The showroom's tension thickened as Deep stood his ground, unfazed by Simi's angry glare. Deep, a cheap-hearted man at his core, was the son of Simi's father's business partner, holding a mere 10% stake in their empire. With Simi's father gravely ill, Deep saw his chance—marrying her to seize control. To that end, he'd plunged father into his debt, hiring a sham Vaid (traditional healer) to exploit her father's deep belief in mysticism. The healer, a fraud sent by Deep's family, claimed her father suffered a curse and bad energy, insisting marriage to Deep would lift it. Simi didn't buy it, but with her father's worsening health, she followed his wishes out of love.
"We should be preparing our wedding plans together, not working," Deep pressed, his voice oily with entitlement.
Simi stood speechless, her distress evident, her elegant features clouded with frustration. Seeing her struggle, Ishaan stepped in. "Miss, I'm in a hurry. If you could show me the bikes, it'd be great."
Deep's face twisted with anger, his jealousy flaring at Ishaan's interruption. "Simi, your father won't be happy hearing about your behavior toward me!" he snapped.
Hearing her father's name, Simi's patience shattered. "Is it not enough to exploit him this much?" she fired back, her voice trembling. "I'm marrying you, right? Why do you keep torturing him? Your healer—my father hasn't recovered a bit since he came! He even made him stop taking proper medicines, making him worse. And still, you dare mock him?"
She paused, her breath heavy. "But I listen to him because I know his condition—Parkinson's disease—is incurable. So I let him believe what he wants. Don't you dare give him any more stress!"
Deep smirked, unfazed. "He needs me, Simi. The curse—"
"Enough!" Simi cut him off.
The showroom's air grew heavy as Ishaan watched the exchange between Simi and Deep, a pang of empathy stirring in his chest. Her situation mirrored his own—a dying father, a love that bound her to his wishes, and others scheming to drag her down. "Her father's like Rajesh was," he thought, "and she's fighting alone, just like I did." The urge to help surged within him, and the moment that thought solidified, a sharp ache pulsed through his mind. His vision blurred, flashes and images flooding his consciousness—unfamiliar scenes, cryptic symbols, a sense of power he couldn't grasp. "What's happening to me?" he muttered, steadying himself against a bike. Yet, instinctively, he knew he could help. "I can help," he said aloud, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Deep's sneer deepened. "Keep quiet! Who the hell are you?" he barked, stepping toward Ishaan with a threatening glare.
But Ishaan ignored him, his eyes locking onto Simi's. "I can help," he repeated, his voice firm. "I can cure him."
Simi's breath caught, her skepticism warring with the conviction she saw in his gaze. Parkinson's was incurable—she knew that from countless doctor visits—but Ishaan's eyes held no deceit. He's not lying, she thought. Well, nothing wrong with trying. Her father's worsening state left her desperate. "How?" she asked, her voice a mix of hope and doubt.
"Take me to him," Ishaan said, his tone unwavering, the strange knowledge still swirling in his mind.
Simi hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Follow me."
Deep lunged forward. "Simi, this is nonsense! You can't trust some random guy!"
"Stay out of this, Deep," she snapped, her fierce spirit flaring. "I'll decide what's best for my father."
Ishaan followed her lead, his heart pounding with a mix of resolve and mystery, the flashes in his mind urging him onward.