Yamini turned to her granddaughter, eyes narrowed with the precision of a sniper. "Politics? Tu toh commerce padh rahi hai, na?" (Politics? Aren't you studying commerce?)

Vanya's shoulders slumped. "Dadi, woh actually-" (Grandmother, actually-)

"Aur Mihir Shekhawat ke saamne itna nervous kyu ho rahi thi? Bas ek politician hai." (And why were you so nervous in front of Mihir Shekhawat? He's just a politician.)

Devyani smirked, tapping something into her phone. "Just a politician, huh? One million Instagram followers and an army of fangirls would disagree."

At evening ___

The Rajput house was quieter than usual. After the dramatic morning, Devyani had retired to her room with a cup of chai, while Vanya sprawled across the living room sofa, one arm flung dramatically over her eyes.

"I should just change my name and move to another country," she muttered to the ceiling fan spinning lazily above.

The memory of her catastrophic interaction with Mihir Shekhawat played on repeat in her mind-a personal horror movie she couldn't switch off.

Her fingers absently traced the embroidered pattern on a cushion dramatically as she imagined all the different, infinitely more intelligent responses she could have given.

"Some of the best comebacks are born too late-when the moment has already walked away."

" Mere sath he ase kyu hota hai..ughh"

("Why does this always happen to me.. ughh")

The afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, painting golden rectangles across the marble floor. In the kitchen, the pressure cooker whistled-Yamini supervising dinner preparation with her characteristic precision.

Before Vanya could sink deeper into her self-inflicted embarrassment, Devyani's phone rang. Her mother glanced at the unknown number with mild interest before answering with her professional voice-the one she reserved for important calls.

"Hello?"

Vanya wasn't paying much attention-until she caught the subtle shift in her mother's posture, the almost imperceptible straightening of her spine.

"Namaste, Mrs. Rajput. Mihir Shekhawat bol raha hoon." (Hello, Mrs. Rajput. This is Mihir Shekhawat speaking.)

Vanya bolted upright, the cushion tumbling forgotten to the floor. Her heartbeat drummed against her ribcage like a trapped bird.

Devyani's tone remained perfectly neutral, though her eyes flicked briefly toward Vanya. "Hello, Mihir beta What brings you to call?

Vanya inched closer on the sofa, straining to hear his voice through the phone. Why was he calling? Had her pathetic display at the rally amused him so much that he needed to share it with her mother again? Was this some kind of political courtesy call?

"Actually, uncle se baat karni thi- Kal ek political discourse aur youth participation pe event hai, jo main host kar raha hoon. Mere pita ji ne kaha ki (unki purani dosti )uncle ko bulana hai, aur unka wahan hona zaroori hai. Lekin unka phone lag nahi raha."

(Actually, I needed to speak to Mr. Mehendra Singh Rajput. I'm hosting an event tomorrow on political discourse and youth participation. My father mentioned that they share an old friendship, and he would love for him to be there. But I haven't been able to reach his phone.)

Relief washed over Vanya like a cool wave. This call had nothing to do with her. She sank back into the cushions, exhaling slowly, one hand unconsciously smoothing down her rumpled hair.

Devyani tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze flickering toward her daughter with something that looked suspiciously like amusement.

"Haan, unka phone toh aaj battery down ho gaya tha. Main unse keh dungi." (Yes, his phone died today. I'll inform him.)

Vanya relaxed further. Crisis averted. She reached for her abandoned novel, ready to retreat back into fiction where people didn't embarrass themselves in front of attractive politicians.

"Achha, ek aur baat thi,aunty" (Oh, one more thing.)

Mihir's voice, even from a distance, caused Vanya to freeze mid-motion, her fingers gripping the book so tightly that her knuckles whitened.

"Aaj rally mein Vanya ka jo statement tha, woh kaafi interesting laga mujhe." (Vanya's statement at the rally today was quite interesting to me.)

Vanya's stomach plummeted. She shot her mother a panicked look, frantically mouthing *"Hang up!"* while drawing her finger across her throat in the universal sign for *"end this conversation immediately."*

Devyani, the traitor, merely turned away, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Interesting kaise?" (How so?)

"Aksar jo log political families se aate hain, unhe ya toh is field mein interest hota hai ya wo isse door bhaagte hain. Par jab koi bina kisi political aspiration ke aisa bayan de toh curiosity toh hoti hai, politics-her choice"

(People from political families either take an interest in politics or run far away from it. But when someone with no apparent political aspirations makes such a statement, it naturally sparks curiosity, doesn't it?)

(He knew it !!)

There was a hint of something in his voice-was it amusement? Challenge? Vanya couldn't tell, but it made her want to sink through the floor. He knew. Of course he knew. Nothing got past those observant eyes.

Devyani chuckled lightly, settling more comfortably into her chair. "Aap kehna kya chah rahe hain, Mihir?" (What exactly are you trying to say, Mihir?)

Vanya glared daggers at her mother, making exaggerated cutting motions with her hands. Her mother, in turn, pretended to be suddenly fascinated by her manicure.

"Bas yeh ki agar unka vision itna clear hai, toh usko articulate karne ka ek accha mauka hai kal ke event mein." (Just that if her vision is so clear, tomorrow's event would be a great opportunity for her to articulate it.)

Horror bloomed across Vanya's face. She shook her head so violently her earrings jingled, mouthing a desperate *"NO, NO, NO!"* while her hands formed an X-shape in front of her chest.

Devyani caught her daughter's eye and-with the calculated cruelty only a mother could master-smiled sweetly and replied, "Toh yeh invitation Vanya ke liye hai?" (So this is an invitation for Vanya?)

"Agar woh politics ko seriously lena chahti hain toh haan. Warna toh sirf ek audience member ki tarah bhi aa sakti hain." (If she wants to take politics seriously, then yes. Otherwise, she can just attend as an audience member.)

His tone was measured, but Vanya could hear the challenge woven through it-as if he were dangling bait before her, wondering if she would take it. She hugged a cushion to her chest, wishing she could use it to smother the smirk she imagined on his face.

Devyani took her time before responding, savoring her daughter's silent meltdown with the satisfaction of a cat toying with its prey. "Woh wahan hongi." (She'll be there.)

Vanya nearly fell off the sofa. She clutched the cushion tighter, eyes wide with betrayal. *How could you?* she mouthed silently, gesturing wildly.

Mihir chuckled, a low, warm sound that traveled through the phone and somehow managed to both irritate and intrigue Vanya. "Great. Phir kal milte hain. Aunty, good night." (Great. Then we'll meet tomorrow. Aunty, good night.)

And then the call ended.

For a moment, perfect silence filled the room. Then-

"MAA!" Vanya exploded, hurling the cushion at her mother with impressive force. "How could you do this to me? I can't go to a political event! What will I even say? 'Sorry, I lied about studying politics because your face short-circuited my brain'?"

Devyani caught the cushion effortlessly, placing it beside her with infuriating calm. "Ab agar zabaan phisli thi toh sudharna bhi padega, na?" (If you slipped up, you have to clean up the mess too, right?)

At that moment, Yamini entered from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a small towel. One look at her granddaughter's flushed face and her daughter-in-law's satisfied smile told her everything.

"Kya hua?" (What happened?) she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.

"Mihir Shekhawat called," Devyani replied, switching to English with practiced ease. "He's invited Vanya to speak at a youth political discourse event tomorrow."

Yamini's eyebrows rose fractionally before her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Achha? Toh phone kiya usne?" (Really? So he called?)

"Can we please focus on the fact that I just got sentenced to public humiliation?" Vanya groaned, dragging both hands down her face. "I don't know the first thing about politics! I follow Instagram accounts that post political memes, not actual policy!"

Yamini settled beside her granddaughter, her silk saree rustling softly. "Usne tumhe mauka diya apni baat sabit karne ka. Dekhte hain, tum kitni samajhdar ho." (He just gave you the opportunity to prove your words. Let's see how smart you really are.)

"Or how foolish," Vanya muttered, falling back against the cushions with a defeated sigh. "He's just doing this because he knows I was lying. He wants to watch me make a fool of myself."

"Ya phir..." Devyani began, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "woh tumse impress ho gaya." (Or perhaps... he was impressed by you.)

Vanya scoffed, though a flicker of something warm sparked in her chest. "Right. He was so impressed by my brilliant 'Umm, yeah, politics' speech that he's invited me to a serious political event."

Yamini rose from the sofa with the grace of a woman half her age. "Main tumhe kuch political articles dungi padne ke liye. Aur Dadaji ki diary bhi-unki political philosophy samjhane ke liye." ( I'll give you some political articles to read. And Grandfather's diary too-to understand his political philosophy.)

"But Dadi-"

"Aur haan," Yamini continued, cutting off her protest with a wave of her hand, "ek acchi si saree pehen lena. Woh blue wali, jo maine Diwali pe di thi." (And yes, wear a nice saree. That blue one I gave you for Diwali.)

As Yamini glided out of the room, Vanya turned to her mother with pleading eyes. "Please, just call him back and tell him I'm sick. Or dead. Or that I've suddenly decided to become a nun."

Devyani laughed, rising to follow her mother-in-law. "Relax, beta. One speech won't kill you. Besides," she paused at the doorway, her smile turning enigmatic, "didn't you mention just last week how boring your life was getting?"

Left alone, Vanya stared at the ceiling, wondering what she had done in a previous life to deserve this particular karmic punishment. She reached for her phone, briefly considering looking up flights to literally anywhere else, before sighing and opening Google instead.

"Political discourse for beginners," she typed, grimacing as the search results loaded.

Tomorrow was going to be a disaster. A complete, unmitigated disaster.

...And yet, as she began reading the first article, a tiny part of her wondered what expression would cross Mihir Shekhawat's face if she somehow managed to surprise him.

Next morning _

Vanya stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself in the blue saree. It wasn't that she didn't like it-it was actually quite pretty. But the weight of expectations wrapped around her tighter than the pleats she had so clumsily tucked in.

"You look beautiful," Yamini said from the doorway, a satisfied smile on her face. "Dadi ki pasand kabhi galat nahi hoti." (Grandmother's choice is never wrong.)

Vanya exhaled. "I feel like a fraud."

Yamini walked over and adjusted Vanya's pallu, her touch gentle yet firm. "Then prove yourself wrong. Your father is waiting downstairs-go."

At the Event:

Mahendra Singh Rajput watched his daughter's face and smiled. He'd already heard Devyani's speech about their daughter last night.

He would never trap Vanya for liking someone. He and his wife had raised their children with care-offering guidance but letting them choose their own paths first.

Both parents had noticed the change in Vanya lately-how her eyes lit up at Mihir Shekhawat's name. Instead of interfering, they decided to watch and wait. To see how she'd handle these new feelings.

The car stopped. Mahendra glanced at Vanya, who squared her shoulders before stepping out. Together, they walked into the grand hall where politics played out.

The room hummed with voices. Men in crisp kurtas and suits exchanged handshakes and knowing looks. Party symbols decorated the walls. The air smelled of cologne and fresh coffee.

Vanya walked beside her father, hands clasped tight. She felt hot-from the saree or from all the eyes following her? Some nodded at her father. Others barely looked at her before returning to their important talks.

Her father nodded to a few senior members, then led her toward a table where several politicians stood talking. Among them was Mihir Shekhawat.

In his clean white kurta, Mihir stood with easy confidence. He was listening to an older man, completely focused, when his eyes found hers-and something changed in his face for just a moment.

Recognition? Interest? She couldn't tell.

"Mahendra ji, welcome," one man said warmly, shaking her father's hand. "And this must be your daughter."

Vanya straightened as her father nodded. "Yes, my daughter, Vanya."

Mihir kept looking at her with a slight, mysterious smile. "A pleasure to finally meet you properly."

Her heart skipped, but she kept her face calm and lifted her chin. "Likewise."

The men talked policies and campaigns. Vanya tried to listen, but kept noticing Mihir beside her. Though younger than most here, he spoke with confidence-his arguments clear and sharp.

At one point, he leaned closer, whispering, "Still think politics is just 'umm, yeah'?"

She stiffened and glared. He smirked, clearly enjoying himself.

"Stick around," he added smoothly. "You might surprise yourself."

And suddenly, beneath all the watching eyes and expectations, Vanya felt something new stir inside her.

A challenge.

And she never backed down from a challenge.

As the discussion flowed, Mihir took center stage. He spoke with fire about young leaders stepping up and challenging old systems. Other young people joined in - some agreeing, some arguing - but everyone deeply involved.

Then, in the middle of it all, Mihir's eyes found Vanya. A small smirk appeared as he raised an eyebrow at her. His look said it all: Are you just going to watch from the sidelines, or do you have something worth saying?

Vanya's fingers tightened on her saree, her heart racing. She could have ignored him, looked away... but something in his challenge pulled at her. A dare. An invitation she couldn't refuse.

Before she knew it, she was walking forward. The room grew quiet as she stepped onto the stage. Mihir's smirk faltered briefly before he moved aside, giving her space.

Vanya took a deep breath. Then she spoke.

"Someone once said, 'Give the people bread and circuses, and they will never revolt.' Look around us now."

She paused, her eyes sweeping across the room.

"For years, we've seen the same cycle,-promises, strategies, carefully crafted narratives. And yet, the people, the ones who should matter the most, are left grappling with the same struggles. Roti. Paani. Rozgaar. We talk about progress, but what is progress if half the nation still worries about their next meal?"

She let the words sink in, her voice growing stronger.

"It's easy to hand out freebies, to distract people with temporary relief while the real issues rot beneath the surface. Keep them satisfied just enough so they don't question. But isn't real leadership about giving them the tools to rise, to stand on their own rather than remain dependent?"

A few heads nodded in agreement. Someone murmured a quiet "Wah."

She glanced at Mihir then, her own smirk forming. You wanted me to speak? Fine.

"The youth sitting here today, the ones listening-this is our future. If we don't start asking the right questions now, tomorrow we'll only inherit a system built on borrowed dreams and forgotten promises. And I don't know about you-" she turned slightly, addressing the crowd more personally, "-but I refuse to be a mere spectator in my own country's future."

Silence fell over the room. Then, the hall erupted in murmurs, scattered applause building into something stronger. Mihir watched her for a long moment before finally clapping, slow and deliberate.

"Not bad, Rajput," he murmured as she stepped back.

And for the first time that evening, Vanya felt something shift. Not just in the room-but within herself.

As Vanya stepped back, applause filled the room. Older politicians nodded, impressed. Younger ones watched her with new interest. She hadn't just spoken - she'd challenged them all.

Mihir sat on stage, arms crossed, that annoying smirk still on his face. "Nice speech," he said just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Almost like you actually believe what you're saying."

People chuckled, but Vanya didn't back down. "And you don't?" she asked, head tilted.

His smirk stayed, but something flickered in his eyes - respect, maybe? "Belief is dangerous, Rajput. It can build empires or destroy them."

"Then maybe," Vanya fired back, stepping closer, "it's time someone asked which empires deserve to fall."

The room went silent.

Mihir studied her before letting out a small laugh. He stood and moved toward her until they were almost toe-to-toe. His voice dropped low, just for her.

"You've got guts. But guts alone won't get you far in politics."

Vanya lifted her chin, heart racing. "Good thing I don't plan to stop at just guts."

A slow clap broke their standoff. Mahendra Singh Rajput stood watching them, looking amused. "Enough verbal boxing for tonight," he said calmly. "Mihir, thank you for giving young people a platform today."

Mihir switched to perfect politician mode in an instant. "Of course, sir," he nodded respectfully. "Your daughter has... potential."

Vanya rolled her eyes, but her father just laughed. "Potential is just the start. The real test is what she does with it."

"I guess we'll find out soon enough," Mihir said, eyes flicking back to Vanya before walking away.

The event moved on, but the air between them still crackled with electricity.

For the first time, Vanya didn't feel like just her father's daughter or an outsider in this world.

For the first time, she felt like she belonged here.

Even if it meant going head-to-head with Mihir Shekhawat himself.

Vanya barely registered the murmurs around her-the quiet congratulations, the skeptical glances, the hushed whispers. Her mind was stuck on one word.

Potential.

The way Mihir had said it-half-challenge, half-dismissal-sent a rush of irritation through her veins. But beneath that annoyance, there was something else.

Excitement.

Because no matter how much she tried to ignore it, Mihir Shekhawat wasn't just some guy to her.

He was the first one to make her stomach twist in ways that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with... well, him. The first one who had ever made her brain short-circuit at the worst possible moments.

And, of course, he had to be the most infuriating man alive about it.

"Thinking too hard already?"

Her father's voice pulled her back to reality.

Vanya turned to see him watching her, his expression unreadable but his eyes knowing. Was she really that obvious?

"Just... thinking," she said, clearing her throat.

Her father let out a quiet chuckle, placing a firm hand on her shoulder as they walked toward the exit.

"Good. Thinking is where it begins. But politics isn't about emotions, beta. It's about timing. Knowing when to speak, when to stay silent, and when to strike."

Vanya frowned. "So, basically, a mind game?"

Her father smirked. "And the ones who play with their hearts? They either get used... or destroyed."

Before she could respond, a voice cut through the air.

"Leaving so soon, Rajput?"

Vanya's breath caught, her spine stiffening for just a second before she forced herself to relax. Of course, it had to be him.

She turned, and there he was. Mihir Shekhawat, leaning lazily against his car, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights.

Why did he have to look like that?

Her father shot her a glance before nodding politely toward Mihir. Mihir returned the gesture, his usual smirk softening into something more respectful as he greeted him.

"I'll get the car from the parking lot "

With that, her father walked toward their car, leaving them alone.

Vanya folded her arms with a teasing smirk, tilting her chin up. "Are you stalking me now, Shekhawat?"

Mihir let out a low chuckle, pushing off his car as he took a few slow steps toward her. That smirk of his-the one that made her want to both slap him and... never mind-was firmly in place.

"You surprised me today," he said.

"That's not an answer."

His gaze flickered over her face, lingering for just a second too long. "It's a compliment."

Vanya scoffed. "Didn't sound like one."

Mihir shook his head, letting out an amused sigh. "You've got fire, Rajput. But don't mistake one good speech for a win. Politics is a long game, and right now, you're just a spectator who accidentally walked onto the field."

Vanya's irritation flared. But beneath it, something else stirred.

Because Mihir Shekhawat had noticed her.

Not as Mahendra Singh Rajput's daughter.

Not as some background character in this grand political game.

As her.

She met his eyes, letting a slow, knowing smile tug at her lips. "Then let's see how long I stay a spectator."

Something flickered in Mihir's gaze-something sharp, unreadable. And for a brief moment, there was no teasing, no smirking. Just curiosity. A flicker of something deeper.

Then, as if catching himself, he grinned, stepping back. "I'll be watching."

And with that, he turned and walked to his car, leaving behind the faintest trace of his cologne and the undeniable feeling that he had just started something he wouldn't be able to stop.

Vanya exhaled, heartbeat still racing.

She wasn't sure what had just begun between them.

But she knew one thing for certain-Mihir Shekhawat had just set something on fire.

And she had no plans of putting it out.

______________________________________

And that's a wrap for Chapter 2! ✨

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