Adultery Car driver Iqbal's daughter Fathima weds Business magnet Manohar's son Rahul

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Rahul, having stepped aside to relieve himself, slipped behind the nearby bushes and crossed over to the other side of the road. There, his friend was already waiting, ready to go with his bike. Rahul hopped on.

Along the way, he switched off his phone and tossed it into a nearby canal. He had already acquired a new SIM card just the day before; he now switched on that phone.

They soon reached the nearby Patancheru railway station.

After thanking his friend, he stepped onto the platform—only to see a train already in motion... a train bound for Mumbai.

With his blood running hot—the heir to a fortune worth hundreds of crores—and his ego bruised by a trivial slight, he took a massive risk and began sprinting to board the moving train.

There was someone there... a beautiful girl—eighteen years old, perhaps. Even though her face was partially veiled, she appeared fair-skinned, slender, and stunningly beautiful.

"Come on... fast! Run!"



As soon as he saw the girl shouting those words, he was reminded of the movie *Super Hit*. Our Rahul suddenly felt just like Shah Rukh Khan.


Fueled by that surge of adrenaline, he picked up the pace. The train, too, was gathering speed. However, Rahul was oblivious to the fact that the girl was actually shouting for the young man running just ahead of him—a guy named Ahmed. They were fast approaching the very end of the platform. Ahmed slowed down... and came to a halt. Rahul, however, surged ahead; he was just about to reach the compartment where the girl stood.



Crying out, "Come on, Ahmed!" the girl extended her hand toward Rahul. She gave a mighty tug. Having narrowly escaped falling off the edge of the platform and beneath the train, he tumbled forward—landing right on top of the girl. He lunged forward and grabbed the door handle; her breasts pressed tightly against Rahul's chest. Her soft, tender lips brushed against his own trembling ones. As the train gave a sudden lurch, the button on his jeans dug into the girl's waist.

Rahul’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of the girl’s wide, startled eyes—captivated by her beauty and innocence. Still panting from his frantic run to catch the train, Rahul felt she bore a striking resemblance to Kajol, the heroine of that super-hit movie.

Suddenly, fear and anxiety flashed in the girl's eyes. She pushed Rahul aside, craned her head out the door, and frantically scanned for Ahmed—the young man who had promised to meet her there. Fatima was utterly devastated when she spotted Ahmed in the distance; he had stopped short, flipping her the middle finger and mouthing the words, "Fuck off!"

Realizing the danger of lingering at the door, Rahul grabbed Fatima's hand and pulled her back inside.

Overcome with rage and tears, the girl slapped Rahul hard across the face.

"Sorry," he murmured. Ignoring him completely, she walked over and sank into one of the seats nearby. The entire compartment was empty; Rahul took a seat directly across from her.

She pulled her veil over her face and sobbed uncontrollably—though Rahul had no idea why.

She had run away for the sake of Ahmed—the boy she loved. Defying her family—whom she cherished deeply—she had fled to escape a forced marriage to an Arab Sheikh.

Ahmed had told her he would board the train at the Patancheru station. He had reasoned that boarding at Nampally might arouse suspicion, and he had promised to purchase the tickets himself. Their plan was to travel to Mumbai... He lured her in with the promise of finding work so she could make a living; for a week, he invited her to his room, used her for sex, and ultimately—just like that—he dumped her.

She simply cannot come to terms with it. With what face, she wonders, can she possibly go back home now?

Just then, the Ticket Collector arrives.

Spotting Rahul, he says, "Ticket, please."

"Sorry, Sir... I was running late... I didn't buy a ticket."

To silence the mouth that would otherwise spout on about how traveling without a ticket is a crime, one must first grease the palm behind it. Rahul pulls four or five hundred-rupee notes from his pocket, presses them into the TC's hand, and says, "Give me a ticket to Pune."

If a passenger buys a ticket and boards, the revenue goes to the government.

If a passenger boards without a ticket, the revenue goes to the TC.

"Madam... your ticket?"

Fatima is lost in a world of her own.

"Madam... I'm speaking to *you*... Ticket, please."

Snapping back to reality and wiping her eyes, Fatima replies, "Sorry, Sir... I didn't buy a ticket."

"Boarding without a ticket is a crime..."

Fatima glances at the 1,000 rupees clutched in her hand—money that Shivanna had given her with such affection—and thinks to herself that she shouldn't waste it like this. "Sorry, Sir," she says, "I don't even have any money on me."

The TC responds, "Very well... get off at the next station."

"How far away is the next station, Sir?" "It will take another hour."

"Alright, Sir."

The TC leaves.

Rahul takes a water bottle out of his bag and offers it to the girl.

She refuses, pulls her veil over her face, and looks distressed.

"Thanks."

The girl lifts her head, her expression asking, "For what?"

"If you hadn't grabbed my hand and pulled me back—standing right at the edge of the platform as I was—I would have slipped and fallen right under the train."

"I only pulled you back for Ahmed's sake."

"Who is Ahmed?"

Fighting back tears, the girl replies, "My boyfriend."

"So, what happened to this Ahmed?"

"He flipped me the middle finger and told me to 'go fuck myself'... Sorry."

Laughing heartily, he offered her the water bottle again. This time, she took it. After taking a sip, Fatima asked, "Why are you laughing?"

"If you—a girl with a thousand rupees in her hand who boarded a train just to meet her boyfriend—get ditched by him and told to 'go fuck yourself,' then he has definitely cheated on you."

"Yes... I never imagined he would betray me like this."

"Did he take you to his room?"

"Mm-hmm."

"How many times?"

She holds up seven fingers.



"So, after fucking you all those times... he finally told you to 'go fuck yourself'? Sorry."

Looking at him with a pained expression, the girl asked, "Do you find my misery amusing?"—to which Rahul, noticing the *mehndi* on her hands, replied, "You ran away to escape a wedding, didn't you?" ...he says:

"You have Mehendi on your hands too, don't you? Did you run away from the wedding mandap as well?"

"I'm Rahul."

"I'm Fatima."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"By the way, why did you run away from the wedding? Was it because you trusted Ahmed?"

"Not just for his sake... I was being married off to an Arab Sheikh whom I didn't like."

"So, why exactly did you run away from your wedding? Was it because you trusted Ahmed?"

"Not just for his sake... My father intended to marry me off to an Arab Sheikh I didn't like and send me away to Dubai."

"You mean... your father *sold* you off to a Sheikh?"

"Don't speak so crudely... My father isn't that kind of man."

"Sorry... So, what do you plan to do now?"

"That's exactly what I can't figure out... I'll somehow make my way to Mumbai... and find some kind of work there."



"You can buy a ticket to Mumbai with a thousand rupees... but you can't survive a life there."

Just then, the Ticket Collector arrives.

"Madam... we'll be reaching the station in another five minutes... please get off here."

Rahul pulled six five-hundred-rupee notes from his pocket, placed them in the TC's hand, and said, "Please issue a ticket to Pune for my girlfriend."

The TC looked at him in astonishment.

"Madam... your name?" "Begum."

He writes out a ticket and hands the receipt to her.

Once the TC has left...

"You told me your name was Fatima."

"I didn't want to give my real name... just in case my family's people came looking for me later—I didn't want them to find me."

Rahul chuckles and says, "For someone so clever... didn't you have the sense to at least take a hundred thousand rupees with you when you ran away? You boarded a train without even buying a ticket... all because you put your trust in some random loser."

The girl looks at him with wide-eyed innocence and replies, "If we actually *had* a hundred thousand rupees, why on earth would my father try to marry me off to an Arab Sheikh?"

Hearing this, Rahul felt as though his heart were being squeezed tight.

From the moment he was born, he was cradled in a golden crib. By the age of five, he had seen America; by ten, he was riding in a Mercedes-Benz; and by fifteen, he had become the Executive Director of a company with a turnover of a thousand crores. Rahul—a man who had never known the meaning of hardship—had brought along twenty lakhs just to have a bit of fun in Pune. He had run away from his own wedding, intending to escape to Pune and enjoy himself in anonymity, far from anyone who knew him.

"I'm sorry, Fatima... but anyway, what exactly do you plan to do now?"

"I already told you... I'll find some work in Mumbai and make a living."



"Fatima... the moment you step off that train in Mumbai—seeing your beauty and your innocence—they won't sell you off to an Arab Sheikh; they'll sell you straight into the red-light district. Just do as I say."

She looks at Rahul with suspicion. "What guarantee do I have that you won't just give me the finger and leave me stranded—just like that Ahmed guy did?" she asks.

Rahul reaches into his pocket... Pulling it out, she showed him her business card...

"The Chairman of the Bhatia Group of Companies... is my father. His name is... Manohar Bhatia." As soon as she said this, Fatima suddenly flinched.

Her phone was switched off. She wanted to turn it on and check it, but what if someone called her in the meantime?

"Rahul... do you know Iqbal?"

"Iqbal?"

"Yes, Iqbal."

"The Iqbal I know is our car driver... he's a very good man."

 

"Yes, he is a very good man. He loves his daughter... but money is his very life. One can survive without love, but one certainly cannot survive without life itself, can one? That is why—in pursuit of *that* life—he took the life of love."

"What are you talking about?"

"Rahul... I am that Iqbal's daughter. Believe me. We don't have the means to carry around business cards like you do. If you look at the photos on my phone, you'll see for yourself."

"Then turn on your phone."

"If I turn on my phone, someone or other is bound to call. They must already be searching high and low for me, Rahul."

"Alright, I'll check on my phone instead. What's your Insta ID?"

"Insta? What's that?" Rahul smiles... at her innocence.

"Fatima... I didn't ask for your Instagram ID just to verify that you are my Uncle Iqbal's daughter... I wanted to see your beautiful photos."

"Rahul... things like that aren't allowed in our house. The phone is strictly for talking."

"Alright then... I'm very fond of Iqbal; I affectionately call him 'Mama.' Your mother, Haseena, works in our household as well. Anyway, it's a good thing you ended up with me—it's certainly better than you going to Mumbai and getting deceived."

"Rahul... please don't try to send me back home. Let me stay out for a while; later... once tempers have cooled down, we can figure things out then."

"My situation is exactly the same."

"Thanks, Rahul."
"What for?"

"For buying the ticket to Pune."

"Haha... Thanks."

"What for?"

"For reaching out and saving my life."

"Sorry."

"What for?"

"Because when you grabbed my hand to pull me to safety—to save my life—I misunderstood your intentions and hit you."

"I owe you an apology, too."

"What for?"

"For telling the Ticket Collector that you were my girlfriend, without asking for your permission first."

"Thanks."

"What for? For accepting you as my girlfriend?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"For agreeing to give me shelter for a while."

"If we keep going on like this—saying 'thanks' and 'sorry' back and forth—we'll be in Pune before we know it."

"Rahul... we really *are* here."

"We got so caught up in talking that we didn't even notice."

(.) (.)

Rahul realized that if he stayed at his friend's guest house in Pune, there was a risk his father might find out; so, he decided to take her to a five-star hotel instead.

"We need a suite room for two days."

"Sorry, Sir... all rooms are full."

A young assistant standing nearby interjected, "What are you talking about, brother? The whole hotel is empty!"

"Brother... are you Telugu? If there's a room available, why not just give it to us?"

The man looked Fatima up and down, sizing her up.

"Sorry, Sir... we can't give you one," he said.

Rahul knew exactly why they were refusing to give them a room.


They tried another hotel... but the situation was exactly the same there.

 

"Rahul... couldn't we just book one online?" "Super idea..."

He opens an app, books an available hotel room, and they head there.

However, despite the booking, the hotel staff refuse to honor it and cancel the reservation.

He calls a friend and asks for the address of a guest house; by then, it is already past midnight.

They arrive at the guest house. When the watchman eyes them up and down suspiciously, Rahul gets annoyed—but he finds himself in a situation where he can't really do anything about it.

He shows Fatima to a room and is about to head to another one for himself when she murmurs:

"Rahul... I'm afraid to sleep all alone. Besides, this is a new place for me. In fact, this is the very first time I've ever even traveled by train."

Rahul is stunned.

Agreeing to stay, he settles into that same room and says, "You don't have any clothes with you, do you? We'll go shopping tomorrow morning. Just try to manage somehow for tonight."

"I'm sorry, Rahul... Look at all the trouble I'm putting you through. My clothes are back in Ahmed Bagh."

"Fatima... just forget about Ahmed now. If you hadn't been wearing that burqa, the hotel staff probably would have given us a room."



At those words, Fatima becomes distressed and, weeping, says, "Rahul... is our worth really judged solely by the clothes we wear? If I had worn tight jeans that revealed my figure, or a top that exposed my cleavage—would they have given us a room then? Rahul, if this is how it's going to be, I can't stay here... I'll just go back to Baba."

Rahul calms down and says, "I'm sorry, Fatima... please try to understand. Look at our hands..." "Look—there's the henna... an eighteen-year-old girl... a girl wearing a burqa... and a guy in jeans... People think twice—actually, *many* times—before giving us a room. Even if you book online, they always have that fine print: 'Terms and Conditions Apply,' right? That’s exactly why they turned us away. I just don't have the patience to argue with you anymore. You take the bed; I'll sleep on the sofa," he said.

Fatima replied, "Rahul... I'm actually used to sleeping on the floor. You go ahead and take the bed."

Rahul felt a burning frustration deep in his gut.

"Fine, let's both sleep on the bed then... Okay?"

"Not okay."

Rahul lay down on the sofa and switched off the light.

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