred of self-reflection, expecting other people to bend backwards for him. And they always did.
Perhaps I was at fault too, for never taking a stand for myself. For wordlessly accepting the crumbs he called love.
‘You should already know that I’m sorry,’ he finally said, his tone frayed. ‘We all are.’
I glanced at Rekha. She sat still, her spine straight, hands in her lap, looking at the wall behind me.
‘I doubt that.’
‘I am.’ Her eyes finally met mine. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’m not the only one you need to apologise to.’ I reached for Ananya’s hand.
Rekha’s eyes flicked to our linked hands. Then to Ananya.
‘I apologise,’ she said, her voice perfectly measured and hollow.
Ananya scoffed.
‘Rekha,’ Dad said under his breath, a warning threading through his words.
She glanced at him, then back at Ananya, and swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and this time there was an inadequate dash of realness beneath the words. ‘You were ...’ There was a brief pause. ‘It wasn’t fair to you.’
