Anita's POV

It's been months since I arrived in Mumbai, full of dreams and hope. However, the reality is harsh.

I'm still struggling. I'm homeless, penniless, and jobless. Unlike in Banaras, I can't even get a job at the temple because they require certificates, which I don't have.

I'm forced to beg for food, which sometimes I go days without because I barely get any money.

Every one of them is stingy.

And when I finally do get some money, it's barely enough to buy a plate of food because the prices here are triple what they were in Banaras.

I'm losing all hope of making a life for myself in this city.

I regret ever leaving Banaras.

I'm forced to sleep under a bridge.

The cold rain and chilly nights are unbearable.

Moreover, I've been wearing the same saree for months, as I had to leave my bag behind in that cruel man's house.

I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally. I feel like I can't go on like this anymore. It's been ages since I last had a proper bath.

My skin crawls with discomfort from the smell of my own stench.

I need to find a job as soon as possible, but every job in the city requires a certificate.

"My dear, please stop!"

My attention was drawn to a frantic mother calling out to her young daughter. The little girl, probably around six or seven years old, was trying to cross the busy road.

"I'm going to find Alia, Mother!" the little girl exclaimed, taking a step off the curb.

She was about to walk straight into the path of an oncoming car, and I just couldn't stand there and watch with restlessness like her mother.

I ran towards her, disregarding my own safety, grabbed her arm, pulling her back just in time, and held her close, relief washing over me as the car whizzed by, mere inches from where she was about to step.

"My dear," her mother hurriedly reached us, taking her daughter from me while casting a suspicious glance my way. She engulfed her child in a warm embrace.

"Alia is gone, dear. But I promise to find you another friend, okay?"

"No! I don't want someone else. I want Alia!" The girl protested, her small voice rising in a yell.

The mother's expensive saree and luxurious leather purse exhibited wealth and luxury.

I decided to take a chance. "Ma'am," I whispered.

"I'm looking for a job. If you could please help," I started off, my gaze lowering under her scrutinising stare.

"Do I look like someone who hires people like you? Why would I want to bring you into my home, someone who would only bring dirt and filth into my life?" She passed me a dismissive glance and swept her daughter up, then disappeared from my sight.

"Dirt and filth. That's what I've become," I whispered, tears blurring my vision.

I was overwhelmed by despair, so I thought I should end my life and be freed from the torment of this world.

As a Mercedes approached, I closed my eyes and stepped into its path. The sound of screeching tyres and shattering glass filled the air as the vehicle hit me. I rose up into the air, my body lifted by the force of the impact, and then was thrown back down to the ground, landing hard on the pavement.

The world around me became a blur before everything went dark.

••••

I opened my eyes, and a searing pain shot through my head like a thunderbolt.

I moaned, the sound barely escaping my lips.

A deep, masculine voice shouted, "D—doctor."

My gaze slowly wandered around the unfamiliar surroundings.

I was in a hospital room, a luxurious one at that, judging by the chill of the air-conditioned ambiance.

My eyes drifted down to my hand, where multiple cannulas were connected to an IV drip.

I was also breathing in oxygen through a mask.

Through blurry eyes, I saw the doctor's relieved expression as he informed, "She's stable now. We can remove the oxygen." He gently pulled the mask away from my nose, and I felt relief.

"Thank God you pressed the brakes in time," he added, "or we might have lost her."

My gaze shifted to the man whose car I had drooped into, and his expression was far from relieved. His eyes shone with anger, and his face was set in a stern jawline, his full beard framing a scowl as if he knew I deliberately wanted to kill myself.

"Ask the police to come in," he said to the doctor, who nodded and exited the room.

A few seconds later, three police officers entered the room, their eyes first locking on the man, and they exchanged firm handshakes.

They then approached me, their expressions softening. One of them, clutching a notebook and pen, spoke in a gentle tone, "Ma'am, we're here to take your statement. Can you tell us what happened? Start with your full name."

"Anita Deshmukh. I was..." I started, my voice trembling as I relived the moment, tears pooling in my eyes.

"I've been in Mumbai for months, looking for a job, but no one would hire me without a certificate. I was penniless, homeless, and jobless. I thought ending my life was the only escape."

I glanced at the man standing behind them, his eyes already fixed on me. I quickly looked away, unable to bear his gaze.

The inspector's expression was more compassionate as he finished recording my statement.

"Attempting suicide is a crime, but we wish you a speedy recovery. Please don't try such a thing again. There is always light at the end of the tunnel," he said.

I nodded, a small, fragile movement. The inspector and the other officers nodded in response and left the room.

The man's voice was firm but had a mix of empathy as he asked, "Why are you homeless? Where is your family?"

I whispered, my head hanging low, too afraid to meet his gaze. "I left them to go after my dreams."

I heard him sigh, and then he said. "I can't leave you here alone in this state. You'll come home with me, and once you're fully recovered, I'll help you contact your family. This city is no fairytale, and not everyone makes it. You're living proof of that. Mumbai can be cruel. In fact, it is cruel."

I nodded silently, tears falling like rain as I surrendered to the truth.

Yes, I have given up.

"I'll arrange for your discharge," he said, his voice fading into the distance as he stepped out of the room.

The moment he was gone, I succumbed to the tears I had been holding back. They flowed uncontrollably, a release of all the pain I had been carrying inside.

But one thing that attempting suicide has provided me with is shelter. Even if it were for a short while, I would have a roof over my head.

••••

The man opened the door for me, and I settled into the front seat of the car. He got into the driver's seat and started driving, lowering the windows to let in some fresh air, which was a welcome relief.

"I think we should stop by a mall first," he suggested. "Get you some clothes, perfume... I'm sorry, but you're not exactly smelling like a field of roses."

I nodded, feeling embarrassed, and he continued, "And a sponge and any other essentials you might need."

When we arrived at the mall, a five-story building, he asked me to wait in the car while he stepped out. I was relieved, as I didn't want to draw more attention to myself since I was dressed in tattered clothes and still had a headache.

Not so long after, he appeared from the mall with a helper carrying numerous shopping bags, which he loaded into the trunk. He then returned to the driver's seat.

"I've never done a woman's shopping before," he said with a low, rumbling laugh that sent a shiver down my spine.

I instinctively clutched my clothes tighter, memories flooding back to the last time I trusted a stranger in Banaras.

My heart raced as I snuck a glance at him from the corner of my eye, fear creeping into my mind.

The last man had seemed kind too, offering me food before his true intentions were revealed.

What if he is just like him?

As we approached his house, a uniformed guard armed with a gun stood beside the black gate, which swung open to let us in. He saluted the man as his car sped past, and my anxiety heightened.

I couldn't shake the thought: If something goes wrong here, how will I escape?

After we got out of the car, my eyes widened in awe, taking in the resplendence of his house. It was truly glorious—a sight unlike anything I'd ever seen. Even without having travelled far, I know that a house like this is a rare jewel, far surpassing anything in my village or even Banaras. The architecture is exceptional—a masterwork of design and luxury.

"Since you're so wealthy, please give me a job," I said, my voice narrowly reaching a whisper. "I don't want to go back home. They won't welcome me back."

He chuckled. "Who says I'm rich?"

I gestured, "Your car, your house, the mall we visited—it all screams wealth! Pl....."

He interrupted, "It all belongs to my boss."

I nodded, believing him. But my curiosity sparked and I asked, "But what about your clothes? That suit looks like it cost a fortune!"

"I'm using his house and his clothes, too," he explained with a sly smile.

"He's out of the country, so I have free rein to do as I please. He'll never know; don't worry."

He then leaned in, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "They say never show your true financial situation, so I'm keeping up appearances. I don't want anyone to know I'm not rolling in dough too."

I raised an eyebrow. "And the money you used at the mall..."

He waved his hand dismissively and said, "I earn a decent income as his driver; don't worry about it."

We entered the house, and I was astonished by the cohesive design. Everything, from the POP to the floors and even the furniture, was adorned in a rich, dark colour scheme, evoking a connotation of luxury and civilisation.

"First things first, you'll go and take a bath," he mentioned.

"Sir, here are the bags," the man who had opened the gates said and kept them on the sofa, while the man smiled and thanked him.

Calling him Sir felt weird since he said he was just a driver; that means a worker like he was, but since this is Mumbai, I believe that could be acceptable. Everything about them is different. The way they talk, act, and even their body language is different from what I'm used to. Social norms and hierarchies operate differently.

"Come, I'll show you your room," he said, his tone firm but hospitable.

"But let me be clear. You can only stay here for a maximum of two days. Once you've regained your strength, I'll be sending you back to your family."

He led me through a lengthy corridor downstairs, the darkness of the house surrounding us, until we finally arrived at the bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, it was adorned in dark colours, but the pool view offered a sight of peace.

"This is my room, but you can stay here temporarily," he explained, "because you need fresh air more than I do."

"And you? Don't tell me you'll sleep in the boss's room too." My voice dropped to a whisper: "That's wrong."

"Don't bother about that. Just take a bath." He kept the bags on the bed and left the room.

I scanned the room once more and mustered a faint smile.

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"I won't return home. I'd rather die here, knowing I've at least tried to make something of myself, than surrender to fate without a fight."

My gaze wandered to the mirror on the opposite wall, and our eyes met in the reflection. He was still standing by the door, watching me.

After we locked eyes, he forced a smile onto his face before turning and leaving the room.

I went to the bathroom, removed my saree, and submitted to a long, rejuvenating shower.

The warm water worked wonders, calming my mind and leaving me feeling reborn.

I stood under the soothing stream for nearly thirty minutes, enjoying the tranquillity it provided me.

He had provided me with a brush, sponge, soap, and shampoo.

I don't even know how to thank him.

After my long shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and returned to the room, sinking into the bed as I unpacked the clothes he had purchased.

The collection included beautiful cotton and silk sarees in a kaleidoscope of colours, each one whispering tales of elegance and sophistication.

"He must have used all his savings to buy these," I thought, my heart bulging with gratitude.

"What a man with a heart of gold! Maybe not all of them are stingy, but 90% of them are."

I selected the captivating green cotton saree and draped it around me, feeling the soft fabric caress my skin.

I reached for one of the many perfumes he had bought and spritzed it liberally over my skin, surrounding myself in its alluring scent.

As the fragrance reached my nostrils, I couldn't help but laugh with sheer joy, feeling refreshed, renewed, and completely transformed—like a brand new person.

I stepped out and found him talking on a phone call.

"Yes, finalise the deal," he said with an assertive tone.

I blurted out the first thought that crossed my mind: "What deal?"

He turned to face me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, making me feel uncomfortably self-conscious.

"I'll call you later," he said, lowering his phone, his gaze still fixed on me.

I averted my eyes, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.

"I knew you were a beautiful woman," he asserted, his voice low with appreciation, "and now I see that you did exceed my expectations."

Our eyes met, and I was assailed by the sincerity and intensity in them.

I smiled radiantly, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes as a deep well of emotion surfaced.

In all my years, no one had ever looked at me with such genuine admiration. No one had ever told me I was beautiful, so hearing that shook me to my core.

"Let's have dinner and call it a day," he said, his voice weary from exhaustion. "I'm very tired."

He led the way, and I followed behind him in silence.

As we entered the dining area, two plates served with food, two mugs, and a jug of juice were already laid out on the table.

After we sat down to eat, I glanced at him.

"Don't you want to know who I am and why I tried to end my life?" I asked, my eyes searching for a glimmer of understanding in his face.

He took a bite of his food, his expression unreadable, before responding. "You came here looking for a job, but you have a family. Go back to them because it is their responsibility to provide for you."

I smiled sorrowfully, my breath catching in my throat. "I was married, then divorced, and that's unforgivable in my family's eyes. I'm certain I've been disowned by now. Even if I were to go back, my father would never accept me." I whispered, and I too began to eat.

He listened in silence, and his expression turned sympathetic, but he didn't respond. When he finished his meal, he pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'll make myself a cup of coffee and then go to sleep. I take that every night. You should do the same once you're done eating. You need rest." With that, he left the room, leaving me to my thoughts, and I let out a deep sigh.