Author’s Pov

The conference room buzzed with low voices, papers shuffling, aides hurrying to and fro. Hriday Patil sat at the head of the long mahogany table, silent as stone, his sharp gaze fixed on the stack of reports in front of him.

Around him, his father and uncles argued, their words dripping with strategy, money, and manipulation. They called it politics. Hriday called it rot.

“Hriday, speak up,” his father snapped, impatient. “You’ll be contesting under our name. You’ll follow our way.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look up. He had learned long ago that emotions— anger, disappointment, disgust had no place here. Silence was his shield, and he wore it like armor.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, controlled. “I’ll do things my way. If that’s a problem, remove me.”

The room stilled. His father’s glare burned, but Hriday didn’t flinch. He had no interest in being another pawn in their game of greed. He wasn’t here for power, or wealth, or family legacy. He was here for something far simpler, something they would never understand.

Change.

“You know we can’t remove you after we have declared you as the candidate, we have a reputation to uphold.” His father hissed angrily.

Hriday smirked knowing his family was helpless, he would never ever follow their lead and be corrupt. He was here for a reason and that was to change the politics. He knew it was a hard way, after knowing the politics in Mumbai was far worse. He had to dig in deep for the people.

“I know that dear dad, I will leave now. I have other work.” Hriday stood up and walked out holding his head high.

Hriday stepped out of the conference room, his expression unreadable as ever. The air still felt heavy with his father’s sharp words, but Hriday walked past without a glance back.

“Another family brawl?” Shaan’s voice drawled from where he leaned against the wall, phone in hand. He pushed off casually, falling in step beside Hriday. “You know, one day I’ll charge you for emotional damage. Sitting outside while your dad screams could make anyone need therapy.”

Hriday shot him a look— sharp, warning.

Shaan only grinned wider. “Ah, there it is. The famous Patil glare. I swear, one day you’ll have to teach me how to do that. Could come in handy with women.”

Hriday didn’t reply. He never did when Shaan baited him like this. But as they reached the car, the corner of his mouth tugged… just slightly. Shaan caught it, and his grin softened into something almost proud.

He was the only one who ever saw it.

“Did you find out about the Orphanages which are running low on budget?” Hriday asked, walking into his cabin.

Shaan walked behind him speaking, “There’s an Orphanage that’s running low on funds. Might be a good place to start with your campaign promises. And… knowing you, it’s more than just a promise.”

“Good. Get me all the details about it till evening and arrange for the funds to reach them.” Hriday spoke and got engrossed in his work.

“Hriday, I have a suggestion.” Hriday looked up at shaan, silently nodding his head for him to continue, “I think you should personally visit the Orphanage.”

“And what gave you the idea that I wasn’t going to visit the Orphanage by myself?” Hriday asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Oh, That I just thought…” Shaan trailed off, shrugging like it didn’t matter, though Hriday’s raised brow made him shift uncomfortably. “Fine, fine. You were already going to visit. Sometimes I forget you actually plan three steps ahead of the rest of us.”

Hriday leaned back in his chair, his gaze dropping to the Orphanage file Shaan had set on his desk. He flipped it open, skimming through the neat but desperate handwriting of the caretaker who had penned the request for aid. Rising food costs… shortage of medical supplies… infants at risk.

His jaw tightened. A faint memory flickered, of a boyhood afternoon when he had accompanied his father to a rally. He remembered a child tugging on his sleeve, asking for water. His father’s men had shooed the boy away like he was dirt. Hriday hadn’t forgotten the look in that child’s eyes, wide and hollow with hunger. It was the first time he’d understood what power could do and what neglect could destroy.

He shut the file with quiet finality.

“Draft a visit for the end of this week,” Hriday said, his voice even but brooding with intent. “No press, no cameras. I want to see the reality, not the staged version.”

Shaan smirked, shaking his head. “You’ll never win hearts the easy way, will you? Politicians would kill for a photo op with a bunch of kids, but you…” He gave Hriday a sidelong glance. “You actually care if those kids eat. Strange fellow.”

Hriday ignored the jab, standing to pour himself a glass of water. Outside his office window, the city stretched endlessly, skyscrapers casting shadows over crumbling slums. Power and poverty in the same frame. His family thrived on one; he had sworn to fight for the other.

“You think this Orphanage will actually make a difference to your campaign?” Shaan asked carefully, watching him.

“I don’t care about the campaign,” Hriday replied, placing the glass down with a sharp clink. “If I start thinking like them, then I become them.”

For a long moment, silence hung between them. Shaan studied his friend’s face, the steel in his eyes, the exhaustion buried under discipline. Then, with a grin that was half-proud, half-exasperated, he clapped Hriday on the shoulder.

“Alright then, Captain Morality. I’ll make the arrangements. But don’t blame me if the kids like me better than you.”

Hriday didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The faintest tug at the corner of his lips betrayed him, and Shaan chuckled, satisfied.

Hriday’s gaze returned to the closed file on his desk. Somewhere in that folder was a place filled with children fighting hunger, fighting for survival. And for reasons he didn’t quite care to name yet, he knew this visit would change more than just his campaign.

______

After a long day, Hriday stepped into the Patil residence, the grand halls echoing with the muted hum of conversation. His mother sat in the drawing room, eyes downcast, hands nervously twisting a handkerchief. His chachi hovered nearby, whispering to her as though speaking too loudly might summon disaster.

He barely acknowledged them. Their faces were pale shadows of warmth, and he knew why— they had been warned, scolded, and threatened by his father and uncle for years. Any word, any attempt to show care or question the family’s corrupt ways was punished, and over time, the women had learned to bend, to silence themselves.

“Hriday… how was your day?” his mother asked in a voice so quiet it almost seemed swallowed by the walls.

He gave a curt nod. “Long.” No more. He didn’t waste words where they feared to speak them freely.

His chachi shuffled closer. “Perhaps… dinner?” she murmured, glancing toward his father’s study. Even this small invitation trembled under the weight of years of intimidation.

Hriday didn’t respond. Years of hearing the same lessons, the only things that mattered were money, power, fame had hollowed the women out. They moved, spoke, and breathed in fear and caution.

And while they survived, their ideals had been bent, corrupted almost as completely as the men around them.

He walked past them to his room, feeling the tension in the house pressing against him like a storm. The grandeur of the mansion did nothing to hide the decay within. Hriday was the only one who still saw the world as it could be, not as it had been twisted into gold and greed.

From the window of his room, he glimpsed the city lights outside, but he didn’t linger. There were battles to fight, promises to keep. And he would do it all alone if he had to.

He freshened up and changed into his night clothes. He went downstairs, filled a plate of food for himself and came back to his room. He ignored every single person in the dining hall eating dinner, and nobody bothered to stop him.

He was treated as an outcast in his own house because he had different thoughts growing up. He opposed his father and uncle, never bending before them which made him lead a lonely life at his house.

He sat on the couch in his room eating food when Shaan’s words from the office echoed faintly in his mind. “You actually care if those kids eat. Strange fellow.” Hriday allowed himself the faintest smirk at the thought. Caring? yes, but controlled. Visible weakness was a luxury he could never afford.

He walked over to the balcony, leaning on the railing as he stared at the sprawling city below. The same city his family exploited, manipulated, and corrupted. He would fight it differently. Quietly, methodically, without letting anyone see the cracks in his armor.

For a moment, he let himself imagine the Orphanage—children waiting for a meal, a safe place, a chance. And though no warmth showed on his face, something inside tightened. Change was a difficult road, and he would walk it alone if he had to.

____

A glimpse of His world. Another chapter will be out soon if you comment and let me know how are you liking the story so far.

Lots of love,

Shay 💗