Vinay had invited Manoj for dinner at his house. Recently married and living in a modest but peaceful home. The dinner was simple but comforting, and the atmosphere was filled with warmth. Vinay's wife, cheerful and kind, brought lightness to the evening.
As they finished their meal and cleared the table, she looked at Manoj with a teasing smile. "You know," she said, "it's high time you got married. One day, a beautiful woman will arrive in a long, luxurious car. She'll be the most beautiful girl in the world. She'll walk up to you, and she'll say, 'I love you.' And you better not freeze — you must say, 'I love you too,' alright?"
Vinay chuckled, sipping his water. "Let's be real. First, we're not rich. Second," he pointed at Manoj jokingly, "he's not exactly charming by their standards. And third, he nearly hates rich people. Honestly, I think if someone like that came along, he'd just ignore her."
They all laughed. Manoj smiled faintly, not because he found it funny, but because he didn't want to ruin the moment.
That night, after returning to his own small but well-kept home, Manoj lay down on the thin mattress on the floor. The silence wrapped around him. The smile he had worn during dinner faded into stillness.
Sleep came soon — and so did the dream.
He was standing on the edge of a quiet road. A long, luxurious car approached. It stopped right in front of him. The door opened, and a woman stepped out. She was radiant — elegant, graceful, eyes filled with warmth and pride. She walked up to him, smiled, and said softly, "I love you."
The moment hung in the air.
He opened his mouth, his heart pounding — but before he could speak, the world around him flickered. The warmth vanished.
Suddenly, the dream shifted.
That same car.
Its shine was the same. Its presence, overwhelming. But now it stood at the gate of a dilapidated building — the orphanage where Manoj had once lived.
Children played near the gate, unaware. And then a man stepped out of the car — a rich, suited man with polished shoes. He picked the children one by one, smiling, offering them treats. But Manoj, even as a child, had felt the chill.
The man took them. They never came back.
The scene twisted again. A darker alleyway. A cloth lifted.
He saw them.
The small bodies — hollow, lifeless. Their organs harvested, their eyes empty. It was the price they had paid for being unwanted.
Manoj had been a child. But that night, his childhood died.
He woke up breathless😣 , realising it's a nightmare and slept again .
The next morning , Manoj woke up earlier than usual. The morning felt heavier, as if the air itself bore the weight of unspoken thoughts. He stepped out of his modest apartment, buttoning up his security uniform, and met his colleague, Vinay Kumar, at the usual street corner. Both men, dressed in faded blue security guard outfits, moved briskly through the soft haze of dawn toward the grand glass towers of the corporate world they protected—but never belonged to.
Inside the company premises, employees buzzed about, carrying coffee cups and conversations laced with ambition. As Manoj and Vinay entered the building for their morning duty attendance, the faint aroma of soap lingered around Vinay, distinctly feminine scent. He didn't have the luxury to own perfume, he never thought of it getting recognised . But today, it betrayed him.
A snide voice pierced through the low murmur of chatter. "Where did you get that scent from, Miss Daisy's collection?" The remark came from a clean-shaven young man in a fitted suit, his voice dripping with mockery. Laughter followed. "Next time share it with your husband here!" he added, nodding at Manoj. The others chuckled without remorse.
Vinay clenched his jaw, his pride bruised. But Manoj gently placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, his tone calm. "Let it go," he whispered. "They earn five times what we do. All it takes is one complaint, and we're out the door." He turned back to the men with a plain expression and said, "Sorry. We didn't know."
As they finished reporting presenty and walked away, another voice rang out. "Guess they'll share the same soap after marriage too! Saves money, right?"
"Assuming they even find women who'll marry them!" someone else added.
The group burst into laughter again. Just then, Kiara entered the building, her heels tapping sharply against the marble floor. She heard the tail end of the mockery and she stood at a place - Manoj stoic. She didn't say a word but felt a flicker of discomfort, one she quickly buried beneath the weight of her social standing. To her, they were background noise—unimportant, invisible. Everyone greeted good morning and saw her , even girls used to check out her for her beauty and how she maintains it like mature women.
Kiara had never really looked at faces of the guards, even she didn't recognised many employees by there faces . Every day they greeted her with a polite "Good morning, madam," and every day she replied without sparing them a glance. But that morning, her eyes involuntarily landed on Manoj. Yet Everyone was staring her but Manoj was not actually looking her but head down in respect.
No one till today went unnoticed her so she was surprised to see Manoj and she checked him out in mind- Worn Lacking polish. "No skincare, no grooming," she thought silently. "Absolutely no class."
While Kiara moved through back-to-back meetings and important calls with her PA by her side, Manoj and Vinay resumed their daily grind. Guiding cars in the parking lot, checking IDs, breaking up quarrels between impatient visitors—tasks that went unnoticed but kept the building running. In their idle moments, they laughed about their village days, their dreams of better lives, and the silent wars they had fought to land even this thankless job.
As night fell, their security duty ended. But rest wasn't part of their schedule. That evening, both headed straight to a popular downtown club, working there as temporary bouncers to make ends meet. Across town, Kiara returned home, learning that her brother KD had gone to a birthday party—ironically, at the same club.
Inside the club, neon lights flickered, music thumped, and KD danced with abandon. He was high—on booze, attention, and his girlfriend, Ria. They laughed together, surrounded by their college crowd, unaware of the storm approaching.
The birthday boy, intoxicated beyond sense, crossed a line. He touched Ria inappropriately while dancing, laughing it off as a joke. KD reacted instinctively, pushing him back. But the birthday boy, larger and angrier, retaliated with force. Within seconds, KD was thrown to the floor, breathless and dazed.
Manoj, who had been watching the crowd, rushed in. What he saw enraged him—a man forcing himself on a helpless girl while another lay wounded. He didn't think. He acted. He yanked the aggressor off Ria and punched him until club staff pulled him away. The scene ended with Manoj being fined and fired on the spot. KD, unconscious, never saw his savior.
The next morning, KD woke up groggy and bruised. He remembered the fight but nothing beyond the pain. Ria had left for a trip with her father and couldn't explain properly over the phone. When Kiara called the birthday boy for details, he lied. Smooth and manipulative, he pinned the blame on Manoj. Said it was the guard who attacked them both.
Kiara was livid. She dug into records, found the guard's name: Manoj. Her blood boiled. That man worked at her office. The audacity.
She drove straight to work, fire in her veins. By the time she reached the building, Manoj and Vinay had already submitted their morning report and were preparing for another routine day.
Manoj straightened his collar and greeted her with a low "Good morning, madam."
Without a word, Kiara raised her hand and slapped him. The sound echoed through the reception. Heads turned. Silence. And then, snickers.
Some of the same men who had mocked Vinay whispered among themselves. "Lucky guy. At least he got touched by madam's soft hands."
Another murmured, "I wouldn't mind getting slapped by her either. Damn."
Manoj stood still. His face burned, not from the sting, but from the weight of shame. Kiara's eyes were steel.
"How dare you touch my brother?" she hissed. "Who do you think you are? You have no class. No status. We don't even argue with people like you, let alone let you touch us. You work in my office? I'll make sure that ends today."
Vinay tried to intervene. "Madam, Manoj didn't—"
But Manoj stopped him. Quietly, he pulled Vinay back, whispering, "Let it go. Don't lose your job over me."
Kiara turned away, storming inside. Vinay stared at his friend—silent, humiliated, and broken.
That night, Manoj sat alone in his room. He hadn't felt this defeated in years. His mind wandered to a darker time—when he was just a boy at an orphanage. A rich man had promised them safety, only to sell them into unknown hells. That betrayal, that powerlessness… he had buried it deep. But tonight, it all came flooding back.
Tears welled up as he whispered to himself, "They can erase us in a day… like we never existed."
He cried non stop till he gradually fell asleep .