Evening light filtered through the haze as Raja sat silently on a worn metal bench at Sector 63 Metro Station, just a few blocks away from his workplace. He hadn't moved for hours. The chaos of people boarding and exiting the trains echoed around him, but he felt none of it. Just silence inside. Just weight.
When the last metro to Noida City Center arrived, he finally boarded it—numb, his limbs moving only because they had to. The train's vibrations couldn't shake the heaviness in his chest.
He reached his rented room:
Room 207, Building No. 5, Shiv Vihar Colony, near Sector 112 Drain, Barola Village, Noida – 201301.
Outside the building, the landlord, Mr. Gupta, stood in his undershirt and towel, chewing tobacco. His belly hung over the knot of the towel, his lips red from years of gutkha stains.
Raja (gently): "Hello, uncle."
Gupta (scowling): "Forget hello. Tell me when you'll pay the rent. It's been four damn months!"
Raja: "Uncle... I'll pay it soon. Just a little more time."
Gupta (pointing a tobacco-stained finger): "Every month, the same excuse. If you don't pay this time, I'll make sure you regret it."
He spat to the side and stomped off.
Raja stood there, watching. His stomach growled, his head ached.
Raja (muttering): "Where the hell am I supposed to get money? Rent's due, food's gone, and I have to send something home. Damn it... I still haven't gotten three months' salary. I'll have to go back to that cursed office tomorrow."
---
Next Morning – Mehta & Sons Accounting Pvt. Ltd.
4th Floor, Tower B, Stellar Business Hub, Sector 63, Noida – 201301.
Raja clutched his old torn bag tightly, holding the last thread of hope. He had given everything for this job—late nights, extra hours, whatever was asked of him. All he wanted now was what he'd earned.
He knocked on the HR cabin door.
HR Riya (cold tone): "Yes?"
He stepped in slowly. There she was—Riya—the same woman he once trusted, maybe even more than himself.
Raja (softly): "Ma'am... any update about my salary?"
Riya (shutting her file): "Salary? You've been terminated, Raja. You're not eligible for anything."
Raja (gently): "Ma'am, I worked for three months... did overtime, petty cash, ledgers... everything you asked. Please, that money—my family needs it for medicine, for fees..."
Riya (avoiding eye contact): "You had no contract. No official proof of employment. And frankly, your work had mistakes. The file's closed."
Raja (growing tense): "You know what I did, Riya. That file—your name wasn't on it, but the work was mine."
Riya (sharply): "This is an office, not your emotional battlefield. Don't create a scene."
She pressed a button.
Receptionist (walking in, firm): "Sir, please leave. Final warning."
---
Later that Day – Cyber Café
Raja tried filing a complaint online. Every form asked for documents: contract, appointment letter, salary slips. He had none. His work, his days, his loyalty—all of it existed in silence. Legally, he was invisible.
---
Evening – Outside Mehta & Sons Office, Parking Lot
He waited for one last chance. Mishra Sir—the man who promised him everything and gave him nothing—was heading toward his car.
Raja (restrained anger):
"I just want what's mine. You know what I did. I worked hard."
Mishra (mocking):
"Where's your proof? You got a contract? Appointment letter? Anything? Huh, beggar?"
Raja:
"My work was proof—"
Mishra (shoving him):
"Get lost, loser! Don't waste my time."
That push... it broke something. Not just his balance, but years of bottled-up pain, insults, and humiliation.
Raja snapped.
He grabbed Mishra's collar and punched him square in the face. One... two... three blows—rage overflowing in silence. His fists said what words never could.
Security guards rushed in, pulled him away, and began to beat him down. One guard slammed a knee into his gut, another twisted his arm.
Mishra (furious and shaking):
"You'll pay for this. I swear!"
They dragged Raja out and threw him on the pavement. His shirt was torn, lip bleeding, but his eyes? Empty. Silent.
---
Night – Back at His Room
He limped through dark lanes, past the open drains stinking of rot. No one cared. No one saw him. His room smelled of stale clothes and dead hope.
He dropped onto his broken chair.
Internal Monologue:
"Mom used to say—stay strong, son... everything will be fine.
But Maa... everything's falling apart.
You're far away, the debt is rising, Aliya's school fees are unpaid...
And now the job's gone too."
He wiped blood from his mouth. No tears came. Even they had given up on him.
Raja (silent rage):
"If I had money... if I had power... would I be treated like this?
No. I'll change everything. No more suffering. Never again."
---
Next Morning – Police Raid
BANG!
His door burst open. Two policemen barged in—one sub-inspector and one constable.
Sub-Inspector (gruff):
"Raja Sharma? You're under arrest!"
Raja (startled):
"What? Why? What did I do?"
Constable:
"Fraud, theft, assault. There's an FIR against you."
Raja:
"No, sir! I just asked for my salary—they fired me without any notice. I had no contract..."
Sub-Inspector (slapping him):
"You think we haven't heard that before? Get up. Now."
---
Police Station – Interrogation Room
Hands tied behind his back, Raja sat bruised on a wooden bench. The light flickered above. The stench of dried sweat and cruelty filled the room.
Sub-Inspector:
"Manager Mishra has filed a complaint. Fifty thousand stolen. And you beat him. Want to confess now?"
Raja (defiant):
"What proof do you have? He never paid me! I did everything, and he threw me out like garbage!"
Constable (mocking):
"You have no contract. No proof. You're just another desperate liar."
Raja (gritting his teeth):
"You bastards took his bribe. How much did he pay you?"
SLAP.
Sub-Inspector:
"You lowlifes belong in jail. That's where you'll rot."
They beat him. Again. And again. Wooden batons, boots, fists. His screams echoed, but no one listened. His voice vanished into the concrete walls, like his rights, his dignity... and his freedom.