His Heart In Disguise

Atharva was the kind of guy everyone noticed.

Not because he tried to get attention, but because he never seemed to need it.

He was smart, funny, and unapologetically extroverted. The kind of person who could walk into a room full of strangers and leave with half of them laughing at his jokes. He had an answer for almost everything, a comeback for almost everyone, and a smile that rarely seemed to leave his face.

People liked him.

Some admired him. Some envied him.

But very few knew anything about him.

He had more money than most people could imagine, yet he dressed like an ordinary guy, ate at ordinary places, and never felt the need to announce how much he owned.

To the people who knew him casually, Atharva was just another young man living his life.

And he preferred it that way.

---

The afternoon sun hung over the busy streets as Atharva walked along the footpath, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

He was halfway through checking a notification on his phone when the traffic signal changed.

The pedestrian light turned green.

Atharva looked up, put his phone away, and began crossing the road.

A luxurious black car came speeding towards the crossing.

Its engine roared through the traffic, and its driver seemed far too impatient to care about the people around him.

Atharva noticed the car.

And continued walking.

The driver slammed on the brakes.

The car stopped just short of him.

For a second, the entire world seemed to pause.

Then the driver's window rolled down.

"Ankh se andha hai kya?!" the man shouted. "Dikhai nahi deta gaadi aa rahi hai?"

Atharva slowly turned towards him.

He looked at the car, then at the pedestrian signal, which was still green.

Then he looked back at the man.

A smile crept across his face.

"I guess you seem like one."

The driver's expression changed instantly.

"KYA BOLA TUNE?"

Before Atharva could answer, the man threw open his car door and marched towards him.

He grabbed Atharva by the collar of his shirt.

"Chup kar ja, warna saare daant tod dunga!"

Anyone else might have been startled.

Anyone else might have tried to push the man away.

Atharva?

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

The man tightened his grip, apparently offended that the person he was threatening found the situation funny.

"Has kyun raha hai?!"

Atharva looked at the hand gripping his collar and then back at the man's furious face.

"Bhai, aapne kabhi traffic signal dekha hai? Ya bas gaadi chalane ka shauk hai?"

"TU—"

"Papa!"

A girl's voice rang out from inside the car.

"Papa, jaldi chaliye! Late ho raha hai!"

The man turned towards the car.

"Ek minute!"

Atharva tilted his head slightly.

For a brief moment, his gaze shifted towards the passenger seat.

A girl was sitting inside.

He caught only a glimpse of her face through the window.

He couldn't make out much before she turned towards her father again, impatiently urging him to hurry.

Atharva barely looked at her for another second.

The man finally released his collar and pointed a threatening finger at him.

"Tu bach gaya aaj. Dobara mere saamne mat aana."

Atharva watched him return to his car.

"Ji, uncle. Aap bhi agli baar gaadi chalane se pehle aankhein khol lena!"

The man shot him one final glare before getting inside.

A moment later, the car disappeared into traffic.

Atharva stood there, looking down at his crumpled shirt.

"Wah."

He brushed the collar with his fingers.

"What a useless fellow."

A man in a formal suit approached him.

"Sir?"

Atharva glanced at him.

The man looked at his shirt with visible disapproval.

"I think you should throw this shirt away."

Atharva looked down at the shirt again, as if considering the suggestion seriously.

"Haan, bilkul. Fek deni chahiye."

He paused.

"Waise, tumhe meri wardrobe ka bhi contract de doon? Kaafi interest hai tumhe mere kapdon mein."

The man sighed.

"Sir, main serious hoon."

"Main bhi toh serious hoon."

Atharva smiled, patted the man's shoulder, and started walking again.

The man followed him.

He was Atharva's personal security guard.

And, judging by the expression on his face, this wasn't the first time he'd witnessed his employer getting into an unnecessary argument with a stranger.

Nor would it be the last.

---

By the time Atharva reached his office, he had already decided that the shirt was beyond saving.

He changed into a fresh one, checked his watch, and walked into the main office.

"Good afternoon, sir," his receptionist greeted him.

"Good afternoon! Aaj sab zinda lag rahe hain. Kya baat hai? Salary mil gayi?"

She laughed.

"Sir, abhi toh month khatam bhi nahi hua."

"Toh phir itni khushi kis baat ki? Kuch toh gadbad hai."

He continued towards his cabin, exchanging greetings with a few employees along the way.

He had barely taken a few steps when he noticed a commotion near the reception area.

Two security guards were standing in front of a familiar man.

The same man.

The same angry face.

The same expensive clothes.

And the same attitude.

Atharva stopped walking.

The man noticed him almost immediately.

His eyes widened.

Then his expression twisted into anger.

"TU?!"

Atharva raised his eyebrows.

The man pointed at him.

"Ab toh tu gaya!"

He attempted to move towards Atharva, but the security guards immediately stepped in front of him.

"Sir, please calm down."

"Calm down? Tum jaante ho isne mere saath kya kiya hai?"

Atharva looked at him for a moment.

Then he turned towards the woman standing beside him.

"Excuse me, what exactly is happening here?"

His manager, who had been trying to settle the situation, blinked.

"Sir, aap—"

The angry man interrupted her.

"ye hota kon h puchne wala"

Atharva lifted one hand.

"Ek second."

His voice remained calm.

"Main apni manager se baat kar raha hoon."

The man's mouth fell open.

For the first time that afternoon, he seemed to have absolutely nothing to say.

Atharva turned back to his manager.

"Now, tell me."

She cleared her throat.

"Sir, ye aapse urgently milna chahte the. Aapke dad ne inhe bheja hai. Inhe aapse madad chahiye."

Atharva's expression changed slightly at the mention of his father.

"Kaisi madad?"

"Sir, inhe do crore rupaye chahiye."

Silence.

Atharva looked at the man standing before him.

Two crores.

And this was the same person who had grabbed him by the collar on the street barely an hour ago.

Interesting.

The man finally found his voice.

"Dekhiye, woh jo road par hua, uske liye main—"

"Main aapki madad nahi karne wala."

Atharva's response was immediate.

His manager looked at him.

The man stared at him in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

Atharva adjusted the cuff of his shirt.

"Aapne sahi suna."

"Par tumhare papa—"

"Mere dad ne aapko mujhse milne bheja hai. Unhone ye nahi kaha ki mujhe aapki har baat maanani padegi."

His tone was still polite.

Almost pleasant.

Which somehow made the refusal sting even more.

"Aur honestly," he continued, "jis tarah ka aapka behaviour hai, mujhe nahi lagta ki main aapki madad karna chahta hoon."

The man's face reddened.

"Main tumse tameez se baat kar raha hoon!"

Atharva looked at him.

"Ab kar rahe hain."

Before the man could respond, another voice interrupted them.

"Please, sir."

Atharva turned.

And there she was.

The girl from the car.

She had been standing a little behind her father, quiet until now. But the moment she heard Atharva refuse, she stepped forward.

"Please, sir. Humein sach mein in paison ki bahut zaroorat hai."

Her voice carried a desperation that hadn't been there when he saw her earlier.

"Main samajh sakti hoon ki jo kuch bhi hua, uske baad aap papa ki madad kyun nahi karna chahte. Lekin please, ek baar hamari situation samajhne ki koshish kijiye."

Atharva said nothing.

He simply looked at her.

This time, he actually saw her.

She wasn't the first beautiful girl he'd encountered, nor was he someone who easily lost his words around women.

But there was something about the way she stood before him, asking for help despite the humiliation of the situation, that made him pause.

"Please, sir," she repeated softly.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Atharva turned towards his manager.

"Paise de dena inko."

His manager stared at him.

"Sir?"

"You heard me."

He slipped his hands into his pockets and started walking towards the lifts.

Behind him, the man remained frozen.

The girl looked from Atharva to his manager, seemingly unable to process what had just happened.

"Thank you, sir!" she called out.

Atharva didn't turn around.

He simply raised one hand in acknowledgement as he entered the lift.

The doors began to close.

For a brief second, the girl caught sight of his face through the narrowing gap.

He was smiling.

Not the mocking smile he'd worn on the road.

Not the casual smile he'd given his employees.

Something quieter.

Something she couldn't quite understand.

Then the doors shut.

And Atharva disappeared.

---

Inside the lift, Atharva's smile slowly faded.

He looked at the numbers lighting up above the doors.

One.

Two.

Three.

His expression was unreadable now.

He had agreed to give away two crore rupees.

Not because the man deserved it.

Not because he was impressed by the girl's pleading.

And certainly not because he had suddenly developed a soft corner for a stranger.

There was a reason.

A reason no one in that office knew.

A reason he intended to keep to himself.

For now.

The lift reached his floor.

The doors opened.

Atharva stepped out, straightened his sleeves, and walked towards his cabin as if nothing unusual had happened.

As if he hadn't just made a decision that might change far more than one family's financial situation.

As if he hadn't recognised something—or someone—that the others had completely missed.

Because the truth about Atharva was simple.

Everyone knew the person he allowed them to see.

Nobody knew the person he had chosen to hide.

And he intended to keep it that way.