Aarav's P.O.V
Lying across the king-sized bed, I blink against the streaks of sunlight slicing through the curtains. The room is quiet—too quiet. I reach for my phone on the side table.
17 MISSED CALLS. 1 VOICEMAIL.
Rubbing my eyes, I tap on the voicemail.
Tanya:
"Hello, Aarav. Where are you? I've been trying to reach you. Can you call me as soon as possible, please?"
Her voice—shaky, scared—hits me like a punch in the gut. She sounds like she's been crying. Something's wrong. Something at home.
Last night feels like another lifetime.
We'd all gone out straight from my office—clubbing, celebrating. Flashing lights. Pulsating music. Colleagues, friends, pretty faces, endless drinks.
"To Aarav! Securing the biggest deal for Verma International!" Aman raised his glass.
"And to more nights like this!" I joined in. Aman—my friend, my business partner.
A 100 Crore deal. The biggest of my career. No reason not to celebrate.
Laughter. Cheers. The sharp clink of glasses.
And then… a blur of music, alcohol, and strobe lights.
Now, the silence screams louder than the club ever did.
I exhale, gripping the phone tighter, and dial Tanya's number. She picks up immediately.
"Bhai—"
Her voice cracks, thick with emotion. My heart sinks.
"Tanu, please don't cry. Just tell me what happened." I try to sound calm, but my voice trembles at the edges.
"Dad had a heart attack yesterday. He's in the ICU. I'm scared, Bhai. Mom hasn't stopped crying. I didn't know what to do... I kept calling you."
I clench my jaw, frustration and guilt tangling in my chest. I should've been there.
"I'm catching the first flight to Mumbai. I'll be there by evening."
"But… what about your project?" she asks, voice small and hesitant.
"It's done. My work here's wrapped up. I'll see you soon."
"Okay… bye."
She hangs up.
I take a deep breath and dial Sophia.
"Hello, Sir."
"Sophia, book me the earliest flight to Mumbai. The High-Tech Group project is almost wrapped—Thomas can handle the rest. Only contact me if it's urgent. Also, send someone to pack my luggage."
"Understood, sir. Is everything alright?"
"My father's unwell. I need to be there."
"I'm really sorry to hear that, sir. I'll handle the arrangements right away. Safe travels."
"Thanks, Sophia."
I end the call.
Soon, the staff arrives and begins packing. I stand by the window, watching the city buzz below. Four years… and not once did I look back. I ran from responsibilities, from expectations, from everything that reminded me of home.
Now? There's no more running.
I feel it—guilt clawing at my insides. I wasn't there when they needed me. I should've been.
"Sir, your luggage is packed. The chauffeur is waiting."
I nod, grab my coat, and walk out.
As the car rolls toward the airport, memories flood in. They always wanted me to settle down—marriage, kids, a life back home. I chose Singapore instead. I chose deals over dinners, parties over peace, and work over warmth.
But this? This is different.
I board the flight knowing one thing for sure:
I can't run anymore.
A whirlwind of emotions churns inside me—shock, guilt, urgency. Thoughts collide in my head, loud and unrelenting. Everything feels surreal, like I'm trapped in a dream I can't wake up from.
Mumbai… after four years.
Let's see what you have in store for me.