Arjun Sharma trudged back to his Andheri flat after his Juhu Beach jog, sweat-soaked and ready for a shower. At 45, 1.85 meters, and ~100 kilograms, staying up past 9 p.m. was a young man's game. Late nights meant puffy eyes and a sour mood—not ideal for driving Ola or raising Priya. Divorce had simplified things, though. No more Meera's tantrums—smashing plates over late chai or demanding ₹10,000 saris. Now, Arjun cooked, slept, and lived for himself and his 20-year-old daughter, just starting college.
Priya's life was another world—skipping breakfast, sleeping till noon, gone by lunch, and stuffed with Bandra's chaat by dinner. She treats me like an ATM, Arjun thought, chuckling. The Midlife Mastery System's cash—₹17,600 in his account—was his lifeline.
Inside, Priya lounged on the sofa, scrolling her phone, pop music blaring from it while the TV played a Bollywood rerun. Multitasking queen, Arjun mused. Her shorts showed off legs pale as malai, a stark change from her darker childhood, like Meera's. Must be those fancy creams, he guessed, noting the ₹2,000 Priya spent monthly on skincare.
Meera, when they met, was a village girl—dark-faced, curvy, with a fiery charm. Arjun, young and naive with his Mumbai University master's, fell hard. Her "thirty-something" selfies and designer splurges came later, funded by his ₹50,000 salary. Their first love led to Priya, but Meera's "psycho" streak—mocking his bald spot, outspending their savings—soured it. How'd I marry her? Arjun wondered. Youthful blindness, maybe.
"Priya, hungry? Want a midnight snack?" he offered.
"Nah, grab me a Thums Up from the fridge," she said, eyes glued to her phone.
Arjun placed the soda on the coffee table. Priya, one hand on the can, sent a voice note: "Not coming today, low on cash. Tomorrow, yeah?"
After a shower, the salt of dried sweat gone, Arjun found Priya cross-legged on the sofa, phone down. "Priya, sleep soon. I'm crashing."
"It's barely 9! You're sleeping already?" she scoffed.
"Got to drive Ola tomorrow. Your ma took the ₹500,000, so money's tight."
Priya's face froze. "No money? I'm meeting friends tomorrow!"
"Ask your ma for cash," Arjun said, knowing Meera wouldn't spare a rupee.
Priya's eyes narrowed, her tone sharp like Meera's. "No money, huh? Ma divorced you 'cause you're broke. Now I can't even hang out! Some dad you are."
Arjun's chest tightened. He'd hoped Priya would see Meera's selfishness—ignoring her tuition, leaving her with him. Instead, she lashed out. Just like her ma, he thought, stung. He'd slaved in a 9-to-9 IT job, earning ₹50,000 monthly, only to be Meera's servant—cooking, cleaning, and bankrolling her Corgi's gourmet food. Priya, his "little princess," never warmed to him, shaped by Meera's coldness.
He bore some blame, too. Handing Priya's upbringing to Meera while he worked was a mistake. But Meera didn't work, and his IT grind left no energy for parenting. Marry the wrong woman, and it's over, he realized. Meera needed a billionaire, not his middle-class hustle.
"How much for tomorrow?" he asked, softening.
"₹1,000," Priya said, eyes teary.
"Where you going?"
"None of your business, just pay!"
Arjun sighed. "I'll pay, but no bars, no drinking with friends. Home by 9 p.m."
"Who're you to boss me around?" Priya snapped.
"Your dad, who's paying," he shot back.
"Fine, Dad, you're the boss!" she mocked, holding out her phone.
Arjun scanned her UPI, transferring ₹1,000. Priya's face lit up, skipping to her room. Money talks, he thought wryly. The system's my real boss. His phone showed: "SBI: ₹1,000 debited. Balance: ₹16,600."
He tidied the sofa, switched off the TV, and retreated to his room. Meera had taken her things, leaving a bed and an old 2015 desktop. Arjun fired it up, hoping to play an old cricket game, but the system crashed. Figures, he groaned. Instead, he scrolled YouTube Shorts, watching "Bhai Breakup" rant about his ex. Same story, Arjun thought, relating to the vlogger's take: men's ambition clashed with women's rising demands—money ruled it all.
Meera at least gave him Priya, unlike some women today, he mused, who wanted flats and SUVs without kids. What's marriage for, then? Lying in bed, he thought of Priya. She's a tough case, but I'm not giving up. The Midlife Mastery System—with ₹16,600 and counting—gave him hope. New day, new tasks, he thought, drifting off, ready to fight for his fresh start.