By day four in Mumbai, Devanshi had learned three important things.
One: local trains were designed by enemies of humanity.
Two: people in Mumbai walked unnecessarily fast.
And three: living independently was a scam.
A complete scam.
“How do people do this every day?” she complained dramatically while sitting on the kitchen counter eating cereal directly from the box.
Nobody answered because nobody cared.
Very rude city.
Her laptop sat open in front of her displaying rejection email number twelve.
Unfortunately, becoming a fashion journalist required things like:
experience
skill
effort
All deeply inconvenient requirements.
Devanshi groaned loudly before falling backward onto the couch.
“This is discrimination against naturally talented people.”
A voice came from the balcony.
“You have no experience.”
She sat up immediately.
“Oh my God do you just appear when I complain?”
Rey stood there calmly holding coffee again because apparently this man functioned entirely on caffeine and intimidation.
“I heard shouting.”
“I was emotionally expressing myself.”
“You were yelling at an email.”
“The email started it.”
He stepped inside this time after knocking once.
Progress.
Or invasion.
Hard to tell.
Devanshi eyed him suspiciously.
“You know normal neighbors usually borrow sugar.”
“You don’t cook.”
“That was unnecessarily personal.”
Rey placed a file on the table.
She frowned.
“What’s that?”
“You wanted work.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“You got me a job?”
“Interview.”
Devanshi grabbed the file instantly.
Veloura Magazine.
Junior assistant opening.
Fashion department.
Mumbai branch.
Her jaw dropped.
“This is real?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Connections.”
That single word again.
Connections.
Rich dangerous people loved that word too much.
Still—
this was exactly the kind of opportunity she needed.
Excitement flashed across her face before suspicion returned immediately.
“Wait.”
Rey looked at her calmly.
“You barely know me.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you helping me?”
A dangerous silence settled between them for half a second.
Then he answered smoothly.
“You’re loud enough that unemployment affects both apartments.”
Devanshi gasped dramatically.
“Wow. Evil.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Barely.”
She looked through the documents again.
Interview tomorrow.
Her stomach flipped instantly.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“I have to act professional.”
“That explains the fear.”
She threw a cushion at him.
He caught it without effort.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
“You know,” she muttered, “normal people struggle before success. Meanwhile I apparently have a mysterious Batman businessman arranging interviews.”
“You compare me to fictional vigilantes often.”
“You act like one.”
Silence.
Then—
“You trust people too quickly.”
The sudden seriousness in his tone caught her off guard.
“What?”
His eyes stayed on her carefully now.
“Not everyone who helps you has good intentions.”
Something about the sentence felt heavier than it should’ve.
Like he was warning her about something specific.
Or someone specific.
Devanshi tilted her head slightly.
“You say weirdly intense things for a man who owns seven black shirts.”
“I own more.”
“That’s honestly worse.”
A phone rang from his pocket.
He checked it once.
Ignored it.
Two seconds later another message came.
Then another.
Devanshi noticed the irritation flash briefly across his face.
“Work emergency?”
“No.”
“You looked annoyed.”
“I’m always annoyed.”
“True.”
That one earned her another tiny invisible almost-smile.
God.
These microscopic expressions were becoming achievements now.
Soon she’d be celebrating eye contact.
Humiliating.
Rey’s phone buzzed again.
This time he answered.
“What?”
A loud voice instantly exploded through the speaker.
“YOU IGNORED TWELVE CALLS!”
Devanshi nearly choked trying not to laugh.
“Lower your voice, Shaurya.”
“Father’s losing his mind. Do you know what uncle Raisinghani threatened this morning?”
Devanshi froze instantly.
Rey noticed.
Too late.
“…What?” she asked quietly.
His gaze shifted toward her for one second before he turned away slightly.
“Handle it,” he told whoever was on the phone.
“Reyansh—”
The call disconnected.
The room suddenly felt different.
Heavier.
Devanshi slowly stood.
“You know my father?”
Wrong question.
She saw it immediately in the way his jaw tightened slightly.
“A lot of people know your father,” he answered calmly.
Too calm.
Suspicious calm.
Her instincts sharpened instantly.
Who was this man?
Really?
Before she could ask another question—
the apartment lights went out.
Complete darkness.
Silence.
Then Devanshi screamed.
“Oh my God.”
“It’s a power cut.”
“I know that but emotionally I hate it.”
A sigh came from somewhere near her.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m surviving.”
“You’re panicking.”
“Same thing.”
Lightning flashed outside the massive windows.
And then thunder cracked loudly across the sky.
Devanshi jumped instantly.
“…I hate thunderstorms.”
For the first time, Rey’s expression softened properly.
Very slightly.
But enough.
“You’re scared of thunder?”
“I’m not scared,” she defended immediately. “I just strongly disagree with it.”
Another thunderclap echoed.
She moved closer to him automatically.
Then realized it.
Then got offended at herself.
“No this is embarrassing.”
“You walked into a table yesterday.”
“That was different.”
“You apologized to the table.”
“It was partially my fault.”
The lights still hadn’t returned.
Rain started pouring heavily outside now.
Mumbai storms were dramatic for absolutely no reason.
Devanshi crossed her arms tightly.
For a second she looked younger.
Less sarcastic.
Less guarded.
Just tired.
Rey noticed immediately.
“Come,” he said quietly.
She blinked.
“What?”
“My side has backup power.”
Of course it did.
Because apparently this man was secretly Bruce Wayne.
She followed him reluctantly through the connected balcony into his side of the apartment.
And immediately froze.
His apartment was…
cold.
Not temperature-wise.
Emotionally.
Minimal furniture.
Dark colors.
Perfect organization.
No photos.
No personal mess.
Nothing warm.
It looked expensive and lonely at the same time.
Devanshi looked around carefully.
“You live like a divorced billionaire.”
He removed his watch calmly.
“You criticize everything.”
“There’s not even one plant here.”
“I travel often.”
“There’s not even a bad decoration choice. That’s terrifying.”
Rey silently handed her a towel for the rainwater in her hair.
The small action caught her off guard more than it should have.
Care from him always arrived quietly.
Without performance.
Without softness in words.
Only actions.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Thunder echoed again outside.
Devanshi sat carefully on the couch.
“You know…” she muttered quietly, “this is the first storm I’ve spent without my family.”
The words slipped out accidentally.
A rare silence followed.
Then Rey sat across from her.
Not too close.
Not distant either.
Balanced.
Controlled.
“What was she like?” he asked unexpectedly.
Devanshi looked up sharply.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
Nobody asked her that anymore.
People avoided the topic carefully like grief was contagious.
“She was…” Devanshi smiled faintly despite herself. “Loud. Dramatic. Beautiful. She used to dance in the kitchen at two in the morning.”
Something unreadable crossed his face.
“You miss her.”
The sentence wasn’t a question.
Devanshi looked down.
“Every day.”
And for the first time since arriving in Mumbai—
the loneliness inside her didn’t feel completely unbearable anymore.
one day this story will be everywhere. people will talk about it, quote it, wish they found it sooner. but right now? it’s still ours. you can either wait till it blows up— or be one of the few who built it with me. if this story means something to you, don’t just read it. support it. because early supporters aren’t forgotten.
Write a comment ...