Rain poured over the empty streets of Delhi, washing the city in silence. It was the kind of cold November night that felt endless—where even the streetlights shivered. Under the weak glow of one such flickering lamp, a body lay still—soaked in blood, water, and something lost.
Life ebbed from his body, his breath shallow, his heart faltering. Nine stab wounds marked the young man. The pain had passed. Only the cold remained.
He once had dreams. A family. A reason to live. Now, there was nothing left.
As his breath grew shallow and his heart slowed, he didn't resist. He let go. He welcomed the silence. He welcomed the cold.
In his fading consciousness, memories flooded his mind like an unrelenting tide—memories of a time that felt like a different life altogether.
Rohan Ram Delgado was born into a world filled with promise. The son of Hector Rafael Delgado, a Dominican-American engineer, and Veena Sharma, an Indian economics student who came to the United States on a scholarship, he lived a happy childhood in the sun-soaked suburbs of California. A groundbreaking AI-VR integration system built for first responders. The goal was simple but powerful: help paramedics, firefighters, and crisis teams save more lives. The system mapped the safest, fastest paths through danger, adapting in real-time to chaos on the ground. A future-changing idea. One that could rewrite the rules of survival.
Veena had dropped out of college in her final year when she discovered she was pregnant with Rohan. It wasn't an easy choice, but she didn't hesitate. The love Hector and Veena shared was the kind where even the hardest sacrifices felt like acts of devotion. Veena's father, Ramchandra Sharma—a stoic and strict man—vehemently opposed her decision. But her resolve was unshakable. Although Meenakshi—a gentle and graceful woman—secretly supported her daughter, even after Ramchandra severed ties with his beloved eldest child, the apple of his eye, she stood by Veena from the shadows. Her strength was quiet but constant, offered in silence, unseen yet unwavering.
Then, on 19th October 2000, everything changed.
Veena and Hector were blessed with a baby boy. And the moment Ramchandra saw his grandson's face, the anger he had nursed for years began to melt. The stoic man who had once turned his back on his daughter now crossed continents, spent a fortune, and even took out a loan—just for a chance to hold the child in his arms. That moment cracked something open inside him.
To honour both her father's love and her Indian roots, Veena gave her son a middle name that carried generations of meaning—Ram.
Two years later, on the day of 20th July 2002, they were blessed with a baby girl—Arya Nina Delgado. Fierce yet radiant, she was a burst of sunshine in their lives, always cheerful and never missing a chance to tease her older brother. Named after Hector's mother Nina Delgado.
In his fading consciousness he saw a familiar scene as the morning sun bathed the Delgado family kitchen in soft golden light, making the whole room feel alive. The scent of freshly made parathas filled the air, along with the kids' complaints.
"Paratha again, Mom?" Rohan had once whined.It was the first day of his Junior year. At seventeen, Rohan stood six feet tall—now shoulder to shoulder with his father. With a fair complexion, sharp features, and thick, tousled hair, he carried the effortless charm of someone born to stand out. A Dominican-Indian by heritage, he was both a genius in class and a prodigy on the soccer field. His warm, disarming smile and cheerful energy made him impossible to ignore.
"Maa, why do we have to eat paratha? Why can't we eat cereal like normal kids?" Rohan grumbled, pushing the paratha around his plate.
Veena, their mother, cast a disapproving glance from the stove. "Paratha is good for you. Eat it." Veena Sharma, born into a middle-class Punjabi family in Lucknow, was tall at 5'6", wheatish in complexion, beautiful in a fierce, no-nonsense sort of way. Even in America, she wore sarees or salwar suits with quiet pride, a sandalwood tikka on her forehead after morning pooja. The soft scent of jasmine incense always clung to the corners of their home—her presence, like her rules, was everywhere.
"But Mom," Rohan protested, "it's too oily."
"Yes, Maa, this stuff is too greasy. Yuck," Arya added, scrunching her nose. At sixteen, she was all sass and sunshine, quick with a witty remark and never missing a chance to tease her older brother—a fierce, sharp-tongued beauty who inherited her mother's looks and her father's wit. Fair-skinned and striking, she stood at 5'7", a proud member of the school's volleyball team. Though shorter than her brother, she never let him forget who ruled the banter battles at home. It was hard to say who was smarter—both siblings lived at the top of their class, but Arya made sure Rohan knew she got there with more style.
"You'll eat it and be thankful," she declared, her tone soft as butter but sharp as a knife—classic mom mode-—one Rohan had come to know all too well.
"Come on, Mom, I don't like…" Rohan added, trying to push his case.
"Eat it," said Veena, giving a stare that could cut steel itself. Rohan knew that was the end of the discussion. Saying anything more would only incur the wrath of his mother.
Rohan rolled his eyes and poked at his paratha.
Hector, always the diplomat, swooped in with a grin. "Come on, kids, hop in the car; it's time for school. Let's stop for pancakes on the way. My treat."
Hector was the kind of man who could diffuse any situation with a smile. At 40, he was a striking figure—tall, well-built, and effortlessly handsome, with the rugged good looks inherited from his Dominican father, Micheal. But it was his mother's kindness that defined him most—he had a warmth that made everyone around him feel seen. A genius in his own right, Hector's mind was as sharp as his appearance, and his charm never failed to light up a room.
Rohan's face lit up. "Pancakes? Yes! Now we're talking!"
He kissed Veena on the forehead—smiling, though clearly a little nervous—his eyes scanning her expression like a bomb technician checking for wires. Then, without missing a beat, he herded the kids toward the car in a mock emergency drill.
"Okay, kids—now RUN," Hector said over his shoulder, throwing Veena a roguish grin. "You're the best, as always. Please don't kill me."
With a smile, Hector ushered the kids out of the kitchen. The atmosphere in their home was always full of love, a warmth that Rohan thought he would carry with him for the rest of his life.
Three of them ended up at a diner—devouring syrup-drenched pancakes and omelettes, laughter echoing between bites. Rohan wiped his mouth and stood.
"Where do you think you're going, mister?" Hector asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You really think I'm going to school with you two? Please. I've got a reputation to protect." He threw a smirk at Arya. "Not showing up with my fugly little sister."
"Daaad!" Arya shrieked.
"Pretend you don't know me at school," Rohan said with a grin and bolted.
It was the last day his world made sense.
Rohan was walking the hallway, basking in the admiration of peers for his latest win on the soccer field, when a teacher called him aside. The look on her face was unreadable, but he could feel something crack in the air.
One hour back, in a distant part of town, Hector was in his car, speaking with a colleague on call.
"Mark, this isn't a real VC," Hector said, gripping the steering wheel. "It's NeoTech, using a proxy to get in. They'll strip RATech bare, steal our tech, and sell the scraps. I won't let them take everything we've built."
RATech had been born out of defiance—a company Hector built after refusing to sell his college-day patent to NeoTech, the same company that had fired him for standing his ground. It was a name inspired by his children—Rohan and Arya. Now, the wolves were knocking at his door again, and Hector wasn't sure he could keep them out this time.
"They're using the same tactics again. If they can't buy us, they destroy us. Mark my words—NeoTech doesn't invest—they consume."
Hector said to Mark—his so-called CFO, though the title was more honorary than earned. With no formal degree in finance or business, and no corporate experience to speak of, Mark wasn't a CFO by qualification. But he was Hector's first hire, a friend who had stood by the company through its toughest years, wearing every hat that needed wearing. In a thirty-man startup, loyalty meant more than titles. He repeated the same conversation so often it felt rehearsed.
Mark sighed on the other end. "Do you think it's NeoTech behind this VC?"
"I know it is," Hector said, his voice hard. "When I refused to sell them my patent, they fired me. They tried to buy us out years ago, back when I first started RATech. And now they're back, using a proxy to get in. But I won't let them take it—not this time." Hector glanced at the clock on his dashboard. "We'll talk more when I get to the office. Don't worry, Mark. We'll find someone who believes in the vision."
He never finished the call.
A truck—unmarked and speeding—slammed into his car.
His eyes widened. He never got to finish his sentence.
Glass shattered. Blood spilled. Silence followed.
Hector Rafael Delgado died on the scene.
The funeral was a blur of black umbrellas and whispered condolences. Hector's father, Michael Delgado, delivered a eulogy that cracked under the weight of grief.
"Hector was a genius," Michael began, his voice trembling. "Hector was a genius. He built something extraordinary—something that could have changed the world. And now… it's gone" Micheal struggles to speak, choking on his words now: "To bury your son… at 40, before his father is too unfair, too cruel…." His gaze fell on Veena, hard and unyielding. She didn't need words to know what he was thinking. In Michael's eyes, she was the reason his son was dead—the Indian woman who had seduced Hector and ruined his life. He had always wanted Hector to marry a proper Christian-Hispanic girl, someone who understood their culture and their traditions, not some foreigner who seduced their son for a green card. Rohan clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to scream, to tell his grandfather he was wrong, but the words caught in his throat.
20/08/2018
The news came three weeks later:
"RATech Declares Bankruptcy."
NeoTech had won.
They hadn't just taken the company; they'd taken everything—Hector's work, his legacy, his dreams. Rohan stared at the screen; his jaw tight. Mark had betrayed them, signing over the patents Hector had worked his entire life to create.
Veena sat silently at the kitchen table, her hands trembling as she folded the newspaper.
"They took it all," Arya whispered, her voice breaking. "They took everything."
"No," Veena said quietly, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. "They didn't take everything. We still have his memory. His vision."
Rohan looked at her, his chest tight with a mix of love and frustration. "What good is memory, Maa? What good is vision when we've lost everything?"
Veena met his gaze, her eyes fierce. "Because to betray his memory for comfort would be the greatest loss of all."
Rohan didn't argue. He couldn't. But as he stared out the rain-streaked window, something burned in his chest.
NeoTech hadn't just taken his father's company. They'd taken his father.
And one way or another, he would take it all back.