The restaurant's warm ambiance lingered in the air as Ishaan and Ari stepped out into the crisp night, the Royal Enfield's engine rumbling to life beneath them. The movie had been a thrilling escape—action sequences that mirrored Ishaan's own skills—and the dinner, with its aromatic biryani and tender paneer tikka, had sealed their evening with a sense of unity. Ari's arms wrapped snugly around Ishaan's waist, her laughter from a shared joke during the film still dancing in her voice as they rode home through Mumbai's glittering tapestry of lights. The city buzzed with late-night energy—auto-rickshaws honking, street vendors packing up, and the occasional flash of neon signs reflecting off the wet pavement from an earlier drizzle. Their bond, once a fragile thread of duty, felt stronger now, woven tighter by the day's triumphs.
At the flat, they dismounted with synchronized ease, their footsteps light as they entered the dimly lit living room. Lajja and Misahay were already asleep, the silence a rare reprieve from their usual tension. Ari squeezed Ishaan's hand before heading to their room, her smile a silent promise of more celebrations to come. Ishaan followed, the day's weight settling as he prepared for bed, but his phone buzzed softly on the nightstand just as he lay down. Careful not to wake Ari, he slid out from under the covers, the cool floor tiles sending a shiver up his spine as he moved to the hallway. The screen glowed with a message from Basu Bhai: Boss, things are looking good. Met both your uncles today. Will call tomorrow with more details. Rest easy. Ishaan's pulse quickened, a mix of anticipation and relief flooding him. He typed a brief Thanks, keep me posted and set the phone down, the promise of reclaiming Madhura's business fueling a restless energy as he returned to bed, his mind buzzing with possibilities.
The next morning, broke with a crisp 6:30 AM start, the faint call of a street vendor's horn piercing the quiet. Ishaan rose with the dawn, his routine a comforting anchor—brewing a pot of strong chai, the aroma filling the small kitchen as he chopped onions and tomatoes for a hearty breakfast of aloo parathas and fresh curd. The sizzle of the pan and the rhythmic roll of dough under his hands steadied him, a stark contrast to the chaos of his family's past. Ari joined him shortly, her hair still tousled from sleep, her energy infectious as she took on the task of rousing Lajja and Misahay. "Come on, breakfast and good news await!" she called, her voice carrying a rare cheer through the flat's thin walls.
The dining table soon hosted the family—Lajja with her customary frown etched deep, Misahay rubbing sleep from his eyes with a grunt. Ari set the steaming parathas down, her excitement palpable as she glanced at Ishaan with pride. "I've got news," she announced, her voice cutting through the morning stillness. "Ishaan's got a job! It's not a fixed income, but he'll earn 50,000 to 75,000 a month from now on, doing sales presentations for Mr. Singh's company."
Lajja's expression shifted, a flicker of happiness breaking through her usual disdain, though it quickly morphed into her typical guarded stance. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing on Ishaan. "Well, that's something," she said, her tone laced with skepticism. "But you should submit all that money to me. I manage the finances, and after all the time we've fed you, clothed you, let you live here rent-free, it's your responsibility to hand over every rupee. We deserve it."
Before Ari could leap to his defense, her mouth opening in protest, Ishaan raised a hand, his eyes meeting hers with a silent reassurance—It's okay, as long as they're happy. "Agreed," he said calmly, his voice steady and resolute. Ari's lips parted, ready to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her, a mutual understanding passing between them. She swallowed her objection, her hands clenching briefly under the table, while Lajja nodded, satisfied, a smug smile tugging at her lips. Misahay mumbled a grudging "Good," his attention already drifting to his paratha.
After breakfast, the kitchen filled with the clatter of dishes as Ishaan and Ari cleared the table, the morning light streaming through the window casting soft patterns on the floor. "You didn't have to agree to that," Ari whispered, her voice tinged with concern as she handed him a plate to dry. "They'll just waste it."
"It keeps the peace," Ishaan replied softly, his hands moving with practiced ease. "For now. I'll manage." His gaze held hers, a promise that he'd find a way to protect their future despite Lajja's demands. They finished quickly, the tension easing into a companionable silence, and Ishaan grabbed his helmet. "Let's go," he said, and they headed out, the Royal Enfield's roar a familiar sound as he dropped her at the office. At the gate, Ari lingered, her hand brushing his. "Good luck with everything today," she said, her smile warm. He nodded, watching her disappear into the building before pulling out his phone.
Alone, Ishaan dialed the number from yesterday's call with Basu Bhai, the line connecting after two rings with a crackle. Basu's respectful greeting filled the air. "Boss, good morning. Hope you're well."
"Morning, Basu. Update me," Ishaan said, his tone firm but laced with curiosity, the bike's engine idling beside him.
Basu Bhai's voice carried a note of triumph, rich with satisfaction. "Mission accomplished, Boss. I met both uncles yesterday—Aarush first at his office in the evening, then Divit at his home later. Laid it out clear as day. Told them your late father, Rajesh, was my old friend—rest his soul—and I didn't take kindly to them snatching his business after his death. Gave them a choice: hand it back to your mother, or I ruin their lives with the proof. Aarush's affair photos—caught him red-handed with that clerk Meena, timestamps and all. Divit's son Vivaan's police record, the dashcam video of that reckless crash—they had no leg to stand on. They caved like paper in the rain. They're meeting your mother today at her place, and I'll be there to oversee it. Don't worry, everything's handled properly."
Ishaan's chest tightened with a mix of relief and strategic satisfaction, the image of the uncles' downfall vivid in his mind. "Good. But my name stays out of it. They can't know I'm behind this."
"No problem, Boss," Basu assured, his tone unwavering. "I framed it as my personal vendetta, tied to my friendship with Rajesh. They'll think I'm settling an old score. I'll update you after the meeting—should be done by afternoon." The call ended with a click, leaving Ishaan with a surge of hope and a plan taking shape.
He rode to Ravi's flat, the bike's power mirroring his rising spirits, the wind whipping past as he navigated the morning traffic. Inside, Ravi greeted him with a wide grin, the room alive with the glow of multiple monitors displaying analytics. "Ninja! You're a phenomenon—7,00,000 followers now!" Ravi exclaimed, pulling up charts. "Channel's gone totally viral. Views are past 40 million, engagement's through the roof. Girls are going crazy over your masked look—comments are flooded with 'Who is he?' and 'Marry me, Ninja!' It's wild!"
Ishaan chuckled, the praise a strange but welcome sensation. Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again—Neha's name lighting up the screen. He answered, stepping aside. "Ishaan! The edited pictures went to the company yesterday," Neha's voice bubbled with excitement. "They loved them! You're in their new catalogue. Expect huge billboards with your mask plastered across Mumbai—Andheri, Bandra, maybe even Marine Drive. Next time at the agency, keep the mask on. There's a chance someone here could leak your identity. I need Ravi's number as your manager for future talks—proper channel, you know?"
"Agreed," Ishaan said, relief mixing with pride. "Thanks, Neha." He recited Ravi's number, and they hung up. Turning to Ravi, he relayed the news. "You're my manager now. Next contract under 'Modern Ninja' company."
Ravi fist-pumped, his enthusiasm infectious. "Let's dominate the game! I'll coordinate with Neha—keep your identity locked tight." He scribbled notes, already planning, while Ishaan sat back, the day's victories stacking like bricks in his foundation—Basu's leverage, the sales job, the modeling breakthrough. The flat's clutter faded, replaced by a vision of freedom for Madhura, Niti, and Ari, each success a step closer to breaking the uncles' hold.
Note from Nikhil T.
Dear Readers,
I'm taking a brief hiatus to celebrate the joyous festival of Diwali and enjoy a travel adventure with my family. I'll be away soaking in the festivities and exploring new places, but I'll return on November 1, 2025, recharged and ready to share more stories and insights with you. Thank you for your continued support and understanding during this festive break!
Warmest wishes,
Nikhil T.