Wind moved through the archways. At the far end, an old wooden door swung and slammed shut with force. The sound struck the walls and echoed.
The representative dropped his folder. Pages scattered across the stone.
In the shadows, Rajan pressed himself against the wall, trying to disappear.
Meera bent and picked up a sheet near her feet. She handed it back. “Loose hinges. Also on the repair list.”
The crows screamed overhead.
‘Maa,’Meera thought, deeply satisfied,‘we are doing very well today.’
By the time they reached the private family wing, the representative had stopped asking much.
He walked closer to the centre of the corridor, keeping distance from the walls. Twice, his hands ran over his arms, as if he felt a chill in a Haveli that was objectively, perfectly comfortable.
In a corner room where the thick walls kept the sun out, he paused at the doorway. “This room feels… strange.”
“Yes,” Meera nodded. “Many people say that.”
He looked at her, waiting.
“It holds moisture differently,” she added, tone even. “The air stays cooler here than the rest of the wing. Quite interesting, architecturally.”
He did not enter.
The tour ended in under two hours.
He refused tea. Refused a second round. Refused the visit to the Kul Devi temple, which Meera had wanted him to see.
She had wanted Kul Devi to get a proper look at him. Before rendering judgment.
By evening, Desai’s office called. The Trust had withdrawn. Unforeseen complications. Site concerns. Local issues.
Meera read the message. Set the phone aside. Looked at the small framed image of Kul Devi on the wall.
“One,” she murmured.
Then she went back to work, humming under her breath.
???
In Dubai, Abhinav took Desai’s call from his office on the thirty-second floor.
One hand rested on a Singapore contract. His eyes stayed on the laptop. “Why did they withdraw?”
Desai hesitated. Just enough to warn that the answer would not please. “Concerns came up during the visit, Sir. The estate manager’s daughter spoke about family history. Structural notes. Local beliefs.” A throat cleared. “The Trust mentioned… curse stories.”
Abhinav stilled for a single beat. “They backed out because of ghost stories.”
It was the tone of a man processing something that didn’t deserve to be real.
“Not exactly, Sir. More a general sense of…”
“Then they were not serious.” He signed the page in front of him in one clean stroke. “Find better prospects. Screen them first.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The call ended.