Shifting Tides
Three days later,
Aarav was set to leave.
He stood in his study, a file open in his hands, eyes scanning through figures and clauses with quiet intensity. The room was silent, save for the faint rustle of turning pages. At the door stood Iqbal, patient, wordless, waiting for Aarav to finish. He had learned not to interrupt this version of the boy he once knew.
Aarav hadn't met Avi before leaving. There was no need—no benefit. Not yet. He would wait. Watch. Learn. In this world where everyone had a hidden blade pressed against his throat, information was the only real armor. And alliances... well, a twenty-four-year-old girl with little real-world exposure was either the easiest pawn—or the easiest ally.
Minutes passed. Aarav closed the file, then handed it over to Iqbal with a few instructions—notes about flawed contracts, excessive vendor margins, and missing non-compete clauses. He pointed out unbalanced equity terms and a few market trends indicating a shift toward sustainable packaging—a move worth investing in. His suggestions were sharp, efficient. Strategic.
Iqbal, though aged and worn by experience, nodded silently. Aarav's instincts in business had never once failed. Even before… before everything changed.
Neither man spoke as they walked down the hallway to the waiting car outside.
At the door, Iqbal broke the silence.
"Avi seemed happy," he said, glancing at Aarav's face. "Did you speak with her?"
"No," Aarav replied, tone flat. "And I don't want you to, either."
He didn't explain further, but his words carried a weight Iqbal understood well—Don't say anything that might disrupt the delicate balance.
"Understood," Iqbal said.
They were just about to part when Aarav added, without turning back, "Have someone keep an eye on Arundhati's parents."
The words stopped Iqbal cold.
He blinked. "Why?"
But he didn't ask it aloud. He simply nodded. Aarav noticed the lack of questioning and tilted his head slightly.
He didn't even ask why, Aarav mused. This man is cautious even with me... Or maybe he just understands more than I think.
Just as Aarav opened the car door, Iqbal spoke again—tentative, cautious.
"Aarav... can I ask you something?"
There was hesitation in his voice, an uncharacteristic nervousness that startled the transmigrated soul in Aarav's body. This man—strategist, schemer, silent kingmaker—was unsure?
Aarav narrowed his eyes. Is something wrong? Why is he hesitating?
He gave a short nod. "Yes."
Iqbal paused again, clearly weighing every word.
"Iqbal, just say it," Aarav said, trying to suppress his irritation. This bastard is wasting my time deciding whether to speak or not.
Finally, the words fell.
"Do you love Arundhati?"
The world seemed to go still.
Aarav stared at him, dumbfounded.
Has this man lost his mind? Since when did the definition of love include humiliating the person you supposedly care about?
He scoffed inwardly. I was an orphan in my last life, and yet I'm starting to believe my emotional intelligence was higher than these people who at least had families. Sigh... what do I even say to that? I don't have the original Aarav's memories. Let's not risk it.
After a pause, he said simply, "I don't know."
His voice was quiet. Neither cold nor soft—just... honest.
Iqbal blinked, taken aback. Then he smiled, faintly. "I understand. Then… please be safe."
That gentleness in Iqbal's tone surprised Aarav more than the question had. But he didn't linger. He got into the car and drove toward Trivedi Mansion.
---
Iqbal's POV
I've known Aarav for most of his life. But I've never understood him.
Everything he did was unpredictable, calculated yet alien—his mind worked on a plane that defied ordinary logic. When Arundhati came into his life, I dared to hope that she would bring some light into his darkness. That maybe, just maybe, he would start to feel something.
For a while, it seemed possible. I saw flickers of change. I wanted to believe he could be saved.
But then he broke her.
The things he did to that poor girl... it shattered whatever hope I had. I thought he was beyond redemption. And in that moment, I decided he wasn't the one who could fulfill our shared goal. I turned to Avi instead.
It wasn't that I stopped caring about him. Aarav was still mine to protect—my failure, my burden, my responsibility. One I had already failed once, by not being there when he needed someone the most.
The people in that house didn't save him. They buried him further.
And I don't know how... but Arundhati was the breaking point.
A few days ago, when I found out he was at the villa, I went to speak with him. I was angry—furious, even. I was ready to scold him, confront him.
But when I entered the room, I saw something I never expected—he looked tired. Not physically, but soul-deep weary, like something gnawed at him from the inside.
I still remember what I said. "Looks like Aarav Trivedi is enjoying his time."
And what he answered shook me more than any scream or insult could.
"I fucking hate it," he'd muttered.
I thought he'd be gloating after the revenge he pulled off—even if the marriage wasn't part of the plan, his vengeance was complete.
But he wasn't gloating. He wasn't proud. He looked... hollow.
So I tested him. I pushed further.
"Is it? I thought you had your best time with her while taking your revenge."
"I did. It was fun," he said. But there was no triumph in his voice. No smirk. No venom.
It was lifeless.
Emotionless.
It wasn't just that he didn't feel.
It was as if he didn't know how.
I realized then—this version of Aarav... he acts like the old one. Cold, brutal, merciless. But he's different. He hides it well, but he feels. Something the old Aarav couldn't do. That boy had instincts—sharp, animalistic. But no heart.
This one? He's trying to navigate something he never learned.
And that's when it hit me.
He does love Arundhati. Or he's trying to.
He just doesn't recognize the feeling yet—because he's never received it himself.