Aarya
Midnight in Mumbai wasn't quiet - but her world always was.
The city roared outside the penthouse windows: honking cars, drunken laughter, the occasional siren. But inside, there was only the low hum of jazz, a glass of untouched whiskey, and Aarya Rathore staring at a wall filled with names.
Names she owned.
Names she controlled.
Names she would destroy.
At 25, Aarya had inherited the Rathore Syndicate - one of the most feared underground networks in India. Not through tradition, but through sheer ruthlessness. She didn't blink when pulling a trigger. She didn't speak unless necessary. Emotions were weakness - and she had burned hers years ago.
"Sirf nam le lo," said her right-hand man, Kabir. "Kiska game khatam karna hai?"
Aarya didn't look up. "Game tab khatam hoga jab main chahoon. Not before."
Her voice was smooth but laced with steel. Her beauty was the kind that terrified - sharp, untouchable. No one saw her smile. No one dared to ask why she was like this.
Because the last person who had... never spoke again.
Vivaan
Across the same city, in a small temple courtyard, Vivaan Sharma adjusted his bag and handed a lunchbox to the old priest.
"Aapka vrat ka khana, Pandit ji."
The priest smiled. "Tu kabhi thakta nahi, beta?"
Vivaan only smiled and bowed his head. "Seva thakaan nahin deti."
At 23, Vivaan lived in a rented room behind the temple. He worked as a clerk by day, taught poor kids by evening, and spent nights reading scriptures under the temple tree. People called him 'too pure for this world.' He believed in karma, not shortcuts. Truth, not tricks. Even if it meant struggling every single day.
He had never touched alcohol. Never raised his voice. Never even killed a mosquito without chanting a prayer of apology.
When his friends mocked him for it, he only said, "If I become like the world, who will remind the world what it should be?"
The Collision
It happened at dusk. Mumbai rains poured with their usual drama.
Aarya's car - sleek, armored, and five minutes late for a deal - turned a corner too fast. Vivaan had just stepped out of the temple gate, holding a soaked book over his head, trying to help a street dog across the road.
Tyres screeched.
Vivaan turned. The dog whimpered. The car stopped inches away.
He didn't move.
Aarya stepped out, furious. Rain soaking her coat, hair slicked back, jaw clenched.
"Are you blind?" she snapped.
Vivaan looked up - calm, unmoved, soaked in white kurta and sincerity.
"No. I just didn't want him to die."
She looked at the shivering dog. Then at him.
People moved aside. Her guards waited for orders.
Vivaan... simply walked past her and continued down the road like nothing happened.
She stood frozen.
She was used to fear.
She wasn't used to being dismissed.
That night, Aarya couldn't sleep.
Not because of the deal. Not because of threats.
But because for the first time in years...
Someone had looked into her eyes - and not seen a queen.
Just... a woman.
And that made her feel something she hated more than anything.
Curious.
To be continued.....
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