01-02-2026, 02:19 PM
Chapter 36: A New Beginning in Chennai
One week after the wedding, the Kerala air still clung to their clothes like a soft goodbye.
They boarded the overnight bus to Chennai—Mirna’s hand in Vikram’s, fingers laced the entire journey. Shiney had seen them off at the bus stand, hugging Mirna tightly, whispering, “He’s proven himself. Now go build something real.” She knew about the cheques—the 50 lakhs from Swathi & Krish, the blank one from Sekaran. Enough to survive, enough to start fresh. Enough to never worry about rent again if they chose.
But Vikram had other plans.
They reached Chennai at dawn. The city woke around them—honking autos, street vendors lighting stoves, the faint smell of filter coffee cutting through the dust.
Mohan waited at the bus stand, grin wide. He drove them to a small rented house nearby—simple walls, tin roof, one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a front veranda just big enough for two plastic chairs. Rent: 5500 rupees a month.
They stepped inside. Bags dropped. Silence settled.
Mirna looked around—the bare bulb, the cracked tile floor, the single window letting in morning light—and smiled.
“It’s ours,” she said softly.
Vikram pulled her close, kissed her forehead.
“Ours.”
He refused to touch the cheques.
“Not yet,” he told Mirna that first night, lying on the thin mattress they’d bought second-hand. “I want to build something first. Something honest. No shortcuts.”
She nodded, trusting him completely. “Whatever you decide.”
Friends rallied fast.
Mohan, Ramesh, Suresh—they came with advice, contacts, and laughter. Vikram took odd jobs to keep the rent paid: driving a rented van for spice wholesalers, helping set up decorations at marriage halls, even waiting tables at a small hotel near the bus stand. His back ached after long days, but he never complained. Every rupee went into a small tin box labeled “Our Future.”
Mirna found work at a nearby hospital—nursing shifts, modest pay, but steady. She came home with stories of patients she’d comforted, wounds she’d bandaged, children she’d made smile. Vikram listened every night, proud, falling more in love with her quiet strength.
Their sex life was great—gentle, loving, always on her terms.
Every night they came together in the dim room, bodies moving in familiar tenderness. Missionary mostly—slow, deep, eyes locked. Vikram kissed her softly, hands caressing her breasts, her waist, her thighs. He entered her carefully, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. She sighed happily, legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer, whispering “I love you” against his neck.
She came easily—small shivers, soft moans, her nails lightly scratching his back. He followed soon after, spilling inside her with a quiet groan, holding her tight as they drifted off.
For Mirna, it was perfect. Safe. Loved.
For Vikram… it was beautiful, but incomplete.
The ring haunted him.
Late at night, after she fell asleep, he would stare at her peaceful face—the thali resting between her breasts—and the old gold ring from Malar would flash in his mind. Then Malar’s mocking smile overlaid Mirna’s features. Malavika’s teasing laugh echoed in his ears. In those moments, a dark heat rose inside him—rage, possession, the need to claim, to punish, to unleash.
Sometimes, mid-thrust, the vision came sharp.
He would speed up suddenly—harder, faster, hips snapping with an edge he couldn’t control. Mirna would flinch, a small gasp of discomfort escaping her lips, her body tensing under him.
He’d panic instantly.
“Sorry… sorry…” he’d whisper, slowing immediately, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, murmuring apologies until she relaxed again, smiling sleepily. “It’s okay… I love you…”
She never questioned it. She was easily satisfied with his gentleness.
But Vikram knew the truth.
He was holding back. Always.
He was tired of it—tired of the restraint, tired of the fear that if he let go even a little, he might hurt her. He never opened up fully in bed with Mirna. Never showed her the raw, hungry side that still lived inside him from years of betrayal and survival.
She didn’t need it./ she didn’t want it.
And so he kept it locked away. He always feared if she knew this side of roughness will she doubt him? And to make it worse , she doesn't know how he planned to take Malavika once.. No one elaborated about it so far.. That remains a secret..
Vikram is just scared of the after effects of her knowing.. So he maintained the gentle sex in meter to show himself better.. A stupidity but it was what he had been doing..
Two months in, opportunity knocked.
A small electronics shop down the road—fans, bulbs, cheap radios, wires—was struggling. The owner, an older man tired of losses, offered to transfer it to Vikram for half price: 25 lakhs upfront.
Vikram stared at the shop for a long time.
Then he went home, opened the suitcase, took out Swathi’s cheque, filled in 25 lakhs.
Mirna watched him, eyes wide but steady.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
“I am,” he said. “This is how we start.”
He paid. Took ownership.
The shop buzzed from day one.
Vikram gave unbelievable offers—discounts no one else matched, free installation for fans, bundle deals on bulbs and extension cords. Word spread fast. Ramesh quit his job in Coimbatore and joined. Suresh followed soon after.
They collaborated with local companies for bulk stock, put up small ads in newspapers, and handed out notices at bus stops. Customers crowded in—families buying their first mixer grinder, students needing cheap radios, old men replacing ceiling fans. The shop doubled revenue in three months.
Swathi and Krish came to open the second branch—another small space two streets away. They arrived with flowers, smiles, and quiet pride.
Vikram handed Swathi a cheque—30 lakhs.
“I used 25,” he said. “This 5 is interest. I’ll pay the rest as we grow.”
Swathi stared at it, then at him.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
Krish hugged him. “You’re family now.”
The electronics business tripled.
Vikram sank profits into two more locations, then branched into inverters and solar lights. Within a year, twenty stores bore his name across Chennai suburbs. Cash flowed steady. Krish stepped in as a trusted investor—guiding finances, opening doors to suppliers.
Vikram and Mirna shifted to much bigger house in the hot spot of Chennai. but still rental
One day, Krish handed over his entire Chennai financial concern—loans, investments, quick-turn schemes.
“You’re my silent 50%,” he said, voice rough with trust. “Run it.”
Vikram built an online system—every rupee tracked, funneled to Krish first, released back only with his approval. But month after month, Krish waved it off.
“Keep it,” he said finally. “It’s yours. I trust you.”
Krish and Swathi left for Dubai—his original home calling after years chasing her here.
Mirna stayed at the hospital, nursing for the solace it brought. She never asked for more. She came home tired but happy, cooked simple meals, listened to Vikram’s day, rested her head on his chest at night.
They had built something real.
Humble roots. Hard work. Love that didn’t demand.
The only thing that bothers him is the vision of Malar and Malavika frequently coming and he has been controlling his urge.. His self..
He didn't know his controlling sexual urge was never needed anymore the next day....
He slept ..
NEXT DAY
When Vikram posted a recruitment notice for manager positions for their 22nd branch, Mohan called him that same evening.
“Someone applied,” Mohan said. “Looks good on paper. Have a look at the applicants.”
Vikram’s eyes widened when he saw the name on the shortlist.
The name that hints at the past… the past was circling back.
Whether it would bring the worst… or something else entirely… only time would tell.
For now it brings a smirk on Vikram’s face..
One week after the wedding, the Kerala air still clung to their clothes like a soft goodbye.
They boarded the overnight bus to Chennai—Mirna’s hand in Vikram’s, fingers laced the entire journey. Shiney had seen them off at the bus stand, hugging Mirna tightly, whispering, “He’s proven himself. Now go build something real.” She knew about the cheques—the 50 lakhs from Swathi & Krish, the blank one from Sekaran. Enough to survive, enough to start fresh. Enough to never worry about rent again if they chose.
But Vikram had other plans.
They reached Chennai at dawn. The city woke around them—honking autos, street vendors lighting stoves, the faint smell of filter coffee cutting through the dust.
Mohan waited at the bus stand, grin wide. He drove them to a small rented house nearby—simple walls, tin roof, one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a front veranda just big enough for two plastic chairs. Rent: 5500 rupees a month.
They stepped inside. Bags dropped. Silence settled.
Mirna looked around—the bare bulb, the cracked tile floor, the single window letting in morning light—and smiled.
“It’s ours,” she said softly.
Vikram pulled her close, kissed her forehead.
“Ours.”
He refused to touch the cheques.
“Not yet,” he told Mirna that first night, lying on the thin mattress they’d bought second-hand. “I want to build something first. Something honest. No shortcuts.”
She nodded, trusting him completely. “Whatever you decide.”
Friends rallied fast.
Mohan, Ramesh, Suresh—they came with advice, contacts, and laughter. Vikram took odd jobs to keep the rent paid: driving a rented van for spice wholesalers, helping set up decorations at marriage halls, even waiting tables at a small hotel near the bus stand. His back ached after long days, but he never complained. Every rupee went into a small tin box labeled “Our Future.”
Mirna found work at a nearby hospital—nursing shifts, modest pay, but steady. She came home with stories of patients she’d comforted, wounds she’d bandaged, children she’d made smile. Vikram listened every night, proud, falling more in love with her quiet strength.
Their sex life was great—gentle, loving, always on her terms.
Every night they came together in the dim room, bodies moving in familiar tenderness. Missionary mostly—slow, deep, eyes locked. Vikram kissed her softly, hands caressing her breasts, her waist, her thighs. He entered her carefully, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. She sighed happily, legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer, whispering “I love you” against his neck.
She came easily—small shivers, soft moans, her nails lightly scratching his back. He followed soon after, spilling inside her with a quiet groan, holding her tight as they drifted off.
For Mirna, it was perfect. Safe. Loved.
For Vikram… it was beautiful, but incomplete.
The ring haunted him.
Late at night, after she fell asleep, he would stare at her peaceful face—the thali resting between her breasts—and the old gold ring from Malar would flash in his mind. Then Malar’s mocking smile overlaid Mirna’s features. Malavika’s teasing laugh echoed in his ears. In those moments, a dark heat rose inside him—rage, possession, the need to claim, to punish, to unleash.
Sometimes, mid-thrust, the vision came sharp.
He would speed up suddenly—harder, faster, hips snapping with an edge he couldn’t control. Mirna would flinch, a small gasp of discomfort escaping her lips, her body tensing under him.
He’d panic instantly.
“Sorry… sorry…” he’d whisper, slowing immediately, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, murmuring apologies until she relaxed again, smiling sleepily. “It’s okay… I love you…”
She never questioned it. She was easily satisfied with his gentleness.
But Vikram knew the truth.
He was holding back. Always.
He was tired of it—tired of the restraint, tired of the fear that if he let go even a little, he might hurt her. He never opened up fully in bed with Mirna. Never showed her the raw, hungry side that still lived inside him from years of betrayal and survival.
She didn’t need it./ she didn’t want it.
And so he kept it locked away. He always feared if she knew this side of roughness will she doubt him? And to make it worse , she doesn't know how he planned to take Malavika once.. No one elaborated about it so far.. That remains a secret..
Vikram is just scared of the after effects of her knowing.. So he maintained the gentle sex in meter to show himself better.. A stupidity but it was what he had been doing..
Two months in, opportunity knocked.
A small electronics shop down the road—fans, bulbs, cheap radios, wires—was struggling. The owner, an older man tired of losses, offered to transfer it to Vikram for half price: 25 lakhs upfront.
Vikram stared at the shop for a long time.
Then he went home, opened the suitcase, took out Swathi’s cheque, filled in 25 lakhs.
Mirna watched him, eyes wide but steady.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
“I am,” he said. “This is how we start.”
He paid. Took ownership.
The shop buzzed from day one.
Vikram gave unbelievable offers—discounts no one else matched, free installation for fans, bundle deals on bulbs and extension cords. Word spread fast. Ramesh quit his job in Coimbatore and joined. Suresh followed soon after.
They collaborated with local companies for bulk stock, put up small ads in newspapers, and handed out notices at bus stops. Customers crowded in—families buying their first mixer grinder, students needing cheap radios, old men replacing ceiling fans. The shop doubled revenue in three months.
Swathi and Krish came to open the second branch—another small space two streets away. They arrived with flowers, smiles, and quiet pride.
Vikram handed Swathi a cheque—30 lakhs.
“I used 25,” he said. “This 5 is interest. I’ll pay the rest as we grow.”
Swathi stared at it, then at him.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
Krish hugged him. “You’re family now.”
The electronics business tripled.
Vikram sank profits into two more locations, then branched into inverters and solar lights. Within a year, twenty stores bore his name across Chennai suburbs. Cash flowed steady. Krish stepped in as a trusted investor—guiding finances, opening doors to suppliers.
Vikram and Mirna shifted to much bigger house in the hot spot of Chennai. but still rental
One day, Krish handed over his entire Chennai financial concern—loans, investments, quick-turn schemes.
“You’re my silent 50%,” he said, voice rough with trust. “Run it.”
Vikram built an online system—every rupee tracked, funneled to Krish first, released back only with his approval. But month after month, Krish waved it off.
“Keep it,” he said finally. “It’s yours. I trust you.”
Krish and Swathi left for Dubai—his original home calling after years chasing her here.
Mirna stayed at the hospital, nursing for the solace it brought. She never asked for more. She came home tired but happy, cooked simple meals, listened to Vikram’s day, rested her head on his chest at night.
They had built something real.
Humble roots. Hard work. Love that didn’t demand.
The only thing that bothers him is the vision of Malar and Malavika frequently coming and he has been controlling his urge.. His self..
He didn't know his controlling sexual urge was never needed anymore the next day....
He slept ..
NEXT DAY
When Vikram posted a recruitment notice for manager positions for their 22nd branch, Mohan called him that same evening.
“Someone applied,” Mohan said. “Looks good on paper. Have a look at the applicants.”
Vikram’s eyes widened when he saw the name on the shortlist.
The name that hints at the past… the past was circling back.
Whether it would bring the worst… or something else entirely… only time would tell.
For now it brings a smirk on Vikram’s face..
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)