𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐢𝐬 | 𝟏𝟖+

AMAYA

I stepped inside, pulse hammering. The room smelled of sandalwood. Heavy curtains muted the sounds of the celebration below. In the centre stood Mrs. Neeta Singhania, tall and elegant in a deep purple silk sari, diamonds at her ears. Her hair was streaked with silver but her eyes were sharp. She held a tablet in one hand.

“Namaste,” I said softly, folding my hands.

She didn’t return the gesture. Instead she turned the tablet towards me. On the screen were photos: my father’s small architectural firm, the modest building of my mother’s café, both pulled from websites or perhaps social media.

I blinked, confused. “These are—”

“Your family’s businesses,” she finished. Her voice was low but each word cut like glass. “I make it my business to know who is trying to attach themselves to my grandson.”

I stared at her, throat dry. “I’m not—”

She held up a manicured hand. “Spare me the act. You’re an intern in his company, from a middle-class family with no influence. He is a Singhania. Heir to a conglomerate. Do you really think you can keep up?”

The room seemed to shrink. “I love him,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

Her expression didn’t change. “Of course you do. You see money, power, a name. Girls like you always say ‘love’.” She took a step closer. “If you cared for him, you would resist him. Instead, you let him kiss you under everyone’s noses.”

My eyes filled but I forced my chin up. “I’m not with him for money. I… I never asked him for anything.”

She clicked the tablet off. “You will leave him. You will end whatever this is before it becomes a scandal.”

“No,” I breathed. “I can’t.”

Her eyes hardened. “Then perhaps your father’s company will suddenly lose its biggest contracts. Or your mother’s little café will face inspections every week. Licenses revoked. Do you think I cannot do it?”

My stomach dropped. “Please…” I whispered.

“You have no power, Amaya.” Her hand shot out and clamped around my wrist, nails digging lightly into my skin. “I’m giving you a chance. Break it off quietly. Or watch your family suffer.”

Tears blurred my vision. “He loves me,” I said, a last desperate protest.

She leaned closer, voice like ice. “He is a man. He will survive. You? You will destroy your parents with your stubbornness.”

Something inside me cracked. My breath came in short, shaky pulls. Images of Dad bent over his blueprints, Mom smiling behind the café counter, flashed in my mind. If she really had that kind of power…

I shook my head, but the tears kept falling. “I don’t want to hurt them,” I whispered.

“Then nod,” she said simply.

My throat burned. Slowly, trembling, I nodded.

I agreed to break our relationship. The relationship which we built so beautifully—emotionally.

_____