All rights reserved.
No part of this maybe reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form without prior written permission from the author
FLASHBACK – When abhishek called Aditya In mid of the party
The heavy wooden door closed behind him.
Aditya stood straight, expression unreadable, as Abhishek Agnihotri—his so-called father—sat behind a glass of expensive scotch.
"Where's Ruhaan?" Abhishek asked without looking up. "There's a party downstairs. It's your duty to make him attend."
Aditya didn't move. "He doesn't like parties."
Abhishek's eyes flicked up, cold and calculating. "I didn't ask if he liked them."
A pause.
Abhishek stood, walking over slowly. Then stopped inches from Aditya.
"I gave you my name because your mother begged me on her deathbed. Don't mistake that for love. You were never my blood."
Aditya didn't flinch.
Abhishek leaned closer. "Don't act like my son. You're not. You're a responsibility I fulfilled. Nothing more."
He turned away, sipping his drink. "Now do what you were told."
Aditya stood still in the dim room, the silence around him thick and suffocating.
But his eyes—
Burned.
Back in the dim study, just moments after the meeting with yuvraj Rathore, the room had fallen into silence again. Heavy. Cracking.
Ruhaan broke it.
"You know," he said quietly, seated near the fireplace, "sometimes I envy you."
Aditya glanced at him, surprised. "Excuse me?"
"You don't have to carry this name like I do," Ruhaan continued. "Agnihotri. For me, it's chains. I didn't choose this. I just live under it."
Aditya exhaled, walking to the window. "And if you could give it up?"
Ruhaan looked up sharply.
"I would," Aditya said without hesitation. "If I had the power, I'd burn that name from every record and carve Rathore across my grave."
Ruhaan didn't respond immediately. His voice was lower now, serious. "You say that like you hate being part of this family."
Aditya turned to him. "I was never part of this family. I was tolerated, trained, and reminded every day that I didn't belong. I wasn't raised as an Agnihotri. I was raised by Maa memory and Masi fire."
Ruhaan leaned back. "So why are you still here?"
Aditya's eyes hardened. "Because Maa wanted me to survive. And now... I want justice."
Aditya looked at Ruhaan. "I didn't choose this surname. I inherited it like a scar. But someday… I'll wear 'Rathore' again. Not just for Maa, but for everything they tried to erase."
Ruhaan nodded. "You don't need a name to prove anything, bhai. Your blood screams Rathore every time you fight for what's right."
---------------------------------------
Next day : Rosewood Elite School
"I want to take admission in Harvard medical school and want to make my parents proud"
Ishika spoke confidently, revealing what's her aimed Once she finished, she walked over and sat beside her friend Avyana.
"You're so good at music Ishi ,"avyana said, glancing at her with a raised brow. "Why go into medical?"
A soft smile played on Ishika lips as a memory flickered in her mind—
A flashback began to replay, painting the reason she chose this path.
[Flashback – 7 months ago]
The rain drizzled against the study window, a steady rhythm that filled the quiet room.
Ishika was curled up on the rug, sorting through old documents from the bottom drawer of her father's cabinet.
Most of them were legal papers, dusty and dull—but one folder stood out.
Faded blue, with a hand-drawn stethoscope doodled on the corner.
She opened it carefully.
Inside were test scores, reference letters, and an acceptance letter—from Harvard College of Medical Sciences.
Ishika eyes widened "papa?"
He looked up from his book, recognizing the folder instantly. His smile faltered. "You found that old trash?"
"You… wanted to be a doctor?" Ishika asked, stunned.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on something distant. "Yeah. I wanted to be a cardiothoracic surgeon. Obsessed with the human heart—how it breaks, how it heals. I got into Harvard. Top of my class. But life…"
He trailed off
Ishika tilted her head. "But you became a lawyer."
"I had to," he said quietly. "Your mom—her family had… expectations. They forced her into a marriage with someone else. I fought. I waited. But everything I'd planned just slipped away. By the time she found her way back to me, I was too far from medicine. So I chose something else I could fight for."
Ishika gently touched the old letter. "You never told me."
"Didn't seem important anymore. I never regretted what I did—your mom, you girls. This life… it's messy, but it's mine."
She swallowed hard, her voice soft but full of fire. "Then I'll do it. I'll go to Harvard. I'll become the doctor you were supposed to be."
Her father eyes widened. "You want to go into medicine?"
"I want to finish what you started," she said. "Not because I have to… but because I want to. I want your dream to live through me."
He stared at her, eyes glistening. After a long moment, he let out a soft laugh. "Just promise me you'll sleep more than I did in med school."
She grinned. "No promises, Dr. Dad."
Just as their eyes were locked—father and daughter sharing that quiet, teary understanding—the study door creaked open.
"What's going on in here?" pratika Malhotra asked, stepping in with a steaming cup of chai.
Her gaze immediately landed on the open folder in the girl's hands. "Oh no. Don't tell me you're digging up the doctor dream again."
Ishika laughed. "It's not just a dream, It's papa dream"
Her mom raised an eyebrow. "It's a folder with bad handwriting and a questionable biology grade in second semester."
"One semester!" Her father protested from the chair.
"You almost failed anatomy because you fainted during a frog dissection," she said, sipping her chai. "And you wanted to cut open actual humans?"
"Times change. I toughened up," he muttered.
She turned to Ishika. "And you—you think this is some emotional inheritance? Becoming a doctor is not some poetic revenge arc. It's sleepless nights, terrifying exams, and a social life that dies before med school even starts."
"I already don't have one," Ishika said proudly.
Her mom paused, looked at her for a long moment, and then sighed. "Yep! Definitely she's your your child."
prakriti popped her head into the room at just the right time. "Are we crying in here again? Or are we back to roasting Dad?"
"Both," her mom replied without missing a beat.
Her father held up his hands. "I feel very attacked for someone who just shared his deepest unfulfilled dream."
"You'll survive," pratika said, ruffling his hair on the way out.
"Now all of you—dinner's getting cold. And if I see one more folder on the floor, I'm throwing it out and blaming the dog"
As pratika Malhotra disappeared down the hallway, the three of them looked at each other—and burst out laughing.
The smile lingered as the memory faded.
Avyana looked at her, now a little speechless, a little proud. "I get it now," she said, nodding. "That's so you."
Then she leaned in closer. "Wait—did Pratika ma'am allow you? What was her reaction? And....What was principal sir reaction reaction when he found out you wanted to fulfill your father's dream?"
The question didn't hit her immediately. It settled in her chest, slow like the first drop of rain before the storm.
Her voice, when it came, was low. Almost like it belonged to someone else.
"dadu came late that night. After his usual 'oldies' tea party with his neighbour friends. We were still at the dinner table…"
The smile widened as another memory took over.
FLASHBACK
The dining table was a beautiful mess—steel plates clinking, the smell of buttered rotis in the air, and burnt sabzi.
her mom claimed was "intentional."
"mumma Itna teekha chili powder ki sabzi bnayi hai kya" Ishika coughed, reaching for her glass of water.
"It's not even that spicy,"prakriti said, casually spooning more onto her plate like It's the most normal thing to do. "You just have a weak tounge thoda kam sour candy kah, otherwise you can't even tolerate momos chutney!"
"Oh wow! Inhe to Zolo chips bhi khila do fir bhi kahengi'It's not even that spicy'," Ishika muttered.
Their dad nearly choked on his chapati, laughing.
Their mom, sitting at the head of the table, tapped her spoon on the side of her glass. "Enough. Eat. Don't turn dinner into a courtroom brawl."
"Too late," her dad mumbled. "They've inherited your ability to cross-examine everything, including the food."
"I take that as a compliment," her mother said, unfazed.
Halfway through the meal, Ishika looked up, eyes shining. "Mom, I want to go to Harvards!"
The table went quiet for exactly three seconds.
"To study medical," Ishika clarified.
Her mom narrowed her eyes. "Because you love biology? Or because your father looked broken next to an old envelope?"
"I genuinely want this," she said, straightening. "I want to be a doctor. And yeah, okay, I want to finish what he started. What's wrong with that?"
Her mom leaned back, chewing slowly. Then, after a pause. "If you're serious… you start mock prep from next week. No excuses, no drama, and definitely no fake fainting like your father!"
"Excuse me—" her dad began.
"Do you want me to tell them about the chemistry lab fire incident?" she asked casually.
He immediately focused on his food.
prakriti grinned. "Honestly, I'd buy tickets to your med school journey. It's already shaping up to be the most dramatic arc since Dad's 'I almost became a surgeon but chose courtroom chaos' story."
"Courtroom chaos paid for this dinner," her father said defensively, pointing to the dal.
"And for our therapy bills," Her mother added sweetly.
Everyone laughed again. Even her mom cracked a smile.
It wasn't a perfect family. But it was one where dreams—past, future, lost, or reborn—had a place at the table.
And just then—
A faint click of a cane against the marble floor.
Everyone turned.
Ranvijay Malhotra stood at the edge of the room, still dressed in his cream kurta, his shawl loosely draped over one shoulder, the scent of Ginger tea made by his favourite neighbour still clinging to his presence.
No one had heard him enter.
But he had heard everything.
He looked straight at Ishika. Eyes sharp. Silent.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
"So..." he said at last, his voice a steady echo. "You want to walk the same path that ashole once did?"
Ishika stood slowly. "Yes, Dadu."
He moved closer, cane tapping with quiet authority. His eyes scanned her face—not with softness, but with scrutiny. His silence felt like a test.
Then, after what felt like a century, he nodded once.
"Then you better be ready to fight. This path doesn't welcome the weak-hearted."
A pause.
"If you're doing this in his name… don't bring shame to it."
His words weren't warm—but they lit a fire inside her.
And then, like nothing had happened, he turned and walked toward his room, muttering something about under-salted dal.
Back in the present, Ishika let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"That was the only time he ever addressed it. But after that… he began leaving important notes"
She smiled faintly. "That's his way of saying 'I believe in you.'
TO BE CONTINUED....