11-12-2025, 09:00 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-12-2025, 09:01 PM by heygiwriter. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 5: Vikram's confession shocked Pooja
The morning sun filtered through the startup office windows as Arjun returned to his desk, the weight of his diagnosis pressing harder with each labored breath. His phone buzzed—Pooja's voice, soft but laced with concern. "Arjun, how are you? Are you okay at work?" He forced a grunt, "Fine, just busy," masking the tremor in his hands and the panic gnawing at him since his latest doctor's visit. The physician had been stern: "Your condition's worsening—stage three now. Six months, maybe less, unless you stop everything. Act fast." The warning echoed, fueling his paranoia. He had to accelerate his plan to push Pooja away before his body betrayed him completely.
The day dragged until evening, around 5 PM, when a familiar Thar Jeep rolled up outside. Through the window, Arjun watched Vikram drop Pooja off, a new routine since he'd started chauffeuring her home from the office each evening, while Arjun handled the morning commute. Today, though, Vikram lingered, stepping out with her, their figures moving toward the entrance. Arjun's pulse raced—every glance from Vikram stoked his urgency. Pooja burst into the office, her face lighting up. "Surprise!" she exclaimed, rushing to Arjun. He feigned shock. "How did you get here?" She smiled, glancing at Vikram. "Vikram dropped me. I was worried about you and thought this might lift your mood." Arjun nodded, his mind a storm of paranoia, agreeing only to keep her close for now. From that day, Vikram's evening drops became routine, his presence a constant threat.
One afternoon, Arjun's health betrayed him; a searing pain and dizziness forced him to leave early. At the doctor's, the news hit harder: "Your lungs are failing faster—quit work, rest, or you won't see spring." Paranoia gripped him—time was slipping. Driven by desperation, he drove to Pooja's company, parking shakily and taking the lift, his body protesting each movement. At her office, he found her desk empty. A mutual friend shrugged. "She's on the rooftop with Vikram." A wave of dread crashed over him, his plan's urgency intensifying, and he avoided the lift, climbing the stairs slowly, each step a battle against his failing strength.
Reaching the rooftop, he peered around the corner—there they were, alone. Pooja sat with her head down, worry etched on her face, while Vikram stood close, his eyes fixed on her cleavage, missing nothing. Arjun's blood boiled, paranoia whispering that Vikram was closing in, but he stayed hidden, watching for five agonizing minutes. Vikram leaned in, his hand brushing her arm, then lingering near her shoulder, a smirk playing as he adjusted to steal another glance. He offered a tissue, fingers grazing her hand, his intent a dagger to Arjun's resolve. His health warning screamed in his mind—act now. Yet, he wanted Vikram to push further, a pawn in his frantic scheme.
Then Vikram consoled her, their hands meeting briefly, hers trembling as she accepted comfort. Arjun stepped forward, forcing a smile through his paranoia. "Surprise!" he said, watching their hands part softly. Vikram chuckled playfully, "Looks like we beat you to it." Arjun's voice turned cold, driven by his medical deadline. "One time you can do this—will you drop her daily?" Vikram's eyes gleamed. "Why not? I'd be glad to." Arjun nodded, the first step taken, his mind racing with the doctor's warning. From that day, Vikram drove Pooja home every evening, his car a relentless shadow, while Arjun, paranoid and weakening, plotted her drift, each breath a reminder of his shrinking time.
As the days settled into this new rhythm, Arjun began recording every detail with a meticulous, almost obsessive eye. Each evening, he noted Vikram's arrival—the Thar Jeep's rumble, Vikram's crisp shirts shifting to casual tees, his easy smile as he handed Pooja her bag. Pooja's dresses caught his gaze too—her blue kurta one day, a green saree the next, the fabric swaying as she stepped out, her smile warm yet tired. He tracked their touches: Vikram's hand guiding her elbow, lingering a second too long, Pooja's polite pat in return. Their laughter over small jokes—Vikram teasing about traffic, Pooja giggling—etched into his memory like a ledger of betrayal. Arjun scribbled these in a notebook, his paranoia growing with each entry, convinced the routine was normalizing Vikram's encroachment.
Driven by his deteriorating health and the doctor's dire warning, Arjun planned a step ahead. He reasoned that meeting clients someday would keep him late, giving Vikram a chance to drop Pooja at their empty house. If they're alone, his advances might deepen her distance from me, he thought, the idea stoking his paranoia. He envisioned Vikram consoling her in the quiet living room, hands brushing as he poured tea, eyes lingering on her form. Arjun would stay away, letting the loneliness of the house fuel her drift. Not my retreat, but her choice, he mused, the plan a dark thread weaving through his fading strength, each breath a countdown to her organic hate.
One such evening, Arjun's paranoia surged, tempting him to see what they might be doing. I'm not a voyeur or cuckold, he told himself, just checking if she's advancing. His heart pounded heavily as he stepped into the house, each creak of the floor amplifying his dread. They weren't in the hall—Are they lovemaking in bed? Panic seized him, and he rushed to the bedroom, only to find it empty. Relief mixed with frustration as he retraced his steps, spotting them in the kitchen. Vikram stood too close behind Pooja, chatting softly, his breath near her neck. Arjun announced, "I've arrived," and Vikram slowly stepped back, unaffected, while Pooja turned, unfazed. "Arjun, you know what? Vikram's new house is getting renovated, it seems. He's looking out for a room. He offers to pick me up and drop me here if he can get houses nearby. What do you say? Do you know anyone?" Vikram interjected, "I didn't ask for a house on this street, just if I could stay here for a few days. She has no heart!" Arjun smiled inside, seizing the moment. "Vikram, you helped us a lot—stay here, that's my order." Pooja's eyes rolled up, even Vikram's, but Arjun pressed on, his voice laced with double meaning. "You instantly gave me 5 lakhs for Pooja; I'm giving you a space for Pooja as well—a double weight word." Vikram bought it, a thrill sparking in his eyes, deciding to up his game. Pooja, confused but happy her friend could stay, nodded. Arjun, though, wasn't sure what Vikram was thinking, his paranoia deepening.
The next day, Vikram arrived with luggage and his Thar car, the big home now accommodating him on the ground floor. Another week passed, Arjun acting busy with work, his health a silent decline he hid behind late meetings. Each evening, he returned to find Vikram and Pooja settling into an unsettling normalcy—her laughter at his jokes, his casual touches growing bolder. One night, Arjun stepped into the dimly lit living room, expecting them in the kitchen, but froze. Vikram sat on the couch, Pooja beside him, her saree slipped slightly to reveal her shoulder, unaware of the exposure. Vikram's hand rested near her thigh, fingers tracing the fabric's edge, his eyes locked on her with a hungry intensity she didn't notice. Arjun's breath caught—hot, out of line, yet not crossing into intimacy—his paranoia flaring as Vikram slowly upped his game, testing boundaries Pooja remained oblivious to. Arjun retreated silently, his plan's dark thread tightening, convinced Vikram's proximity would soon force her drift, his own health a ticking clock.
As Arjun lingered in the shadows, Vikram's voice broke the silence, soft yet charged. "Pooja, I need to make a confession.
Pooja asked what,
Vikram said you know what i was planing to prpose you the day Arjun proposed you, i dont know how t hat happend, i saw himi giving you flowers i hid my feelings.
Yes i loved you,"
Pooja's eyes widened, shock freezing her in place, her mind reeling with confusion. Vikram continued, his voice trembling, "I don't want to carry this weight. So openly said this to you nothing in my hear.
If you want me to go, I'll leave now." A single tear slid down his cheek, his vulnerability laid bare. Pooja, touched by his confession, reached out instinctively. "I'm sorry, Vikram. Past is past dont bring it now, why the hell you said this now, i thought you are my good friend, now i get a idea that all your good for me is for the love.
Vikram without hiding said yes i did for all for my love, i know yo uare married, i know my boundary, but let me do something for your happiness, my love is seeing you happy.
Shocked by the revleatins, she said im married Vikram, okay you still love me and want me to recirpocate
Vikram said no: I just want our realationship to be pure and no hidden secrets, no guilts no drama, i saw its growing so want to come clean with you
Pooja sort of felt relieved, she soften, looked aroun
I'll be your good friend," she said, her voice gentle.
Vikram quickly masked his pain with a jolly laugh. "I'm sorry, my mistake!" he exclaimed, but Pooja, feeling a pang of sympathy, hugged him tightly. "Please, you need to let this go. My heart is only for Arjun," she whispered, pulling back.
Vikram's smile faltered, then softened. "I know. I'm jealous of him—I can't see him suffer, and if he does, you will too. That's why I gave the money." Pooja, overwhelmed, rose from her seat.
"Maybe we should stop here. Speaking more might toll our friendship," she said firmly, turning toward the stairs, unsettled and shaken.
Arjun, hidden just beyond the doorway, watched the exchange unfold, his heart pounding with a mix of triumph and dread. As Pooja climbed upstairs, she said nothing to him, her silence heavy with turmoil. He slipped back to their room, his mind racing—This is enough. She's shaking, questioning. Vikram's love could be the push, but her loyalty holds. His paranoia surged, his health's decline urging him faster, yet he knew her love might still cling unless he crafted a deeper hate.
Chapter 6: Pooja's loyalty brings back Old Arjun
The morning light crept through the curtains as Pooja dialed Vikram, her voice steady but firm. "Vikram, I'll be going to the temple with Aravind today. He'll drop me at the office afterward." A pause hung heavy before Vikram responded, his tone masking disappointment. He realized Pooja was distancing herself, their regular morning drives abruptly severed.
Arjun, overhearing from the kitchen, frowned—When did she mention a temple program?—yet he played along, masking his confusion with a nod. The shift unsettled him, but he buried it, his paranoia simmering beneath the surface.
At the temple, Pooja moved silently, her prayers a whisper against the chants. Arjun, noticing her unease, asked gently, "What happened?" She hesitated, then met his gaze. "Arjun, do you know what Vikram said last night? He loves me, it seems." Arjun feigned a shock, eyes widening. "What?" Pooja recounted the scene—the flowers, the tear, Vikram's confession—and her conflicted response. "What should I do? Cut him off or continue friendship? Will that be okay for me?" Her loyalty shone through, a beacon that stirred something deep in Arjun. It brought back the old him—the man who cherished her trust. For one day, he decided to shed his façade, to act as her true soul, not a schemer. "Pooja, it's your choice," he said honestly. "Staying away is best, but cutting him off might be worse.
Maybe we play soft—slowly distance him, especially when he returns to his place." Pooja listened, then challenged, "Where was your care these weeks? You barely looked at me. I feared you'd push me to continue friendship." Arjun smiled, a rare warmth returning. "No, I won't. Maybe I hid something, but you never did. Today's scenario proves it—how can I fail you?" Pooja gripped his hand tightly, her trust rekindled.
On the way back, Arjun offered, "I'll drop you at the office. Should I pick you up, or...?" Pooja smiled. "However you want." He nodded. "I trust you—come with him if you must." She leaned in, kissing his cheek. "I know you... don't hide this love from me anymore."
She stepped out at her company, and Arjun drove off, a flicker of his old self guiding him. At the office, Pooja quietly avoided Vikram, her mind still reeling. Vikram, sensing the shift, picked her up that evening, but she plugged in her earphones, pretending to listen to music, distancing herself further.
After dinner, Vikram broke the silence. "Arjun, a friend of mine is vacating his place—it's empty until his sister returns. I planned to stay there for a few weeks." He avoided their eyes, his voice low. Arjun felt a pang of guilt, while Pooja wrestled with her restrictions post-confession. As they exchanged a glance, Vikram added, "I'll come back in a few days." After dinner, he gathered his luggage, the Thar Jeep's engine fading into the night.
Alone, Pooja and Arjun discussed it. She felt guilty for breaking Vikram further. Arjun, channeling his old self, consoled her. "The wound will fade slowly—give it time." His words eased her, but by midnight, a headache struck Arjun hard. He struggled, then fainted, collapsing on the floor.
In the morning, Pooja, exhausted, accused playfully, "You slept like a donkey!" Arjun awoke, realizing he'd pushed away Vikram—the golden goose, his perfect choice to ease Pooja's drift. Yet, his paranoia lingered after witnessing Vikram's advances, his heart aching for tricking her.
He drove her to work, dropping her off with a forced smile. At the office, Pooja resolved to address Vikram, but a call from Arjun's office interrupted— a financier was threatening him over a 2-lakh debt. Panicked, she rushed out, Vikram following despite her reluctance. At the office rooftop, the financier demanded payment. Without hesitation, Vikram stepped forward, transferring the sum. "Leave them alone," he said firmly, then walked away, telling Pooja, "Take care of Arjun." She stood stunned, muttering, "I feel terrible taking his help again, hurting him. Why does he do this?" Arjun, taking a deep breath, reassured her, "Don't worry—he's given us 7 lakhs total. I'll repay this week." Pooja asked, "How?" He smiled, newfound confidence rising. "Wait and watch. I've decided to shield you properly—I can't leave you like this."
Now Arjun trying to act like old selft, is Vikram out of the game now?
Chapter 7: Vikram back into Arjun House: Pooja eases with Vikram
The night deepened over , as Vikram sat in his hotel room, the silence a bitter companion. He'd lent 2 lakhs to save Arjun from the financier, expecting a call from Pooja to bring him back, especially with his 7 lakhs total investment. But the phone stayed mute, his pride stung. Returning uninvited to their home would expose his intent and shame him; his predator instincts demanded a subtler approach. Emotionally wounded yet resolute, he crafted a plan—to re-enter their lives with calculated vulnerability, turning his game toward love.
The next morning, Vikram arrived at the IT office where he and Pooja worked, timing his entrance as she stepped into the corridor. Casually, he let his hotel room keys slip from his pocket, landing near her feet.
Pooja picked them up, her brow furrowing. "What's this?" she asked, leading him to the rooftop for privacy.
Pooja: So why did you stay in hotel, so all that friends room are lie right? why did you lied to me
Vikram's expression softened, a rehearsed vulnerability in his eyes.
"I still love you, Pooja. I know it's hard to move on after what I said. If you or your husband know, it'll be tough for you. So, I decided to move out decently—the friend's room was a lie. But now, I made a friend, a receptionist." He forced a weak joke, but Pooja didn't laugh. "I'll laugh later," she said dryly, pulling out her phone.
She texted Arjun: Situation with Vikram—he lied about the friend's room. Don't feel bad, I decided to bring him back, that idiot. Arjun, at his startup, read it and replied: I support you whatever you do.
Pooja smiled at her phone, then turned to Vikram. "Come with me, or I'll kill you."
Vikram: Are you sure?!
Pooja: If you respect my friendship come with me..
"Yes, ma'am," he said, masking his triumph as he followed her back inside.
After dinner, Pooja and Arjun lay in bed, the night quiet. Arjun hesitated, then murmured, "People say Vikram's a womanizer..."
Pooja sat up, eyes narrowing. "What now? If you feel bad, you should've said this earlier, before i get him back to this house. Now blaming him, that too a womanizer?" Arjun backtracked, laughing nervously. "No, no, no, I'm completely fine with him staying here. I'm okay even if he makes love to you." Pooja's eyebrow shot up. "What? Nonsense." "I mean, telling love to you," he corrected, chuckling. She rolled her eyes. "Both men are stupid at jokes." He grinned. "I used to hear that way, but not once I saw him give any hint to you." Pooja thought aloud, "Yes, I heard it, but he never misbehaved with me." Arjun nodded. "Maybe that's what love is—he waits for your permission to move ahead." Pooja mocked, "So if I say yes, are you okay with him doing me?" They laughed, a bedroom jest, but the phrase "if that's what love is" lodged in her mind. She asked, "You had sex with me before marriage—so is that not love?" Arjun laughed again. "To be frank, I felt huge competition, so I decided to push more before marrying." A pillow fight broke out, their laughter fading as they slept, unaware of Vikram listening outside, every word fueling his resolve.
Vikram, pressed against the door, felt a surge of determination. No matter what, I want Pooja in heart or bed. His return was a predator's game, now cloaked in love. The 7 lakhs, the hotel keys, the rooftop lie—all steps to stay close, exploiting Arjun's hesitance and Pooja's guilt. Hearing Arjun's approval and Pooja's doubt, he plotted his next move, ready to manipulate her emotions while Arjun's silence paved the way.
Weeks passed, Vikram settling into a routine. He resumed picking Pooja up from the office and dropping her at home, their lone time in the car a quiet battlefield. Pooja, now noticing Arjun's distance again—his cold shrugs, withheld glances—grew restless. Arjun had shifted back almost imperceptibly at first, his paranoia and the doctor's grim prognosis pulling him into a shell of self-preservation. He started staying late at the startup, pitching new clients to secure the 7 lakhs owed to Vikram, framing it as a way to shield Pooja from further guilt. "Wait and watch," he'd told her after the financier incident, but the words now felt hollow, his actions speaking louder. One evening, as a potential investor meeting ran long, Arjun called Pooja from his office. "I'll be late again—ask Vikram to pick you up and take you for shopping if you need anything. He's reliable." Pooja agreed, surprised but grateful, unaware of the calculated step Arjun took to normalize Vikram's role in her life. His calls reduced to quick check-ins—"Home safe?"—leaving her evenings filled with Vikram's casual chats and the occasional stop at a mall, where he'd insist on carrying her bags, his presence a subtle constant.
Arjun's business efforts consumed him, a desperate bid to reclaim control amid his fading health. He secured a 3-lakh deal with a small tech firm after weeks of tense negotiations, the client's hesitation dragging meetings into the night. "This covers part of the debt," he told himself, the tension of frequent client calls and late-night emails making him delay returns home. By the time he arrived, exhaustion claimed him; he'd collapse into bed unusually early, reducing their time together to fragmented moments. He feared slipping—revealing his diagnosis or the depth of his plan—so he avoided deep conversations, offering only curt nods or distracted smiles. Pooja interpreted this as emotional and physical distance, her questions met with "I'm tired" or "Work's crazy," the void growing between them like an unspoken chasm. She'd lie awake, wondering if his coldness was the startup's toll or something deeper, her loyalty straining under the weight.
Desperate to treat his unraveling mind, Arjun secretly consulted a psychologist, who arranged sessions with a counselor named Anjali, a woman whose calm voice offered much-needed motivation. "Focus on positive steps amid the storm," she advised over calls, ideas to lead his life with purpose despite the illness. Arjun saved her number as "Client Friend," dialing her frequently for guidance on managing his paranoia and guilt. Pooja noticed the recent calls once, the unfamiliar number flashing on his screen, but she trusted Arjun implicitly, dismissing it as business. One afternoon, she overheard a woman's voice from the phone—Anjali's soothing tone discussing "coping strategies"—but Pooja didn't pry, her faith in him a quiet anchor. Unbeknownst to her, these calls were Arjun's lifeline, helping him balance his protection vow with the natural drift he orchestrated, even as Vikram's shadow loomed larger in their home.
One night, as Arjun hit the bed early, Vikram and Pooja sat on the couch after dinner, curiosity got the better of her.
"People call you a womanizer, but you never once approached me that way," she said, her tone probing. Vikram's eyes softened, a manipulator's charm at play.
"How could I hurt a woman I love? Any man touching other women is sex. With a soulmate, it's lovemaking. I wished lovemaking with you." He gently took her hand, his touch lingering. "This touch is enough," he said, his gaze piercing hers. "That's love to explore."
He continued, "People have sex before marriage these days, cheat partners—it all happens. But one true in love never demands that. They crave attention, chats, time to spend. In that case, I'm already fulfilled, i spend time with you, chat, gets your attention, in my world all these are like im already making love to you. And you're cheating your husband." He laughed, but Pooja was taken aback. "I'm serious," she insisted.
"These days, Arjun isn't giving any attention. He's leaving me all alone..." Their eyes met, a charged silence hanging. Vikram asked, "What should I do?" Pooja shook her head. "Don't do anything. I just need someone to blabber things." Vikram embraced her in his arms, and she murmured, "I didn't like when you touch me, but I have no place other than this to shed my tears." Vikram held her gently. "Let's analyze him and find a solution. Your happiness is mine." Arjun, hidden in the shadows, overheard it all, his heart sinking. He retreated to his room, his conflict—protection versus drift—deepening with each step.
The morning sun filtered through the startup office windows as Arjun returned to his desk, the weight of his diagnosis pressing harder with each labored breath. His phone buzzed—Pooja's voice, soft but laced with concern. "Arjun, how are you? Are you okay at work?" He forced a grunt, "Fine, just busy," masking the tremor in his hands and the panic gnawing at him since his latest doctor's visit. The physician had been stern: "Your condition's worsening—stage three now. Six months, maybe less, unless you stop everything. Act fast." The warning echoed, fueling his paranoia. He had to accelerate his plan to push Pooja away before his body betrayed him completely.
The day dragged until evening, around 5 PM, when a familiar Thar Jeep rolled up outside. Through the window, Arjun watched Vikram drop Pooja off, a new routine since he'd started chauffeuring her home from the office each evening, while Arjun handled the morning commute. Today, though, Vikram lingered, stepping out with her, their figures moving toward the entrance. Arjun's pulse raced—every glance from Vikram stoked his urgency. Pooja burst into the office, her face lighting up. "Surprise!" she exclaimed, rushing to Arjun. He feigned shock. "How did you get here?" She smiled, glancing at Vikram. "Vikram dropped me. I was worried about you and thought this might lift your mood." Arjun nodded, his mind a storm of paranoia, agreeing only to keep her close for now. From that day, Vikram's evening drops became routine, his presence a constant threat.
One afternoon, Arjun's health betrayed him; a searing pain and dizziness forced him to leave early. At the doctor's, the news hit harder: "Your lungs are failing faster—quit work, rest, or you won't see spring." Paranoia gripped him—time was slipping. Driven by desperation, he drove to Pooja's company, parking shakily and taking the lift, his body protesting each movement. At her office, he found her desk empty. A mutual friend shrugged. "She's on the rooftop with Vikram." A wave of dread crashed over him, his plan's urgency intensifying, and he avoided the lift, climbing the stairs slowly, each step a battle against his failing strength.
Reaching the rooftop, he peered around the corner—there they were, alone. Pooja sat with her head down, worry etched on her face, while Vikram stood close, his eyes fixed on her cleavage, missing nothing. Arjun's blood boiled, paranoia whispering that Vikram was closing in, but he stayed hidden, watching for five agonizing minutes. Vikram leaned in, his hand brushing her arm, then lingering near her shoulder, a smirk playing as he adjusted to steal another glance. He offered a tissue, fingers grazing her hand, his intent a dagger to Arjun's resolve. His health warning screamed in his mind—act now. Yet, he wanted Vikram to push further, a pawn in his frantic scheme.
Then Vikram consoled her, their hands meeting briefly, hers trembling as she accepted comfort. Arjun stepped forward, forcing a smile through his paranoia. "Surprise!" he said, watching their hands part softly. Vikram chuckled playfully, "Looks like we beat you to it." Arjun's voice turned cold, driven by his medical deadline. "One time you can do this—will you drop her daily?" Vikram's eyes gleamed. "Why not? I'd be glad to." Arjun nodded, the first step taken, his mind racing with the doctor's warning. From that day, Vikram drove Pooja home every evening, his car a relentless shadow, while Arjun, paranoid and weakening, plotted her drift, each breath a reminder of his shrinking time.
As the days settled into this new rhythm, Arjun began recording every detail with a meticulous, almost obsessive eye. Each evening, he noted Vikram's arrival—the Thar Jeep's rumble, Vikram's crisp shirts shifting to casual tees, his easy smile as he handed Pooja her bag. Pooja's dresses caught his gaze too—her blue kurta one day, a green saree the next, the fabric swaying as she stepped out, her smile warm yet tired. He tracked their touches: Vikram's hand guiding her elbow, lingering a second too long, Pooja's polite pat in return. Their laughter over small jokes—Vikram teasing about traffic, Pooja giggling—etched into his memory like a ledger of betrayal. Arjun scribbled these in a notebook, his paranoia growing with each entry, convinced the routine was normalizing Vikram's encroachment.
Driven by his deteriorating health and the doctor's dire warning, Arjun planned a step ahead. He reasoned that meeting clients someday would keep him late, giving Vikram a chance to drop Pooja at their empty house. If they're alone, his advances might deepen her distance from me, he thought, the idea stoking his paranoia. He envisioned Vikram consoling her in the quiet living room, hands brushing as he poured tea, eyes lingering on her form. Arjun would stay away, letting the loneliness of the house fuel her drift. Not my retreat, but her choice, he mused, the plan a dark thread weaving through his fading strength, each breath a countdown to her organic hate.
One such evening, Arjun's paranoia surged, tempting him to see what they might be doing. I'm not a voyeur or cuckold, he told himself, just checking if she's advancing. His heart pounded heavily as he stepped into the house, each creak of the floor amplifying his dread. They weren't in the hall—Are they lovemaking in bed? Panic seized him, and he rushed to the bedroom, only to find it empty. Relief mixed with frustration as he retraced his steps, spotting them in the kitchen. Vikram stood too close behind Pooja, chatting softly, his breath near her neck. Arjun announced, "I've arrived," and Vikram slowly stepped back, unaffected, while Pooja turned, unfazed. "Arjun, you know what? Vikram's new house is getting renovated, it seems. He's looking out for a room. He offers to pick me up and drop me here if he can get houses nearby. What do you say? Do you know anyone?" Vikram interjected, "I didn't ask for a house on this street, just if I could stay here for a few days. She has no heart!" Arjun smiled inside, seizing the moment. "Vikram, you helped us a lot—stay here, that's my order." Pooja's eyes rolled up, even Vikram's, but Arjun pressed on, his voice laced with double meaning. "You instantly gave me 5 lakhs for Pooja; I'm giving you a space for Pooja as well—a double weight word." Vikram bought it, a thrill sparking in his eyes, deciding to up his game. Pooja, confused but happy her friend could stay, nodded. Arjun, though, wasn't sure what Vikram was thinking, his paranoia deepening.
The next day, Vikram arrived with luggage and his Thar car, the big home now accommodating him on the ground floor. Another week passed, Arjun acting busy with work, his health a silent decline he hid behind late meetings. Each evening, he returned to find Vikram and Pooja settling into an unsettling normalcy—her laughter at his jokes, his casual touches growing bolder. One night, Arjun stepped into the dimly lit living room, expecting them in the kitchen, but froze. Vikram sat on the couch, Pooja beside him, her saree slipped slightly to reveal her shoulder, unaware of the exposure. Vikram's hand rested near her thigh, fingers tracing the fabric's edge, his eyes locked on her with a hungry intensity she didn't notice. Arjun's breath caught—hot, out of line, yet not crossing into intimacy—his paranoia flaring as Vikram slowly upped his game, testing boundaries Pooja remained oblivious to. Arjun retreated silently, his plan's dark thread tightening, convinced Vikram's proximity would soon force her drift, his own health a ticking clock.
As Arjun lingered in the shadows, Vikram's voice broke the silence, soft yet charged. "Pooja, I need to make a confession.
Pooja asked what,
Vikram said you know what i was planing to prpose you the day Arjun proposed you, i dont know how t hat happend, i saw himi giving you flowers i hid my feelings.
Yes i loved you,"
Pooja's eyes widened, shock freezing her in place, her mind reeling with confusion. Vikram continued, his voice trembling, "I don't want to carry this weight. So openly said this to you nothing in my hear.
If you want me to go, I'll leave now." A single tear slid down his cheek, his vulnerability laid bare. Pooja, touched by his confession, reached out instinctively. "I'm sorry, Vikram. Past is past dont bring it now, why the hell you said this now, i thought you are my good friend, now i get a idea that all your good for me is for the love.
Vikram without hiding said yes i did for all for my love, i know yo uare married, i know my boundary, but let me do something for your happiness, my love is seeing you happy.
Shocked by the revleatins, she said im married Vikram, okay you still love me and want me to recirpocate
Vikram said no: I just want our realationship to be pure and no hidden secrets, no guilts no drama, i saw its growing so want to come clean with you
Pooja sort of felt relieved, she soften, looked aroun
I'll be your good friend," she said, her voice gentle.
Vikram quickly masked his pain with a jolly laugh. "I'm sorry, my mistake!" he exclaimed, but Pooja, feeling a pang of sympathy, hugged him tightly. "Please, you need to let this go. My heart is only for Arjun," she whispered, pulling back.
Vikram's smile faltered, then softened. "I know. I'm jealous of him—I can't see him suffer, and if he does, you will too. That's why I gave the money." Pooja, overwhelmed, rose from her seat.
"Maybe we should stop here. Speaking more might toll our friendship," she said firmly, turning toward the stairs, unsettled and shaken.
Arjun, hidden just beyond the doorway, watched the exchange unfold, his heart pounding with a mix of triumph and dread. As Pooja climbed upstairs, she said nothing to him, her silence heavy with turmoil. He slipped back to their room, his mind racing—This is enough. She's shaking, questioning. Vikram's love could be the push, but her loyalty holds. His paranoia surged, his health's decline urging him faster, yet he knew her love might still cling unless he crafted a deeper hate.
Chapter 6: Pooja's loyalty brings back Old Arjun
The morning light crept through the curtains as Pooja dialed Vikram, her voice steady but firm. "Vikram, I'll be going to the temple with Aravind today. He'll drop me at the office afterward." A pause hung heavy before Vikram responded, his tone masking disappointment. He realized Pooja was distancing herself, their regular morning drives abruptly severed.
Arjun, overhearing from the kitchen, frowned—When did she mention a temple program?—yet he played along, masking his confusion with a nod. The shift unsettled him, but he buried it, his paranoia simmering beneath the surface.
At the temple, Pooja moved silently, her prayers a whisper against the chants. Arjun, noticing her unease, asked gently, "What happened?" She hesitated, then met his gaze. "Arjun, do you know what Vikram said last night? He loves me, it seems." Arjun feigned a shock, eyes widening. "What?" Pooja recounted the scene—the flowers, the tear, Vikram's confession—and her conflicted response. "What should I do? Cut him off or continue friendship? Will that be okay for me?" Her loyalty shone through, a beacon that stirred something deep in Arjun. It brought back the old him—the man who cherished her trust. For one day, he decided to shed his façade, to act as her true soul, not a schemer. "Pooja, it's your choice," he said honestly. "Staying away is best, but cutting him off might be worse.
Maybe we play soft—slowly distance him, especially when he returns to his place." Pooja listened, then challenged, "Where was your care these weeks? You barely looked at me. I feared you'd push me to continue friendship." Arjun smiled, a rare warmth returning. "No, I won't. Maybe I hid something, but you never did. Today's scenario proves it—how can I fail you?" Pooja gripped his hand tightly, her trust rekindled.
On the way back, Arjun offered, "I'll drop you at the office. Should I pick you up, or...?" Pooja smiled. "However you want." He nodded. "I trust you—come with him if you must." She leaned in, kissing his cheek. "I know you... don't hide this love from me anymore."
She stepped out at her company, and Arjun drove off, a flicker of his old self guiding him. At the office, Pooja quietly avoided Vikram, her mind still reeling. Vikram, sensing the shift, picked her up that evening, but she plugged in her earphones, pretending to listen to music, distancing herself further.
After dinner, Vikram broke the silence. "Arjun, a friend of mine is vacating his place—it's empty until his sister returns. I planned to stay there for a few weeks." He avoided their eyes, his voice low. Arjun felt a pang of guilt, while Pooja wrestled with her restrictions post-confession. As they exchanged a glance, Vikram added, "I'll come back in a few days." After dinner, he gathered his luggage, the Thar Jeep's engine fading into the night.
Alone, Pooja and Arjun discussed it. She felt guilty for breaking Vikram further. Arjun, channeling his old self, consoled her. "The wound will fade slowly—give it time." His words eased her, but by midnight, a headache struck Arjun hard. He struggled, then fainted, collapsing on the floor.
In the morning, Pooja, exhausted, accused playfully, "You slept like a donkey!" Arjun awoke, realizing he'd pushed away Vikram—the golden goose, his perfect choice to ease Pooja's drift. Yet, his paranoia lingered after witnessing Vikram's advances, his heart aching for tricking her.
He drove her to work, dropping her off with a forced smile. At the office, Pooja resolved to address Vikram, but a call from Arjun's office interrupted— a financier was threatening him over a 2-lakh debt. Panicked, she rushed out, Vikram following despite her reluctance. At the office rooftop, the financier demanded payment. Without hesitation, Vikram stepped forward, transferring the sum. "Leave them alone," he said firmly, then walked away, telling Pooja, "Take care of Arjun." She stood stunned, muttering, "I feel terrible taking his help again, hurting him. Why does he do this?" Arjun, taking a deep breath, reassured her, "Don't worry—he's given us 7 lakhs total. I'll repay this week." Pooja asked, "How?" He smiled, newfound confidence rising. "Wait and watch. I've decided to shield you properly—I can't leave you like this."
Now Arjun trying to act like old selft, is Vikram out of the game now?
Chapter 7: Vikram back into Arjun House: Pooja eases with Vikram
The night deepened over , as Vikram sat in his hotel room, the silence a bitter companion. He'd lent 2 lakhs to save Arjun from the financier, expecting a call from Pooja to bring him back, especially with his 7 lakhs total investment. But the phone stayed mute, his pride stung. Returning uninvited to their home would expose his intent and shame him; his predator instincts demanded a subtler approach. Emotionally wounded yet resolute, he crafted a plan—to re-enter their lives with calculated vulnerability, turning his game toward love.
The next morning, Vikram arrived at the IT office where he and Pooja worked, timing his entrance as she stepped into the corridor. Casually, he let his hotel room keys slip from his pocket, landing near her feet.
Pooja picked them up, her brow furrowing. "What's this?" she asked, leading him to the rooftop for privacy.
Pooja: So why did you stay in hotel, so all that friends room are lie right? why did you lied to me
Vikram's expression softened, a rehearsed vulnerability in his eyes.
"I still love you, Pooja. I know it's hard to move on after what I said. If you or your husband know, it'll be tough for you. So, I decided to move out decently—the friend's room was a lie. But now, I made a friend, a receptionist." He forced a weak joke, but Pooja didn't laugh. "I'll laugh later," she said dryly, pulling out her phone.
She texted Arjun: Situation with Vikram—he lied about the friend's room. Don't feel bad, I decided to bring him back, that idiot. Arjun, at his startup, read it and replied: I support you whatever you do.
Pooja smiled at her phone, then turned to Vikram. "Come with me, or I'll kill you."
Vikram: Are you sure?!
Pooja: If you respect my friendship come with me..
"Yes, ma'am," he said, masking his triumph as he followed her back inside.
After dinner, Pooja and Arjun lay in bed, the night quiet. Arjun hesitated, then murmured, "People say Vikram's a womanizer..."
Pooja sat up, eyes narrowing. "What now? If you feel bad, you should've said this earlier, before i get him back to this house. Now blaming him, that too a womanizer?" Arjun backtracked, laughing nervously. "No, no, no, I'm completely fine with him staying here. I'm okay even if he makes love to you." Pooja's eyebrow shot up. "What? Nonsense." "I mean, telling love to you," he corrected, chuckling. She rolled her eyes. "Both men are stupid at jokes." He grinned. "I used to hear that way, but not once I saw him give any hint to you." Pooja thought aloud, "Yes, I heard it, but he never misbehaved with me." Arjun nodded. "Maybe that's what love is—he waits for your permission to move ahead." Pooja mocked, "So if I say yes, are you okay with him doing me?" They laughed, a bedroom jest, but the phrase "if that's what love is" lodged in her mind. She asked, "You had sex with me before marriage—so is that not love?" Arjun laughed again. "To be frank, I felt huge competition, so I decided to push more before marrying." A pillow fight broke out, their laughter fading as they slept, unaware of Vikram listening outside, every word fueling his resolve.
Vikram, pressed against the door, felt a surge of determination. No matter what, I want Pooja in heart or bed. His return was a predator's game, now cloaked in love. The 7 lakhs, the hotel keys, the rooftop lie—all steps to stay close, exploiting Arjun's hesitance and Pooja's guilt. Hearing Arjun's approval and Pooja's doubt, he plotted his next move, ready to manipulate her emotions while Arjun's silence paved the way.
Weeks passed, Vikram settling into a routine. He resumed picking Pooja up from the office and dropping her at home, their lone time in the car a quiet battlefield. Pooja, now noticing Arjun's distance again—his cold shrugs, withheld glances—grew restless. Arjun had shifted back almost imperceptibly at first, his paranoia and the doctor's grim prognosis pulling him into a shell of self-preservation. He started staying late at the startup, pitching new clients to secure the 7 lakhs owed to Vikram, framing it as a way to shield Pooja from further guilt. "Wait and watch," he'd told her after the financier incident, but the words now felt hollow, his actions speaking louder. One evening, as a potential investor meeting ran long, Arjun called Pooja from his office. "I'll be late again—ask Vikram to pick you up and take you for shopping if you need anything. He's reliable." Pooja agreed, surprised but grateful, unaware of the calculated step Arjun took to normalize Vikram's role in her life. His calls reduced to quick check-ins—"Home safe?"—leaving her evenings filled with Vikram's casual chats and the occasional stop at a mall, where he'd insist on carrying her bags, his presence a subtle constant.
Arjun's business efforts consumed him, a desperate bid to reclaim control amid his fading health. He secured a 3-lakh deal with a small tech firm after weeks of tense negotiations, the client's hesitation dragging meetings into the night. "This covers part of the debt," he told himself, the tension of frequent client calls and late-night emails making him delay returns home. By the time he arrived, exhaustion claimed him; he'd collapse into bed unusually early, reducing their time together to fragmented moments. He feared slipping—revealing his diagnosis or the depth of his plan—so he avoided deep conversations, offering only curt nods or distracted smiles. Pooja interpreted this as emotional and physical distance, her questions met with "I'm tired" or "Work's crazy," the void growing between them like an unspoken chasm. She'd lie awake, wondering if his coldness was the startup's toll or something deeper, her loyalty straining under the weight.
Desperate to treat his unraveling mind, Arjun secretly consulted a psychologist, who arranged sessions with a counselor named Anjali, a woman whose calm voice offered much-needed motivation. "Focus on positive steps amid the storm," she advised over calls, ideas to lead his life with purpose despite the illness. Arjun saved her number as "Client Friend," dialing her frequently for guidance on managing his paranoia and guilt. Pooja noticed the recent calls once, the unfamiliar number flashing on his screen, but she trusted Arjun implicitly, dismissing it as business. One afternoon, she overheard a woman's voice from the phone—Anjali's soothing tone discussing "coping strategies"—but Pooja didn't pry, her faith in him a quiet anchor. Unbeknownst to her, these calls were Arjun's lifeline, helping him balance his protection vow with the natural drift he orchestrated, even as Vikram's shadow loomed larger in their home.
One night, as Arjun hit the bed early, Vikram and Pooja sat on the couch after dinner, curiosity got the better of her.
"People call you a womanizer, but you never once approached me that way," she said, her tone probing. Vikram's eyes softened, a manipulator's charm at play.
"How could I hurt a woman I love? Any man touching other women is sex. With a soulmate, it's lovemaking. I wished lovemaking with you." He gently took her hand, his touch lingering. "This touch is enough," he said, his gaze piercing hers. "That's love to explore."
He continued, "People have sex before marriage these days, cheat partners—it all happens. But one true in love never demands that. They crave attention, chats, time to spend. In that case, I'm already fulfilled, i spend time with you, chat, gets your attention, in my world all these are like im already making love to you. And you're cheating your husband." He laughed, but Pooja was taken aback. "I'm serious," she insisted.
"These days, Arjun isn't giving any attention. He's leaving me all alone..." Their eyes met, a charged silence hanging. Vikram asked, "What should I do?" Pooja shook her head. "Don't do anything. I just need someone to blabber things." Vikram embraced her in his arms, and she murmured, "I didn't like when you touch me, but I have no place other than this to shed my tears." Vikram held her gently. "Let's analyze him and find a solution. Your happiness is mine." Arjun, hidden in the shadows, overheard it all, his heart sinking. He retreated to his room, his conflict—protection versus drift—deepening with each step.
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