Hello, my lovely readers and here goes the first chapter not only of this book but of my writing journey too!!❤️
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"Oye ladki, uth gayi ya main aake khinch ke uthaun?" (Hey girl, are you up or should I drag you out myself?)
Chetna Ma'am's voice slices through my dream, sharper than the edge of a broken bottle.
My eyes sting as I open them. It hasn't even been an hour since I closed them. In the past two days, I've barely slept four hours in total. My body feels heavy, my mind foggy.
She's standing at the doorway, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed.
"Don't you think you're sleeping too much these days, huh? Digvijaya is right—tum toh bas bojh ho." (You're nothing but a burden.)
Her words are bitter, laced with a venom I've grown used to.
"We give you shelter, clothes, food... and this is how you repay us?"
I don't answer. I've learned silence is safer. But her version of "shelter" is a small bedspread in the storeroom, squeezed between dusty boxes and a leaking wall. Her "clothes" are the ones so torn they can't be stitched anymore. And her "food"? Let's just say hunger and I are old friends.
But... maybe she's right. Maybe I am a burden.
"Kabhi kabhi sach ka bojh jhooth se zyada bhaari hota hai." (Sometimes the weight of truth is heavier than a lie.)
Her voice drags me back. "Today we're going out." She says it casually, like it's just another errand.
But I know what "we" means—Sir, Chetna Ma'am, and their oh-so-perfect son, Neil Sir. And if they're going out, that means...
"Yes, yes, we're going to drop you at the warehouse."
She doesn't even let me finish the thought before confirming my dread.
"You'll stay there overnight. We'll come back tomorrow morning."
The words roll off her tongue like it's the most normal thing in the world. For her, maybe it is.
This has happened too many times. Whenever they have to go somewhere and can't be "bothered" with me, they dump me in that old abandoned warehouse deep inside a forest. No neighbors, no stray animals, no one. Just walls that smell of dampness and dust, and a floor so cold it seeps into my bones.
Sometimes they forget I'm even there. Hours turn into half a day, half a day into a full one. No one comes. My only company—a thin shawl and a steel pot of water that tastes of rust.
I swallow. "Please Ma'am, just leave me here in the house. Main shant se rahungi." (I'll stay quiet.)
Her eyes harden. "I said no. Ab neeche aao. Dus minute mein nikalna hai." (Now come down. We're leaving in ten minutes.)
Her tone is final, cold. I bite back the urge to say more, because with her, arguments are battles you lose before they start.
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An hour later, I'm here.
In this strange, eerie place people call a warehouse, though it feels more like a cage.
I sit in the corner, knees to my chest. My fingers trace the cracks in the wall, each one a different shape, a different story. I close my eyes and try to imagine my parents.
What would my life be if they were here? Would Mamma get mad when my imaginary siblings and I fought, then make us laugh again? Would Papa hold me during my nightmares, telling me everything would be okay?
But another thought creeps in, like poison in water.
What if I'm unlovable?
What if I was never meant to have a family?
What if they... even if they were alive... wouldn't have wanted me?
Tears burn my eyes before I can stop them.
"Mamma... maine aisa kya galat kiya?" (Mamma... what wrong did I do?)
The words escape like a prayer.
I remember what she used to say when I was very little—"I love you more than the stars love the night sky." I believed her. I still want to.
So why am I here, alone in this rotting building, waiting for people who don't care if I breathe or not?
I want a family.
Not the kind that pretends in front of the world and throws you away in the dark. But the kind that stays. That listens. That holds your hand even when it's shaking.
Because only a family can:
Sit with you through your storms.
Heal the wounds you can't show.
Fight for you when you're too tired to fight yourself.
And they do it out of love. Not pity. Not duty. Not some signed contract.
But then I think does it even exist for people like me ? ORPHANS?
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A gust of wind rattles the locked windows. I shiver and pull the shawl tighter. Somewhere in the forest, a branch cracks—too loud, too close. I freeze, listening.
"Bas hawa hogi..." (It must be just the wind...) I whisper to myself, though I'm not convinced.
The night deepens, and with it, the weight in my chest. I start humming softly—
"Zindagi ka matlab shayad yeh hi hai... kisi ka intezaar karte rehna." (Maybe this is the meaning of life... to keep waiting for someone.)
The tune is broken, my voice shaky, but it's better than the silence that presses against my ears.
Somewhere between the fear, the memories, and the exhaustion, my eyes grow heavy. I curl up on the cold floor, clutching the shawl like it's an embrace.
Before I drift off, one last thought brushes my mind—
If there's someone out there meant to find me... I hope they come soon
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Darkness.
It's not the soft kind you can rest in — this one has weight, pressing into my chest, making every breath feel like a stolen thing.
I hear a faint tapping, like rain on glass. But there is no rain. There is no glass.
"Karti..."
The voice is quiet, almost kind — until it sharpens into Chetna Ma'am's tone, slicing like broken glass.
"Uth ja! Tum din bhar bas sote rehna seekhi ho?" (Get up! Have you only learned to sleep all day?)
I flinch, though she isn't here. Or maybe she is. In dreams, people don't need doors to enter.
The darkness cracks open, spilling light, and I'm in that storeroom again — my 'room'. Four walls smelling of damp and mothballs, a thin bedspread that barely hides the hard floor. I try to pull the sheet tighter, but my fingers pass through it, like it's smoke.
Chetna's voice grows louder, echoing in every corner. "Khati hai, peeti hai, aur deti kya hai badle mein? Sirf bojh." (You eat, you drink, and what do you give in return? Only burden.)
Burden. That word is heavier than the darkness.
I blink, and I'm not in the storeroom anymore. I'm smaller now, my legs thin, my feet bare. The air smells of frying pakoras — Ma's cooking. My heart leaps. I follow the smell into a sunlit kitchen. She's there — my mother — hair tied loosely, her sari pallu tucked in at the waist. She's humming.
"Maa..." My voice is small, trembling. She turns, and her face lights up like the first day of summer.
But before I can run to her, the kitchen window shatters. The light drains away. She freezes mid-smile, her eyes going glassy. The air turns cold. And then — she's gone. Only her sari pallu flutters in the wind before dissolving into ash.
I scream and the scene changes.
Now I'm in the warehouse. The floor is damp under my bare feet, the smell of rust and dust filling my lungs. I know this place too well. A thin shawl lies crumpled in the corner — the one they always left me with when they locked me here.
I hear the door slam shut from the outside. Footsteps walking away. And then silence.
"Please... mujhe yahan mat chhodo..." (Please... don't leave me here...) I whisper, but the walls swallow my words whole.
Time moves differently here. Hours stretch like years. Hunger gnaws at me until even pain feels dull. I curl into myself, trying to keep warm, but the cold creeps in through every crack.
Somewhere in the distance, laughter. Not mine. Not anyone who loves me.
Suddenly, the warehouse wall melts away, and I'm standing in the forest outside. It's night. The trees are bent low, their branches like fingers reaching for me. My feet sink into the damp soil.
Ahead, I see my father. He's standing still, waiting. Relief hits me like rain after drought. I run, calling out, "Papa!"
He opens his arms. But when I'm close enough to touch him, his face flickers — and it's not Papa anymore. It's Neil Sir, smirking. His voice drips with mockery. "Kya socha tha? Koi tumhe le jaayega?" (What did you think? Someone would come take you away?)
I stumble back, but he grabs my wrist, his fingers digging deep, holding me in place. The harder I pull, the deeper his grip burns.
And then he shoves me.
I fall — but instead of hitting the ground, I land in the storeroom again. Only this time, it's flooding. Water rises fast, cold and relentless. I try to swim, but my limbs feel heavy, like someone's tied weights to them.
"Mama!" My voice cracks. "Please... mujhe yahan se le jao!" (Please... take me from here!)
For a moment, I hear her voice again. Gentle. Loving. "Main yahin hoon, beta." (I'm right here, child.)
The water stops rising.
I turn, searching for her — and see her standing in the doorway, hand outstretched. My chest aches with relief. I move toward her, wading through the freezing water.
But when I take her hand... it turns to bone. Her skin melts away, her grip tightening like a vice. Her voice twists into Chetna's sneer. "Pyaar? Tumhare liye? Tum toh sirf kaam ki ho, samjhi?" (Love? For you? You're only good for work, understand?)
The water turns black. I'm sinking.
No one comes.
My lungs burn. My hands claw at nothing. My vision narrows until there's only a pinprick of light above me. Somewhere far away, I hear my own voice — small, broken — whispering, "Bas ek parivaar chahiye tha..." (I only ever wanted a family...)
I see a shadow kneeling beside me.
Not Mama. Not Chetna Ma'am.
Someone else.
He's saying something, but I can't hear. My heartbeat is too loud. The fear spikes so hard I can't tell where I am anymore.
My mouth opens.
And the scream tears through my throat — raw, burning, a sound I barely recognize as mine. My chest aches from the force, my lungs straining until I can't even breathe.
But then — through the roar in my head, through the ringing in my ears — a voice slips in.
Low. Steady. Warm.
"Shhh... bas... main hoon." (Shhh... enough... I'm here.)
It's... different. It doesn't crash into me like other voices have. It doesn't cut, or threaten, or mock. It sinks in. Soft. Certain. Solid. Like it knows how to find the cracks in me and fill them without forcing.
I've never heard this voice before, and yet... my mind — so ready to fight, to flinch, to hide — pauses. My heartbeat stutters, then slows, as if it's listening too.
"Sab theek hai... main yahin hoon." (Everything's okay... I'm right here.)
The words wrap around me, not like chains but like a blanket. Not trapping me, but keeping the cold away. I don't know why I believe them. I don't believe anyone. And yet...
The black edges of the nightmare tremble, thinning. My hands stop clawing at the air. The burning in my lungs eases, and for the first time in what feels like hours, I take in a breath that doesn't hurt.
When my eyes blink open, the world is dim, not dark. I'm not on the cold floor. There's heat — not the suffocating kind, but a steady, human warmth pressed all around me.
Strong arms. Solid. Unyielding. But they're not holding me down — they're holding me up, holding me together. My cheek rests against something firm and warm, and it takes me a second to realize it's a chest. I can hear the steady thump of a heartbeat under my ear.
It's not fast. It's not angry. It's... calm. Unshakable.
My fingers twitch, then curl into the fabric of a shirt I don't recognize. The cotton is soft, faintly smelling of something earthy — maybe sandalwood, maybe just... him.
I don't think. I don't question. My body moves before my mind can catch up, clutching tighter, burying my face deeper into that warmth. My breath comes in tiny, shaky bursts, but the arms around me tighten just enough to say I've got you.
The last remnants of the nightmare still cling to me, cold and sharp, but they can't quite reach me here. Not while this voice exists. Not while this warmth doesn't flinch away.
A sob slips out. Quiet, broken, but real. I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he exhales slowly, like he's trying to match his breathing to mine, to guide me back without force.
"Theek hai..." (It's okay...) he murmurs, so softly it almost melts into the air.
His hand moves — slow, steady — brushing through my hair with the gentleness of someone who knows how fragile a person can be. Every motion says the same thing: You're safe.
I don't know who he is. I don't know where I am. I don't even know if, when I wake fully, this warmth will stay.
But right now... right now, against every instinct I've built to survive... I believe him.
And I hold on tighter
"What the hell!"
Flashback –
Someone had leaked top-priority information from Rajput Industries — a mistake no one survived. In this empire, nothing was left unnoticed or unpunished... and punishment was always worse than death.
Within an hour, the culprit had been caught and dragged to the basement — the Rajputs' personal hellhole. Waiting for him there were the most feared men in India: Vijay Singh Rajput, head of Rajput Industries, and his eldest son, Virender Singh Rajput — the No.1 name in the underground mafia world.
The moment the door slammed open, the culprit's eyes widened in terror. He started babbling before either man spoke.
The culprit looked up, eyes wide, and started shaking like a leaf in a storm.
"Sir... please forgive me. Sir, I—"
"Don't call me sir," I cut in. My voice wasn't raised, but it was cold enough to make him flinch. "You gave away something that wasn't yours to give."
"It was the Malhotras!" the man blurted out. "They... they asked me to leak it. I just... I just got one lakh for it!"
The name hit harder than I expected. The Malhotras.
For a moment, my anger wasn't for this rat kneeling in front of me—it was for the people whose name had just left his mouth. The Malhotras weren't strangers. They were allies. We had fought beside them, celebrated beside them. And now...?
"Careful," Virendra said, stepping forward, his voice low and sharp. "One more lie, and death will be like the sweet which, you my dear diabetes patient aren't privileged enough to have."
"I'm not lying, sir... please—"
The man whimpered, swearing he was telling the truth. But mercy wasn't in the Rajput dictionary.
Virender glanced at his father, seeing the rage boiling just under the surface.
"Dad... go home. You're not thinking straight."
But I wasn't leaving. I turned sharply.
"Get out. All of you. Now."
Virendra seemed to hesitate, but one sharp look from me and he left muttering something "ab toh bhagwan bhi nahi bacha sakte he isey"
Now it was just me and him.
I stepped closer. He tried to shuffle back, but there was nowhere to go. My fist connected with his ribs, a dull crack following. He coughed, wheezed, tried to speak, but my knuckles silenced him again.
"Where?" I asked. Just one word.
"I—I don't—"
The next punch broke his lip open. Blood dripped onto the concrete.
"Where?" My voice didn't rise, but the weight behind it was crushing.
"Warehouse... in the middle of Ghat forest..." he gasped between breaths. "That's... where... all the ammunition is stored."
I straightened. No more questions.
When I stepped out, Virendra was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes scanned me, reading something in my expression.
"Don't," I said before he could speak. "This is mine to handle."
"You're not thinking clearly," he replied.
"I'm thinking clearer than ever," I shot back. "No one follows me. Dare someone does... and they won't see tomorrow's sun."
He held my gaze for a long moment, then gave a short nod. We both knew the unspoken rule—we never went into a Malhotra problem without backup. But this wasn't business. This was personal.
I grabbed my phone, keys, and my tools—things that didn't belong in polite conversation. A silenced pistol. Two extra mags. A combat knife. And an old silver lighter my father had given me. By the time I reached my car, the night had fully wrapped around the city. Streetlights streaked across the black hood as I drove, every turn pulling me closer to the forest.
The Ghat forest wasn't just trees—it was a labyrinth of dirt tracks, fog, and silence that swallowed sound. Perfect for storing things you didn't want found. Or bodies you didn't want discovered.
Then I came infront of a warehouse, well an abandoned warehouse, chances of the Malhotras being here or using it for something were next to nothing. I thought to leave but something ,some undeniable urge coursed through me, it was as if it wanted me to open the warehouse doors and just look into it . And so I did
The warehouse wasn't mine.
That's what made every single step inside feel wrong — too quiet, too still, too... watchful. The walls were the same industrial grey as the hundreds of other abandoned places I'd seen, but there was something about this one that made my muscles stay tight, like I was expecting an attack from the shadows.
The air was damp, heavy with the smell of old wood, rusted chains, and something faintly sour — like water that had been standing too long. Somewhere in the distance, a drop of water fell, echoing in the silence.
I had no reason to be here except for that undeniable pull.Also I wanted to go straight to that culprit waiting in the basement, hopefully alive, and hit him till he is in no condition to lie.
But I can't let myself think about that right now not here anyway so I shut out that train of thought and look around.My gaze sweeping over the abandoned, and bleak warehouse floors.
And then,
Then I saw her.
Present
"What the hell!"
At first, I thought it was a shadow — curled up on the cold floor, thin frame wrapped in something that barely qualified as a shawl. But then she moved. Not in the way someone shifts in their sleep — no — this was jerky, panicked, almost violent. Her fingers twitched, her lips moved soundlessly, and her breath came too fast.
It hit me like a punch I didn't see coming.
She was... terrified.
And I didn't even know who she was.
A girl — young, fragile-looking, far too delicate to belong in a place like this — in an abandoned warehouse. My first instinct should've been suspicion, caution. That's how it's always been. You see someone where they don't belong, you question, you search, you make sure they aren't a threat. That's the code. That's my life.
But none of that happened.
I'd seen many things in my life — men begging for mercy, enemies breathing their last — but this... this hit different. A strange pull gripped me, like invisible threads wrapping around my chest. For a man like me, feelings were dangerous, costly. Yet here I was, rooted in place, unable to look away from this fragile stranger.
"Kaun hai yeh...?" (Who is she...?) I murmured to myself under my breath.
Her face was half-hidden in the dim light, but I could see the sweat clinging to her forehead, the way her brows knit together, the small tremble in her lips. She made a sound then — soft at first, but it cracked halfway through, turning into something desperate.
It was a sound I knew.
Not exactly the same, but close enough to wake something I thought I'd buried. My late wife had made that sound once — years ago — after a night filled with gunshots and chaos. I'd held her then, her fingers clutching my shirt, and promised her that nothing would touch her as long as I breathed. I had kept that promise... until the day life stole her from me anyway.
And now... here it was again. That same helpless, pleading sound. Only this time, it came from a stranger.
She jerked suddenly, her head thrashing to one side. Her lips moved, and this time I could hear the words.
"Please... please... nahi... mat karo..." (Please... please... no... don't do it...)
The words weren't meant for me, but they cut through me all the same. My hands curled into fists instinctively, my jaw tightening. Who the hell had put that tone of fear in her voice? Who had touched her in a way that left her body remembering it even in sleep?
She turned again, smaller this time, almost curling into herself. Her breath hitched like someone had stolen the air from her lungs.
Something inside me cracked.
I had built my life around walls — thick, impenetrable, cold. Nobody got in. Nobody could. It was the only way to survive in this world. There had been one exception, only one — my wife. She had slipped past every defense without even trying. And when she left, I had sworn never again.
And yet... here I was.
Looking at this girl... and feeling the exact same fracture lines forming in my walls.
"Meri duniya mein jagah sirf ek ke liye thi..." (There was only space for one in my world...) I thought, my gaze locked on her trembling form. "Aur phir bhi... tum... kaun ho tum?" (And yet... you... who are you?)
It didn't make sense. She was nothing to me. I didn't know her name, her story, her sins. For all I knew, she could be trouble. But in that moment, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the way her body shivered as though she was bracing for a blow that wasn't coming.
My chest felt tight. My breath... slower.
For a man like me, emotions are liabilities. But this... this wasn't just emotion. It was something older, deeper, rawer. It was the instinct to protect — the kind that doesn't ask questions first.
And for the first time in years, a thought crossed my mind that terrified me more than any rival gang could.
I want to keep her safe.
Not for a night. Not until I find out who she is. But... always.
The realization made me step back slightly, as if distance could dilute the feeling. But it didn't. It only grew stronger the longer I stood there.
Then, without warning, she cried out again.
"Mat karo! Mamma, please—!" (Don't do it! Mama, please—!)
Her voice cracked on the word Mamma, and it undid me.
I moved before I even realized it, crossing the space between us in a few quick strides. For anyone else, seeing me like this — kneeling beside a stranger, my hands soft instead of cruel — would've been unthinkable.
"Koi nahi hai yahan... shhh..." (There's no one here... shhh...) I said, my voice low, softer than I'd heard it in years. My hand hovered above her shoulder for a moment — hesitant — before I finally let it rest there.
She flinched. Even in her sleep, she pulled away slightly, and the reaction made my stomach twist. How much had she been through to react like this to a touch meant to comfort?
Slowly, I shifted, sliding one arm beneath her head and the other beneath her knees, lifting her off the cold floor. She was lighter than I expected — too light. My shawl slipped slightly as I adjusted her against me, her head falling against my chest.
Her breath was still fast, but I could feel it starting to slow, like her body recognized something it could lean into.
I bent my head slightly, my voice almost a whisper against her hair.
"Ab main hoon yahan... kuch nahi hoga." (I'm here now... nothing will happen.)
I don't know if she heard me. Maybe she did. Maybe it was just the warmth, the steady beat of my heart against her cheek. But gradually, her trembling eased.
And yet... I didn't let go.
My mind was a storm.
How could a girl I'd never met feel like a missing piece I didn't know I was looking for? How could she pull me into her orbit without even opening her eyes?
I didn't have the answers. All I knew was that when her eyelids finally fluttered open, dazed and confused, the first thing she'd see would be me — holding her, refusing to let her fall.
And maybe... maybe that was the start of something neither of us could walk away from.
I never realized when waking up with tears in my eyes became such a habit... until today—when I woke up to soothing words and someone else's arms around me.
It felt... alien. Otherworldly. Wrong for my life, but right for my heart.
I only ever allowed myself to cry in rare, stolen moments—after a nightmare, or late at night when the chores were done and the insults had faded into silence. Alone on that small, thin thing they called a bed, I would let it out. But never in front of them.
I'd learned the hard way that my tears didn't matter to them. Worse—they displeased them. And that meant trouble.
But today... here, in the arms of this tall, six-foot man in a black suit, I think there are exceptions to my rules.
Because right now, all I want to do is hold him tighter and let the dam break.
And I do. Just this once.
Maybe it's because no one has ever held me like this before.
Maybe it's because I've never felt this safe, not even with people I've known for years.
Or maybe it's because of the soft words he keeps whispering.
Maybe it's all of that.
Or maybe... maybe I'm just so damn tired.
Either way, my arms tighten around him—and as if answering my unspoken need, his hold tightens too.
And then I let go.
The tears spill freely, one after another, relentless. Like rain finally breaking from swollen clouds.
"It's okay, meri pari," he murmurs. "They're not here anymore. Focus on me... mere pe dhyan do, okay? Koi aapko chu bhi nahi sakta ab."
His voice is warm, unshakable. Somehow, his words slow my shivering. The voices in my head fade. And for the first time in so long... I feel.
Slowly, my sobs ease. I pull back slightly to look at him—only to find him already looking at me. No... through me.
And in his eyes, I see something that makes my chest ache: deep understanding, quiet care. Not a trace of judgment. No disgust. No anger. Not even pity.
"You know," he says softly, "your eyes... they're just like hers. That deep brown with the faintest touch of warmth."
The statement hits me unexpectedly, but what he says next hits harder. "She's no more."
The sadness in his voice, the way his lips form a melancholy smile... I don't know what makes me say it, but I do.
"You loved her a lot. No—you still do. And I'm sure she loved you just as much."
It's not a question. Just the truth. And he seems to know that too. "And how would you know that, Pari?"
"Because only someone who loves you infinitely will remember your exact eye color... even when it's the most common in the world."
A faint smile touches his lips. "Aren't you a little observant... maybe even a little psychic?" he teases gently.
And despite everything, a small laugh escapes me. He lifts me from his lap, carefully setting me down on the cold warehouse floor.
And the moment my feet touch it... reality comes crashing back. The weight of the situation. The questions I'd forgotten to ask. The panic that's been hiding under the comfort.
Who is he?
Why is he here?
Nobody ever comes here. My body tenses without warning, and he notices.
"Pari... kya hua?" he asks, his tone still gentle.
And then I blurt it all out.
"Who are you?
Why are you even here?
Nobody ever comes here—kya yahi mere saath kuch kharab toh nahi karenge, na?"
He lifts a brow at my panic. "Arre, meri Mumbai local... thodi saans toh le le." He exhales, then adds, "As for who I am... I'm Vijay Rajput. CEO of Rajput Industries." His eyes search mine. "Now... tell me, Pari. Where are your parents? And what are you even doing here?"his tone filled with mock sternness.
And I still.
Vijay's question though asked in mock sternness made Kartiki's eyes widen in panic.
She didn't know as to how or what she should reply.If I tell him the truth, he'll pity me—and then send me to some stupid orphanage or NGO.
Or worse... he might send me back to Chetna ma'am's place.
That place is worse than hell.
If it came to that, I'd gladly go to an orphanage instead. But for some reason, they never allow me to stay there either. And since they have the guardian papers, I can't even fight back.
Kartik's thoughts were tangled. She was still in a dilemma, but one thing was painfully clear to her—she would rather die than take a single step back into that place again.
Over here, Vijay noticed a sudden shift in her demeanor and immediately scolded himself.
How could I ask such a question? No matter how much I want to keep her safe, I'm still a stranger in her eyes. And seeing her like this... she's definitely had a difficult past.
Then, in a calm voice, he said,
"Pari, I'm so sorry for asking you such a question. I really am a fool. We're still only strangers. I understand you can't trust me."
Seeing him apologising to her, Kartiki snapped out of her thoughts, panic clear in her voice.
"Arre nahi, nahi... aap yeh sab kya keh rahe ho? It's my fault. Mujhe maaf kijiye."
(Oh no, no... why are you saying all this? It's my fault. Please forgive me.)
"Bas, bas..." (Enough, enough) Vijay said softly.
"It's fine. Calm down. And why are you apologizing? You didn't do anything. Now leave all this. Will you tell me your name?"
Kartiki hesitated, then replied shyly,
"Kartiki."
Vijay wanted to ask her surname, but instead, he said
"Bada hi pyara naam hai tumhara."
(Your name is very beautiful.)
Love and care were evident in his voice.
Just then, his phone pinged. Vijay quickly took it out, remembering he had put it on silent. The fact that a message came through meant only one thing—it had bypassed silent, airplane, or Do Not Disturb mode. It was a feature reserved for emergencies or highly dangerous situations.
The message read:
Baba, where are you? Are you stuck? Why aren't you picking up the phone? If I don't get a response back in an hour, I'm personally coming to search for you.
Vijay rolled his eyes. God, he's too much.
Baap mein hu, ya woh?? Vijay thought
He quickly replied,
Stop overreacting, Virendra. I'm completely fine and will get back in touch soon. Also, tell my PA to arrange for a jet in Mumbai. I'll be at the airport in an hour.
Then, turning back to the matter at hand, before Vijay could speak, Kartiki said—
"Sir, can you please take me out of here. Just drop me at some street or something but pleases don't lock me hear again. I promise I would never, ever come in your life again just don't let them collect me please" her voice close to begging.
"DON'T.YOU.DARE .REPEAT.THOSE.WORDS.EVER.AGAIN." his voice instantly turning cold.
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So, my beautiful readers, here is the first chapter. done finally.
Guys, this is my first time so please bare with me. I sincerely hope you like it. Do tell me about it ,it would mean the world to me.
I have been a reader like you since a long time and now I am a writer(not very sure but yeah!!). So, I know how frustrating it feels for the votes and comments target but now I know how much it means to the writer.
Guys, this is the only way you can tell us about your love towards the story. and really thats all we ask from you in return of our writing. So, pls complete the vote and comments target.
When completed the next chapter would be immediately posted otherwise I will update it on Sunday.
bye bye till then spread this book and love to everyone.❤️
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