The evening had already melted into night when Tara and her best friend finally climbed down from the crowded bus. The long ride had been filled with laughter, gossip, and the sticky warmth of traffic jams. By the time Tara reached her gate, the clock had already crossed 7:00 PM.
The lights inside the Sharma household glowed warmly, but as soon as Tara stepped in, her mother’s sharp voice cut through the air.
“Tara! Do you even know what time it is? College is not an excuse to wander around the city till late! What will people say?”
“Maa, relax!” Tara pouted, dropping her bag onto the chair. “The bus was late, and the traffic was terrible. Ask Aanya she was with me!”
Her mother folded her arms, unconvinced. “Don’t think I don’t see how careless you are. One day, your foolishness will cost you dearly.”
Her father, reading the newspaper at the table, cleared his throat with a small smile. “Bas, bas. Let her breathe. Dinner is ready.”
The smell of buttered rotis and dal wafted in the air. Tara’s little sister Riya was already sitting at the table, poking at the fried okra—Tara’s favorite dish—with a mischievous grin.
“That’s mine!” Tara said, sliding into the chair and pulling the plate closer.
“Not fair! Maa made it for me too!” Riya protested, trying to snatch a piece. The two broke into playful bickering, stealing food from each other’s plates while their mother sighed in defeat and their father chuckled softly.
For a while, laughter filled the house. It was a home woven with simplicity, with love hidden even in scoldings and silly fights.
Later, in their small shared room, Tara and Riya danced to a Bollywood song blaring from Tara’s phone. Their shadows twirled against the faded walls, and their giggles echoed through the narrow space.
“Tara Didi, tomorrow we have maths test!” Anvi whined after they collapsed onto the bed.
“Don’t worry,” Tara teased, ruffling her sister’s hair. “Come here, I’ll teach you. Then you can top the class and make Maa proud.”
For the next hour, the two bent over notebooks, Tara explaining sums in her clumsy, playful way while Anvi struggled to keep up. The night felt endless, innocent, safe.
But when the lights went off and Tara lay staring at the ceiling, sleep didn’t come so easily. Instead, her thoughts returned to the guest lecture that morning.
Arjun Malik.
The name itself carried weight. Billionaire, genius, idol. Yet, when he had stood on stage, his presence had sent a chill through her chest. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, seemed too dangerous for someone the world admired. Tara hugged her pillow, whispering to herself:
“He looked so handsome… but why did I feel scared?”
---~~~~~~~~~~
Far away, in a sprawling glass mansion at the city’s edge, Arjun sat alone in his darkened study. The only light was the orange glow of his cigarette. Smoke curled around him like restless ghosts.
His eyes were distant, lost in a memory he could never shake.
~~~~~
''The sound of a belt cracking.
The sharp sting against his skin.
A little boy’s muffled sobs in the corner of a room.
A shadow looming over him, merciless, breaking not just his body but something inside his soul."
Arjun shut his eyes, his jaw tightening. He took another drag from the cigarette, forcing the memory back into the abyss where it belonged. The world saw a king, a self-made billionaire. They didn’t know about the child who had been beaten, broken, and taught that love was nothing but weakness.
He exhaled slowly, his face expressionless. Somewhere in the city, the world went on laughing, dancing, dreaming. But in Arjun Malik’s mansion, silence reigned—haunted, heavy, endless.
A soft knock broke Arjun’s trance.
“Sir… dinner is ready,” his maid’s trembling voice echoed through the heavy door.
Arjun stubbed out his cigarette and rose. The moment he stepped out, silence spread across the mansion. Guards stiffened, servants lowered their eyes. His presence was enough to freeze every soul in the corridor.
He sat alone at the long dining table. A plate was placed in front of him — boiled vegetables, brown rice, a meal without a drop of oil. Arjun hated food that was rich or greasy. He believed discipline built power, not indulgence.
Fork in hand, he ate silently, his sharp eyes scanning no one in particular. No one dared to breathe too loudly. Within fifteen minutes, the plate was empty. Without a word, Arjun rose, and the staff instantly stepped aside, relief washing over their faces only once he left.
But the night was not done.
As he changed into a dark shirt, his phone buzzed. Kabir’s voice cut through.
“Bhai… problem. That bastard from Mehra Group is playing dirty again. Want us to handle?”
“I’ll handle it myself,” Arjun said flatly.
Minutes later, Arjun was in the backseat of a black SUV, Raghu and Kabir flanking him. The city blurred past, until they reached an abandoned warehouse by the docks. Inside, screams echoed. A corrupt businessman, hands tied, was begging for mercy.
Arjun’s boots clicked against the concrete as he stepped forward.
“You thought betrayal was free?” His voice was low, deadly.
One sharp signal from him, and Raghu’s fist met the man’s ribs. Kabir pressed a knife lightly against his throat, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
Within minutes, the terrified man gave up what Arjun wanted — signatures, documents, control. It was always the same. Fear was a weapon more powerful than money.
“Good,” Arjun said, adjusting his cuffs. “Now, keep your mouth shut… or next time, I won’t be so forgiving.”
The man nodded frantically, trembling like a leaf.
By 2 AM, Arjun was back at his mansion. He stripped off his dirt stained shirt and stepped into the shower. Cold water cascaded down his sculpted frame. His body was hard, disciplined — muscles carved like stone, abs ridged from years of merciless training. Scars ran across his chest and arms, silent reminders of the wars he had fought both outside and inside himself.
He stood there, water dripping off his broad shoulders, his jaw clenched, eyes vacant. To the world, he was untouchable. To himself, he was still a prisoner of memories.
Finally, he collapsed onto the massive bed, sleep claiming him like a thief.
---
The Next Morning
Sunlight filtered into his glass-walled office. Arjun sat behind his mahogany desk, flipping through files. His secretary, Vaibhav, a sharp, loyal man in his twenties, entered with a tablet in hand.
“Sir,” Vaibhav began carefully, “about the internship program — the applications from St. Xavier’s College have arrived. The college is recommending their best students for placements at Malik Enterprises.”
Arjun didn’t look up, but his fingers paused over the file.
“Sort through them. I don’t want mediocrity wasting my time.”
“Yes, sir. But… the college is requesting you to personally review the top candidates.”
Arjun’s expression darkened with thought. He said nothing, only leaned back in his chair, the city skyline reflecting in his cold eyes.
Unknown to him, one of those files would soon hold the name Tara Sharma.
---
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Two worlds apart.
One filled with innocence.The other drenched in scars.And yet, destiny was already drawing the lines that would make their paths cross.
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