After this incident, I understood something important.
If I wanted to live a high-profile life, I couldn't just be smart or successful. I had to become strong enough that no random Tom, Dick, or Harry could threaten me—or worse, threaten my family.
That realization settled heavily in my mind as I finished my morning exercise routine.
After taking a shower, I headed to the dining table with a cup of tea in my hand. Neelam maa was sitting across from me, reading a newspaper. Unsurprisingly, the front page carried yet another article about my competition victory.
A small smile appeared on my face.
If only she knew that, with the System's help, I had personally erased every dangerous trail connected to that competition. As far as the world was concerned, I was just a lucky kid who had won a prestigious event. Nothing more.
No secret investigations.
No suspicious government interest.
No powerful people digging into our lives.
Exactly how I wanted it.
I glanced toward the kitchen.
"Shilpa maa, come here for a minute," I called out. "We need to have a serious discussion."
Shilpa maa immediately appeared in the doorway.
The word "serious" coming from me usually meant one of two things:
Either the world was ending...
Or I had done something that would eventually make her want to hit me with a slipper.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Which one is it this time?"
"I haven't broken any laws recently," I said honestly.
"Recently?" she repeated.
"That is not the reassuring answer you think it is."
Before the conversation could continue, Neelam maa folded her newspaper and sighed.
The expression on her face immediately caught my attention.
It was the look of someone whose life had unexpectedly taken a sharp turn.
"The morning after the Chief Minister's call," Neelam maa began, "something else happened."
Both Shilpa maa and I looked at her.
"My phone rang after breakfast."
She paused dramatically.
"Who was it?" Shilpa maa asked.
"Rekha."
The room fell silent.
Even I blinked.
"The Rekha?" I asked.
Neelam maa nodded.
"The same Rekha."
The memory immediately surfaced.
The famous actress we had helped during that accident.
The woman who had been cornered by a group of thugs before Neelam maa stepped in and helped save the day.
"Wait..." I said slowly. "The same Rekha who was being harassed by those criminals?"
"The very same."
Neelam maa still looked slightly stunned.
"Apparently, she saw the competition coverage on television last night. During one of the interviews, she recognized my name. She called me this morning."
"And?" Shilpa maa asked eagerly.
Neelam maa took a deep breath.
"She wants me to work for her."
Silence.
More silence.
Even the ceiling fan seemed interested.
"Work for her... how?" Shilpa maa finally asked.
"As her personal secretary."
This time the silence lasted even longer.
Neelam maa looked completely overwhelmed.
"I don't understand it myself," she admitted. "I'm unemployed, Shilpa. I don't know anything about managing a Bollywood actress's schedule."
I nearly laughed.
"Maa, you successfully managed me for ten years."
Both women stared at me.
"That alone qualifies you for senior management."
Shilpa maa snorted.
I continued.
"You also handled office politics, worked with company executives, managed impossible deadlines, and survived jealous coworkers. Honestly, you're overqualified."
Neelam maa threw a spoon at me.
Direct hit.
Again.
At this point, I was beginning to suspect mothers possessed a hidden aiming skill that ignored all laws of physics.
"It's a proper job," Shilpa maa said. "Steady salary. Mumbai-based. Rekha's production house has an office there."
Then she looked at me thoughtfully.
"Actually, this solves our problem."
I raised an eyebrow.
"How?"
"It gives us a perfectly normal reason to move."
The realization hit me instantly.
Of course.
Nobody would question a woman relocating for a major career opportunity.
No suspicion.
No unnecessary attention.
No awkward questions.
I slowly nodded.
"It's perfect."
Both women looked at me.
"Better than the nursing-job story," I explained. "It's believable. High-profile enough that people will talk about it, but not high-profile enough for anyone to connect it to me."
Under the table, I silently opened the System interface.
The familiar blue screen appeared before my eyes.
I mentally issued a command.
System, ensure that Neelam maa's job offer, our relocation plans, and everything connected to this move appear completely unrelated to the competition.
A second later, the System responded.
[Protocol Already Active.]
[Host's family relocation, employment changes, financial activity, and residential movement are being processed as unrelated civilian events.]
[No traceable connection exists between these events and the competition.]
[Government, corporate, and private-sector investigations will identify these developments as standard life choices.]
Good.
That was one less problem on my growing list of problems.
"There's another question," Neelam maa said.
I looked up.
"The house."
Her voice softened.
"What are we doing with it?"
I answered immediately.
"We keep it."
Both women looked surprised.
"We paid off the mortgage. The house is ours now."
I set down my tea cup.
"We can rent an apartment in Mumbai."
"But this house stays."
"Why?" Shilpa maa asked.
For a moment, I stared around the room.
The walls.
The furniture.
The memories.
The place where our family had fought through every difficult year together.
Then I spoke quietly.
"Because everyone needs a place they can come back to."
The room grew silent.
"If something goes wrong..."
"If we ever need to disappear."
"If life becomes difficult again."
"We'll still have a home waiting for us."
Neelam maa studied me carefully.
It was the same look she always gave whenever I said something that sounded far older than my age.
"You think about worst-case scenarios a lot, don't you?"
A small smile appeared on my face.
"Occupational hazard."
"What occupation?"
"The occupation of being repeatedly reminded that life is trying very hard to kill me."
Shilpa maa rubbed her forehead.
Neelam maa sighed deeply.
And for a brief moment, both mothers looked as though they were questioning every life decision that had led them to raising me.
Honestly?