When Aryan left Kavya's flat, she remained seated on the same sofa where he had been sitting for quite a long time, lost in deep thought. Her mind was completely occupied by Aryan's words. She knew that if someone else possessed even a fraction of Aryan's power, that person would probably try to control the entire world—and if destroying it became necessary to achieve that control, he wouldn't hesitate for a second. Yet Aryan had done nothing of that sort.
Kavya didn't know whether there were others like Aryan in this world, but she was sure that if Aryan ever wanted to dominate even just India, no one could stop him. That thought troubled her. *Why wasn't Aryan misusing his power?* she wondered again and again.
The first time Kavya had seen Aryan in the CCTV footage—slaughtering Dashrath and his men—she had thought of him as a dangerous person who abused his strength. But now that she knew *why* Aryan had killed them, her perception had changed completely. She realized he had acted in self-defense, and there was nothing wrong in protecting one's own life.
Another thought crossed her mind—if a man as powerful as Aryan had truly wanted to possess her, he could have easily done so using his strength. Yet he hadn't forced her beyond that one impulsive act. This realization softened something inside her. The faint spark of sympathy she had once felt toward Aryan began to grow stronger.
In truth, Aryan's kiss had deepened that spark—but Kavya had no idea that this, too, was part of a mysterious technique created by Paras. Paras had given Aryan a unique ability: if Aryan kissed a girl three times, she would begin to like him; after six kisses, she would start showing genuine affection; and after ten kisses, she would never be able to let him go, no matter what happened.
Kavya, of course, knew nothing about this hidden trick. Lost in her thoughts, she kept wondering about Aryan's intentions, and finally decided—*she would give him a chance.* After all, her feelings toward Aryan had already turned surprisingly positive.
As she prepared to go to bed, a sudden thought struck her. When Aryan had vanished from her flat, a message had arrived on her phone at the same moment. She immediately picked up her mobile and opened the message.
The message had been sent by Aryan himself. It contained details about his private Boeing 747 jet and the airstrip where it would be landing. Along with the message, Aryan had attached several pictures of the lavish interior of his aircraft, clearly meant to impress and convince her to travel with him to Mumbai. And it worked.
By then, Kavya had already decided to give Aryan a chance—and now, after seeing the luxurious interior of his private jet, she felt a spark of excitement. She had always dreamed of sitting in such an aircraft at least once in her life, and now the opportunity had come from the very man she was beginning to feel drawn to. How could she refuse?
Smiling to herself, Kavya replied to Aryan's message with a single emoji—a clear sign of confirmation.
At that exact moment, when Aryan reached home, a faint notification sound echoed inside his mind. Aryan, who was equipped with advanced neural technology, instantly opened the message mentally. The moment he saw what it contained, he couldn't hold back his excitement. After all, the princess of his dreams—his first *official* girlfriend—had agreed to join him on his private jet. Aryan considered this his *first date* and promised himself that he would give Kavya every comfort imaginable during the flight—things she might never have even dreamed of.
Satisfied with that thought, Aryan went to bed and soon drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
The next morning, Aryan slept far longer than usual. His eyes didn't open until Rohan Khanna arrived at his house. Seeing Aryan still fast asleep, Rohan shook his head helplessly. Although Aryan was far more powerful than him, the truth remained—he was still under eighteen. A bit of childishness was only natural.
To wake him, Rohan immediately called Aryan's phone. Inside Aryan's mind, the ringtone began to echo like a bell. Startled, Aryan sat up abruptly. A holographic screen appeared in front of his eyes, showing the caller's name. At first, Aryan was irritated at being disturbed from such a deep sleep and was about to teach the caller a lesson—but when he saw the name on the display, all his anger vanished instantly.
With a simple wave of his hand, Aryan accepted the call and asked calmly, "Rohan, what's the matter? Why did you wake me up so early?"
Outside, Rohan watched Aryan through the window. Aryan was making gestures in the air as if swiping at something invisible, but Rohan didn't find it strange—he was used to it by now. He knew Aryan didn't use a normal mobile phone. Instead, he controlled everything using some kind of advanced technology.
In truth, Aryan's parents had implanted a hyper-advanced neural chip inside his brain before leaving Planet Earth. The chip, operated by his AI system *Paras*, functioned as a mental communication device—far beyond any technology known to modern civilization.
Rohan had once asked Aryan's family butler about this mysterious technology. The previous butler, who had served Aryan's father, had told him that such questions were better left unasked. Even his predecessor had said the same—that this technology had existed in the Rathore family for countless generations, passed down like a sacred secret.
Coming back to the present, Rohan replied respectfully, "Young Master, it's already eight in the morning. We need to reach the airstrip within the next three hours, since your Boeing 747 is scheduled to take off by then."
Hearing this, Aryan nodded. He got out of bed, walked into the bathroom, and began to get ready. A short while later, he was dressed and prepared to leave. When he stepped out of his room and saw Rohan still waiting outside, he realized his mistake—he had forgotten to let him in. Aryan quickly opened the door, invited Rohan inside, and resumed his preparations.
Since he was about to leave this city forever, Aryan took one last look around his home—the house he had lived in for fifteen years. For a few moments, he simply stood there, gazing at the memories etched into every corner. Then, with a calm but determined expression, he turned away and left.
Soon, Aryan and Rohan were driving toward the private airstrip specially built for Aryan's aircraft. Aryan could have easily used Jaipur's *Sawai Mansingh International Airport* if he wished—no one on Earth had the authority to stop him—but he deliberately avoided it.
He knew that if even a hint of his presence leaked to the public, his identity would spread like wildfire. Aryan could not allow that to happen. For generations, the Rathore family had followed a strict rule: no member of their bloodline must ever appear before the common people, no matter what the cost.
Though many outsiders considered this rule foolish, those with true wisdom understood its purpose. After all, if the world ever discovered that a single family controlled one-third of the planet's total wealth—and that their lineage included beings beyond normal human comprehension—the resulting chaos could shake the very foundation of human civilization.
And that was something neither Aryan nor his ancestors were willing to risk.
Great ✅ — then I'll keep **all details** from your Hindi text but write them in **polished, WebNovel-style English** so it feels like a professional chapter, not a raw translation.
The attendants will be presented as *elite hostesses/staff personally selected by Aryan's father*, making it classy but still luxurious. The tone will be grand, powerful, and cinematic.
Here's your **translated and refined chapter**:
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### Chapter Title: *Flight of the Young Master*
The private airstrip built for Aryan's Boeing 747 was unlike anything found near a city. It stretched like a hidden oasis in the middle of farmland, surrounded by high security and a towering twenty-meter wall. It lay a full twenty kilometers away from any human settlement — far enough to escape casual eyes, yet still not enough to completely conceal the colossal aircraft waiting there.
But concealment was never Aryan's goal. Power, privilege, and readiness were. At the very least, the hidden runway allowed his personal jet to land and take off without interference.
When Aryan's car rolled through the massive gates and stopped near the aircraft, the sight of his private jet loomed before him like a gleaming monument. The Boeing 747 stood enormous even by normal standards, its polished body reflecting the sun's golden rays. Several people in matching uniforms were stationed nearby, waiting in disciplined silence.
Rohan quickly stepped out first, opening the rear door of the car. Aryan descended with his usual calm confidence. The instant his feet touched the tarmac, one of the men waiting ahead walked briskly toward him, saluted respectfully, and bent slightly at the waist.
"Greetings, Young Master," the man said with deference.
Aryan raised an eyebrow at the formal address but inclined his head in acknowledgment. "And you are…?"
The man straightened and introduced himself. "Young Master, my name is **Giriraj Singhal.** Until recently, I was the chief pilot for one of India's largest aviation companies, commanding their Boeing 747s. Last year, your father offered me a contract of two million U.S. dollars per year to serve exclusively as the captain of your private jet. Standing beside me is Jorawar Singh, my co-pilot."
Giriraj then gestured slightly toward a group of five young women standing a short distance away. "And those ladies, Young Master, have been personally selected to attend to you and ensure your comfort on every journey."
Aryan's gaze flicked toward the group. They appeared to be between nineteen and twenty-one years of age, elegant and poised, dressed like high-class cabin attendants rather than ordinary staff. In truth, Aryan's father had gone out of his way to select them from prestigious backgrounds — former beauty pageant winners, top-tier hospitality graduates — but Aryan had not been informed of this arrangement until now.
Paras, his ever-silent system companion, whispered the details to him instantly, revealing his father's intentions. Aryan understood immediately what was going on, yet his expression remained neutral. He had no interest in indulging distractions. Kavya was his focus. Once he had conquered her heart, then — and only then — would he consider his father's "gifts."
He began walking slowly toward the aircraft, Giriraj falling into step beside him. As they approached the group of attendants, the young women bowed politely, greeting him with grace. Their eyes sparkled with curiosity; after all, the man who could own and operate such a colossal private jet was no ordinary person. Each one, in her own way, tried to impress him with subtle smiles, refined gestures, and perfect posture.
Aryan caught their efforts but responded only with a faint, teasing smile. When he winked at them, their expressions brightened, clearly pleased at even that small acknowledgment.
They reached the base of the stairway attached to the aircraft. Step by step, Aryan ascended the polished stairs and entered his private jet for the first time.
What he saw inside made him pause.
The interior of the Boeing 747 did not resemble an aircraft at all. It looked — no, felt — like a seven-star palace drifting in the sky. Everything gleamed. The floors were polished to a mirror shine, the walls intricately decorated, and the furniture upholstered with the finest materials available. Gold accents caught the light everywhere he turned, not garish but meticulously crafted by master designers. Even Aryan, who rarely showed surprise, was momentarily speechless.
If the wealthiest man on Forbes's list had stepped into this aircraft, he would likely have fainted on the spot.
Rohan joined him, smiling faintly at Aryan's reaction. "Young Master, when your father commissioned this jet, he wanted it to be nothing less than a moving heaven. Perhaps you've forgotten — you hold eighty percent of Boeing's shares. The board was eager to fulfill any order we gave. The company hired the world's best interior designers, sparing no expense. That is why this aircraft outshines even the most luxurious hotels."
He gestured ahead. "Allow me to give you a tour."
They moved forward together, the staff trailing respectfully behind. The first section had ten opulent chairs arranged like a private lounge. "This area is for your staff and personal security," Rohan explained.
They walked on to the next section, where plush sofas and elegant tables created an ambiance similar to an exclusive restaurant. "Here is your private dining area," Rohan continued. "You have access to the world's rarest spirits, and a personal chef will cook anything you desire."
At his signal, a tall man in a crisp white jacket stepped forward. "Greetings, Young Master," he said with a respectful nod. "I am Shubham Mehta. Before joining your service a year ago, I worked as head chef in some of the world's most expensive hotels. I can prepare any cuisine you wish, anywhere you go."
Aryan gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, and they proceeded to the next section — larger and grander than the previous two combined. A majestic king-sized bed dominated the space, accompanied by an entertainment suite, lounge, and other facilities designed purely for comfort and leisure.
Aryan examined everything with quiet curiosity, then sat down briefly on the bed, testing its softness.
At that moment, Captain Giriraj approached with a respectful question. "Young Master, may we prepare the aircraft for take-off?"
Aryan shook his head. "Not yet. Two of my guests are on their way. Once they arrive, we'll depart."
Everyone in the cabin exchanged surprised glances, Rohan included. After a moment's hesitation, Rohan asked carefully, "Forgive me, Young Master, but… who are these guests you're waiting for?"
Aryan's lips curved into a knowing smile. "One is Suryansh. The other is your future young mistress."
The meaning struck Rohan immediately. He understood exactly who Aryan meant. The attendants nearby, however, looked faintly disappointed. Aryan noticed their reaction and, with a flick of his wrist, sent a discreet message to their phones. When they read it, surprise flashed across their faces, then slowly turned into delighted smiles.
Meanwhile, far from the hidden runway, Kavya Vashishth had been preparing since early morning. Dressed impeccably, she set out toward the location Aryan had given her. When she arrived, a security guard stepped forward to stop her. Calmly, she called Aryan — he had shared his private number with her the previous night. Aryan answered at once and instructed the guard to let her through.
Shortly afterward, Suryansh arrived as well.
As Kavya approached the massive aircraft, she stopped in awe. The plane towered above her, far larger and far more expensive than she had imagined. The previous night, Aryan had spoken of his Boeing 747, but she had assumed he was exaggerating. Now, seeing it with her own eyes, she realized he had spoken nothing but the truth.
Moving closer, she saw a young woman — no older than twenty-one or twenty-two — waiting near the entrance. She was strikingly attractive, but Kavya paid little attention to her beauty. The woman stepped forward and bowed politely. "Excuse me, are you Miss Kavya Vashishth?"
"Yes," Kavya replied, nodding.
"Please allow me to take your luggage." The woman lifted Kavya's bag with practiced ease and gestured for her to follow.
Together they entered the aircraft. The moment Kavya stepped inside, she froze. The interior was beyond anything she had ever imagined, more lavish than the documentaries she had once seen about royal planes.
Rohan appeared immediately, greeting her with a courteous smile. "Miss Kavya Vashishth, the Young Master is waiting for you in his private lounge."
He led her through the aircraft's various sections. As she walked past golden fixtures, silk-lined corridors, and crystal chandeliers, her astonishment deepened. Aryan's wealth and influence were no longer rumors or stories; they were tangible, overwhelming realities.
Soon they arrived at Aryan's private lounge. Aryan dismissed Rohan with a glance and rose to greet her, standing tall and calm amid the opulence.
At the same time, Suryansh boarded the aircraft and was directed to his seat. Rohan confirmed to Aryan via phone that all guests were aboard.
Only then did Aryan turn to Captain Giriraj with a simple command: "Take off."
Within minutes, the engines roared to life, and the massive Boeing 747 began its run down the hidden runway. As the plane lifted gracefully into the sky, Aryan cast one last look at the city of Jaipur far below.
"Goodbye," he murmured softly.
Moments later, the city's borders vanished behind him, and the sky opened ahead — endless, vast, and waiting for whatever came next.