Chapter 13 Power and Pressure

The party office was already alive when Veeresh arrived.

Security tightened as his car entered the premises. Party workers stood outside in small groups, conversations halting the moment they saw him step out. Respect followed him naturally, but so did expectation.

Inside, the conference room was filled.

Senior leaders of the Jan Shakti Party sat around the long table, files open, phones buzzing, tension quietly present beneath formal greetings. This was not a casual meeting.

This was strategy.

This was survival.

Veeresh walked in without haste, his presence immediately shifting the room. Conversations lowered, attention focused.

“Let’s begin,” he said, taking his seat at the head of the table.

No introductions were needed.

One of the senior leaders leaned forward. “The opposition is gaining ground in the northern districts,” he said. “Their recent campaigns are working. Public sentiment is slowly shifting.”

Another added, “Media is also favoring them. If this continues, it will affect the upcoming elections.”

Veeresh listened without interrupting, his fingers lightly tapping the table once.

“Numbers,” he said.

A file was pushed toward him immediately.

He scanned it quickly, his eyes moving with precision.

“The issue is not just opposition strength,” he said after a moment. “It is our lack of response.”

The room fell silent.

“They are speaking,” he continued calmly. “We are reacting. That is already a disadvantage.”

One of the younger members spoke carefully. “What do you suggest?”

Veeresh leaned back slightly.

“We don’t counter them directly,” he said. “We redirect the narrative.”

A few exchanged glances.

“Shift focus to development projects,” he continued. “Push ground level engagement. Real work, not just announcements.”

Another leader frowned slightly. “That takes time. Elections are close.”

Veeresh’s gaze lifted.

“So does damage control,” he replied.

Silence followed.

He placed the file down.

“We need presence,” he said. “Not noise.”

His words were simple.

But they carried weight.

The discussion moved forward, strategies forming, responsibilities assigned. Every decision was calculated, every move deliberate.

Yet, in between the voices, in between the numbers and plans…

His mind drifted.

Not fully.

Not visibly.

But enough.

A flash of her face.

Tears mixed with anger.

“I am just twenty years old.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

He shifted his focus back to the discussion.

“We also need to handle internal leaks,” someone said. “There are people feeding information outside.”

Veeresh nodded once.

“Find them,” he said.

His tone was calm.

But final.

The meeting continued for hours.

Detailed.

Intense.

Relentless.

By the time it ended, decisions had been made, roles assigned, and the path forward set.

The leaders began to leave, one by one.

“Good meeting,” Mr Qureshi said, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly.

Veeresh gave a slight nod.

When the room finally emptied, he remained seated for a moment.

Alone.

The silence returned.

Different from the one at home.

But not entirely.

He leaned back, closing his eyes briefly.

And again…

His thoughts went back.

Not to politics.

Not to power.

But to her.

The way she had stood in front of him.

Fierce.

Broken.

Unfiltered.

The way she had looked at him and demanded answers.

The way she had held him like she hated him…

…and needed him at the same time.

He exhaled slowly.

“This is complicated,” he murmured.

For the first time in that room, the man who controlled everything…

Did not have a clear strategy.

Not for her.

And that…

Was unfamiliar territory.