‎

"Sir, your schedule for today-"
‎My personal assistant, Mr. Raghav Mishra, began listing out my meetings for today.
‎
‎I nodded while reading the files, preparing to head into a meeting when my phone started buzzing. The screen flashed Mom.
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‎I answered, "Haan Maa."

(Yes mom)
‎
‎"Arsh, come home early today. I need to talk to you about something important."
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‎"Alright, I'll be there."
‎
‎I hung up and walked into the conference room.
‎
‎My days are usually swallowed whole by work, office, calls, meetings, emails. That's all my life has been lately. And if there's one thing my family seems more focused on than my work, it's my wedding. Honestly, they're more invested in getting me married than I am in closing any million-dollar deal.
‎
‎I'm not against marriage, but I can't love anyone.

People say a marriage without love is pointless. Maybe they're right. I've grown up watching my parents, my choti maa and chote papa-both couples with a bond so strong it almost feels unshakable. I've seen the quiet affection in their every glance, the comfort they share without needing words.

But me? I've never even had a crush. So love... it's just far from me. That's why I stay away. I can't risk ruining my life or another person's life just because she married me. If I can't love her the way she deserves, her dreams and happiness would wither and I can't be the reason for that.

Yes, I am mafia. But I'm also human. I'm not heartless enough to destroy an innocent life for my own convenience or in the name of tradition. So whenever this topic comes up, I keep pushing it further away-not because I'm scared of commitment, but because I'm scared of breaking someone who did nothing to deserve it.

Yes I am a sinner, a murderer but only for the ones who deserve it.

‎After a string of back-to-back meetings, I finally returned to my cabin.
‎
‎Barely a minute passed before two very familiar voices barged in.
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‎Both of them took the seats across from me like they owned the place.
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‎"Well, Malhotra baby, what's up?" Pratham teased with a smug grin.
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‎"Shut up, Pratham," I muttered, flinging a file at him half-seriously.
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‎"Oh, getting angry already? Must be because the girl who's gonna call you 'baby' is coming soon!" Samarth added with a laugh.
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‎I raised a brow at them, unamused.
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‎"Oh, so you don't know, Mr. Malhotra?" Samarth smirked. "That urgent summons from your mom? She and the family have found the one for you, a beautiful, sweet girl. That's what the meeting at home is about."
‎
‎"Yeah, we even saw a picture of our future bhabhi" Pratham chimed in. "She's gorgeous bro"
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‎I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temple. "Are you two done?"
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‎"Not really. We're just getting started" Pratham chuckled.
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‎I shot him a glare.
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‎"Relax, man! She's going to be our bhabhi after all" he said, dramatically patting my shoulder.

Samarth is a well-known artist. Since childhood, he's been passionate about sketching and painting . Over the years, he's turned that passion into his career. Today, each of his paintings are worth millions, each one carrying a piece of his soul.

Pratham is one of the top criminal lawyers in the country, running his own law firm. He started with nothing-no money, no contacts-but through sheer determination and hard work, he's built everything he has today.

Their lives haven't been easy, every success they own has come after countless struggles.

The three of us first met in second class, and since then, we've been together through everything. To me, they're no less than my own brothers. The three of us are the pillars of our empire in the underworld.

‎They continued to run their mouths for the next thirty minutes over pointless conversations. I ignored them and focused on my laptop, hoping they'd get bored and leave.
‎
‎By 5 PM, we were all wrapping up for the day. Samarth and Pratham headed back to their own work while I left for home.
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‎I was checking emails in the car when the driver slammed the brakes suddenly.
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‎"What happened?" I asked, frowning.
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‎"Sir, a girl suddenly walked right in front of the car" he stammered nervously.
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‎I stepped out, irritated and there she was. Standing just inches away from the bumper.
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‎I stormed toward her, furious.
‎"Are you blind? Or do you have a death wish?"
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‎She spun around to face me, equally angry.
‎"Why are you yelling? It was your fault! Who drives like a maniac on a road like this?"
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‎She had the audacity to snap at me, when it was clearly her fault.
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‎I scoffed. "That's how you drive. But I didn't know pedestrians now prefer roads over sidewalks."
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‎She looked around. Her expression faltered just a bit, like she'd realized she was wrong. But of course, she didn't admit it.
‎Instead, she called me uncle.
‎Uncle?! Seriously?
‎
‎Do I look like an uncle to her?
‎
‎I'm just twenty seven, for God's sake.
Maybe she really is blind.

‎Grumbling, I walked back to the car and slid into my seat, muttering under my breath.
‎That girl had completely ruined my mood.
‎
‎When I reached home, the entire clan was already gathered in the living room. Dadu, Mom, Dad, Chachu, Chachi, Parth, Aarushi and Darsh. The room was buzzing with chatter and laughter... until they saw me walk in.
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‎Then? Pin-drop silence.
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‎Everyone froze.
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‎I walked in casually and sat down on the edge of the couch. No one said a word. They were just... looking at me. Eyes darting around like a silent code was being exchanged.
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‎Dad signaled Mom.
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‎Mom nodded at Chachu.
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‎Chachu glanced at Chachi.
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‎Chachi tilted her head at Parth.
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‎Parth raised his eyebrows at Aarushi.
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‎Aarushi threw a look at Darsh.
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‎Darsh blinked dramatically at Dadu.
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‎Everyone looked at me. Then Dadu. Then back at me. Then Dadu again.
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‎I was about to lose it.
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‎Dadu finally opened his mouth. "Beta, so tomorrow-"
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‎"Yes, Dadu?" I said, though I already knew what this was about.
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‎Nobody spoke. For two full minutes.
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‎I sighed, growing impatient. "Can someone please say something?"
‎
‎Dadu suddenly blurted it all in one breath
‎"Hamne tumhare liye ek ladki pasand ki hai"

(We've chosen a girl for you)
‎
‎I blinked. "Yeah, I know."
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‎"What? How?" Mom asked, stunned.
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‎"Aapke un do bandaro ne bataya" I said, rolling up my sleeves.

(Those two monkeys of yours told me)
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‎"Oh beta, listen" Dadu began dramatically "Its your right age to get married-"
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‎"What? I'm just twenty seven Dadu" I said slightly annoyed.

Why’s everyone acting like I’ve suddenly turned into a senior citizen overnight?

‎“No, no, we just mean it’s time,” he tried to explain, his voice soft yet insistent. “You should get married, Arsh. And look at me, I’m not getting any younger either. All I want is to see you settled. Who knows how many more days I even have left in this world…”

Dadu’s voice cracked deliberately, the weight of his words sinking into the room like a shadow.

I moved closer, my chest tightening with guilt and knelt in front of him. “Dadu, don’t say that. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

A faint smile touched his lips as his weathered hand came to rest on my head, his touch radiating a love that felt both protective and fragile.

“I can’t stay with you forever, beta” he murmured, his eyes glistening with quiet resolve. “Please… fulfill this one wish of mine. I’ve seen that girl myself and she’s wonderful. I know she’s right for you.”

His gaze softened further, almost pleading. “If you don’t like her, you can refuse. We won’t force you” Dadu added gently. “All I ask is you to meet her once.”
‎
‎I paused, letting it sink in.
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‎Then I finally said, "Alright, Dadu. If you really think she's the one, then it's a yes from me."
‎
‎The room exploded in happiness. Everyone got up, hugging each other like we'd just won the family lottery. I chuckled at the sight and made my way to my room to freshen up.
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‎My family is full of clowns to be honest but they are my everything.
‎
‎

‎The moment Arsh left the room, Dadu clapped his hands together and turned to everyone with a grin.
‎"So Malhotras, how was my performance?"
‎
‎Everyone stared.
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‎"That was acting?" Darsh gasped. "For two minutes, I was genuinely emotional!"
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‎"Same" Aarushi added "I almost cried, Dadu! You had us all fooled!"
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‎Parth shook his head "Dadu's been hiding this inner Bollywood actor from us all these years."
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‎"But whatever happens," Chachu said, suddenly serious "no one will tell Arsh anything. Especially not before the wedding."
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‎Everyone nodded in agreement, sealing their little family secret with mischief in their eyes.
‎
‎

‎I went to my room, freshened up and settled on the couch with my laptop. I tried to focus on work, scrolling through emails, reviewing reports... but my mind kept circling back to one thought.
‎
‎I had said yes to the marriage.

My family really thinks I'm so naive that I can't see through their little tricks.
Please... after living in this house with them for twenty-seven years, I can tell exactly who's truly emotional and who's just playing the good old emotional-blackmail card.

And my grandfather-oh, he's the greatest of them all. Every now and then, the Rajesh Khanna in him comes out in full glory. He once dreamed of becoming a Bollywood actor, but back in his time, our family's situation wasn't good enough to support it, so he had to let that dream go. It's something he's shared only with me.

‎But was that the right thing to do?
‎
‎Would it be fair to that girl?
‎
Would it be fair to me?

‎I mean... I don't think I can ever love her.
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‎When we will meet tomorrow, maybe I'll talk to her about it. Be honest and who knows, maybe she'll back out herself. It will be good for both of us.
‎
‎The clock struck 9 while I was still glued to my screen. I finally decided to head downstairs.
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‎As I entered the dining area, maa called out "Come here, beta. Dinner is ready."
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‎I joined everyone at the table. It felt strange. Usually, I come home late, either having dinner at the office or skipping it. Sitting with the family like this? Rare.
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‎Everyone was chatting over dinner, the conversation flowing with ease.
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‎"Arsh" my father said mid-meal, "Her name is Mira Sharma. I've sent her photo to you. Have a look when you get time."
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‎I didn't say anything for a moment. Just nodded quietly and focused on my food, letting them continue their discussions about my marriage.
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‎We finished dinner, shared a few more words and then everyone slowly retreated to their rooms for the night.
‎
‎So did I.
‎
‎But something about the name Mira Sharma lingered in the air like a whisper I couldn't quite shake.
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‎I was just about to sleep when Mishra's call lit up my screen. I picked it up and his voice came sharp and urgent.
‎"Sir, we've caught Vikram. He's the one who leaked the Singhania's file to our rivals. In fact... he works for them. He joined our company on their orders."
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‎"That bastard..." I growled, cutting the call and without another word.
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‎I grabbed my car keys and headed straight toward the basement of the old house, the one we used only for one purpose. Torture.
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‎It took me fifteen minutes to get there. Mishra gave me a slight bow as I stepped out of the car. I didn't respond. I walked straight inside and there he was, Vikram, chained up, bloodied, bruised. A few guards were already beating him, but they stopped the moment they saw me enter.
‎
"S-sir, please... let me g-go..." he whimpered, the words fractured, his breath rattling with panic. His eyes darted towards me, searching for mercy in a man who had none left to give.

I leaned closer, my hand fisting in his hair, yanking his head back until his neck strained. His fear reeked, clinging to the air like the stench of sweat and blood. "What else did you leak apart from the Singhania's file?" I asked, my voice stripped of all warmth.

"N-nothing... sir... I swear... that's all I gave them..." His lips quivered as he pleaded, his tears streaking down dirt-stained cheeks.

I studied him for a moment, searching his face, looking for the smallest flicker of a lie. There was none-or perhaps I was too numb to care anymore. Slowly, I released my grip, my fingers loosening as if discarding trash.

"Free him" I ordered.

The guards hesitated, their silence heavy with unspoken questions but they obeyed. Vikram collapsed to his knees, then struggled to his feet, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

"You have one minute," I said flatly, my voice eerily calm. "Get out. Before I change my mind."

Hope surged in his movements, pathetic and desperate. He stumbled toward the door, each step scraping across the floor as if dragging his sins with him. His hand stretched toward the handle, trembling with the promise of survival.

I raised my gun.

The moment stretched. I could almost hear his heart pounding, the rapid rhythm of prey sensing death's shadow. In that second, I felt nothing-no rage, no sorrow. Just a hollow clarity. Betrayal is a disease.

He was just about to escape-

BOOM!

The gunshot split the silence. His body jerked once, then crumpled in a graceless heap. The room went still, except for the echo of the shot ringing in my head.

Arsh Malhotra neither forget nor forgives betrayal.

I signaled my guards to take care of his body.

When I reached home at 2 AM, the weight of the night clung to me. I stood under the shower, letting the water wash away the blood, but no amount of heat could strip the coldness from my bones. I stared at my own reflection in the fogged mirror, at the eyes that no longer recognized themselves.

Then I slipped into bed, pulled the sheets over me, and closed my eyes. To the world, I was just another man ending another day. I closed my eyes and exhaled, as though nothing had ever happened.