SILENT HEARTS

Photo from unsplash.sunset, the headlines would c

By sunset, the headlines would call him a criminal. But for now, Neil Malhotra lay sprawled on the Italian leather couch, flicking his silver lighter open and closed like nothing was broken.

The Mumbai sun poured gold through the windows of the grand Malhotra mansion, casting long shadows over the drawing room—a blend of office and living space.

Rahul Malhotra sat upright in a carved chair, his sharp gaze steady beneath glasses perched low on his nose. His navy-blue suit was immaculate, silver streaks threading through his combed-back hair. Across from him, Anant shifted nervously.

Neil pushed himself up from the sofa and sauntered toward Anant, twisting the manager's chair to face him, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.

Rahul cleared his throat, eyes sharp.

"Anant, your job is to keep Neil on track. No drinking, no interviews without you. We need to rebuild his image—carefully. Don't let him act on his own at all." He shot an angry glance toward Neil.

Neil rolled his eyes and snapped, turning toward Anant harshly.

"Dad! I am not going to take anyone's orders."

Anant blinked, caught off guard.

Rahul's gaze fixed on Neil.

"People have already forgotten about you. All they remember is the Malhotra name, not you—not right now."

Neil's smirk faltered.

"Dad, don't talk like I'm already dead to them. People are still crazy about me."

Rahul's jaw tightened.

"You keep quiet and go back to where you were. After the scandal, you've burned a lot of bridges. Now Let me handle the damage."

Neil shot his father a sharp look.

"Dad, seriously. Stop talking like this."

Rahul's voice was cold.

"Don't tell me what to do. From now on I will be watching your every move."

Neil's jaw tightened. For a moment, a flicker of hurt flashed behind his eyes. Then, forcing a faint, mocking smile, he stopped abruptly, turned, and gave a sarcastic salute before walking out. The smile faded the instant he left, replaced by the look of a man crushed by failure.

Anant exhaled.

"Yes, sir."

Rahul returned to his desk.

Anant stepped into the corridor, thinking he was alone, then pulled out his phone and whispered bitterly:

"I've got to work with Neil Malhotra. Failure hasn't taught him a thing. So arrogant—thinks he can just bounce back. It's his father holding the reins. Otherwise, guys like him disappear without a trace."

He let out a dark chuckle.

Neil, hidden just beyond the corner, clenched his fists, body tense.

Without warning, he stormed forward and kicked Anant hard in the back.

Anant stumbled; his phone flew from his hand.

"Ah! Sir, I—"

Neil grabbed his collar, fury blazing.

Rahul burst out of the room.

"What's going on here?"

He shoved Neil away and helped Anant up.

"What the hell are you doing? Have you gone crazy? Anant was the last one willing to work with you. Stop ruining yourself and my name. Can you do that?"

He glared fiercely.

"Do you even want a career in this industry?"

Neil's anger flared. "Dad, you don't even know what he just said!"

"Calling you a failed actor—is that a lie?" Rahul yelled.

Neil's anger drained. His eyes welled with frustration and pain. He turned silently and left.

"Neil! Where are you going?" Rahul called after him.

But Neil didn't stop.

Neil stepped into his penthouse, chest still heaving. The apartment was spotless—expensive art on pristine walls, warm light spilling from modern fixtures—but the silence felt heavier than ever.

On a sleek shelf, rows of glittering awards stood like ghosts of a past life. Neil's fingers brushed one.

Flashbacks surged:

• Cheers at award shows

• Cameras flashing

• Whispers of "the emerging superstar"

• Tickets selling out before the film premiered

He blinked hard, shaking the memories.

Placing the trophy back on the shelf, Neil's gaze lingered on the glittering awards—a hollow reminder of what once was. His eyes grew distant, drifting as memories flooded in.

He sank to the floor, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Smoke curled upward, filling the aching void inside him.

⸻

A few months ago

The night was a celebration. Neil's latest film was a blockbuster. The party was exclusive—no glitz, just powerful business types sharing drinks.

A friend handed Neil a glass.

"One toast to success."

Neil smiled and downed the drink in one go, unaware of what had just slipped inside.

Music pulsed. People laughed. The night blurred.

Suddenly—sirens.

Police stormed the venue, shouting orders. Guests scattered. Officers found substances. Chaos erupted.

Two cops grabbed Neil's arms.

"I didn't do anything!" Neil protested. "Do you know who I am?"

"You'll learn soon enough," one said grimly.

"I want my lawyer!"

"You'll get one at the station," another yanked Neil's phone.

"Why my phone?"

Their grip tightened.

Neil's head spun. Confusion overwhelmed him.

"What's going on? I didn't do anything!" he shouted.

A calm female officer passed.

"We'll test everyone. Clean? You're free."

Neil pounded the bars.

"Lawyer! Now!"

Hours later, the test results came back.

Neil's blood showed traces of a synthetic drug—nearly tasteless, dissolvable in water.

His legs gave way. His mind fogged.

News exploded.

"Superstar Neil Malhotra caught in drug raid!"

Footage showed him handcuffed. Talk shows dissected the scandal. Social media turned hostile.

Rahul and the manager rushed to the station, horrified.

No proof Neil took the drug knowingly. But no one cared.

His soaring career crashed overnight.

⸻

Back to present

Neil sat on the cold floor of his penthouse, watching the last puff of smoke curl into the ceiling.

He picked up his phone and typed a message🤳

Neil to Dad:

I won't work with that manager. I'll handle things myself.

⸻

Malhotra Office – Evening

Rahul stood by the window, phone in hand, reading Neil's message. His jaw tightened.

"What do I do with this boy?" he muttered. "Because of him, even my company's shares are falling. Everything's a mess."

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

Subansh, his assistant, entered holding an iPad. He looked around nervously.

"Sir, may I come in?"

Rahul nodded.

"There's something I want to show you," Subansh said. " A video—by a YouTuber. Not famous, but she made a video... in Neil's support."

Rahul raised a brow. "Support?"

Subansh handed him the tablet. A paused video showed a young woman with calm eyes and a firm voice.

He pressed play.

⸻

On the screen, IRA (25) spoke to the camera:

"Recently, I've been hearing a lot about Neil Malhotra's drug scandal. Honestly, the way people blame him—like he's some kind of villain—is insane. These are the same people who were crazy about him not too long ago."

She took a deep breath.

"I'm not even a fan, let me be clear. But none of you actually know what happened. So stop pretending like you do. Maybe he was involved, maybe not. But sometimes even what you see isn't the full truth. And how can you trust the media? Their job is to sensationalize, to destroy. Let time reveal the truth. Not gossip."

⸻

Rahul stared at the screen. His expression shifted—first surprise, then interest.

There was something about the girl. Something honest.

"Find her contact details," Rahul said, voice firm. "Set up a meeting in the coming days."

He tapped the screen one last time, watching Ira's bold expression freeze.

Hope, perhaps, had just knocked again.

Thank you for reading!

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Your support means the world to me. ❤️criminal. But for now, Neil Malhotra lay sprawled