Mumbai mornings just hit different—you wake up already sweating, air so thick it feels like you're swimming through your shirt, and the city? Yeah, even the sky looks sick of it, all gray and sulking over the towers and half-finished buildings. It's not even 9 a.m. and Arjun's on his old, squeaky cycle, dodging potholes and stray dogs, legs just doing their thing while his head bounces from one worry to the next. Seriously, he's got so much spinning in his brain it's a miracle he doesn't crash into somebody's chai stall.
See, the System—his secret weapon, or maybe a curse depending on the day—lit up the inside of his mind like a midnight rave. All those little ways Khanna skimmed off the top? Arjun couldn't ignore them anymore. You know how once you see behind the curtain you can't go back? That's him now. Khanna, for all his barking and cheap cologne, suddenly seemed smaller. Not gone—definitely not—but like a movie villain past his best scene.
But let's be real: you don't poke around a guy like Khanna and expect no blowback. Arjun gets it—a rat in a trap always goes for the jugular. Gotta keep it chill, keep his head down, or risk getting tossed out so fast he'll be lucky if he lands on his own two feet.
At the hub, man, the scene could've been ripped from any day this year: busted fans, walls stained with oil, guys lugging boxes with the haunted eyes of folks who haven't slept properly since the monsoon started. Khanna's voice? Instantly recognizable, echoing with all the subtlety of a foghorn.
"Mehra!" he shouts, practically flinging a clipboard like a frisbee. Some managers give pep talks—Khanna gives ulcers.
Bandra route, today. "Don't screw up," he adds, like it's Arjun's personal mantra or something. Like he ever gets a thank-you for the stuff that doesn't explode.
Arjun, cool as a cucumber, flicks his eyes over the paperwork. And boom—System lights up. Three big, slapping inconsistencies. Weight's double what it says on the form (like, come on, at least try). Address doesn't match the code—every courier knows, that's trouble. He scans the contents: electronics hidden among all-purpose "miscellaneous." Seriously, who wraps up brand-new headphones with sacks of onions?
He keeps his poker face, shrugs. "Okay, sir." Inside though, gears are turning. Instead of booking it straight to his route, he casually hangs back, shifts some boxes around with Rajesh from the next shift, who looks like he could use a nap. Arjun palms one of Khanna's 'special deliveries,' labels it in his mind. Not stealing, not yet. Just…quality control, let's say.
The Bandra run? Oof. Nightmare. Buses stopped in the middle of the road, every car honking like their life depends on it, an uncle arguing with a rickshaw walla over five rupees. Arjun's almost more worried about the traffic than about Khanna's wrath—almost.
Can't help thinking about Riya, his sister, who'd give him an earful if she even guessed what he was up to. "You'll get yourself killed. Leave it alone," she'd say. But, hey, sometimes survival isn't enough—you've gotta push for something better, right? As long as guys like Khanna are calling the shots, he's stuck.
By midday, only one box left to deliver—the 'special' one. The System whispers: this one's meant to vanish, fake signatures, addresses that don't exist, poof. But today? Nah. Not feeling it.
He bikes straight to the legit branch office, hands it over like it's no big deal, and the clerk barely looks up from her crossword. Blink and you'd miss it—a tiny rebellion, but for Arjun it's huge.
The System pings:
"Irregularity found. Package logged officially.
Khanna's minus ₹18,000. Leverage up."
His whole chest clenches and he honest-to-god grins a little. It actually worked.
Rolling back into the hub, Arjun walks like nothing's up—but who's there, waiting in the sticky shade? Khanna. Dude looks like somebody turned up his 'sinister' dial and then spilled curry on his shirt for good measure.
"Mehra," he snaps, always up in your face, breath like last week's paan. "Package missing from Bandra. Where?"
Arjun lets his face go all innocent, shrugs. "Sir, I followed your manifest to the letter. All signed and received at the branch, check the book."
Khanna freezes. For like, a second, he's rattled. "Don't get smart," he snips, "I'll be watching."
Normally, Arjun would shrink, but not today. He holds the stare, even lets himself smirk a little. "Sure thing, sir. Always."
Barely a ripple for anyone else. For Arjun though, it's seismic. Khanna knows something slipped. The balance of fear is tilting, just a smidge.
Back home, Arjun's wiped—physically, he could sleep standing up, but inside he's buzzing. His mother is snoring gently, Riya's still out. He sits and touches the System's jade chip, rolling it between tired fingers like a worry stone.
"System," he mutters, "did I just jump off a cliff?"
System's voice is all calm, like a teacher who knows you cheated but isn't mad—just disappointed.
"You've changed your standing. Danger: moderate. Suggest gathering more leverage."
Which is a fancy way of saying, "Dude, be careful, and maybe don't poke the bear too hard."
Maybe a little fear finds its way in, but so does something else. You know that feeling when you win your first round of cricket against a kid who always bowls bouncers? That. Arjun's finally played a card. The city hasn't changed, but the game has.
Yeah, the risks are real. Probably dumb, even. But surviving isn't enough if you spend your whole life ducking. For once, Arjun nudged the world—and it actually moved. Just a little, but hey, that's how all good stories start, isn't it?