Vivek Swamirami Ch2

Egon was ripped from the depths of a mushroom-induced dream by the sharp rustle of curtains being thrown open. Sunlight poured into the room, and a familiar, commanding voice shattered his groggy haze.

“Enough, Egon. Wake up,” Vivek said, his tone clipped as he stood silhouetted against the morning light. He crossed his arms, his tailored kurta pristine even in his obvious agitation.

Egon groaned, shielding his eyes. “Vivek, what the hell? It’s barely—what—six?”

“Seven. And I’ve had enough.” Vivek’s voice carried a sharp edge, and his British-accented English felt like a scalpel carving through the fog in Egon’s brain.

“Enough of what?” Egon mumbled, sitting up with a yawn. “I didn’t even finish the mushrooms.”

“Exactly my point,” Vivek snapped, stepping closer. “The drugs, Egon. The erratic behavior. The embarrassing arrest. Do you know what it’s like for me to walk into a room and have people whispering about my husband’s latest escapade?”

Egon smirked, rubbing his eyes. “You’re famous by association, darling. People love gossip.”

Vivek’s expression hardened. “This isn’t a joke. Your recklessness has consequences—on me, on us, on your company. I’ve tolerated your eccentricities because I believed in you, Egon. But this? You’ve become a caricature of yourself.”

Egon swung his legs off the bed, his demeanor shifting to defensive. “What’s this about, really? My board’s worried about their golden goose?”

“They are,” Vivek shot back. “And so am I. That’s why I’ve made arrangements.”

Egon raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Arrangements for what?”

“You’re coming with me to India,” Vivek said, his voice resolute. “A month at an ashram. No distractions, no tech, no drugs.”

Egon laughed, a hollow sound. “A month? Vivek, I have work to do. Projects—important ones.”

“You won’t have a company to return to if you refuse,” Vivek said, his gaze unwavering. “The board has approved this, Egon. Either you take this time to pull yourself together, or you step down as CEO.”

Egon’s face fell. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Vivek said, leaning closer. His voice softened, tinged with disappointment. “Do you think I enjoy this, Egon? Watching you spiral, knowing I can’t reach you? You’ve built walls so high, I barely recognize the man I married.”

Egon blinked, unprepared for the vulnerability in Vivek’s tone. “Vivek, I—”

“And it’s not just the board,” Vivek interrupted, his composure slipping. “If you won’t do this for them, do it for me. Because I can’t keep standing by while you destroy yourself. If you refuse, I’m leaving.”

The words hit Egon like a slap. “Leaving? Vivek, you’re not serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious,” Vivek said, his voice trembling just enough to reveal his pain. “No more snuggling in bed while I sing you folk songs. No more late-night talks about the future. No more us, Egon. I’m done enabling your self-destruction.”

For a moment, Egon stared at him, speechless. The thought of losing Vivek—their shared laughter, their quiet moments of intimacy—cut deeper than any threat from the board.

“Fine,” Egon said at last, his voice rough. “I’ll go. But don’t expect me to come back enlightened or whatever nonsense you’re hoping for.”

Vivek straightened, his expression unreadable. “I don’t need you to come back enlightened, Egon. I need you to come back yourself. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

As Vivek turned to leave, Egon sank back into the bed, the weight of the ultimatum pressing down on him. A month at an ashram. The idea was absurd, yet here he was—his life, his marriage, and his company all neatly orchestrated by the man who knew him better than anyone.

For the first time in years, Egon wasn’t sure he would come out on top.