Kabir Mehra
The residence feels strangely light today.
For the first time in months, the heavy, suffocating aura of my mother and uncle is entirely absent from the corridors. They left early this morning for a three-day visit to my cousin's constituency, ostensibly to manage a local party dispute.
In reality, they wanted to escape my freezing silence.
I don't care.
With them gone, the air in the private wing is clean.
"Sir, the Minister of Agriculture is in the formal briefing room," Devansh says, stepping into my study. He's wearing a crisp, pale blue formal shirt that makes his eyes look incredibly deep.
"Let's get this over with," I murmur, standing up and adjusting my navy Nehru jacket.
Ten minutes later, the atmosphere in the briefing room is tense.
The Minister of Agriculture, an older politician with deep rural roots and an even deeper stubborn streak, is staring at the analytical data sheets I've slid across the table.
"Look at the statistics, Minister," I say, my voice cutting through the room like a scalpel, tapping a finger against the dark red lines on the chart.
"In the cotton belts of Punjab and the vegetable clusters of western Uttar Pradesh, the unregulated use of these specific chemical pesticides has caused a 40% spike in neurological disorders and terminal cancer among farm laborers over the past five years. Our people are literally dying to maintain artificial yield quotas."
The Minister sighs, rubbing his temples.
"Prime Minister, with all due respect, these statistics look terrible on paper, but we don't have a choice. If we put an immediate ban on these chemical variants, our grain production will drop by 15% next quarter. The market will crash, food inflation will skyrocket, and the opposition will use the food shortage to cripple your government. We must prioritize national food security."
"At the cost of human life?" I snap.
Beside me, Devansh stays completely quiet, his fingers typing rapidly on his tablet.
"We need a phased transition plan, Kabir bhai," the Minister presses. "But right now, there is no viable organic alternative that fits the mass budget."
"I will review the subsidy structure by tomorrow."
"This meeting is adjourned."
---
Devansh Joshi
The moment the Minister leaves, I pull up a technical report on my tablet.
"Sir... there is a choice. The Minister is thinking inside a very traditional box."
Kabir looks up.
"What do you mean?"
"The biotechnology department at IISc Bangalore successfully formulated a bio-enzyme pesticide last year."
"It uses localized microbial strains. It's completely non-toxic, and the testing phase showed zero drop in grain production."
"The only reason it hasn't gone commercial is because the manufacturing cost is 20% higher than chemical pesticides."
Kabir studies the data.
Then his eyes snap to mine.
"Why didn't you speak up during the meeting, Devansh?"
"I... I'm sorry, Mr. Prime Minister."
"I'm contract staff."
"He is a senior Cabinet Minister."
"I didn't think it was my place to interrupt."
Kabir walks around the desk until he's barely a foot away.
"Listen to me very carefully."
"Whenever we're in meetings like this..."
"You speak."
"I don't care who's sitting across the table."
"Even if your idea is wrong."
"Even if it fails."
"You speak."
"I'm the Prime Minister."
"I'll handle the rest."
I stare into his eyes.
"Yes... Kabir."
"I understand."
---
Later that afternoon, I walk past the glass-paneled doors of Kiara's study room.
She's sitting at her small white desk, carefully coloring a geography map.
Her tongue peeks out in concentration.
I smile.
She's only six.
She deserves a real classroom.
Friends.
Playgrounds.
Birthday parties.
Not armed guards and security protocols.
Then reality crashes in.
The moment she attends a normal school...
The media will find her.
The opposition will weaponize her.
She'll lose every chance at a normal childhood.
"I think about that every day."
Kabir's quiet voice startles me.
He's standing beside me, looking through the glass.
"I want to see her wearing a school uniform."
"I want her to complain about homework."
"I want her to come home talking about friends."
His jaw tightens.
"But the crown I wear..."
"...keeps her imprisoned too."
Before either of us can say another word—
The classroom door swings open.
Kiara walks out proudly, holding up her completed map.
"I'm done with geography, Doctor PM!"
She beams.
Then looks between us.
"Since Grandmother and Uncle aren't home..."
"This place is boring."
"You promised you'd take me to Lodhi Gardens if you ever got a free afternoon."
"You are free."
"So let's go."
Kabir glances at his watch.
"Get the unmarked vehicle."
"Arrange the plainclothes security team."
"And bring your notebook."
He pauses.
"You're coming with us."
---
Kabir Mehra
The winter afternoon at Lodhi Gardens is cool and peaceful.
I'm dressed casually in a black high-neck sweater, sunglasses, and a simple cap.
Two plainclothes SPG officers remain a discreet distance behind us.
Kiara races ahead, laughing as she chases a flock of pigeons.
Devansh walks beside me carrying an administrative folder.
As we pass one of the ancient monuments—
His foot catches on an exposed tree root.
The file slips from his hands.
Papers scatter across the grass.
"Oh no."
He immediately kneels to gather them.
I stop walking.
For a brief second...
I simply watch.
The sunlight filters through the trees.
His shirt shifts slightly as he reaches for another page.
I force myself to look away.
"Sorry, Sir."
He quickly stands.
"Got everything."
I adjust my sunglasses.
"Watch where you're walking, Devansh."
"I don't pay you to scatter government documents across public parks."
A tiny smile appears on his face.
"Yes, Mr. Prime Minister."
We continue walking.
Neither of us says another word.
---
Kiara Mehra
Papa and Devansh are trying so hard to act professional.
It's honestly funny.
I definitely caught Papa staring when Devansh dropped all those papers.
His brain literally stopped working.
I hide a smile.
I sit on a stone bench beneath a huge banyan tree and quietly pull my iPad from my backpack.
Papa thinks I'm playing a maths game.
I'm not.
I swipe open my secret messaging app.
I know I'm not supposed to have online friends.
But rules are boring.
A notification pops onto the screen.
> ShadowAlpha_99: Are you still free today, Kiki? Did your dad let you go out?
I grin and type back.
> Kiki_Mehra: Yes! I'm at the big park with the ancient tombs right now. It's so pretty here. My dad is distracted anyway. He's totally staring at his new assistant.
Another message appears almost immediately.
> ShadowAlpha_99: That's cool. Which park exactly? Maybe my older brother can bring me there so we can finally meet.
I begin typing the location.
My excitement grows.
Maybe today I'll finally meet my online friend.
"Kiara."
Papa's voice suddenly comes from right behind me.
I nearly jump.
"What did I tell you about screen time during outdoor walks?"
I immediately lock the screen and slide the iPad back into my backpack.
"I was just checking my scores, Papa."
I smile as innocently as possible.
"Can we get ice cream?"
Papa narrows his eyes.
He's suspicious.
Very suspicious.
Before he can say anything, Devansh chuckles softly and pats my shoulder.
The two of them have absolutely no idea about my secret friend.
And as we continue walking through the gardens...
A tiny thrill of rebellion settles inside my chest.
---
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