: A Storm from the Past

The Rathore Mansion was quieter than usual.

Veeresh stood by the large glass window of his private study, cigarette burning between his fingers, the cold breeze barely touching the warmth of the chaos storming inside his chest. Smoke curled upward, dissolving into the shadows of the dim room.

Raghu, his loyal assistant and shadow in the underworld, stood near the doorway, hesitant but firm.

> “Sir... it’s time you choose. Poornima or Bindu.”

Veeresh turned slowly, narrowing his eyes.

> “Bindu still plays these games?”

“She’s back, sir,” Raghu said. “This time with power. The underworld has accepted her as Don. And she wants you back beside her.”

Veeresh chuckled, hollow and bitter.

> “Happiness and I are not friends, Raghu. Whenever I laugh, something darker knocks at my door.”

He walked to the desk, picked up the silver lighter Poornima had once teased him about, and lit another cigarette.

His eyes drifted to the small red thread tied around his wrist—the one Poornima had tied gently around him after dressing his wounds.

> “It’s for your happiness and safety,” she had whispered.

And now, when everything felt like it was slipping, that simple thread was burning a hole in his soul.

His gaze slowly lifted to the photo frame on his table—Poornima laughing, her eyes shining like sunlight on water. Untouched, unafraid in that moment.

He exhaled sharply.

> “That thread,” he said, voice low, “is my anchor. My decision is already made.”

He stubbed the cigarette out and looked at Raghu.

> “If Bindu tries to touch Poornima’s world, I’ll burn hers down. I’m not choosing between past and present. I’ve already chosen. I choose Poornima… every damn time.”

Raghu nodded, a rare respect flickering in his eyes.

Veeresh leaned back in his chair, red thread still glowing against his wrist, eyes locked on her photo.

> “She’s my light, Raghu. And I’ll protect it with every shadow I’ve got.”

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