Everyone in the city knew Aarav Malhotra as a nobody.
He lived in a small rented room above a closed grocery shop. The walls were cracked, the fan made strange noises, and the window showed nothing but tangled electric wires and grey skies. To the world, Aarav was just another struggling man with a simple job and simple dreams.
But the truth was dangerous.
In reality, Aarav Malhotra owned half of the shining towers in the city.
He controlled a business empire worth billions.
His name appeared in international magazines as the youngest self-made billionaire.
Yet here he was… washing his own clothes in a plastic bucket.
Aarav looked at his reflection in the dusty mirror. His hair was uncombed, his shirt was old, and his shoes had lost their shine.
Perfect, he whispered. No one will suspect a thing.
He picked up his worn bag and stepped out into the noisy street. Auto horns, street vendors, and shouting voices filled the air. This was the world he had chosen—real, rough, and honest.
Why did a billionaire choose to live like this?
Because money had betrayed him.
Two years ago, every woman who smiled at him had loved his cars, not his heart. Every friend had respected his bank balance, not his soul. His last relationship ended when he refused to buy a diamond ring worth more than a poor man's house.
So he ran away—from his own truth.
Now he worked as a junior accountant in a small office. His boss shouted at him daily, unaware that the man he scolded could buy the entire building with one phone call.
At lunchtime, Aarav sat alone with his tiffin box—two dry rotis and leftover vegetables. He liked the taste of struggle. It felt honest.
That day, fate decided to meet him.
Outside the office gate, a girl was arguing with a fruit seller.
You cheated me! she said angrily. You gave me rotten apples!
The seller laughed. Don't lie. You dropped them yourself.
Aarav watched silently until he saw her eyes shine with helpless tears. Something twisted inside his chest.
He stepped forward. Bhaiya, how much?
Fifty rupees, the seller replied rudely.
Aarav paid without a word and handed the apples back to the girl.
Here, he said softly. They're yours.
The girl looked at him, surprised. Her dupatta was faded, her slippers torn, but her eyes held fire and pride.
I don't need charity, she said.
Its not charity, Aarav replied. It's justice.
She hesitated, then nodded. Thank you… but I'll return the money.
No need.
Yes, she said firmly. I don't take what I don't earn.
She pulled out a crumpled note and placed it in his hand.
Im Meera, she said. And you are?
Aarav, he replied. Just Aarav.
They stood awkwardly as traffic rushed past them.
Meera smiled shyly. You work nearby?
Yes.
So do I, she said. I stitch clothes in a tailoring shop. For my mother.
Aarav felt something new—something warm and dangerous.
She didnt ask about his car.
She didnt care about his phone.
She only saw him.
As she walked away, Aarav whispered to himself,
This is why I hide.
High above the city, in a glass office tower, a meeting waited for him.
Files waited for his signature.
Power waited for his command.
But down on the dusty street…
Love had just knocked on the door of a poor man.
And neither of them knew…
that this love was built on a lie.