The Twisted Knots

11.

Thanking my lucky stars, I managed to wake up on time for the dinner to avoid my father's infamous tantrums. Starving all day, I succumbed to the temptation of a plate of pasta, though I attempted not to fill my stomach too much to avoid my father's wrath during dinner – emphasis on "attempted." The pasta was just too good to resist.

Opting for a simple all-black jumpsuit and loose beach waves for my hair, I rushed downstairs upon hearing my mother's call before my father could bellow my name. There, my mother and my younger brother, Kartik, awaited. Spotting Kartik, I squealed in delight, remarking on his increased height, to which he cheekily replied that he planned to surpass me. Ruffling his hair, I couldn't believe how he'd grown into a handsome young man, despite my enduring image of him as the crybaby who'd shed tears if we were apart for over an hour when he was little.

As we gathered, my father engrossed in a phone call, Kartik and I exchanged smiles and hugs, reveling in our reunion. Father signaled it was time to go, and we made our way to the main entrance. Our black BMW awaited us, and we embarked on our journey to Mr. Singhania's house for dinner. Though exhaustion begged for rest, my fear of my father's commands kept me obedient. His warning to behave in front of their guests forced a resigned sigh from me, promising compliance.

Kartik shot me a reassuring look, understanding the challenges I faced. Staring out the window, I refrained from participating in the car conversation dominated by my father's belittling remarks towards my mother. Kartik defended her, but my father dismissed him, claiming Kartik was no longer truly his son.

Rolling my eyes at my father's foolishness, I pondered how someone who had built an empire and a food industry could lack respect, especially when it came to women. Opting to drown out the impending drama with music, I reached for my phone, only to realize it was left behind. Asking my father to turn back would have consequences worse than losing my phone – it would be a futile plea.

Enduring my father's grating conversation, I contemplated my newfound disdain for him. I looked at my mother beside me, noticing a few tears that she quickly wiped away. No one liked being insulted, and I vowed silently that if my father dared to insult my mother during dinner, I wouldn't stay silent.

Squeezing my mother's hand, she responded with a reassuring smile. The car came to a halt, and I peered out the window at the grand mansion. The house stood before us, and I marveled at its beauty – a mansion far grander than ours. In my first-person perspective, I couldn't help but wonder how the night would unfold in this opulent setting.

"Tara, I need you to understand the importance of tonight's dinner. The Singhanias are crucial for our business relations."

" I get it, Dad. But why are you stressing? I've been to plenty of these events."

"This one is different, Tara. Mr. Singhania is a key player, and we need their support. So, I need you to behave properly."

"Dad, I always behave properly. What's the big deal?"

"Just do as i say!"

"Whatever," I muttered and got out of our car.

I stood in front of the grand mansion, my eyes wide with awe. It was like a scene from a movie, a mansion straight out of my dreams. A man in a black suit holding a tablet, gestured for us to follow him. I assumed he was the PA, and we entered the mansion, finding the interior just as stunning as the exterior.

We were led into a lavish living room, and I took a seat. Glancing at my brother, I could see he was as captivated by the surroundings as I was. Soon, a distinguished man entered the room – Mr. Singhania. My father stood up, extending a greeting, and I followed suit, my practiced smile firmly in place. It was a smile I had perfected over the years, a social formality rather than a true reflection of my emotions.

Mr. Singhania, appearing to be around my father's age, had maintained his physique remarkably well, in stark contrast to my father, who seemed to age beyond his years. We exchanged handshakes, and he took a seat on the sofa.

PA adjusting his suit, approached Mr. Singhania, who was engrossed in a conversation with my father.

"Mr. Sharma, I trust you had a smooth journey here," inquired Mr. Singhania, extending his hand for a firm handshake.

"Absolutely, Mr. Shinghania. No hiccups whatsoever," replied my dad, a composed demeanor on his face. "Your business must be quite demanding; I hope the logistics were in order."

Mr. Shinghania nodded appreciatively. "Indeed, the logistics were well-managed. We are accustomed to ensuring efficiency in every aspect of our operations."

As the conversation shifted towards business matters, I couldn't help but glance at my brother, Kartik, who seemed equally interested in their dialogue. The intricacies of these discussions were somewhat lost on me, but the gravity of the situation lingered in the air.

In a moment of brief respite, Mr. Singhania's gaze shifted towards Kartik and me. "These must be your children," he remarked, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

"Yes, indeed. This is Tara, and that's Kartik," confirmed my father, gesturing towards us. We exchanged polite smiles, aware that the scrutiny of the successful businessman extended beyond the boardroom.

The dialogue between the two businessmen continued, delving into the intricacies of their respective ventures, while Kartik and I remained part of the decor, absorbing the formal exchange of words that would shape the evening.

As the atmosphere in the room shifted, another man entered, dressed impeccably, and announced with a courteous smile, "Dinner is served, ladies and gentlemen. Please follow me."

We followed him to another room, and upon entering, my eyes widened at the grandeur of the dining setup. A large table adorned with elegant silverware and crystal glasses took center stage. The staff, discreetly present, exited upon our arrival, leaving us to take our seats.

Amidst the exchange of pleasantries, Mr. Singhania and my father delved into discussions about their plans for the food industry. "I'm thrilled about this collaboration," Mr. Singhania expressed, his eyes reflecting genuine excitement.

"Rest assured, Mr. Singhania, our partnership will be nothing short of successful," my father assured him confidently.

As we settled into our seats, Mr. Singhania inquired about the arrival of someone, and his PA responded promptly, "They are on their way, sir. Quite excited to meet you all."

I felt a peculiar gaze on me, and as the door opened, my surprise knew no bounds. Yash walked in, nonchalant in his usual black attire, holding his helmet. His eyes locked onto mine, a playful smirk playing on his lips. The PA took his helmet, and Yash apologized for his tardiness before taking his seat, right in front of me, the smirk refusing to fade.

"You are on time, son," Dad reassured him, unaware of the underlying tension. The unexpected presence of Yash, and the mysterious glint in his eyes, added an intriguing twist to the evening.

The night unfolded with surprises that seemed to defy my expectations, as if the universe itself challenged me with a resolute "try me." Once more, the door swung open, revealing another unexpected entry – Rajveer. He appeared as though he had just stepped out of his office, still adorned in his work attire, but there was an unfamiliar aura around him – a palpable sadness that I hadn't witnessed before. In silence, he took a seat next to Yash.

Mr. Singhania introduced the newcomers, "And these are my sons, Rajveer and Yash."

A unfiltered reaction escaped my lips, "Oh shit." The room fell into an abrupt hush, all eyes fixated on me. Rajveer, devoid of any prior knowledge of  my presence, raised his head to meet my gaze. His eyes widened in surprise, a clear indication that my presence was unexpected. On the contrary, Yash remained composed, almost as if he had anticipated my arrival.

Caught in the crossfire of glares of my father, I hastily muttered an apology, "Sorry." I surveyed the two brothers – Rajveer, still registering the shock of seeing me, and Yash, maintaining his enigmatic grin.