Devansh Joshi
"This has to be a joke."
I stared at the meme taped across my cubicle.
A rainbow flag.
A stick figure crying.
"Average HR Diversity Hire."
Someone had even scribbled beneath it.
"Bro probably has pronouns too."
Laughter erupted from the pantry.
I looked over.
The developers weren't even pretending to hide it.
One of them actually looked at me, grinned, and said, "Relax, bro. It's dark humour."
Dark humour?
Seriously?
I ripped the paper off my cubicle and walked straight to HR.
Five minutes later...
"Devansh," Mrs. Kapoor sighed, "they were only joking."
I blinked.
"I'm sorry... what?"
"They didn't mean it personally."
"Oh."
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was unbelievable.
"So printing homophobic memes, sticking them on my desk and laughing while I walk in is... comedy?"
"They're young boys."
"So am I."
Silence.
I unclipped my ID card.
It landed on her desk with a loud clack.
"You know what?"
"I'm done."
"I quit."
Without another word, I walked out.
The blazing Delhi heat hit my face.
Twenty-three.
Gay.
Jobless.
Iconic.
---
Kabir Mehra
For the first time since taking office, my official calendar was empty.
Anand hated it.
The Cabinet hated it.
The media would probably lose their minds if they found out.
I didn't care.
My daughter came first.
I sat beside Kiara while the senior AIIMS technician collected her blood sample.
She barely flinched.
"Brave girl," the doctor smiled.
After the team left, I looked at the tiny cotton swab taped to her arm.
"When did the dizziness start?"
She shrugged.
"A few days."
"You should've told me."
She looked away.
"You were busy."
The answer hit harder than expected.
"I'm never too busy for you."
She didn't argue.
She simply hugged her teddy tighter.
---
The reports arrived shortly after lunch.
I reviewed every page myself.
Blood count.
Vitamin levels.
ECG.
Neurological screening.
Everything...
Normal.
The pediatric psychiatrist's notes caught my attention.
Acute stress response.
Sleep deprivation.
Emotional strain.
Anxiety.
I closed my eyes.
This wasn't physical.
It was me.
---
Kiara Mehra
Papa hadn't gone to work today.
That almost never happened.
After lunch I carried Mr. Teddy into his study.
He was reading giant files that looked very boring.
I climbed into his lap.
He didn't even look surprised.
One arm automatically wrapped around me while the other continued signing papers.
His heartbeat was slow.
Warm.
Safe.
I leaned back against him.
This was my favourite place in the whole world.
The study door opened.
Grandmother walked inside carrying a bowl of soup.
"I've asked the kitchen to prepare nutritious meals from now on," she said.
Papa didn't even look up.
"I've already planned her meals."
She frowned.
"I'm only trying to help."
"I didn't ask for your help."
His voice was cold.
Very cold.
"I know exactly what my daughter needs."
Before Grandmother could answer, Uncle Devendra entered.
"Kabir."
His voice was loud enough to make me jump.
"You've forgotten your place."
Papa finally looked up.
His face didn't change.
Not even a little.
"My place?"
"You may be Prime Minister outside."
Uncle folded his arms.
"But inside this house you're still a son."
Papa slowly closed the file.
His arm tightened around me.
"In this house..."
His voice became even quieter.
"I make the rules."
"If either of you interferes in my daughter's life again..."
He looked directly at them.
"...the SPG will permanently restrict your access to the private residence."
The room went silent.
"You've become arrogant," Uncle spat.
Papa didn't blink.
"No."
"I'm simply no longer afraid of either of you."
Without another word, they walked out.
The door slammed.
I buried my face against Papa's chest.
He quietly rubbed my back until I stopped shaking.
---
Devansh Joshi
Home smelled like fresh rotis.
Normally that fixed everything.
Today...
Not even food could help.
Dad lowered his newspaper.
"You resigned."
"Yep."
"You shouldn't throw away a stable job over jokes."
I stared at him.
"Papa..."
"They weren't jokes."
"They were insults."
Mom walked over before either of us could continue.
She gently pulled my head into her lap.
"I know, baby."
Her fingers ran through my hair.
"They hurt you."
Finally.
Someone understood.
Dad sighed.
"I'm scared."
"That's all."
"I don't want the world crushing you."
"It already tries every day."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Silence.
Dad moved beside us and squeezed my shoulder.
"We'll figure something else out."
I nodded.
My family loved me.
I knew that.
Still...
Late at night...
When everything became quiet...
I wished someone else would love me too.
Not politely.
Not secretly.
Not conditionally.
I wanted someone completely obsessed with me.
Someone who would choose me over everything.
Ridiculous.
Impossible.
Very delusional.
Yet...
A guy could dream.
---
Kabir Mehra
The residence had finally grown quiet.
Kiara still sat in my lap, absentmindedly drawing on a blank sheet of paper while I reviewed national security files.
After several minutes, she stopped colouring.
"Papa?"
"Yes."
She turned around.
Her eyes were unusually serious.
"I don't like it here."
I put my pen down.
"I miss Mumbai."
"I miss when you smiled."
"I miss Dadda."
Every word landed like a knife.
"I don't like all the guards."
"I don't like this house."
"I don't like how everyone looks at me."
Her voice became smaller.
"Can we go home?"
For the first time all day...
I had no answer.
I closed every file on my desk.
Pulled her into my arms.
Held her tighter than I had in years.
"I can't leave."
The words barely came out.
"Not yet."
"There are battles I have to finish."
She buried her face in my shoulder.
"I don't care about battles."
"I just want my Papa."
My chest tightened.
I kissed the top of her head.
"You have him."
"Always."
"Even when it doesn't feel like it."
She wrapped her tiny arms around my neck.
"I'll wait."
I closed my eyes.
For her...
I silently promised that one day, Kabir Mehra would stop being the Prime Minister.
And simply become Dadda again.
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