Chapter 1: Opening Image
Raji's living room was immaculate, each item carefully arranged, and purposefully mismatched, to flaunt her Indian roots. She sat on the pedestal sofa, knitting intricate patterns, her heart pounding gently against her chest as she peered out the window. The sun was blazing outside, making the afternoon heat almost unbearable. A soft breeze shook the curtains, but Raji was oblivious to it.
She glanced at the clock, a receiver grandfather had bought from their trip to Dubai hanging precariously from the wall.
It was 2:30 pm, her husband's favorite time to take a siesta, and Rohan, the local motorcycle mechanic, was due any moment to fix their old Maruti 800's small issues. Raji's mind was in a turmoil, she didn't want to admit it, but she was uneasy about Rohan's upcoming visit. She knew Rohan by reputation alone - a school dropout, who ran a motorcycle repair shop, and had a reputation for being a womanizer.
Even though he had been a friend of her son for years, he had always sent a shiver down her spine. His rugged charm was potent, and she couldn't help but feel that he was a bad influence on her son.
The neighborhood was bustling with activity, children playing marbles in the street, women gossiping on the balconies, and men playing chess on the corners. Yet, in Neha's eyes, the world seemed to dim when Rohan rolled up on his shiny black motorcycle.
He wore his usual attire - ripped jeans, a loose T-shirt, and boots, which clanked against the pavement as he dismounted. The bike purred softly, and with practiced ease, he pushed the vehicle into their driveway.
Raji tightly gripped her knitting needles, her fingers white with tension as she watched Rohan make his way to the door. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was a lady, and her husband's respect demanded she be polite.
The door creaked open, and Rohan sauntered in, the scent of oil and gasoline lingering in the air.
"Good day to you, Mr. Kapoor," Rohan greeted, offering a friendly smile that seemed to light up the room. Raji kept her expression neutral as he walked past her, heading towards the kitchen where Arjun was napping.
"Ah, Rohan. Good to see you." Arjun replied groggily from the bedroom.
Rohan then proceeded to the garage, leaving the door open behind him.
Raji's knitting needles clacked together nervously, her eyes following Rohan's every move. It wasn't long before Rohan returned with Arjun's broken car part in hand, dusty fingertips tracing its jagged edges.
"I can fix this for you, no problem," Rohan said confidently, flashing Arjun a grin.
"Thank you, Rohan," Arjun said with a tired smile.
He patted Rohan on the back, appreciative of the young man's willingness to help.
Raji watched as Rohan went back to the garage to work on the car. She could hear the din of tools, the clanging of metal, and the occasional shout of frustration. She sighed and returned to her knitting, trying to forget the stranger in her house.
It was an hour later before Rohan emerged from the garage, holding a small baggie with the replaced car part.
He dusted his hands on his jeans, leaving streaks on the worn-out fabric.
"It's taken care of, Mr. Kapoor," Rohan's voice broke through the silence, bringing Raji back to awareness.
Arjun walked over to the door, inspecting the baggie, before nodding appreciatively.
"Thank you, son. I cannot thank you enough."
Rohan waved him off, before turning his gaze to Raji.
"I'll be off then, Mrs.
Kapoor," Rohan said casually, grabbing his helmet as he straddled his motorcycle.
Neha looked up, meeting Rohan's gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Thanks, Rohan," she replied curtly, her fingers still clutching the knitting needles tightly.
Rohan nodded, giving Neha a final smile before starting his bike. The machine roared to life, and the sound filled the room, cutting through the hot, still air.
Raji watched as Rohan drove away, his image fading gradually with the distance until only a small cloud of dust remained. Her fists loosened, and she slowly relaxed her grip, setting the knitting needles down on the table.
"Why do you call this guy home ?" she asked her husband, who was still admiring the newly fixed part of the car.
Arjun looked up, surprised by Neha's tone. "You know him as well, Raji. He is my son's friend, and I appreciate his talent. I always have."
Raji sighed, "His talent, yes. But can't we find someone more-" She caught herself, unwilling to finish the sentence.
"More what?" Arjun prodded gently.
Raji shook her head.
"Nothing, just-" she paused, searching for the right words. "I don't want him around our son, Arjun."
Arjun's expression softened. "Why, Raji? What did he ever do to you?"
"He represents everything I disapprove of, Arjun. The way he dresses, his language, his friends-"
"But he helps us, Raji.
And he's there for our son when he needs him," Arjun replied firmly, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Raji sighed, knowing she couldn't argue with that. "I know. But still, I can't help but worry. He's such a negative influence-"
"Raji, worry is not good for you. We can't expect Rohan to change just because we want him to," Arjun said gently. "And our son is not a child anymore.
It's time to start trusting him to make his own choices," Arjun added with a reassuring smile, attempting to put Raji's worries to rest.
Neha sighed, her fingers lightly playing with the knitting needles on the table. "I know, Arjun. I just can't help but feel this way when it comes to Rohan. He's always been a bit of a troublemaker."
Arjun chuckled. "Maybe. But he's not a bad kid, Raji.
He just needs someone to believe in him," Arjun said, his voice soft yet firm.
Raji sighed, knowing he was right. Arjun always had a way of looking at things from a different perspective. He believed in second chances and was always ready to give people the benefit of the doubt.
As they sat in the quiet living room, the tension eased but Neha's concerns still weighed heavily on her mind.
She ended the conversation there and carried on with her knitting, but she found it harder to concentrate. The image of Rohan lingered in her mind - his rugged charm, his carefree attitude, and the loud roar of his motorcycle stayed with her.