The door to Ravi's flat clicked shut behind Ishaan, the echo of their plans lingering like a spark. He mounted the Royal Enfield, the engine growling to life as he rode toward Ari's office, Mumbai's streets alive with evening bustle. The channel—Modern Ninja—was already paying off: 2-3 lakhs a week from views and ads, a steady stream to rebuild lives. And Basu Bhai's loyalty? A whole underworld network at his command, ready to reclaim what the uncles stole from Madhura. It's falling into place, Ishaan thought, a rare ease settling in his chest. Mom and Niti safe, Ari's standing rising—step by step.
He pulled up at the gate just as Ari emerged, her bag slung over her shoulder, a tired smile breaking when she saw him. "Right on time," she said, climbing on. "Rough day—meetings all afternoon."
"Mine wasn't," Ishaan replied, glancing back as she settled. They rode off, the wind whipping past.
Ari's arms tightened around his waist, her chin near his shoulder. "You're in a really good mood. What's up?"
Ishaan chuckled, the sound genuine. "Got a call from Niti yesterday—my sister. Talked to Mom too. She was as cold as always, but… we spoke longer than usual. Felt good, you know? Like a start."
Ari squeezed his side. "That's huge. I'm happy for you." A pause, then, "Hey, stop near that pani puri stall up ahead—I'm craving some. And I know you like it too."
Ishaan eased the bike to the curb, killing the engine. "Twist my arm," he said, smirking as they dismounted. The vendor, a wiry man with a steaming pot, grinned. "Two plates?" Ari asked.
"Make it spicy," Ishaan added.
They stood side by side, the tangy bursts of puri filling the air as the vendor stuffed them with chickpeas, potatoes, and chutney. Ari popped one in, eyes watering. "Perfect. So, wild day at work—did you hear about that video trending? Right in front of our building!"
Ishaan took a bite, the flavors exploding. "What video?"
"A man beat up a bunch of goons—like, twelve of them! All over in seconds. It's everywhere on YouTube—people calling him a hero. Crazy, right? Happened yesterday afternoon."
Ishaan chewed thoughtfully, masking a smile. "Yeah, crazy. Mumbai's full of surprises."
Ari laughed, offering him another. "True. Eat up—this one's extra tangy."
They savored the moment, chatting lightly about her day, the video's buzz, until the plates emptied. "Ready?" Ishaan asked, wiping his hands.
"Always," Ari said, climbing back on. The bike roared to life, carrying them homeward, the streetlights flickering on as dusk fell.
The Royal Enfield's engine cut off with a final sigh as Ishaan and Ari pulled up to the flat, the pani puri's tangy aftertaste still lingering on their tongues. Ari hopped off, stretching. "That hit the spot," she said, smiling. "Thanks for indulging me."
"Anytime," Ishaan replied, wheeling the bike into its spot. But as they climbed the stairs, Lajja's voice pierced the air from the doorway, sharp as a knife. "Finally back! Where were you two gallivanting? And look at that bike—still parading it like you own something!"
Ari sighed, exchanging a glance with Ishaan. "We just grabbed a snack, Mom. What's wrong?"
Lajja stepped forward, arms crossed, her eyes locked on the gleaming Continental GT. "What's wrong? Your father's been eyeing that bike since you brought it home. He told me—he needs it for the farm. It's only fair you swap. Let him use the good one; you take his old scooter. Simple."
Misahay hovered behind her, nodding eagerly but avoiding Ishaan's gaze. "Yes, beta," he mumbled. "It'll suit me better for the long rides."
Ari's smile vanished. "No, Mom. It's Ishaan's friend's bike—he can't just swap. If the friend sees it gone, he'll take it back."
Lajja's face twisted into a scowl. "Friend's bike? Ha! More excuses. Because of him, we lost everything—our house, our car, our status! And now he can't even do this much? All he's ever done is eat for free, live for free, leech off us! How dare he cling to a bike while your father suffers?"
Ishaan stood silent, his jaw set, but Ari's eyes flashed with fury. "That's enough, Mom! Ishaan works harder than anyone—cooks, cleans, drives me everywhere. He's not a leech; he's family! If you hate him so much, fine—maybe we should leave. Ishaan and I can find our own place. No more burden on you."
The words hung like a bomb, Lajja's eyes widening in shock. Misahay sputtered, "Ari, don't say that…"
But Lajja's face crumpled, tears springing instantly—real or not, they flowed like a dam breaking. "Leave? After everything I've done for you? Raised you, sacrificed for you? And now you'd abandon me for him? Your own mother, crying here, begging—and you'd walk away? What kind of daughter are you? Your grandmother, would roll in her grave seeing this ingratitude!"
Ari faltered, her anger cracking under the onslaught. "Mom, I didn't mean—"
"You did!" Lajja wailed, clutching her chest dramatically. "All I ask is one small thing—for your father's comfort—and you threaten to leave? With my only daughter gone, what will I do? Die alone, that's what! Is that what you want? Blood on your hands?"
Misahay nodded weakly, playing his part. "Think of us, beta. We're family…"
Ari's shoulders slumped, the emotional tide overwhelming her. "I… I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean it like that." She glanced at Ishaan, guilt in her eyes. "We'll… figure something out. Okay?"
Lajja wiped her tears, sniffing triumphantly. "That's my girl. Now, about the bike…"
Ishaan placed a hand on Ari's arm, his voice low. "Not tonight. We'll talk tomorrow." His tone brooked no argument, and even Lajja paused, sensing the steel beneath his calm.
The air thick with unresolved storm, they retreated to the bedroom. Ari sank onto the bed, head in hands. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "She always does this…"
"It's okay," Ishaan said, sitting beside her. "We'll handle it. Sleep now."
As the lights dimmed, the flat fell quiet, but the rift lingered—a crack in their fragile peace.