7. The Reunion
Eight years.....
Eight long years of waiting. Eight years of planning, watching, and letting the fire inside me grow in silence.
The invitation came in a lavender luxurious envelope. Smooth, thick paper, heavy in my hands, elegant yet poisonous— the same golden crest, the same school that had shaped my bright life to misery.
“Annual Reunion Gala of the School of Elites.”
"They remembered charity? I am impressed!"
I said mouth filled with past poison.
Few months after Reeva's father scandal this 'School of Elites's' many Elites followed the same path as Mr. Saran.
I turned it over, lingering over the letters, imagining the people inside. Laughing. Posing. Pretending perfection. Some of them probably didn’t even remember what they had done. Or who they had destroyed.
They emailed me to my old email account which was still running even after Kaira was born.
I always wondered why I can't delete my past to be Kaira. Now I know why.
On Harish’s guidance I messaged yes to that invitation a after few days we received this invitation.
Harish’s was delivered here and mine was delivered at a café owned by him.
"Are they trying to redeem themselves."
I asked Harish feeling a little weird.
Harish smirked when he saw it.
“It’s time,” he said. No excitement. No theatrics. Just the calm, cold certainty of a man who knows a game’s end.
Tuesday night.
At School of Elites's grand function hall—
We arrived separately.
I walked into the school in a red wine-colored saree— elegant, understated, a shadow of someone who belonged….. or maybe someone they should have remembered. I let my eyes wander, slow, calculating. A trace of a smile tugged at my lips, but it was hidden beneath calm. Every step, deliberate. Every glance, measured.
Reporters scrambled like bees in the garden hovering over flowers. In our case, it was diamond flowers. Common yet marketed heavily.
Harish came as a benefactor. Sharp suit. Quiet power. One of those alumni whose influence never got questioned. Funny how no one ever asks about money, just the names behind it.
Inside, the school glimmered like it always did. Chandeliers hung like frozen stars. Polished floors reflected the rich laughter. Red wine and white wine gleamed in crystal glasses. Red carpets, speeches, photo booths, the perfect golden world of wonders— and ghosts, ghosts like me.
I passed them all. Reeva, smiling as Mrs. Reeva Vijay Sen. Her father boycotted, jailed, scandal etched into every newspaper months ago. Yet she smiled. Bright. Unbothered. Money speaking louder than blood, shame, or empathy. Her eyes didn’t flicker. Nothing. Not even a hesitation. Not for her father, not for what she had lost.
(Disgusting!)
And then in the buzz of reporters, I saw him.
Vijay Sen. Hair neatly trimmed, smile tighter than before. Polished, charming, untouchable. He looked… smaller than before not in body, but in presence. Not in Mrs. Sen but Mr. Sen looked more troubled.
This was his last chance to glow like star again.
Hugged his wife in front of cameras and posed for them, enjoying the spotlight he loves.
I stayed at the edge, calm, invisible. Watching. Waiting. The red wine in my hand reflected the lights in the chandeliers. Just like that time. My heartached. The fire in me danced quietly.
Eight years of fire, and this was just the first note of the symphony.
While talking to other withered flowers of same greedy garden. His eyes landed on me.
He walked towards me.
I saw with the corner of my eyes.
He didn’t recognize me. Not yet.
“Kamna?”, he asked finally, voice smooth, confident.
I tilted my head slowly, letting my eyes meet his for just a second— enough to unsettle, not enough to betray.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I said softly, neutral. A shadow of curiosity, a glimmer of mockery.
His eyes narrowed. For a fleeting heartbeat, there was something there— suspicion, maybe shock. Maybe a flicker of fear. Then he smiled.
“My mistake,” he said and went.
The last mistake he’d ever make.
While he mingled, I didn’t. I sipped my wine, slow, deliberate. Every swallow warming me, steadying me, letting me enjoy the moment.
Harish was already in control— screens, cameras, timing. He had eyes and hands everywhere.
He gave the tape he especially prepared for tonight to a man.
We had our man on the inside— a tech contractor hired to manage the event livestream.
My job was simple: stay calm. Follow. Watch. Feel.
Harish came out and sat in his spot.
Vijay Sen was giving interviews.
He waved signaling to start the slide show of how he and his company changed the education system all around India to help brilliant backward students to shine and become spotlight.
Within seconds, the lights flickered. Screens buzzed. People murmured. And then the slideshow began. Every screen— big and small came to life.
Interviews of students he helped, new small businesses he helped, students he helped, amounts he donated, charities he made....
All rich hands clapped with appreciation.
Reporters capturing every seconds.
Vijay was smiling in success.
And then it happened—
Slides changed.
Claps stopped.
Ragini’s face appeared first.
Vijay's eyes widened with fear.
Ragini– bright. Alive. Smiling. Full of dreams that had been stolen. The pulse in my chest jumped. I pressed the wine glass to my lips, letting the cool liquid ground me while a small, satisfied smirk curved my lips. This was the moment we had been waiting for.
The moment Harish risked everything for—
The images shifted. Notes, sketches, letters, newspaper clippings, old IDs — the fragments of her life, her story, her courage.
Then came the videos.
Footage from a hidden camera video from a teacher’s office.
Ragini. Vijay. The confrontation.
Vijay’s men ran to stop the slideshow. It was too late.
The footage continued.
It played in slow motion — grainy but undeniable.
Blurry, secret, undeniable. Ragini, standing in the principal’s office, defiance in- her eyes. Vijay cornering her. Shoves, screams, humiliation, evil laughter, ignorance. Push and then silence.
Gasps filled the room.
Chairs creaked!
Phones recorded, livestreams captured every reaction!
I leaned against a pillar, glass in hand, feeling the satisfaction ripple through me. Eight years. Eight years of fire. And now, finally, her voice — silent for so long — spoke louder than theirs.
Vijay froze. The charm dissolved. Fear seeped into his posture. The confident mask cracked. He looked around, searching for control, for a way out, for anyone to save him — and found none.
His empire on people like collapsed.
Vijay just stood there in shock.
The room erupted.
Screams. Chairs fell. Whispers turned to screams. People stepped back, some panicking, some frozen. Reporters scrambled. Cameras shook.
I watched him. Calm. Silent. Glass in hand. The wine didn’t just taste of warmth — it tasted of justice, of everything stolen, of years spent in shadow.
Vijay’s face drained of color. He ran. But the gates were locked. Harish’s plan had already sealed every exit. Escape was impossible. His empire, fragile and golden, shattered in seconds.
I followed at a distance, glass still in hand, silent, unseen. The city outside could wait. The police lights flashed. The alumni around him stared, mouths open, disbelief etched on every face. Some reporters tried to intervene. Arrests were made. Evidence secure. Public scrutiny unavoidable.
I sipped again, the wine cool on my tongue. Satisfaction bloomed quietly in my chest. Red. Finally red again. Real. Alive. The color of justice finally served, after all these years.
They arrested him as alumni watched in horror.
He was not the only one arrested that night.
More than half of the guest were arrested, even some of reporters were arrested too.
I glanced at Ragini’s photos again, her sketches, her letters, her courage immortalized on the slides still showing her cheerful smile.
I whispered softly, almost to myself:
“Justice is served. Harish fulfilled his promise. Rest in peace, Ragini. Finally.”
No cheers. No hugs. Just the quiet, bitter-sweet satisfaction of seeing truth, delayed but undeniable, finally strike the heart of the one who had stolen so much.
We were no longer ghosts. The invisibles had struck. The reckoning had come.
I let my gaze wander, calm, letting the fire simmer down slightly. The red wine in my hand was bitter and sweet — the memory of every stolen year, every silent tear, every hidden fight, all mingled into the moment.
Finally.
Finally, Ragini could breathe.
And I… I could finally savor the quiet, perfect moment of seeing the golden boy fall and the girl who deserved the spotlight shining, at least for one night.
I took another sip of wine.
And let the moment last.
Glass slipped from my hands. Shattered. Red wine mixed with red wine colored saree.
Red was again a normal color for me.
"Rest in peace Ragini."
A single tear escaped my eyes.
