30-01-2026, 01:27 PM
Chapter 6: The Rescue & Arrival of Malavika
The jeep sped away from the mansion, Vikram in the back seat between two constables. No handcuffs, but their grip on his arms was firm enough to remind him he had no choice. He stared out the window as Chennai blurred past—crowded markets, billboards, the endless sea of people who didn’t know his name or his story. Inside, the ring in his pocket felt heavier than ever.
Mohan followed in a cab, cursing under his breath the whole way. He couldn’t see Vikram clearly through the jeep’s tinted windows, but he knew the boy was scared.
Back at the mansion, Ramesh got a call from the workshop manager.
“Where is Vikram? Why didn’t he come on the third day of the job?” the manager asked.
Ramesh explained: “security officer took him for interrogation. Seems like a false FIR.”
The manager paused. “We took him based on your referral, Ramesh. But with an FIR on record… sorry, we can’t take him anymore. Too much risk.”
Ramesh’s face darkened. Guilt hit him like a punch. He had vouched for Vikram, brought him into the fold. Now the boy was gone because of a lie from the village.
Ramesh made calls. His NGO contacts, security officer friends from community patrols—he pulled every string he had. “This boy is clean. It’s a family dispute gone wrong. We need him out tonight.” But everyone turned their hands and said, “It’s already filed an FIR. Go through legal process. Hire a lawyer.” The news came like a door slamming shut.
Vikram spent the night in a holding cell at the village station. The inspector was out on another case, so no questioning. Just a thin mat, flickering tube light, and the echo of Malar’s betrayal in his head. He didn’t sleep.
Next morning, Mohan, Ramesh, and Suresh arrived with a local lawyer. They marched into the station like men on a mission. Malar was already there—sitting quietly with Uncle and Vicky. When she saw Vikram being led in, her eyes widened.
The inspector listened to the lawyer’s argument: no evidence. security officer asked the complainant—Vikram.
Surprisingly, Malar stood up.
“I have no idea about any theft case being registered,” she said clearly. “I willingly gave him the money and ring. It was a gift. He didn’t steal anything.”
Uncle looked at her, surprised but proud. “See? My daughter is defending him even now.” He turned to Vikram, voice heavy. “I doubted my own upbringing. Instead of marrying her to you, I should marry her to Vicky. He has money, land, and he stands with her in all this misery.”
Uncle walked out, shaking his head. Vicky smirked from the corner.
Vikram just left a smirk of his own—small, bitter, hidden.
The security officer closed the FIR: “Misunderstood case. No further action.” A constable, Ramesh, and Suresh witnessed Malar approach Vikram afterward.
“Sorry, Maama,” she whispered. “I didn’t want this to happen. But Vicky wanted to hurt you. Sorry… I just wanted you to get a bad name so father would turn to Vicky, but I didn’t know it would push you here.”
The three men saw it clearly: her apology, her tears, the way she played innocent. They noticed how easily she lied, how she pushed Vikram aside for her own comfort. It made their blood boil.
Mohan, Ramesh, and Suresh brought Vikram back to Chennai in silence. The cab ride was long. No one spoke much.
Back at the mansion, reality hit again. The FIR—even closed—had left a mark. Companies whispered “troublemaker.” Doors shut faster. Vikram was back to zero. First they kicked him out of the village, now the shadow followed him here. He wanted to live peacefully, but one case had erased everything.
A few more days passed in hunger and rejection. Then Suresh sat him down.
“My girlfriend works at a bank loan procuring company. They need field agents—targets, good commission. Not mechanical, but the pay is decent. She can get you in.”
Vikram hesitated. “It’s not my field. Banking, loans… I don’t know.”
Suresh’s girlfriend—Malavika—called him “bro” on the phone the next day. “Come, anna. It’s easy. I’ll teach you everything. Suresh trusts you, so I trust you.” Her voice was warm, naive, friendly.
He joined.
Vikram found her very beautiful in her own way—small frame, innocent face, soft smile.
Malavika was small but beautiful, with the most naive face Vikram had ever seen.
As promised she guided him in the job. In initial days he was tempted whenever she helped him with targets—leaning close to explain forms, her perfume lingering. But he wanted to respect his friendship with Suresh… so he avoided such thoughts. Soon Malavika's own behavior made him respect her. The respect formed quickly.
The job stabilized over months. He gave Mohan the advance, then double as promised. Harmony returned. Those were the days when internet was spotty and movies came on pen drives passed hand to hand.
Vikram saw her arrival as a rescue of his mental state. The dreams of Malar stopped and Malavika slowly got in… unknowingly occupied him.
The jeep sped away from the mansion, Vikram in the back seat between two constables. No handcuffs, but their grip on his arms was firm enough to remind him he had no choice. He stared out the window as Chennai blurred past—crowded markets, billboards, the endless sea of people who didn’t know his name or his story. Inside, the ring in his pocket felt heavier than ever.
Mohan followed in a cab, cursing under his breath the whole way. He couldn’t see Vikram clearly through the jeep’s tinted windows, but he knew the boy was scared.
Back at the mansion, Ramesh got a call from the workshop manager.
“Where is Vikram? Why didn’t he come on the third day of the job?” the manager asked.
Ramesh explained: “security officer took him for interrogation. Seems like a false FIR.”
The manager paused. “We took him based on your referral, Ramesh. But with an FIR on record… sorry, we can’t take him anymore. Too much risk.”
Ramesh’s face darkened. Guilt hit him like a punch. He had vouched for Vikram, brought him into the fold. Now the boy was gone because of a lie from the village.
Ramesh made calls. His NGO contacts, security officer friends from community patrols—he pulled every string he had. “This boy is clean. It’s a family dispute gone wrong. We need him out tonight.” But everyone turned their hands and said, “It’s already filed an FIR. Go through legal process. Hire a lawyer.” The news came like a door slamming shut.
Vikram spent the night in a holding cell at the village station. The inspector was out on another case, so no questioning. Just a thin mat, flickering tube light, and the echo of Malar’s betrayal in his head. He didn’t sleep.
Next morning, Mohan, Ramesh, and Suresh arrived with a local lawyer. They marched into the station like men on a mission. Malar was already there—sitting quietly with Uncle and Vicky. When she saw Vikram being led in, her eyes widened.
The inspector listened to the lawyer’s argument: no evidence. security officer asked the complainant—Vikram.
Surprisingly, Malar stood up.
“I have no idea about any theft case being registered,” she said clearly. “I willingly gave him the money and ring. It was a gift. He didn’t steal anything.”
Uncle looked at her, surprised but proud. “See? My daughter is defending him even now.” He turned to Vikram, voice heavy. “I doubted my own upbringing. Instead of marrying her to you, I should marry her to Vicky. He has money, land, and he stands with her in all this misery.”
Uncle walked out, shaking his head. Vicky smirked from the corner.
Vikram just left a smirk of his own—small, bitter, hidden.
The security officer closed the FIR: “Misunderstood case. No further action.” A constable, Ramesh, and Suresh witnessed Malar approach Vikram afterward.
“Sorry, Maama,” she whispered. “I didn’t want this to happen. But Vicky wanted to hurt you. Sorry… I just wanted you to get a bad name so father would turn to Vicky, but I didn’t know it would push you here.”
The three men saw it clearly: her apology, her tears, the way she played innocent. They noticed how easily she lied, how she pushed Vikram aside for her own comfort. It made their blood boil.
Mohan, Ramesh, and Suresh brought Vikram back to Chennai in silence. The cab ride was long. No one spoke much.
Back at the mansion, reality hit again. The FIR—even closed—had left a mark. Companies whispered “troublemaker.” Doors shut faster. Vikram was back to zero. First they kicked him out of the village, now the shadow followed him here. He wanted to live peacefully, but one case had erased everything.
A few more days passed in hunger and rejection. Then Suresh sat him down.
“My girlfriend works at a bank loan procuring company. They need field agents—targets, good commission. Not mechanical, but the pay is decent. She can get you in.”
Vikram hesitated. “It’s not my field. Banking, loans… I don’t know.”
Suresh’s girlfriend—Malavika—called him “bro” on the phone the next day. “Come, anna. It’s easy. I’ll teach you everything. Suresh trusts you, so I trust you.” Her voice was warm, naive, friendly.
He joined.
Vikram found her very beautiful in her own way—small frame, innocent face, soft smile.
Malavika was small but beautiful, with the most naive face Vikram had ever seen.
As promised she guided him in the job. In initial days he was tempted whenever she helped him with targets—leaning close to explain forms, her perfume lingering. But he wanted to respect his friendship with Suresh… so he avoided such thoughts. Soon Malavika's own behavior made him respect her. The respect formed quickly.
The job stabilized over months. He gave Mohan the advance, then double as promised. Harmony returned. Those were the days when internet was spotty and movies came on pen drives passed hand to hand.
Vikram saw her arrival as a rescue of his mental state. The dreams of Malar stopped and Malavika slowly got in… unknowingly occupied him.
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