{A/N: Many readers have been asking for an update on this novel, so I decided to write it. However, please don't expect too much as I write whenever I find the time. For now, enjoy the chapter!}
[Hari's image]
[Swara's image]
[3RD PERSON POV]
The lively atmosphere of the café opening buzzed with the hum of conversations and the melodic tunes of live music, blending seamlessly with the clatter of cups and plates. The evening air was thick with excitement, but suddenly, a sleek black car pulled up in front of the café, commanding everyone's attention. The vehicle's imposing presence immediately silenced some of the chatter, and an air of anticipation settled over the gathering.
Noticing the car, the high-ranking officers, business tycoons, and politicians rose from their seats, straightening their postures. It was clear they had been waiting for this moment. Among the café team, Sidharth and his friends exchanged glances before hurrying toward the car, their expressions a mix of curiosity and respect.
The car door opened gracefully, and out stepped Swara, looking radiant in an elegant dress that swayed gently with her movements. Her confidence and poise made heads turn as she glanced around, offering a polite nod to the waiting crowd. Following her, an elderly woman emerged from the car. Despite her age, she exuded an aura of dignity and grace that captivated everyone present. Draped in a stunning silk saree, her appearance was a harmonious blend of traditional charm and timeless elegance.
This was Yamunabai Deshmukh, Sidharth and Swara's grandmother—a name that resonated with reverence in their circles. A dedicated social worker and a devout bhakt of Lord Vitthal, Yamunabai's reputation preceded her. Her life's work, from her tireless efforts in improving rural livelihoods to her annual pilgrimage to Pandharpur with the varkari procession, was well-known and deeply admired. Her presence alone seemed to command respect, her every step radiating a quiet yet powerful authority.
After Yamunabai stepped out, all eyes turned toward the car once more. A moment of hushed anticipation passed before a man in his late fifties or early sixties emerged. He was dressed in traditional Maharashtrian attire—a crisp white dhoti paired with a simple kurta, a pheta neatly tied on his head, and leather sandals. Despite his age, his well-built physique and sharp, piercing gaze conveyed a presence that was impossible to ignore. There was an aura of authority about him that seemed to ripple through the air, compelling even the most powerful individuals present to remain attentive.
This was Martand Deshmukh, famously known as Dadasaheb. Once an influential MLA, he had since stepped back from politics, leaving the responsibilities to his son, Aditya Deshmukh—Swara's father. On the surface, Dadasaheb appeared to be a benevolent patriarch, doting on his grandchildren and enjoying his twilight years in peace. However, those who knew the stories of his youth understood the true extent of his reach. In his prime, Dadasaheb was a force to be reckoned with in Maharashtra's underworld, ruling with an iron fist and a shrewd mind. Even now, though he claimed to have retired from that life, his name was still whispered with caution and fear.
As Dadasaheb stepped out of the car, his dark, probing eyes scanned the surroundings with calculated precision, taking in the gathered crowd of influential officers, businessmen, and politicians who had risen to their feet at his arrival. His gaze lingered for a moment on each face, his expression unreadable. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he gestured for them to sit, a simple motion that carried an unmistakable weight of authority.
The crowd obeyed almost instinctively, settling back into their seats with a mixture of relief and respect. Yamunabai, standing beside him, offered a serene smile that softened the moment.
As Dadasaheb's gaze shifted toward Siddharth, the old man's sharp eyes softened with a hint of warmth. His face, usually stern and commanding, softened as he saw his grandson approach, accompanied by Parth, Vishal, Lavanya, and Nandini. With a slow smile, Dadasaheb opened his arms and pulled Siddharth into a brief, affectionate hug, his large, weathered hands gently patting his back.
"How's everything going, my boy?" Dadasaheb's voice was deep, resonant, the kind that commanded attention, yet there was a tenderness in it that only his closest family could recognize.
Siddharth, beaming with pride, pulled back slightly to meet his grandfather's eyes. "Everything's going great, Ajoba," he said, his tone light but filled with genuine joy. "Let me introduce you to my partners and friends."
With an easy, fluid motion, Siddharth began the introductions, introducing Parth, Vishal, Lavanya, and Nandini one by one. Each greeted Dadasaheb and Yamunabai with respect, bowing their heads slightly or offering polite smiles. Nandini and Lavanya, both confident and composed, spoke warmly to the elderly couple, while Parth and Vishal exchanged glances with quiet reverence. Dadasaheb nodded approvingly, his stern face softening for a moment, and Yamunabai chuckled lightly at the group's polite mannerisms.
However, just as the introductions seemed to come to an end, Dadasaheb raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening with a glint of curiosity. He looked at Siddharth, his voice low but commanding.
"You've introduced everyone... but where is that boy?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, and Siddharth blinked in surprise, his expression faltering for a split second. Before he could respond, Yamunabai, who had been quietly observing the exchange, smiled knowingly. Her voice, filled with affectionate teasing, broke the brief silence.
"Yes, Siddharth, where is he?" Yamunabai asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't tell me you've forgotten to introduce him."
Swara, standing by with a puzzled expression, looked between her grandmother and the others, clearly confused. "Who, Aji?" she asked, her brows knitting together.
Yamunabai's smile deepened, and she shot Swara a playful glance. "Oh, your friend, dear," she said, her tone light but pointed. "Hari, or as your Dada calls him, Madhav."
At those words, Swara's face flushed a deep red, her eyes darting away as if the mention of his name had caught her completely off guard. Her cheeks turned pink, and she awkwardly adjusted her dress, trying to hide her reaction.
Yamunabai's smile only widened at her granddaughter's bashful reaction, her eyes sparkling with a teasing warmth. The air around them felt lighter, filled with a subtle, unspoken tension that Swara tried her best to ignore. Her face betrayed her emotions, and she shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one would notice the heat creeping up her neck.
Siddharth looked at his grandfather, Dadasaheb, with a slightly hesitant smile, trying to steady the sudden nerves that had crept up on him. "About Madhav," he began, trying to continue from where the conversation had left off. "He told us to let you cut the ribbon, Ajoba, so—"
But before Siddharth could finish, Dadasaheb's commanding voice cut through the air, firm yet laced with an unspoken authority that had everyone on edge. "Boy, I come to meet that kid first," Dadasaheb said, his voice rich with intent. "I want to meet him, then later, everything else."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. The quiet tension in the group seemed to grow as every pair of eyes instinctively turned to look at Siddharth. His nervousness mirrored the others'—he had expected this day to unfold smoothly, but now the prospect of introducing Madhav to the legendary Dadasaheb, a man of such intimidating stature, made his heart race a little faster.
The seconds stretched on as Dadasaheb stood with an air of patient expectation. It was clear to everyone that he wasn't one to be kept waiting. Siddharth glanced around at his friends, each of them sharing his unease. Their expressions, once confident and calm, now seemed to betray a trace of uncertainty.
Yamunabai, noticing the growing tension and the worried glances exchanged between her family and the others, let out a soft laugh, her voice soothing yet filled with warmth. "Aa ho, you are scaring them," she teased, her smile softening the moment. The affectionate glint in her eyes as she looked at her family made it clear that she was well aware of the effect her husband's presence had on everyone.
She turned her attention back to Siddharth, her tone shifting to one of playful curiosity. "But I also want to see him. Where is he, Siddharth?" Her voice was gentle, coaxing, but still filled with the same energy that marked her presence.
Siddharth, despite his nerves, couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and anxiety wash over him, He pointed in the direction of where Madhav—or Hari.
"There," Siddharth said, his voice wavering slightly as he gestured. "Madhav is over there."
As Dadasaheb and Yamunabai turned their gaze toward the direction Siddharth had pointed, their eyes fixed on the figure of a young boy sitting comfortably in a chair. The cool breeze tousled his messy hair, each strand moving with the wind like it belonged to the air itself. There was something ethereal about the way he sat there—unbothered, at ease, almost as if the night had wrapped itself around him in a tender embrace.
The moonlight, soft and gentle, bathed his face in a silvery glow. It made his features seem to shimmer, as if he were a part of the very night itself. But it wasn't just his physical beauty that caught their attention; it was the way his face seemed to shine, almost like an inner light radiating from deep within him. His lips curled into a small, playful smile, one that spoke of mischief yet also wisdom—like a secret only he knew, and that he was content to keep.
But it was his eyes that truly captivated them. His gaze wasn't just that of a young boy—it was deeper, older, like a soul that had seen beyond the ordinary world. His eyes held knowledge, wisdom, and an undeniable playfulness, as if he could see through the fabric of life itself, unearthing truths hidden in the most ordinary of moments. It was unsettling, yet fascinating. For Dadasaheb and Yamunabai, it felt as though he could see them, truly see them—peering into the depths of their beings, where no one else ever could. The intensity of that connection, though fleeting, was profound, almost as if their very souls were laid bare before him.
A soft shimmer of light caught their eyes, drawing their attention to the small peacock feather locket that hung from his neck. It caught the moonlight in a way that was subtle yet captivating, the feather glowing faintly as if it were more than just an accessory—like it held a secret of its own, a key to understanding the boy's mysterious aura.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Dadasaheb and Yamunabai stood frozen, their expressions unreadable, their gazes fixed on the young boy with an intensity that startled those around them. The world seemed to fade into the background as they both experienced a strange, unexplainable sensation—a mixture of awe, wonder, and a touch of fear. It was a feeling they had never encountered before, one that set their hearts racing and made them question everything they thought they knew.
They were used to being the ones who commanded attention, to being the ones whose presence made others tremble. But in this moment, it was the young boy who seemed to command their every sense, his very existence pulling them in like a force of nature. His beauty, his grace, his unspoken power—it was unlike anything they had ever encountered.
The others, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, looked on in confusion. Why were Dadasaheb and Yamunabai reacting this way? For everyone else, the boy simply appeared beautiful and innocent, just like any young person would. But for the two of them, it was something much more.
A ripple of unease swept through the crowd as the couple's expressions remained frozen, their eyes wide, as if they had just encountered something beyond their comprehension. They were the very picture of people who had just glimpsed something that shouldn't exist, yet undeniably did.
No one could understand why Dadasaheb and Yamunabai were reacting this way. But deep down, they all felt it—the inexplicable shift in the air, the heavy weight of the moment.
Without a word, Yamunabai's legs began to move of their own accord, as if an invisible pull was guiding her forward. Her steps were slow but deliberate, each one carrying her closer to the boy who seemed to shimmer with something beyond the world she knew.
No one intervened. The crowd parted slightly, sensing the gravity of the moment. Dadasaheb, watching his wife move, didn't stop her. He had known her all his life—knew how deeply connected she was to the spiritual world, how her senses often reached beyond the ordinary realm. And now, he understood that something extraordinary was at play. He could feel it too, though in a different way. There was a shift in the air, an unspoken understanding that this boy, this Madhav, was not just any young boy. He was a mystery, a riddle that neither he nor anyone else could hope to solve with the tools of mere mortals.
Dadasaheb's gaze shifted to his granddaughter, Swara, who stood a few steps behind. She looked between Yamunabai and the boy, her brow furrowed in confusion, unsure of the weight of what was unfolding before her. But Dadasaheb knew. Destiny had something in store for Swara, something that would tie her to this boy in ways she could not yet comprehend. His heart tightened slightly as he wondered what that would mean for their family. The future, it seemed, was about to shift in ways none of them could predict.
Yamunabai reached the boy and, without hesitation, sank to her knees before him. Her hands trembled slightly, not from age, but from the overwhelming force of what she felt in his presence. Slowly, she lowered her head, touching the cool ground before rising it to rest gently on the boy's lap. It was a gesture of pure reverence, a silent acknowledgment of the power she sensed within him—a power that surpassed the realm of human understanding.
Hari, sensing the depth of her respect and the unspoken connection between them, smiled softly. His smile was gentle, serene, as though he knew this moment had been written in the stars long before it had come to pass. Slowly, with care, he reached out and began to pet her head, his fingers moving through her hair in a rhythmic, soothing motion.
The act was tender, almost maternal in its softness. His touch was like the caress of a breeze, calm and nurturing, yet powerful in its ability to heal and comfort.
As Hari's fingers gently combed through Yamunabai's hair, a soft sigh escaped her lips. The touch, so tender and warm, sent waves of comfort through her—waves that carried her back to a time long ago, when she was a child resting in the embrace of her mother. It was as if every gentle stroke held the essence of a mother's love, a divine care that transcended time and space. In that moment, Yamunabai no longer felt the weight of age or the years she had lived. She felt small and safe, cradled not just by the boy before her but by the very essence of life itself.
It was more than just the physical sensation of being petted. It was a spiritual awakening—a deep, inexplicable understanding that the boy before her was not like others. He carried something divine within him. She could feel it in her bones, in the way his touch seemed to heal a part of her that no one had ever known existed. The warmth that spread from his fingers was not just of this world. It was as though the hands of her beloved god, Shree Hari Vitthal, Mauli, were guiding her head in this gentle caress.
In that fleeting moment, Yamunabai's soul found rest, and the worries of her lifetime seemed to disappear into the ether. She could feel herself returning to the innocence of childhood, wrapped in the love and care of her mother. The boy who had caused this sensation... he was something beyond human comprehension.
Dadasaheb, standing behind Yamunabai, watched in stunned silence. His eyes widened, briefly caught in the strangeness of what he was witnessing. His strong, authoritative wife—his pillar—had softened, transformed into a child before him. She, the wise and revered matriarch of the family, was now resting her head on the lap of a boy whose mere presence seemed to strip away the years of wisdom and pride she had accumulated. It was a humbling sight, one that made him question everything he had ever known about strength, about power, about the forces that shaped their lives.
He snapped out of his reverie quickly, his mind racing to make sense of the unexplainable. His instincts told him that this boy—this Madhav—was not just an ordinary young man. There was something profoundly powerful within him. Something that both fascinated and frightened him.
The surrounding silence grew heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something monumental to unfold. A quiet murmur spread through the crowd as people exchanged glances, unsure of what they were witnessing. Hari, oblivious to the growing attention, simply continued to pet Yamunabai's head, unaware of the storm his presence was about to create.
Unbeknownst to him, the scene that had just played out in front of the Deshmukh family was not just a moment of spiritual connection. It would soon be the talk of the town, appearing on the news, speculating about the mysterious boy who had captured the attention of some of the most powerful figures. The events of the morning at the Dagadu Sheth Ganapati temple were already a topic of whispered conversation, but what had just happened here would change everything.
As the weight of these coming events pressed down on him, Hari remained blissfully unaware. He wasn't concerned with the ripple effects of his actions, the attention he was bound to receive. His focus remained steady on the moment. It was veiled in mystery, shaped by forces that not even he could fully comprehend. But for now, he didn't care.
As Hari gently petted Yamunabai's head, his fingers moving with the kind of tender care one might give a beloved elder, he allowed his words to flow like a soft melody, his tone playful and sweet. "So, you are Sidharth and Swara Aajji, am I right, Yamunabai?"
Yamunabai lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes searching his face for some deeper meaning, but all she found was warmth, a softness that felt both familiar and divine. His smile—so effortlessly kind, yet carrying an air of knowing—stirred something within her, something she couldn't quite place. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she chuckled softly. "You already know everything, don't you? Even after that, you're still asking? You and your games."
Hari's eyes twinkled with a mischievous light as he laughed, the sound carrying a purity that seemed to resonate with the quiet night air. "Haha, what are you talking about? How could I possibly know everything about you? We just met for the first time." His tone was light, teasing, but there was something underneath it—a hint of wisdom that came with the quiet confidence of someone who knew far more than he let on.
Yamunabai's smile deepened as she listened to him, her heart swelling with a warmth she hadn't felt in years. "Mother knows everything about her children," she said softly, her voice filled with affection, "even if she is not always around them."
At her words, Hari let out a gentle laugh, his smile softening into something more serene. He shook his head, as though amused by the depth of her wisdom. "Hahaha, you and your words," he said, his voice now almost reverent. "You know, I'm not the one you think I am. I'm just the medium. He is me, but I can't be him."
There was a shift in the air, a subtle but undeniable change that rippled through the surroundings. Yamunabai, for a brief moment, felt as if the world around her faded away, leaving only the sound of Hari's voice and the soft pat of his hand on her head.
Yamunabai's smile softened as she listened to Hari, her heart swelling with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She gently lifted her head from his lap, looking up at him with a mixture of admiration and quiet understanding. "But that doesn't change the fact that he is you," she said, her voice light but filled with meaning. "When I first heard about you, I knew—there's no way this could be normal, not in any sense. But... what's the purpose of all this? Why my family?"
Her question hung in the air, heavy with curiosity, yet she knew deep down that there were answers in the mysteries of fate, answers that only time would reveal.
Hari smiled gently, his eyes glimmering with a calm that made his presence feel almost otherworldly. "Who knows," he said softly, his voice filled with a sense of knowing that didn't come from mere words, but from something deeper. "Maybe, when the time comes, we will all understand what destiny has written for us. Don't you think so?"
Yamunabai's smile remained, but there was something wistful in it now. "You and your sweet, mysterious words," she said with a chuckle, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. "You never change, do you? Still wrapped in your layers of secrets. But..." She paused, her voice faltering as she searched for the right words. "I feel so lucky, you know. Lucky to see you, to meet you. It feels like... like I've achieved the very thing I've been searching for all my life."
As she spoke, her emotions began to surface, and a tremor ran through her. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, a vulnerability that she rarely showed to anyone. "I... I don't know how to explain it," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
Hari's fingers moved gently through Yamunabai's hair, his touch tender, as if trying to soothe the emotions that were rising within her. He smiled softly, his expression filled with a deep, affectionate understanding. "There, there," he whispered, his voice calm and soothing. "And here I thought we had so much time to spend together, but now you're telling me you've already achieved everything. It seems I haven't had enough time with you, Yamuna. The little girl who once ran after her mother, eager for a prasad, wanting nothing more than to offer it to Vitthal, has grown so much. How quickly time passes, hmm?"
He let out a quiet sigh, the weight of his words carrying a gentle, bittersweet tone. The night air felt heavier with the depth of the moment, and his words seemed to wrap around Yamunabai like a quiet prayer, calling back memories of a past long tucked away in her heart.
But his words—simple, playful on the surface—struck something deeper within Yamunabai. Her eyes, wide with disbelief, began to glisten with unshed tears. The rush of emotions overwhelmed her, memories and realizations flooding her all at once. She shook her head as if trying to wake herself from a dream, a sense of recognition coursing through her. Before she could understand what was happening, the tears started to fall, and without thinking, she rose and embraced his leg, her small form trembling with emotion.
"It's really you," she cried out, her voice a whisper, yet full of an intensity that rang through the silence. "I know my feelings can't be wrong. It's really you."
As the words left her lips, the world around them seemed to hold its breath. Dadasaheb, Swara, Siddharth, and everyone who had been watching the scene unfold couldn't help but feel the shift in the atmosphere. It was as if the woman they knew, strong and dignified, had dissolved into a child once again. In that moment, Yamunabai wasn't the wise, poised matriarch—she was the little girl who had longed for her mother's love, for her mother's touch. And now, she found herself crying with the pure, unfiltered emotions of a child who had found her way back home.
The scene was both beautiful and heartbreaking. Yamunabai, despite her age and wisdom, had become a fragile soul again, searching for something familiar, something long forgotten but desperately needed. Her vulnerability in that moment, her tears and the way she clung to Hari's leg, struck everyone deeply. The realization that the boy—Madhav, as he was known—was no ordinary child was now more undeniable than ever.
The group watched in stunned silence, each person processing what they had just witnessed in their own way. For Swara and Siddharth, there was a sense of awe, mingled with confusion. They had never seen their grandmother in such a raw, unguarded state. And yet, as strange as it was, it felt... right. As if this moment was destined to be.
Dadasaheb, with his years of experience, stood still, his gaze unwavering. He had seen many things in his lifetime, had lived through the shadows of power and influence, but this? This was something entirely different. The weight of what he was witnessing pressed down on him, and for the first time in many years, he found himself questioning the familiar walls of logic and reason. What was this boy to his family? What did destiny have in store for them?
But none of them could answer those questions yet. For now, they stood in the presence of something far greater than all of them combined—a moment that would change everything.
Hari's voice was as calm as the breeze that carried it, laced with a playful charm that made even the most intense moments feel lighter. He gently patted Yamunabai's head once more before saying with a teasing smile, "Now, now, don't cry anymore. Everyone's watching. What do you think they'll say? I can already imagine the headlines: MLA Aditya Deshmukh's Mother Seen Crying While Resting Her Head on an Unknown Boy's Lap!"
He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And I'm sure Swara will have a thing or two to say about this. She'll probably scold me for making her Aajji cry in public."
Yamunabai wiped her tears, a faint smile breaking through the traces of emotion that still lingered on her face. She nodded and said softly, "Okay," her voice regaining its steadiness. Slowly, she got up, her movements deliberate but filled with a renewed sense of peace. She looked at Hari one last time, her expression a blend of reverence and affection, before stepping back toward Dadasaheb.
Hari watched her leave with a serene smile, then turned his gaze to Parth and Siddharth, who had been standing nearby, trying to make sense of everything they had just seen. With a slight tilt of his head and a playful wave of his hand, Hari beckoned them closer. They exchanged a brief glance, then quickly approached him, their steps hurried and their expressions a mix of respect and curiosity.
"Prepare for the opening ceremony," Hari said, his tone firm but still warm. "The time is running out, and we can't keep everyone waiting, can we?"
"Y-Yes! Right away!" they stammered in unison, startled but eager to act. Hari's calm demeanor seemed to carry an unspoken authority that neither could resist. They turned swiftly and began coordinating with the crowd, redirecting their focus toward the café opening and away from the unusual scene they had just witnessed.
Meanwhile, Yamunabai walked back to stand beside Dadasaheb. He gave her a knowing look but said nothing, choosing instead to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. For a moment, their eyes met, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.
The atmosphere began to shift as the crowd's attention was drawn to the ceremonial ribbon stretching across the entrance to the café. Laughter and chatter resumed, breaking the tension that had filled the air moments ago. Guests shuffled into position, eager to witness the grand opening.
As everyone became engrossed in the preparations, Hari's presence seemed to fade into the background. The glow from his peacock feather locket, which had shone faintly throughout the earlier events, now dimmed entirely. It was as though the boy had willed himself into obscurity, blending seamlessly into the crowd's collective consciousness. No one seemed to notice him anymore, their minds preoccupied with the ceremony.
Hari sat comfortably in the corner, his gaze wandering lazily over the bustling café. His lips curved in a faint smile as he soaked in the atmosphere. The chatter of the crowd, the clinking of plates, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee created a cozy yet lively ambiance. Suddenly, he spotted Kartik and Yash approaching him, their faces lit up with excitement.
"Where have you two been all this time?" Hari asked with a mock frown, his tone teasing as always.
Yash grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "We were, uh... testing the food," he said with an innocent shrug.
Kartik chimed in, unable to contain his enthusiasm. "It's amazing, Dada! Your friends must be really rich to put out this much variety—and everything tastes so good!"
Hari rolled his eyes, his playful smirk growing wider. "Leave it to you two to focus entirely on food," he muttered, shaking his head. But before he could continue teasing them, a familiar figure walked toward their table.
It was Swara.
"Yo ho, Swara Didi! What are you doing here?" Kartik called out cheerfully, waving at her as if they were old friends.
Yash, equally surprised, added, "Yeah, Swara! What brings you here? Did Hari invite you too?"
Swara's lips curved into a calm, knowing smile. She crossed her arms and looked at Hari for a moment, her gaze carrying an unreadable emotion before turning back to the two boys. "No, Hari didn't invite me," she said, her tone tinged with quiet amusement. "But this café belongs to my brother."
The revelation hung in the air for a moment as Kartik's jaw dropped. "Huh? What do you mean?" he asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Swara's smile turned slightly mocking as she said, "Siddharth, one of the café's owners, is my elder brother."
"Wow!" Kartik exclaimed, clearly impressed. "That's so cool! Your family must be rich!"
On the other hand, Yash's reaction was quite different. His cheerful demeanor faltered, replaced by visible nervousness. He swallowed hard, his voice shaky as he stammered, "W-what do you mean? Are you saying that... you're the daughter of MLA Aditya Deshmukh?"
Swara stood with a confident smile, her chin slightly raised. "Yes, now you know who I am," she said with an air of mock superiority. "So, you pig, be good and behave in front of me."
Yash's eyes widened, and his jaw clenched as he snapped, "Wh-what did you just call me?" His voice carried a mix of disbelief and indignation.
Before the brewing argument could escalate, Kartik, who had been observing the exchange with mischievous curiosity, suddenly grinned and turned to Hari. "Dada," he began, his tone sly and teasing, "so Swara Didi is the Rukmini that Aajji—"
But Kartik didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. Hari moved faster than anyone could react, clamping a hand firmly over Kartik's mouth. His sharp glare silenced Kartik's attempt to wriggle free. Leaning close to Kartik's ear, Hari whispered in a low, threatening voice, "If you don't want to end up beaten to a pulp, you'd better shut your mouth. Got it?"
Kartik nodded furiously, his eyes wide with fear. Satisfied, Hari let go of him with an exaggerated sigh. Kartik stumbled back a step, rubbing his mouth and muttering under his breath, though he didn't dare to say more.
Hari straightened, brushing off his hands, and looked at the two boys with a pointed stare. "Go. The opening ceremony is about to start," he ordered, his voice calm but firm.
Yash and Kartik exchanged a quick glance, both of them recognizing the seriousness in Hari's tone. Without another word, they scurried off toward the main event, leaving Swara and Hari standing together.
Swara, who had been watching the entire interaction with amused suspicion, raised an eyebrow as she turned to Hari. "What was that all about?" she asked, her tone half playful, half intrigued. "And what exactly was Kartik talking about?"
Hari chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, nothing! Kartik just says weird things sometimes. You should really ignore him," he said, his tone light but unconvincing.
Swara wasn't buying it. Her eyebrows arched higher, and without warning, she grabbed Hari's collar. Pulling him closer, she started shaking him back and forth like a rag doll.
"What are you doing?!" Hari exclaimed, his nervous smile plastered on his face. "Swara, listen! Violence doesn't solve anything! Let's talk like mature people, okay?" His voice wavered, clearly hoping she'd stop before things got out of hand.
Swara paused for a moment but didn't release his collar. Her gaze bore into him, sharp and demanding. "Tell me, Hari," she said firmly, "what are you hiding? Why was my Aajji crying? What did you do to her?"
Hari sighed dramatically, his smile turning sheepish. "I didn't do anything, Swara. You've got it all wrong. If you don't believe me, why don't you ask your Aajji yourself?" He tried to keep his voice calm, hoping to deflect the situation.
Swara narrowed her eyes, clearly unsatisfied. She took a deep breath, her grip on his collar tightening. "Okay, fine," she said slowly. "But tell me this—how do you know my Aajji?"
Hari opened his mouth to respond, but Swara's expression shifted. Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and her gaze wavered ever so slightly. "And," she began hesitantly, her voice softer than before, "by any chance… do you… do you want to impress my family?"
Hari tilted his head innocently, a smile playing on his lips. "What are you even talking about?" he said, his tone light and teasing. "I don't know your Aajji—we just met today. And why would I need to impress your family anyway?"
Swara's face turned an even deeper shade of red. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she stammered, "B-because... when the time comes, they... they can approve our—"
Hari blinked, his expression completely clueless. "Approve? Approve what?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion.
That was the last straw. Swara's temper flared as she glared at him, her embarrassment turning into frustration. "You... you idiot!" she shouted. Grabbing his collar again, she started shaking him violently. "How can you be so dense?! And listen here—if I catch you with any of these girls hanging around here, you'd better watch out!"
Hari's nervous laughter bubbled up as he tried to calm her down. "Okay, okay! I get it! But can you please stop shaking me? I'm feeling dizzy already!"
Swara huffed and finally let go of his collar, her cheeks still flushed. She spun on her heel and stomped away, muttering under her breath. "Idiot... stupid... clueless boy…"
Hari let out a long sigh of relief, straightening his slightly wrinkled shirt. "Swara and her antics…" he murmured to himself with a small shake of his head, watching her retreating figure. Despite the chaos she caused, he couldn't help but smile. She was fiery, unpredictable, and, in her own way, endearing.
As Hari stood there, still shaking his head at Swara's antics, he noticed Vishal approaching. Vishal's calm demeanor was a welcome change after the whirlwind that was Swara.
"What's up?" Hari asked, flashing a relaxed smile.
"Nothing much," Vishal replied casually. "The opening ceremony's about to start, so everyone's calling you."
Hari chuckled at the thought. "Thanks for the heads-up. I'm on my way."
Just as Vishal turned to leave, Hari stopped him. "By the way..."
"Yeah?" Vishal asked, pausing to look back.
Hari scratched the back of his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Why isn't that singer performing an Armaan Malik song?"
Vishal blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Armaan Malik? Who's that?"
Hari's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he quickly caught himself. 'Shit,' he thought, his mind racing. 'Armaan Malik wasn't famous in 2014 yet.'
He let out a nervous laugh, waving his hand dismissively. "Ah, no, never mind," he said quickly. "I just got confused for a second. I meant the runner-up of Sa Re Ga Ma Pa L'il Champs. Mixed up his name with someone else. My bad!"
Vishal continued to stare at Hari, still clearly confused. Hari raised an eyebrow, sensing the hesitation. "What?" he asked, a little taken aback by the prolonged silence.
Vishal's brow furrowed even more. "What is Sa Re Ga Ma Pa?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
Hari froze. The question hit him like a sudden gust of wind. His mind went blank for a moment, and then his heart skipped a beat. What the…
He quickly recovered, flashing a nervous smile. "Sa Re Ga Ma Pa? It's a music reality show," he said, trying to brush it off casually.
Vishal's face twisted into even more confusion. "Madhav, are you alright? What are you talking about? There's no such reality show."
Hari's eyes widened as he processed what was happening. His pulse quickened, and a cold realization crept over him. What the hell? He tried to mask his unease, but his mind was racing. He had done extensive research on the business landscape before coming here—Starbucks had already been in Pune during this time in his previous life, but now it wasn't. And now this. Sa Re Ga Ma Pa didn't even exist in this world?
This world was different. It wasn't just a few things out of place—it was fundamentally altered.
Hari took a slow breath, the weight of this realization settling in. 'My future knowledge... it might not be as useful as I thought.' He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. There was a lot to learn in this new world, and fast. He had no choice but to adapt quickly, absorb everything he could, and plan carefully.
{A/N: After establishing the café, I plan to create a holding investment company named Nirvana and make Flute & Foam Café a part of it. Through this holding company, Hari will be able to invest in other businesses. Additionally, I'm going to make Hari a mysterious, unknown singer, with only the owner of the music studio he collaborates with knowing his true identity.}
{A/N: If you'd like to support me, please use this UPI: omgadekar29@oksbi "Om Gadekar". If you do, please let me know your webnovel name so I can recognize you.}
(Word's Count:-6487)