The Royal Enfield's rumble echoed softly as Ishaan and Ari returned home, the day's triumphs—the reels with Ravi, the bike's admiring glances—still fresh. They stepped into the flat, the air thick with the scent of Lajja's simmering curry, when Ishaan's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen: Niti. His sister called sometimes, but their conversations were always short, filled with polite nothings and awkward pauses. He answered, leaning against the wall. "Niti? Everything okay?"
"Bhaiya..." Her voice came through, small and hesitant, but laced with an edge that made his grip tighten. It wasn't her usual timid chatter—this was different, strained, like she was holding back a storm.
"What's wrong?" Ishaan asked, his tone direct. "You don't sound like yourself."
A pause, then a shaky breath. "I... I just need to see you. Can we meet?"
Ishaan's mind raced, but he kept his voice steady. "Tomorrow. After I drop Ari to the office. Where?"
"A cafe near Dadar station," she whispered. "Please, Bhaiya. It's important."
"Alright. I'll be there." He hung up, staring at the phone. She's hiding something big, he thought, the unease settling in. Niti wasn't one to ask without reason.
The next morning dawned with Ishaan's routine in full swing—up before sunrise, exercises flowing like water, chores handled with his enhanced precision. Breakfast was ready as Ari emerged, her eyes lighting up at the spread. "You spoil me," she said with a smile.
"Get used to it," Ishaan replied, a grin tugging at his lips. He revved the Royal Enfield, and Ari climbed on, the bike carrying them smoothly through Mumbai's waking streets directly to her office gate—no stations, no crowds. "I'll pick you up here as usual," he said, steadying the bike as she dismounted.
"Can't wait," Ari replied, her hand brushing his arm before she headed inside.
Ishaan rode off, pulling out his phone at a signal. First, Ravi. "Hey, won't make it today—family stuff."
Ravi's laugh crackled through. "No sweat, Modern Ninja. Hit me when you're back—we'll check those views."
"Will do." Ishaan hung up, then dialed Niti. "On my way. Cafe in 20—wait for me."
"Okay, Bhaiya," she said, her voice steadier but still edged with fear.
The cafe near Dadar station was a cozy hole-in-the-wall, steam rising from chai kettles amid the clatter of plates. Niti sat in a corner booth, her 17-year-old frame smaller than he remembered, eyes darting like a cornered bird. She stood as he approached, hugging him tightly. "Bhaiya... thank you for coming."
"Sit," Ishaan said, guiding her back down. "Now talk. What's really going on? You sounded scared on the phone."
Niti's hands twisted in her lap, tears brimming. "It's the uncles—Aarush, Divit, Zavian. They've been steadily sabotaging our part of the business. The restaurants we control, the rented shops, the paper bag factory... they've ruined them all on purpose. Bad suppliers, fake complaints—everything. Now, with the pretext that Mom can't handle it alone, they've taken over the earnings. Practically the whole business."
Ishaan leaned forward, his jaw set. "And Mom's letting them?"
"She'd never call you for help," Niti said, her voice cracking. "She's desperate right now, but she forbade me from telling you—or asking for anything. 'He can't do a thing,' she says. 'Let him stay out of it.' But Bhaiya, they're evicting us from the house. We have nothing left."
The words hit like a punch, echoes of his own expulsion from the Ahujas years ago. "I need to talk to her," Ishaan said, his tone unyielding. "Now."
Niti wiped her eyes, nodding. She pulled out her phone, dialing without a hint of his presence. "Mom? Please come to the cafe near Dadar—it's important. I'm with a friend." A pause, her voice pleading. "Yes, now. Just trust me." She hung up, exhaling shakily. "She'll be here soon."
Ishaan squeezed her hand. "We'll fix this. Promise."
Minutes ticked by, the cafe's chatter a distant hum, until Madhura pushed through the door, her face drawn and wary. She scanned the room, spotting Niti, then froze at Ishaan's figure beside her. "You..." she started, her voice flat with surprise.
"Join us, Mom," Niti said softly, gesturing to the empty seat.
Madhura sat rigidly across from them, her fingers drumming the table, eyes fixed on the chipped edge of her coffee cup. The cafe's hum faded into the background as Ishaan leaned forward, his voice calm but insistent. "Niti told me enough. The uncles sabotaging the business, taking over—why didn't you say anything? What's really happening?"
Madhura's lips thinned, her gaze flicking to Niti with a sharp warning. "This isn't your business, Ishaan. Go back to your life."
"It is my business," Ishaan replied evenly, not backing down. "Dad made me promise to look after you and Niti. I intend to keep it—whether you want me to or not."
She scoffed, but the mention of Rajesh cracked her armor, her shoulders slumping. "Fine," she muttered, voice low. "The uncles—Aarush, Divit, Zavian—sabotaged our share from the start. The restaurants we controlled, the rented shops, the paper bag factory... they sent bad suppliers, spread rumors, tanked the reviews. Everything fell apart."
Niti nodded, tears brimming. "They did it on purpose, Mom."
Madhura continued, her words bitter. "Then they 'lent' money to fix it—again and again. Loans with interest I couldn't keep up with. Now, they say I can't pay, so they've taken the businesses for themselves. All your father's hard work—gone. Everything's been stripped away. And now they're evicting us from the house. We have nowhere to go."
Ishaan's fists clenched under the table, but his face remained steady. "Why hide it for two years? Why forbid Niti from telling me?"
Madhura's eyes hardened, resentment flashing. "I never wanted a son. Rajesh did—after the complications, I couldn't have more than Niti. So He adopted you. You were his choice, not mine. I never felt much for you, Ishaan. Never the bond. I don't expect anything from you. Do whatever you want—live your life. We're not your burden."
The words landed like stones, but Ishaan absorbed them without flinching. "Do you have living expenses? Rent? Anything?"
"Nothing," Madhura said flatly, her voice cracking just a fraction. "I'll put up a case in court—might win, might lose—but it takes time. No money for a lawyer, no funds to find a place to live. We're scraping by on scraps. That's it."
Ishaan pulled out his phone, opening his banking app without a word. His fingers moved swiftly, transferring ₹4,00,000—every rupee of his hidden savings—into her account. The notification pinged, and Madhura's phone buzzed. She stared at the screen, eyes widening in shock.
"This is for now," Ishaan said, pocketing his phone. "Find a rented place, get Niti studying. I'll support you both—the responsibility is mine. All of it."
"Bhaiya..." Niti whispered, reaching for his hand.
Madhura shook her head, stunned. "Why? After everything?"
Ishaan met her gaze directly. "Whether you like me or not, whether you care for me or not, I'll fulfill the promise I made to Dad."
The cafe fell silent around them, the weight of his words hanging like a vow etched in stone. Madhura looked away, tears glistening unspoken, as Ishaan stood. "I'll check in soon. Take care of each other."
He walked out, the door chiming behind him, the promise no longer a chain—but a shield he'd wield for them all.