The first ray of Mumbai sun slipped through the cracked window blind and painted a thin gold line across Ishaan's floor mattress.
He opened his eyes at 5:17 AM, exactly like every day. No alarm. Just habit.
He folded the mattress neat as a soldier's bed, rolled it into the corner, and started the routine.
First, house chores.
He filled the steel bucket from the common tap before the building woke up and fought for water. Swept the tiny 2BHK with the old jhadoo, wiped the kitchen counter till it gleamed, soaked last night's steel plates in Surf water. Quiet. Efficient. No sound to wake Ari.
Then exercise.
500 push-ups on the living room floor—down, up, down, up—faster than the fan blades spun, knuckles barely kissing the tiles each time.
300 squats in one fluid burst, thighs burning like engines, not a single pause.
Plank for fifteen full minutes, body a steel rod, breath steady, sweat rolling but never breaking his form.
All done in under 30 minutes, heart rate calm as a monk's.
Meditation next.
He sat cross-legged on the balcony mat, facing the sea link still asleep under smog. Eyes closed. Breath in four counts, hold four, out four. The green Seiko on his wrist ticked like a calm heartbeat. Three minutes flat—mind empty, uncles erased, eviction notices dust. Just the rhythm of now.
Kitchen.
He lit the small gas burner, put water for tea, cracked two eggs into the tawa, toasted four slices of Britannia bread. Masala omelette for Ari, plain for him. Chai with extra elaichi because she liked the smell.
Ari stirred at 6:45.
She padded to the bathroom in her night kurta, toothbrush already in mouth. Ishaan heard the tap run, the splash of face wash, the soft hum of her morning song—some old Lata tune she never finished.
She came out at 7:05, hair tied in a wet bun, wearing the new white silk shirt and charcoal pencil skirt from yesterday. Ari: "Smells like elaichi heaven. You woke up at five again?"
Ishaan (flipping the omelette) "Yup. Routine is routine."
Ari sat at the tiny dining table "One day I'll beat you. Wake up at five-sixteen."
Ishaan slid her plate "Dream on, Senior Project Manager."
They ate in comfortable silence.
Ari dipped bread into the yellow omelette, sipped chai.
Ari: "I have to reach office by 8:30. Sneha messaged—some site visit paperwork before the Worli meeting."
Ishaan: "Bullet's ready. We leave in ten."
They locked the door at 7:25.
Lajja was still snoring behind her curtain. Misahay had just woken up. Perfect.
Bullet roared to life.
Ari climbed on, arms around his waist—lighter than yesterday, but steady.
They zipped through empty morning roads, sea breeze slapping their faces.
Legacy Construction porch. 8:12 AM.
Ishaan killed the engine.
Ari hopped off, adjusted her new black tote.
Ishaan: "Flat hunting today with Ravi. Santacruz East. I'll send photos, videos. Kitchen, balcony, light—everything."
Ari nodded, eyes serious, "Send the moment you see one. If the balcony makes me smile, pay the deposit. No second thoughts."
Ishaan: "Done. Go own that tower."
Ari with a quick smile, jogged inside, "Call me at lunch!"
Bullet growled toward Dharavi.
Ravi was waiting on the terrace steps, helmet in hand, two steel tumblers of filter coffee balanced on the parapet.
Ravi: "Punctual as death. Coffee first, flats second."
Ishaan took one tumbler, sipped. Strong. Perfect.
Ishaan: "Registrar office first. Basu Bhai called. 10 AM sharp. Uncles, Ma, Niti—everyone."
Ravi eyebrows up, "The big signature day? Let's roll."
They reached the old Bandra registrar office at 9:48.
The building smelled of ink, old files, and government chai.
Basu Bhai stood under the banyan tree outside, white kurta crisp. Fifty men lounged discreetly across the street—his silent army.
Basu Bhai spotted the Bullet, broke into a grin, arms wide.
Basu Bhai: "Boss! You made it. Come, come."
He pulled Ishaan into a quick bear hug, thumped Ravi's back.
Basu-Bhai in a low voice, "Everything ready. Affidavit drafted by my lawyer. Twenty percent share—full transfer to Madhura ben's name. Uncles sign they have zero claim. All old loans from Rajesh bhai's side—marked paid in full. Registrar is my cousin's friend. Stamp paper original. No loopholes."
Ishaan nodding, "Perfect. Ma and Niti?"
Basu Bhai: "Called them myself. They're on the way. Auto from Mahim."
A rickety auto pulled up at 9:55.
Madhura stepped out first, simple cotton saree, eyes red from crying or hope—Ishaan couldn't tell.
Niti behind her, Collage bag swapped for a small purse, looking tiny and brave.
Basu Bhai transformed.
He folded his hands in namaste, bowed slightly.
Basu Bhai: "Madhura ben! Niti beti! Welcome, welcome. I am Basu. Your husband Rajesh bhai was one of my closest friend baack in the day. He helped me when the banks froze my accounts. Today I repay that debt. Ishaan is like my own son. Whatever I do, it's for Rajesh bhai's family. Nothing else."
Madhura's eyes filled. She touched his feet lightly.
Madhura: "Basu ji… Rajesh never told me about you. But if you say he was your friend… thank you. Thank you for giving me back what is mine."
Niti whispers, "Thank you, uncle."
Basu Bhai waving off his hand, "Arre, no feet touching. Come inside. Chai, biscuits, everything."
They walked in.
The registrar's clerk led them to a small room with a wooden table, stamp pads, and a ceiling fan that creaked like an old man.
Basu Bhai asked the clerk, "Affidavit ready? Witnesses?"
Clerk: "Yes, sir. Two government witnesses. Uncles not here yet?"
Basu Bhai, "They will come.before 11, don't work i have there neck in my hand, Haha….
Ishaan pulled a chair for Madhura.
Ishaan: "Ma, sit. Read every line. If anything feels wrong, we stop."
Madhura took the file, hands shaking, "Twenty percent… 2 restaurants, four shops, the factory… all in my name?"
Basu Bhai: "All yours. Uncles sign they gave loans to you—total 8 crore over years. Marked repaid today. No future claim. Niti's education fund separate if you want."
Niti eyes wide, "Really?"
Ishaan: "Really."
The clock ticked to 10:15.
No uncles.
Basu Bhai's phone buzzed. He stepped out, came back smiling.
Basu Bhai: "Aarush called. Traffic. But they will come..
Madhura (voice small): "i thought they woulden't?"
Basu Bhai: " They do not have enough guts for that."
Ishaan's jaw tightened.
Ishaan: "Let them come. Today ends their game."
The fan creaked.
Chai arrived in steel glasses.
Madhura sipped, eyes on the affidavit like it was gold.
Niti whispered to Ishaan.
Niti: "Bhai… is this real? Ma will be safe?"
Ishaan: "Safer than ever. Promise."
10:45. Still no uncles. Basu Bhai checked his watch, grinned at Ishaan.
Basu Bhai: "Clock's ticking. Their graves are digging themselves." Outside, the banyan leaves rustled.
Inside, the room smelled of ink, hope, and fresh stamp pads. Madhura held the pen, ready.
Niti squeezed her hand. Ishaan stood behind them, green Seiko catching the light. Ravi leaned against the wall, arms folded, silent smile. The registrar cleared his throat.
Registrar: "Five minutes to eleven. Last call for signatories."