He slung his backpack over his shoulder and gave one last look toward the mirror. He adjusted the strap of his bag, stepping down the staircase with a casual ease, his white shirt and black pant neatly pressed. The familiar aroma of breakfast wafted through the air, filling the house with a warmth that felt like home.
As he reached the dining area, his eyes immediately landed on his father - Ashok, seated at the table, eating breakfast. Dressed in his crisp police uniform, he radiated authority. His posture was upright, his movements precise, a man perfectly suited for his role as the Inspector of Police, a title that carried weight, responsibility, and discipline. Just a few feet away, his mother – Geetha, stood behind his sister, combing her long, dark hair with careful, gentle strokes.
Geetha was a lawyer - not just any lawyer, but one who commanded respect, one who could dismantle arguments with precision, one whose presence in the courtroom was as commanding as Ashok's in his uniform. Despite the lawyer, she was stunning, almost ethereal in her beauty. she was the kind of person who brightened any room she walked into. And Shivani, the same charm, the same glow—a youthful spark that shined in her bright, mischievous eyes.
There was a Golden Retriever curled up peacefully near the corner of the house.
Bhairava stepped toward the dining table and told "What a surprise, you both are in home at same time?"
His father, Ashok, looked up from his plate. His voice was firm, almost mechanical, as he said, "Good morning."
"Good morning," he greeted, his voice still carrying a hint of sleep.
No eye contact. No pause. Just words exchanged like clockwork, neither warm nor cold, simply part of the morning machinery. It was just like routine.
Bhairava grabbed his lunch from the table, the comforting scent of homemade food lingering in the air.
As he turned, his eyes landed on his sister, still sitting while their mother carefully combed through her long, dark strands. With a teasing grin, he strolled up behind her and tugged at her hair in a playful manner.
"Why do you even bother combing this mess, huh?" he teased, his voice dripping with mischief.
Shivani gasped, snapping her head toward him with narrowed eyes.
Geetha let out a knowing sigh, shaking her head slightly.
"Bhairava, leave her hair alone. I just finished combing it," she said, though her tone held more patience than true frustration.
Bhairava chuckled, backing away with a smirk. "Alright, alright. I'll stop bothering the little princess."
"By the way, Mom," he said, voice proud but casual as he turned toward Geetha, "I forgot to mention. I sent the article to The Daily News. They will probably shortlist it and call me in for an interview."
"That's great," she said, her voice firm yet full of affection. "You're only a few steps away from achieving your dream."
"Yeah! Once I get selected, I'll be the youngest journalist at the number one news company," he declared, striking an exaggerated pose of triumph.
"Then every kid will look up to me as their role model," he added, eyes gleaming with theatrical pride.
"Who knows? Your little princess might even take inspiration from me!"
He smirked, already imagining the scene in his head, he raised his hand in a signature pose like he was at a press conference of one. But his victory lasted mere seconds.
Shivani, ever quick-witted, shot back without a hesitation in sign.
"I will never take you as my inspiration. Not even in my dreams." She added with a smirk, "If I ever dream of looking up to you, wake me up, Mom—I'm clearly having a nightmare."
Silence. "Huh?"
Bhairava blinked, completely caught off guard. The words hit harder than expected like a direct strike to his pride, shattering his illusion of future glory in an instant.
His mother Geetha smiled, gently patting Shivani's head like she had just won a case in court. Shivani smirked in victory.
Bhairava felt total defeat.
Ashok, placed his spoon down and looked at his son with quiet authority.
"Journalist, huh?" he said, his voice calm but firm. "Not a bad idea."
"Journalism is not the job for fun. You must work for public, stay true to their heart, and uphold truth without hesitation."
His expression softened slightly.
"I know you have the qualities to become one. But for that you need to study well. Work hard."
Bhairava looked at him, absorbing the words. With a small grin, he raised his hand to his forehead and saluted.
"Yes, sir! As you command!"
Ashok chuckled and all are laughing as they are the happiest persons in the world.
Sharing the moment with the family, Bhairava took Shivani's bag and stepped outside. He placed it neatly into the front basket of the cycle, then swung onto the seat with practiced ease. Shivani climbed on behind him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
As they were about to leave, a familiar figure appeared at the gate. It was Narasimma, the long-serving officer who worked alongside Bhairava's father.
"Is your dad home?" he asked, voice warm and gruff with years of service behind it.
Bhairava waved casually. "Yeah, he's inside, uncle."
Narasimma stepped in halfway. "So, this is your final year, right? What's your plan next?"
Without hesitation, Bhairava replied, "Planning to become a journalist, uncle."
Narasimma frowned slightly, disappointment settling into his face. "Journalist, huh? I thought you'd become a cop just like your dad."
And maybe he had a point.
From childhood, Bhairava was captivated by crime articles in the newspaper like others read comics. He was hooked on the gritty headlines and detailed articles in the newspaper. That curiosity grew into quiet obsession, leading him to secretly study his father's case files late at night, solving puzzles, tracing the outlines of real-life mysteries. In quiet moments, his observations on investigations got increased.
And perhaps that's why journalism called to him more than the police force. Because sometimes telling the story is a different kind of justice.
If he spent even half the energy on textbooks instead of case files, he might've easily topped his class.
Bhairava just smiled, unbothered.
"Someone has to tell the truth to the public, right uncle?" he said, voice calm, resolute.
"Okay, uncle. Bye. getting late for college!"