📖 Chapter 18 – The Whisper of Betrayal
The station stall was alive with noise, as it always was during the evening rush. Raj stood at the frying pan, the scent of sizzling patties rising into the air, while Arjun handed out plates with practiced ease. Meena worked calmly at the money box, keeping accounts steady despite the endless line. Imran darted back and forth like a whirlwind, cleaning, fetching water, eager to please. Only Rohit seemed out of step. His voice, once booming with confidence, was quieter. His eyes darted nervously whenever Raj glanced his way, and his hands lingered too long in his pockets—as though he were hiding a secret.
Raj noticed, though he said nothing. The system's faint warning—Staff Loyalty Fluctuating—still echoed in his mind. He trusted his people, but he had lived long enough to know that trust could break when tested by greed. And Rohit's pride was a brittle thing.
That night, as the stall closed and the others packed up, Shankar returned, slipping out of the shadows with his serpent's smile. "So, Rohit," he said softly, "have you thought about my offer?"
Rohit's throat tightened. The bundle of notes Shankar had given him still weighed on his conscience. He had not touched it, had not spoken of it, but its presence gnawed at him like a worm in fruit. He remembered Raj's words about family, about loyalty, about rising together—but he also remembered Raj's corrections, the way the others seemed closer to him, the way his own efforts never drew special praise.
"I… I haven't decided," Rohit muttered.
Shankar's eyes glittered. "Decisions shape destiny, boy. Raj's empire may look bright now, but empires burn faster than they rise. Align with me, and I'll make you more than just a worker. You'll command men. You'll have your own stall. Think of the respect. The money. Isn't that what you want?"
Rohit hesitated, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Why me?"
"Because," Shankar whispered, leaning close, "you are the crack in his wall. The one he trusts least, but needs most. Break free, and you'll rise. Stay chained, and you'll remain nothing more than a servant."
The words sank deep, curling around Rohit's pride like a tightening rope. For a moment, he imagined it—his own stall, his own customers, his name on the sign. A life where he wasn't second to anyone. His heart thudded, torn between ambition and loyalty.
Unseen by either of them, Imran had lingered nearby, returning late from an errand. He froze when he overheard Shankar's voice, hidden behind the corner of the wall. His small hands trembled as he clutched the sack of supplies, his eyes wide with fear. He understood little of the politics of men, but he understood one thing clearly: someone was trying to steal Rohit away.
Imran hurried back to the hostel, his mind racing. Should he tell Raj? What if he was wrong? What if it only made things worse? He bit his lip, his loyalty burning in his chest. Raj had saved him from the streets—he could not stand by and let poison creep into the family.
The night passed heavy with tension. Rohit lay awake on his mat, the money still hidden beneath his clothes, Shankar's promises echoing in his ears. Raj slept uneasily, the system's warning flashing faintly in the darkness. And Imran, too young to bear such secrets, resolved that tomorrow, he would speak.
For empires did not fall in a day—but betrayal always began with a whisper.