Page 16 of No Boss
She released the desk. Her fingers left marks in the polished wood, fading as she drew her hand back.
“So we fold our hands.” Her voice came even, measured. “We agree. We help him tear down centuries of history. Our home. Then we leave and begin again somewhere else.”
“No one asked you to agree,” Devendra replied.
“But you asked me to accept.” She looked at him, at the bend in his shoulders, at the discipline carved into him by years of service.
“Babuji…” Her tone softened, but didn’t yield. “Your loyalty stands with the family that holds the papers. Mine stands with the place those papers claim to protect.”
No answer came.
“If Thakur Abhinav Kumar Anand wants to sell this Haveli…” Her gaze hardened. “He will know exactly what he is selling. What it took to build it. What it means to the people who have lived inside it.”
Gauri’s hand slipped away.
“Let him try,” Meera challenged.
The room held the silence long enough for it to sink into the walls.
From deep within the Haveli, the mandir bell rang.
Once.
Clear. Cutting through everything.
Devendra closed his eyes. Meera turned and walked out before either of them could stop her. The corridors stretched ahead. The Haveli no longer felt peaceful.
Yet it remained, without question, hers.
Chapter 3
The first buyer came four weeks later.
A Heritage Trust. Strong reputation. Clean record. Good funding.
Her father placed the file in front of her with a look that said,‘Please behave.’
Meera read every page. Line after line. Detail after detail. She missed nothing. When she finished, she closed the file and pressed her lips together. Her gaze lifted to the small framed image of Kul Devi on the office wall.
‘Maa, I am going to be very well-behaved. Very professional. Completely not a problem.’
She considered that.
‘Okay. I am going to be a tiny bit of a problem. But only for the right reasons. You understand, right?’
The goddess offered no reply.
Meera took that as agreement.
Later, she stood in the front courtyard when the property dealer Desai arrived with the Trust’s representative.
The man stepped out of the car. Well dressed. Confident. Mid-forties.
He smiled.
Meera returned it. Warm. Open. Disarming.
“This is Meera Chauhan,” Desai gestured toward her. “She manages heritage matters here.”
