The Virar flat's lease signed and the promise of a new beginning secured, Ishaan bid farewell to Niti and Madhura with a nod, their tentative hope lingering in the air. He mounted the Royal Enfield, the engine's roar cutting through the afternoon as he headed toward Ari's office in Mumbai. The ride was smooth, the bike's power a steady companion, and he parked near the gate, leaning against it to wait. The sun dipped lower, casting golden streaks across the pavement, and after a while, Ari emerged, her tired smile brightening at the sight of him.
"Long day?" Ishaan asked as she climbed on, settling behind him.
"Endless meetings," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Let's go home."
The bike purred to life, weaving through the evening traffic. As they rode, Ishaan raised his voice over the wind. "Got news. My friend—Ravi—is thrilled with my work. He introduced me to someone, a potential employer named Simi. Met her today. If it goes well, I'll work in sales, help Ravi part-time, keep using the bike, and even earn some money."
Ari's grip tightened, her voice lifting with excitement. "That's amazing, Ishaan! A job—real income! This calls for a celebration!"
Ishaan chuckled, the sound warm against the cool breeze. "Tomorrow, if possible, I'll pick you up early. We'll go somewhere—dinner, maybe a drive. And by then, I should know if I've got the job."
"Perfect!" Ari said, her enthusiasm infectious. "Let's make it special."
Their spirits high, they detoured to a nearby store, the bike's engine idling as they dismounted. Inside, the aisles buzzed with shoppers, and they filled a basket with necessities—noodles, spices, fresh vegetables like tomatoes and spinach, and a small pack of biscuits for a treat. Ari tossed in a bag of her favorite chips, grinning. "For the celebration mood," she teased. Ishaan paid with cash from his pocket, the transaction a small victory, and they loaded the bags onto the bike, heading home.
The flat greeted them with its usual tension, Lajja and Misahay already seated in the living room, their eyes tracking Ishaan and Ari as they entered. Ari set the groceries on the counter, deliberately avoiding any mention of the job—too new, too fragile to share yet. Lajja, however, seized the moment, her voice sharp as she leaned forward.
"Ishaan, about that bike—" she began, her tone dripping with entitlement.
Ari cut her off, stepping between them, her voice firm. "Mom, stop. Ishaan's been with his friend today—working. The bike's on loan. If his friend doesn't see it, he'll lose it—and the job he's lining up. No more talk about giving it to Dad. That's final."
Lajja's mouth opened, ready to argue, but Ari raised a hand, her eyes blazing. "If you push this, I'll move out with Ishaan. We'll find our own place. Is that what you want? No more of my salary, no more us here?"
Misahay shifted uncomfortably, his weak protest dying under Ari's glare. Lajja's face flushed, her hands clenching into fists, but the threat of losing Ari's lakh-a-month income hit hard. She swallowed her retort, tears welling—not of sorrow, but strategy. "Fine," she muttered, voice tight. "Keep your bike. But don't expect gratitude."
Ari exhaled, relieved but resolute. "Good. That's settled." She turned to Ishaan, who stood quietly, the hurt from past jabs masked by his calm. "Let's unpack," she said softly, leading him to the kitchen.
The groceries found their places—vegetables in the fridge, spices on the shelf—while Lajja and Misahay retreated to their room, the air still charged with unspoken resentment. Ari leaned against the counter, watching Ishaan arrange the noodles. "Sorry about that," she whispered. "They'll never change, but I won't let them take more from you."
Ishaan met her gaze, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. "We'll build our own peace. Tomorrow's the start."
She nodded, the promise of celebration lifting the mood as they finished and headed to bed, the night wrapping around their fragile hope.