Chapter 1 — Blood Before Love

The city trusted Narayana.

Markets rose and fell on numbers he understood before they were written. Men twice his age waited for his nod across boardroom tables polished to reflect power. He spoke little, listened more, and never repeated a mistake. In business circles, Narayana was known for his sharp acumen—a man who could smell loss before it happened and profit before it bloomed.

Yet that morning, standing behind the glass wall of his office, Narayana felt none of that certainty.

Below him, the city moved without pause. Cars honked. People hurried. Lives continued. His did too—on paper. But inside, there was a quiet ache he had learned to live with. The kind that didn’t bleed, didn’t show, but never healed.

He checked his watch.

Saif would be late. He always was.

---

Saif arrived exactly twelve minutes late, as expected, shrugging off his jacket as he walked in like the world had never demanded punctuality from him.

“Traffic,” he said easily, placing his bag down.

Narayana didn’t look up from the file in his hand. “You live five minutes away.”

Saif smiled. A professor’s smile—patient, knowing, impossible to argue with. “And yet, traffic exists.”

Unlike Narayana, Saif lived in ideas rather than numbers. He taught at the college nearby, a brilliant lecturer whose classes were always full and whose students listened not because they had to, but because he made them want to. His mind was sharp—razor-sharp—but his heart was softer than either of his brothers liked to admit.

Saif leaned back into the chair opposite Narayana. “You didn’t call me here to scold me.”

“No,” Narayana said. “I called you because Veeresh isn’t answering.”

Saif’s smile faded.

---

Veeresh arrived last.

He always did—on his own terms.

The air changed when he entered. Tall, broad-shouldered, carrying the kind of silence that warned people not to test it. He wore no suit jacket, just a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms marked with old scars and new tension.

A tough man, shaped by responsibility rather than choice.

Veeresh ran a chain of restaurants across the city—successful, expanding, profitable. On paper, he had everything Narayana admired. But Veeresh never looked satisfied. Never looked content. His success sat on him like a burden instead of an achievement.

“You wanted to see me,” Veeresh said flatly.

Narayana nodded. “Sit.”

Veeresh didn’t argue. He rarely did when it came to his eldest brother.

Saif watched them both—the composed businessman, the restless restaurateur—and felt, as he often did, like the fragile thread holding them together.

---

“Why now?” Veeresh asked.

Narayana folded his hands. “Because we don’t talk unless something breaks.”

Silence.

Outside, a phone rang. Somewhere else, a deal was made. Somewhere else, someone was happy.

“You’re not,” Narayana continued, his eyes fixed on Veeresh. “And you haven’t been for a long time.”

Veeresh’s jaw tightened. “I function.”

“That’s not living,” Saif said quietly.

Veeresh laughed once—short, humorless. “Spoken like a man who teaches theories instead of surviving reality.”

Saif didn’t rise to the bait. He never did.

Narayana exhaled slowly. “This family has always believed in strength. But strength without peace turns into resentment.”

Veeresh looked away, toward the window. Somewhere in his life waited a child who depended on him for everything.

Responsibility had made him a father.

Pain had made him distant.

“And what do you want?” Veeresh asked.

Narayana’s voice was calm, but firm. “I want my brothers whole. Not just successful.”

Saif nodded. “Before work. Before reputation. Before—”

“—love,” Veeresh cut in sharply.

The word landed heavier than any accusation.

Narayana’s eyes darkened for a fraction of a second. Saif noticed. He always did.

Blood, Saif thought, had a way of remembering what hearts tried to forget.

The three brothers sat there—bound by the same past, walking different paths, carrying wounds none of them named.

Outside, the city continued.

Inside, something old stirred.

Not love.

Not yet.

But the silence before it.