Scene:1(Aarohi)
Aarohi had learned early that survival wasn't loud—it was quiet, patient, and often invisible. In a house that smelled of stale smoke and unpaid debts, she moved carefully, as if even her footsteps could trigger something she couldn't control. Mornings began before sunrise, not out of discipline but necessity, and nights stretched longer than they should, filled with the sound of her father's uneven breathing or the distant echo of arguments that never truly ended.
There had been a time, she vaguely remembered, when things were different—when laughter didn't feel out of place and money wasn't counted in desperate whispers. But that version of her life had faded quickly, replaced by the man her father had become. Or perhaps, she sometimes wondered, the man he had always been.
Cards, alcohol, and empty promises had taken over everything. One loss turned into another, and soon it wasn't just money he was gambling away—it was stability, dignity, and eventually, her safety. Aarohi didn't ask questions anymore. She had learned that answers, in this house, only made things worse.
Still, she stayed.
Not out of love, not entirely—but because leaving meant stepping into a world just as unforgiving, and at least here, she understood the rules of the chaos. Or so she believed.
Scene:2(Veer khanna)
The club never truly slept—it only shifted moods.
Dim lights bled into polished floors, music pulsed low and steady, and the air carried a mix of expensive perfume and quiet danger. In the far corner, away from the chaos yet at the center of it all, Veer Khanna sat at a private table, a deck of cards moving effortlessly between his fingers.
He didn't need to raise his voice to be noticed.
People watched him anyway.
A few women lingered nearby, drawn not just by his presence but by the power that seemed to follow him like a shadow. He acknowledged them with nothing more than a glance before returning his attention to the game. For Veer, distractions were temporary. Control was not.
The men across the table shifted uneasily as the game progressed. One wrong move, one miscalculation—and the consequences extended far beyond losing money. Everyone in that room knew it. No one said it.
Veer placed his final card down with quiet certainty.
A slow, almost unreadable smile touched his lips—not of amusement, but of knowing. Of ownership.
"Game's over," he said, his voice calm, yet carrying enough weight to silence the table.
And just like that, the tension broke—not because it was gone, but because it now belonged entirely to him.