Forbidden But Mine (On Request Story)

Unaware of the world around her, she sat quietly in the corner of a quaint little café, sipping on a glass of cold coffee. Dressed in a simple yet elegant salwar suit, she looked every bit the traditional, religious Indian girl — modest, graceful, and grounded in values. But beyond that demure appearance was a fierce spirit sketching intricate designs, her mind immersed in the world she was slowly building for herself.

Her name was Nandini Murthy, the only daughter of the conservative Murthy family — a family deeply rooted in outdated traditions and rigid beliefs. In their eyes, a girl’s place was within the four walls of her home, and marriage was the only destiny awaiting her, sometimes as soon as she crossed the threshold of puberty. Working women, especially daughters, were frowned upon. But Nandini... she was different. She dared to dream.

Now living alone in Mumbai, away from her family’s suffocating expectations, Nandini was trying to carve her own path — one sketch at a time. She worked for Manik Malhotra, a powerful name in the country — a business tycoon, a renowned model, and a widower with two children. He also happened to be her father’s old friend, making their association even more scandalous in her family’s eyes.

Her grandmother, the matriarch of the Murthy household, couldn’t bear the thought of Nandini living alone in the city, let alone working in a man’s world. Hurt and humiliated, she had stopped speaking to her entirely — a silent punishment that stung more than words ever could.

But Nandini, even with her heart weighed down by guilt and longing for familial love, kept going. Because deep down, she knew — someone had to break the cycle.

“How far is it going?”

A deep, familiar voice broke through the quiet hum of the café, pulling Nandini out of her thoughts. She blinked, slowly returning to the present, her fingers still gripping the pencil above her half-finished sketch.

She looked up and instantly smiled — a soft, respectful curve of her lips.“So far, so good, Uncle,” she replied gently, standing up slightly to greet him.

Manik Malhotra stood there — tall, composed, and effortlessly commanding. In his crisp black suit, he looked every bit the business mogul the country admired. But there was a gentleness in his eyes reserved only for a few, and Nandini happened to be one of them.

He chuckled lightly at her formality. “Still calling me ‘uncle’, huh? Even outside the office?”

Nandini nodded with a shy smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re my dad’s friend... and much older. It feels more comfortable.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m not that old.”

“You’re thirty-eight,” she said playfully, “and I just turned twenty-two.”

He gave a mock sigh of defeat. “Fine. You win. But one day, Nandini Murthy... I’m going to make you call me just Manik.”

Her smile faltered slightly, and for a fleeting second, something unspoken passed between them — a subtle shift in the air. She looked down at her designs, trying to push away the warmth creeping up her cheeks.

He noticed — but didn’t say a word.

Instead, he leaned over and picked up one of her sketches. “You’re doing great work. This collection will be the talk of the season.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, still not looking at him.

There they were — a 22-year-old girl fighting tradition, and a 38-year-old widower carrying the weight of loss and responsibility — connected by a silent understanding, by unspoken words, and perhaps... by something neither of them dared to name just yet.

Manik studied the sketch in his hand, his brows furrowing slightly as he traced the details with his eyes. “You’ve added more layers to this one... more structure. It’s bold,” he said thoughtfully.

Nandini nodded. “I wanted it to reflect strength... something that looks delicate but holds power.”

He looked at her then — really looked at her. “Just like you.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, startled. There was nothing flirtatious in his voice — just honesty, deep and raw, like he could see through the layers she tried so hard to hide behind. She lowered her gaze quickly, suddenly feeling like he could hear the thunder of her heart.

“Sometimes I don’t feel strong,” she admitted, her voice soft. “Sometimes I feel like... I’m pretending.”

Manik placed the sketch back on the table gently, his tone quiet but firm. “Pretending takes strength, too, Nandini. Especially when you’re alone in a city like this... standing up to your entire family.”

She looked away, her jaw tightening slightly. “Dadi hasn’t spoken to me in months. She thinks I’ve shamed the family. She says no decent girl should live alone in a city, working under a man...”

He sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets. “They’ll come around. And even if they don’t, that doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

Her eyes flickered to him again. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re Manik Malhotra. People respect you, follow you. You’ve built a life on your own terms.”

A faint shadow crossed his face. “On my terms, yes... but not without cost.”

There was pain in his voice — quiet, restrained, but unmistakable. Nandini felt it in her bones. She wanted to ask more, but the boundary between them — her father’s friend, her boss, a man too far ahead in life — stopped her.

Still, the silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of understanding. Full of everything they couldn’t say.

“Anyway,” Manik finally said, breaking the moment, “I just dropped by to see how you were doing. Don’t work too late. And text me once you reach home, okay?”

“Uncle—” she paused, then corrected herself quickly, “Manik sir... I mean, Manik...”She stumbled over his name like it was something forbidden. He smiled — not teasingly, but warmly, almost protectively.

“Good girl,” he said softly, then turned and walked away, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne... and a storm in Nandini’s heart.

As he disappeared down the street, Nandini sat back down, the pencil in her hand still. Her sketch remained unfinished, but her mind... her mind was full of questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

Not yet.

The café suddenly felt too quiet.

Nandini stared at the page in front of her, but the lines blurred. Her pencil hovered mid-air, but her hand wouldn’t move. Manik’s words echoed in her mind —“Even if they don’t, that doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

But if she wasn’t wrong, then why did it hurt so much?

She closed her sketchbook and pulled her dupatta closer around her shoulders, as if trying to shield herself from the ache gnawing at her chest. She hadn’t spoken to her Dadi in months — the woman who had raised her like a second mother, the one who used to braid her hair and whisper prayers into her ears before bed.

Now all Nandini had were unanswered calls and cold silences.

All because she dared to dream.

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. A message from Manik:

“Don’t forget to eat something before heading back. And be safe.”

A small smile touched her lips. He always checked. He never said much, but in his quiet ways, he cared. Not just as a boss. Not just as her father’s friend.

Something more... something she didn’t dare name.

She sighed and packed her things. Mumbai’s evening air had started to cool as she stepped out onto the busy road. Her rented apartment wasn’t far, but the walk felt longer tonight.

As she entered her flat, a modest one-bedroom space tucked in a quiet lane, the emptiness greeted her like an old friend. She placed her sketchbook on the table, glanced around the room, and then did something she hadn’t done in weeks.

She picked up her phone... and dialled home.

It rang. Once. Twice. Then—

Disconnected.

Tears welled up, uninvited. But Nandini had learned not to let them fall.

Meanwhile...

In a penthouse that overlooked the glittering city skyline, Manik Malhotra stood on the balcony, a glass of water in his hand, untouched. Inside, laughter echoed from the living room where his two children were playing with their nanny. But his eyes were distant.

He looked at a framed photo on the nearby table — his late wife, Rhea, smiling in a summer dress, holding their newborn daughter.

He touched the frame gently. “You’d like her,” he whispered to the photo. “She’s strong... and stubborn. Like you.”

Rhea’s loss still lingered like a quiet ache — not loud, not dramatic, but ever-present. It had been five years. But some scars didn’t fade with time... they simply settled deeper.

Manik closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he reached for his phone.

Manik: “Reached home?”

Seconds later, her reply came.

Nandini: “Yes. And I ate too. Happy now?”

He stared at the message and smiled to himself.

Manik: “Very.”

He didn’t know when her presence had become a comfort... or when her silence started to matter. But it did.

And that...scared him.

Nandini stared at her phone long after the message exchange ended.

“Very.”

That one word from Manik sat heavily in her heart — not because it was wrong, but because it felt too right.

She tossed the phone onto the couch and walked to the small mirror by her bedside. Her reflection stared back, the same face she saw every day — yet tonight, her eyes held questions she couldn’t answer.

How did it get this far?

He was her boss. Her father’s friend. A man sixteen years older than her. A widower with two children. And yet... when he looked at her, when he said her name in that calm, assuring voice, her heart fluttered like a schoolgirl’s.

That scared her.

Because she wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore. She was a grown woman trying to build her life in a world that constantly told her not to. And the last thing she needed — or wanted — was to fall for someone she could never have.

“He probably just cares for me like a mentor,” she told herself aloud.“Like an elder. Like... a guardian.”

But even as she spoke, her throat tightened.

Because deep down, she knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

She remembered the way his eyes lingered on her sketch. The softness in his voice when he spoke only to her. The way his silence always felt safe, not awkward. And above all, the way he listened — really listened — something no one back home ever did.

He never crossed a line. Never said anything inappropriate. But still, she found herself slowly giving him pieces of her heart — pieces she didn’t even know were missing.

And that... terrified her.

What if her family ever found out?

What if her father knew she was this emotionally close to the man he once called bhai?

What if Manik himself found out how she really felt?

Her eyes filled with tears — not from shame, but from fear. Fear of ruining the only connection in her life that felt genuine. Fear of losing the one person who made her feel seen.

She sank onto her bed, hugging a pillow close to her chest, as a silent prayer slipped from her lips.

"GOD... don’t let me fall for him. Please... not him.”