The Royal Enfield's engine purred as Ishaan pulled up outside Ari's office, the late afternoon sun glinting off the chrome. He leaned against the bike, lost in thought—plans for Madhura, Niti, and the uncles' business swirling—when a shadow fell over him. Ari's cousin, Prithvi, swaggered up, his designer shirt straining over his gut, a sneer curling his lips.
"That's new, huh?" Prithvi asked, eyeing the bike. "Where'd you snag it?"
Ishaan kept his tone neutral. "No, my friend lent it to me."
Prithvi scoffed, crossing his arms. "Lent? You should've asked me—I'd have bought you a better one. Why drag our family name down begging friends for scraps? Pathetic."
The words stung, a familiar jab at his roots, but Ishaan stood silent, shoulders squared, refusing to bite. The hurt simmered, but he held it in—until Ari emerged, her sharp gaze cutting through the tension.
"Prithvi, it's none of your business what my husband does or doesn't," she snapped, stepping between them. "Back off."
Prithvi raised his hands, smirking. "Just saying, sis. Don't cry when it backfires." He sauntered off, leaving Ishaan and Ari to mount the bike.
The ride home was quiet, the air thick with the aftermath of last night's fight. Inside, the flat buzzed with unspoken tension—Lajja's glare, Misahay's sullen muttering. Ishaan cooked dinner—dal, rice, and sabzi—his movements precise, the kitchen a refuge. They ate in silence, forks clinking against plates, then retreated to their room.
Ari sank onto the bed, rubbing her temples. "I wish… I wish we could live a peaceful life. Where Mom and Dad behave like normal people—not always fighting, blaming you."
Ishaan sat beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "It'll get better. We'll make it work." His voice was soft, a steady anchor. She leaned into him, and they drifted to sleep, the weight of the day easing into dreams.
The next morning, Ishaan dropped Ari at the office again, the bike roaring through the dawn. Mid-ride, his phone buzzed—Simi. He pulled over, answering. "Ishaan? Can you meet me in an hour at Café Brew in Colaba? I want you to meet my friend—the scout."
Ari, behind him, couldn't catch the words but sensed a woman's voice. She stayed quiet, trusting Ishaan's character. "What's it about?" she asked as he hung up.
"I'll tell you tonight—after it's confirmed or not," he said, squeezing her hand. She nodded, stepping off at the gate.
At Café Brew, Simi waved from a corner table, a girl beside her—strikingly pretty beneath baggy clothes, glasses, and a tight bun under a cap. "Ishaan, this is Neha—scout for top modeling agencies."
Neha studied him, her professional mask hiding excitement. Height, jawline, skin—perfect. He's a goldmine. She adjusted her glasses. "Tell me about yourself. Education, work, skills?"
Ishaan kept it professional. "Dropped out of engineering, worked as a waiter, then floor manager in a restaurant chain. Odd jobs—shops, delivery. Now running a YouTube channel, martial arts—masked stuff."
Neha pulled out her phone, searching "Modern Ninja." Her brows rose at the views—millions—and 3.8 lakh subscribers. "Not showing your face, yet this traction? Impressive. With your looks—height, eyes, that cold intensity—you'd kill it in modeling. Learn walking, poses—I'd train you. You'd be a hit."
Ishaan shifted, uneasy. "I don't want my face out there—modeling or otherwise. Came because Simi insisted."
Neha tapped her chin, thinking. "Unprecedented, but… keep the mask. Use 'Modern Ninja'—leverage your YouTube fame. The mystery will draw fans, boost the channel too. If it works, we continue. I'll pitch it to the agency—your views, my rec, your look. They'll bite."
Ishaan considered—more money meant more for Madhura, Niti, Ari. "If the mask stays, I'm in to try."
Neha beamed internally, exchanging numbers. "I'll call tomorrow after the agency talk."
"Alright," Ishaan said, nodding. He left the café, the bike's rumble.
The Royal Enfield's rumble faded as Ishaan parked outside Ravi's flat, the modeling discussion with Neha still fresh. He stepped inside, finding Ravi hunched over his desk, editing software humming. "Good timing," Ravi said, spinning around. "What's on your mind?"
Ishaan leaned against the wall. "Met a modeling scout—Neha. Wants me to try it, masked as 'Modern Ninja.' Boost the channel, earn more."
Ravi's eyes lit up. "Genius! More cash, channel hype, your fame skyrockets. Perfect synergy." He grinned, pulling up stats. "New reels are killing it—5 lakh subs in five days, millions of views already. At this rate, we're over 30 million total. Link your bank details to the account—I'll set it up. For 10 million views, you're looking at 5-7 lakhs next month, maybe more, pre-tax. End of October? 15-20 lakhs, easy."
Ishaan blinked, stunned. "That much? From reels?"
"Ads, sponsorships—yes!
Ishaan nodded thoughtfully. "You handle editing, uploads, promo—most of the grunt work. This was your idea to begin with.". I'd give you 50%—you're the backbone."
Ravi waved it off. "Didn't start this for cash, but if we're hitting those numbers, I won't say no."
"Then let's do it right," Ishaan said. "Use your account for now. After taxes, split it 50-50—me and you."
Ravi scratched his chin. "Better idea—let's form a small company, 'Modern Ninja.' Open a company account, funnel the YouTube cash there. Same name for the modeling gig—keeps your identity masked. Cleaner, smarter."
"Solid," Ishaan agreed. "You handle the paperwork?"
"On it," Ravi said, already scribbling notes. "We'll register by next week."
Before they could dive deeper, Ishaan's phone buzzed—Niti. "Bhaiya? We're looking for rented flats today. I told Mom the money's from you, so she agreed you should come. If you're free?"
"Happy to," Ishaan said, smiling. "Where?"
"Dadar market area—meet us at 2 PM."
"See you then." He hung up, turning to Ravi. "Family duty calls. Back tomorrow for reels."
"Go sort it, boss!" Ravi called as Ishaan left.
In the afternoon, Ishaan met Niti and Madhura outside a row of modest flats, a broker in tow. The first two were cramped, dingy—barely livable. "These won't do," Ishaan told the broker. "Show us better—20-30 thousand range."
Madhura frowned, crossing her arms. "No need to splurge on rent. Small flats are fine—we can manage."
Ishaan held firm. "You deserve better. Broker, higher-end options."
Madhura's voice sharpened. "Outrageous! That's years of court battles—4 lakhs won't last with rent like that."
Ishaan met her gaze. "I'll pay monthly. One lakh—groceries, rent, extras. No worry."
Her eyes narrowed. "You? A house husband? No job, no work—how? Are you into shady deals?"
"No shady business," Ishaan said, irritation creeping in. Her doubt stung, so he pulled out his phone, opening YouTube. "Look—'Modern Ninja.' I earn legit through this. Secret—don't tell anyone."
Niti peered over, gasping at the views and subs. Madhura scrolled, skepticism fading into reluctant awe. "Legit… this much?" she muttered.
"Yes," Ishaan said. "Enough to support you. Let's find a good flat."
Niti beamed, hugging him. "Bhaiya, you're amazing!"
Madhura nodded slowly, the tension easing. "Alright. But we watch expenses."
"Deal," Ishaan said, turning to the broker. "Better flats—now."