1
The Meet-Cute
Rian
“You’re a curse to me.”
“No,” the boy whimpered.
“Everything you touch, you destroy. That is your legacy.”
Eyes clenched shut, he tried harder to block the noises that refused to fade amidst the hum of an engine.
The annoyed honking of an overeager truck jolted him awake. He squinted, suddenly assailed by the bright headlights of a car on the opposite side of the signal just as his driver made a turn into a road he recognized well.
Rian Shetty took in a deep breath and sat up with a sigh, tiredly rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. Without noticing, he reached into his pocket for his phone and tapped the screen. Just past 1:00 a.m. No wonder he felt so sleepy.
His flight from Singapore had landed a short while ago. Raju, his driver, had been present to pick him up despite the last minute notice.
“Did anyone else get hurt except Ankit?” Rian asked, his eyes meeting Raju’s in the rearview mirror.
“No, Bhaiyya. I took him to the hospital to get stitches immediately. I told them not to call you but they wouldn’t listen to me.”
“I’m responsible for the safety of my staff. I'm glad someone informed me.”
“But you had to rush back like this in the middle of the renovations in Singapore.”
“Singapore will be fine.” Rian added another voice note reminder into his phone for the morning while he sorted through his calendar. He was diligent about tracking his tasks and deadlines—it was the only way he had gotten as far as he had. “It is late now, but did you find out Ankit’s address? I want to go see him tomorrow before I get to the restaurant.”
“Yes, Bhaiyya, I will take you there first. No problem.”
Nodding, he sat back, trying hard not to doze off again. If he did, he was certain he would hear her voice again.
The words from his dream kept repeating in the recesses of his brain, taunting him to admit that he was bothered by them. That he was still disturbed by the hate and rage upon his mother’s face when she had spat those words at him.
He’d been barely eight, mourning the loss of his father, and he’d not known it then, but he may as well have considered himself an orphan.
Leela Shetty, wife of Abhay Shetty, an ex-model and socialite extraordinaire, had been as motherly as a snake.
That was probably an insult to reptiles all around the world, he thought grimly, watching the buildings outside go by in a blur.
She had been his harshest critic, and not in a manner that made one long to do better. She had done everything to make him feel like he was not worthy of being her son.
That he was not worthy of being a Shetty.
That he was not worthy. Period.
One would have thought this meant that she would ignore his existence.
Unfortunately, in the last few years, Leela had decided that she was an integral part of Rian’s adult life. Each visit felt like he was on the receiving end of an unwelcome enema.
She never failed to scratch at old wounds, ensuring he spent multiple days after her visits trying to talk himself out of committing matricide. No matter her trespasses against him, he’d been unable to stop her shameless need to use him as a social stepping stool, especially since he’d made a name for himself in the food industry.
He tolerated her behaviour because he knew that Leela was vindictive enough to try to disgrace him otherwise. With her penchant for spreading gossip and rumours, uncaring of the people she hurt in the process, she could very well turn around and damage his hard-earned respect.
Now, more than ever, he needed to protect his image so that he would be received favourably by the board of investors at the bank. He was planning to leverage his work to entice them into approving his proposal. With his passion project on the horizon, he could take no chances with letting a cannonball like Leela wreck his dreams. And this, by far, was his biggest dream—a culinary institute with a special access fund for those children who had talent, but were limited by finances.
When he died, he would leave this behind as his legacy.