(Speaker: New bug alert. Parents. No code fix available. Godspeed, hero.)
That night, Shubham stared at his phone like it was a bomb. His mother's words looped in his head. "You got married?"
He had survived office meltdowns. He had survived boss meltdowns. He had even survived burning paneer. But this? Family gossip spreading faster than office bugs? This was beyond debugging.
At his rented flat, the smell of paratha still lingered faintly. She sat cross-legged on his thin mattress, knees pulled close, his oversized shirt drowning her small frame. She was scrolling his old, cracked phone — the spare one he'd given her — but her eyes weren't on the screen.
When he walked in, she looked up. "You're late."
"Boss," he muttered. "And… Ma called."
Something flickered across her tired face. "What did she say?"
"That I'm married."
Silence.
Then she laughed — soft, broken, almost bitter. "So fast. One night and the world already rewrote our story."
Shubham rubbed his temples. "My Ma… she's been through enough. My father died when I was ten. Since then, I've been… well, you know. The only one bringing money in. She trusts me. Believes in me. And now this rumor…"
His voice cracked. He hated that.
For a long second, neither spoke. Just the hum of the ceiling fan, the distant honk of Delhi traffic.
(Speaker: Pause. Right here. Notice it? He's not just worried about his Ma. He's protecting this girl too. Our coder is catching feelings, and feelings are messier than untested code.)
The phone buzzed again. Not his this time — hers. She flinched.
The screen flashed a name: Mummy Ji.
Her breath hitched. Fingers trembled. She didn't answer.
Shubham frowned. "You should pick up—"
"No." Her voice was sharp, then softened. "I… I can't. Not yet."
She shoved the phone aside. Tears rimmed her eyes but she blinked them back, hard.
Shubham didn't press. He didn't know the full story yet, but he knew enough: her world had broken before she stepped onto that bridge.
He sat down on the floor beside the bed. Close, but not too close.
"You don't have to tell me," he said quietly. "Not until you want to."
For the first time, she looked at him — really looked. And for a heartbeat, the room didn't feel like a cramped rental anymore. It felt like… safety.
Next morning, the fallout began.
His sister called first. "Bhai! You're married?! Without telling me?!"
Then his uncle from Patna. "Beta, shaadi ka kharcha chhupaya humse?!"
Then his mother again. Not angry, just wounded. "At least send me her photo. The neighbors are laughing at me."
Shubham wanted to crawl into the debug console of life and type exit();.
Meanwhile, she sat quietly at the edge of the bed, clutching the dupatta she had folded the night before. Every ring of his phone was a reminder: her world wasn't silent either. Somewhere out there, her ex-fiancé was living happily with another woman — and her family, her entire dignity, was drowning in whispers.
Two families. Two storms.
And in between, one tiny room.
(Speaker: Ding ding ding. The script has loaded. Both of them are trapped, and whether they like it or not, they're trapped together.)
Cliffhanger → That night, she finally starts speaking. The first fragments of her humiliation, her illness, her truth. And Shubham realizes… this isn't just "a girl he saved." This is the biggest code he'll ever debug.