The air inside the Mahindra Thar thickened as Sham Desai struck a match, the sharp scent of sulfur cutting through the pristine cabin before the first curl of cigarette smoke spiraled upward. The hum of Mumbai's bustling streets—rickshaw horns blaring in a chaotic symphony, vendors calling out with trays of steaming vada pav—faded into a distant murmur as old resentments bubbled to the surface. Sham took a deep drag, his voice rising with a sudden edge. "You always did this, Arjun! Aced every exam, acted all humble, while I scraped by with my second-tier grades. And now this car? Pretending to struggle while hiding all that wealth behind your back?" He exhaled sharply, the smoke clouding the air as he recalled Arjun's academic dominance at Mumbai University, where his First Class degree had outshone Sham's modest credentials. The sting of childhood rivalry flared anew, Sham feeling deceived once more by Arjun's unassuming demeanor that masked his true success.
Sham leaned back, his fingers tapping the armrest as he contrasted his own journey with Arjun's. "Look at me," he said bitterly, "starting with modest salaries, pouring my soul into novel-writing—27 million words, 2 million fans—and you? Back in the day, your tech career was raking in 500,000 rupees a year!" Envy sharpened his tone as he took another puff, the cigarette burning down quickly. "I built my life step by step, brick by brick, and here you waltz in with this flashy Thar like it's nothing!" His frustration reached a crescendo as he stubbed out the cigarette against the ashtray with a forceful jab. "Forget that school gig I offered—you don't need it! I won't help someone who's been faking hardship all along!" The Thar's luxurious interior, a mirror to Sham's perceived inadequacy, seemed to mock him, fueling his heated outburst.
Arjun sat still, his posture relaxed yet resolute, the Midlife Mastery System's gentle guidance anchoring him like a steady hand. "Hold on, Sham ji," he interjected evenly, his voice a calm ripple against Sham's storm. "I picked this up this afternoon—pure chance, a reward from a scratch card I won. The divorce from Meera, the layoffs—they were real, every bit of it. But they don't define who I am now." He met Sham's gaze, explaining with patience, his words carrying weight. Sham's anger faltered, his eyes narrowing as they searched Arjun's face for sincerity, though the hurt and betrayal lingered like a stubborn shadow.
"I won't trust you so easily again," Sham vowed, his voice tight as he flung open the door and stepped out onto the pavement, the cigarette butt discarded with a flick. Yet their shared history—late-night tutoring sessions under flickering bulbs, the thrill of stealing mangoes from Uncle Rao's orchard—hinted at a reconciliation that time might mend. Arjun tolerated the outburst with a quiet resilience, his patience a fragile yet enduring thread holding their bond together. "Take your time, Sham ji," he said softly, sliding into the driver's seat with a measured grace. The Thar's engine purred to life, a low rumble that vibrated through the chassis as he adjusted the mirrors, preparing to leave.