Sahab = Sir

“Rudraksh…” Anusuiya’s voice trembled as she pulled him into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of him, the coarse fabric of his worn shirt beneath her fingers, the way his arms hesitated before circling her—everything filled her chest with a rush of relief and aching love.

For a fleeting moment, a stiff smile touched Rudraksh’s lips. The storm of the past weeks seemed to ease, as though he were a river briefly touching its source again. Yet the calm never stayed; it slipped away as quickly as it came, leaving only a restless current within him.

Her trembling hands clutched his arms as she scanned his face. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her voice cracking under the weight of a plea.

“Where have you been, beta? Do you know how worried we were?” Her thumb traced slow, anxious patterns over his skin, as if anchoring herself to his presence.

Rudraksh remained tight-lipped, just looking at his mother’s animated expression as she continued further.

“Did you forget me, Rudraksh? Did someone else mean more to you than your own mother?” Her question lingered, raw and fragile, her gaze desperate for reassurance.

Siddharth and Karan exchanged a glance, their lips curving into awkward smiles at the outpouring of emotion. Yet Rudraksh didn’t look away from his mother. He searched her eyes as though trying to read a language only she knew.

Sighing softly, he pulled her into another hug. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Please… forgive me.”

The words were soft, but hollow. Anusuiya felt the emptiness tucked beneath them, yet she clung to the warmth of his embrace all the same. Her hands fluttered over his face as if brushing away shadows, before pressing them briefly to her own temples – a gesture of relief, of silent gratitude.

After a moment of one-sided affection, she turned aside with a tender smile and ushered the boys inside. “Come, have breakfast.”

Siddharth and Karan obeyed, exchanging another nervous glance as they sat at the table. Their hearts still raced, waiting for the storm they knew hadn’t passed.

Rudraksh, however, drifted toward the staircase, his silence heavy.

He had barely lifted his foot to the first step when a servant appeared, bowing low. “Rudraksh baba, Judge sahab has summoned you to his study.”

Rudraksh’s chest tightened. The words struck like a bell toll – expected, dreaded, inevitable.

He drew in a long breath, masking the tremor in his pulse. “I’m coming,” he said, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

The servant bowed again and withdrew.

Rudraksh turned toward the corridor, each step echoing louder than the last. The path stretched endlessly before him, lined with memories of old confrontations, of promises broken and trust fractured.

His heartbeat quickened, hammering in his chest like a drum summoning him to judgment. The carved wooden door of his father’s study loomed ahead – an unyielding threshold between him and the reckoning he could no longer outrun.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Rudraksh’s mouth turned dry, his palms slick with sweat. He rubbed his fingers together—a nervous tic he couldn’t shake—and knocked gently. The hollow thud seemed louder in the silence of the corridor.

“Come in.” The voice from inside was clipped, steady.

His throat worked in a hard gulp as he pressed the handle, leaving damp smears of sweat on the brass. The door creaked open, and he stepped into the dim room where the smell of old paper and polished leather hung heavy.

Aanand Maurya sat behind the desk, head bowed over an open file. He looked up—gaze sharp enough to cut steel—and with a small tilt of his chin, he said, “Sit.”

The chair felt foreign beneath Rudraksh, its leather sighing as he sank into it. The tick of the clock on the wall grew impossibly loud. His chest rose and fell faster than he could control.

Aanand’s hand came down on the file with a flat slap. “Take a look at your progress.”

Rudraksh reached out, fingers trembling against the papers. The numbers and graphs swam before his eyes. Sweat gathered at his eyebrows, trickling down his temple.

“Rudraksh Maurya, Chief Executive Officer.” Aanand’s voice mocked the words, twisting them into something bitter. “You wanted to make your name in this world, remember? Start a gaming company, compete with the best…” He leaned back, one corner of his lips curling up. “Like this?”

The sudden crack of his palm striking the desk ricocheted off the walls.

Rudraksh flinched.

“On the verge of bankruptcy! Your reputation in tatters! Mine dragged down with it!”

Rudraksh lowered his eyes, the reports blurring until they were nothing but grey smudges. His voice came out barely audible. “I… I can explain, sir.” The title slipped from habit, from years of drilled reflex, and from something heavier in his mind and heart.

Aanand pushed his chair back, the scrape of its legs grating against the floor. He strode forward, stopping just short of his son. His fists crashed onto the armrests, pinning Rudraksh between leather and fury.

“What will you explain?” His breath came hot and ragged. “That you drowned yourself in self-pity over a heartbreak? That you sulked like a child while the company rotted under your nose? Boo-hoo, my girlfriend left me. So I’ll ruin everything?”

The words rained down like mocking blows, and Rudraksh’s nails bit into his palms. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to look up, unwilling to meet the glare burning above him.

Aanand straightened and massaged his temples. “How many times must I remind you—you need to take responsibility. You’re not a child anymore!” He paused, collecting his ragged breathing, then continued, “With this attitude, you expect to make a name for yourself? You can’t even take care of yourself, let alone a company.”

Rudraksh held his father’s gaze, his chest tightening with a familiar ache. The silence between them pressed heavy, each second stretching. He felt as though he were staring into a mirror, searching for a reflection that might finally recognize him.

What does it take to be seen?

The thought whispered in his mind, and for a moment he felt like nothing more than a canvas of contradictions – threads of love, rejection, and longing stitched together with no pattern. All he wanted was a glance that acknowledged the design of who he was.

“Speak, dammit!” Aanand’s command made him flinched once again. “Explain yourself! Explain how you will fix this mess!”

Rudraksh rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on his father’s. A flicker of resolve steadied his trembling hands. He drew in a deep breath, trying to sound confident – convincing his father, and maybe... himself too.

“I will fix this, sir. I’ll work harder than ever. I promise." His words carried a firmness, though the plea beneath them trembled like a fragile thread. "I won’t fail again. Please, give me another chance.”

Aanand’s expression held. His eyes remained sharp, but somewhere in their depths Rudraksh caught a fleeting glimmer – something that felt almost like hope. When he spoke again, his voice was still firm, though softer than before.

“See that you do. I expect nothing but the best from you. You have one chance to prove yourself. Don’t waste it.”

Rudraksh nodded, a fragile determination rising through the weight of shame. The road ahead was steep, but he was ready to climb it, ready to reclaim his place, and his father’s belief.

“But…”

A/N: Hello, lovely readers!

How's everyone doing today? I hope life is treating you kindly!

What did you think of this latest update? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

Now, the big question: what will Aanand say next?

Thanks for reading! See you in the next part!