The bedroom door creaked open as Deep stormed inside, his smug confidence leading the way. Mr. Singh lay sleeping on the bed, frail and still, his chest rising and falling faintly. Deep gestured toward Ishaan with a sneer. "Go on then—prove your trick!" he taunted.
Ishaan stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves with deliberate calm. He extended his hands toward the mystic. "Check them," he said firmly. "Make sure I've got nothing hidden."
The mystic, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, inspected Ishaan's hands thoroughly, muttering, "Let's see your fraud." Finding nothing, he stepped back, grumbling, "Go ahead—waste your time."
Ishaan nodded, turning to Mr. Singh. Gently, he placed his hand on the old man's forehead, closing his eyes in focus. A strange sensation stirred within him—something began moving, starting from his abdomen, spiraling outward through his body. When it reached his hand, it flowed into Mr. Singh's forehead. A faint golden light, barely visible, shimmered between his palm and the skin. Everyone in the room saw it—though subtle, the glow was undeniable.
In just a minute, Ishaan removed his hand, stepping back. Mr. Singh's complexion shifted, a healthy flush replacing the pallor. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked around, his voice clear and pitch proper as he spoke. "Simi," he said, his tone steady for the first time in months.
Simi gasped, rushing toward him. "Dad!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. He hugged her back, his arms wrapping around her with surprising strength. The room fell silent, every eye widening in shock as they witnessed his hands move.
Soon, Simi realized it too. "Dad…" she whispered, pulling back to stare at him. "You can move!"
Mr. Singh's face lit up with shock as he pulled his arms high, a trembling joy in his voice. "Yes, I can move them!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. "How… how is this possible?" he asked, turning to Simi for answers.
Simi, still holding him, quickly recounted the events—Ishaan's bold claim, the bet, the golden light. "He touched your forehead, Dad, and this happened," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Mr. Singh's gaze shifted to Ishaan, tears welling in his eyes. "Thank you, sir… thank you very much," he said, his voice breaking. "How can I ever repay you?"
Ishaan shook his head, his tone gentle but firm. "No need to thank me. Just listen to your daughter's wishes, not some random mystic." He pointed at the sham mystic, his expression stern.
Deep interjected, forcing a smile. "Uncle, I'm glad you can move again, but you should rest. I'll inform my father and bring him to meet you." He turned, grabbing the mystic's arm. "We're returning—feeling humiliated.
But Ishaan stepped forward, his voice cutting through. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"What?" Deep shouted, spinning around, his face flushed with anger.
"Your promise," Ishaan said calmly.
"Not just move—Uncle will walk if he wants to," Ishaan added, his confidence unshaken. Mr. Singh's eyes widened at the words. He shifted on the bed, pulling his legs to the side, and with a shaky effort, tried to stand. Simi grabbed his arm to steady him, and slowly, miraculously, he rose to his feet.
"What the…" Mr. Singh murmured, completely amazed, his legs trembling but holding. "I'm standing!"
"Uncle," Ishaan called, meeting his gaze. "You'll be completely recovered, able to walk and move like normal, after a few hours. Just keep trying, adjust, and eat a lot."
"I will—I'm already feeling hungry!" Mr. Singh said, a weak laugh escaping him.
"Now, Deep," Ishaan demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Your promise."
Deep's bravado faltered. "It was a spur-of-the-moment thing—I didn't mean it…"
"But I meant it," Simi cut in, her voice resolute. "Dad, Deep promised to break the engagement if Ishaan could cure you, and he did. So the engagement is now broken."
Mr. Singh looked at Deep, his expression softening but firm. "It's what my daughter wishes. Please understand, and… sorry."
Deep turned without a word, his face a mask of rage and defeat, and stormed out, the mystic trailing behind him in silence.