Episode 2
1339 Words
The morning came with a gentle drizzle, soft drops pattering against the windows of the mansion like nature’s quiet farewell. Inside his room, Rohan stood before the mirror one last time, the reflection staring back at him almost unrecognizable. Gone were the refined suits and polished leather shoes. In their place hung a wrinkled cotton shirt that had lost its color long ago, jeans frayed at the knees, and sneakers whose soles had thinned to near nothingness.
He tightened the straps of the old backpack slung across his shoulders. For the first time in twenty-seven years, he looked less like the golden boy of society and more like the forgotten wanderers he often passed by without a second thought.
A strange sense of freedom washed over him. His entire life, people had stared at him with envy and admiration. Now, he would walk the same streets unseen, invisible, stripped of privilege. He wasn’t sure whether to feel afraid or liberated.
When he stepped out of the mansion, no chauffeur waited, no guards flanked him. His father had given him permission but no assistance. If he was going to test the truth of love, he had to walk this path alone.
The drizzle had turned into a light shower by the time Rohan reached the hawker center. He walked among the crowd, shoulders slightly hunched, head lowered. The smell of fried noodles, grilled satay, and hot coffee filled the air, mingling with the chatter of morning customers.
For a moment, he hesitated. His heart pounded against his chest as he realized what he was about to do. Never in his life had he needed to beg. He had commanded boardrooms, been interviewed by journalists, spoken at elite gatherings—but to stand here like a beggar, to stretch out his hand for a coin or a crumb, felt like stepping into a nightmare.
But he had promised himself.
He sat by the corner of the bustling food court, knees pulled up slightly, bag resting beside him. Tentatively, he reached out his hand toward passersby.
“Please,” he muttered softly, his voice almost trembling. “A little money… I just need something to eat.”
The first man who walked by didn’t even look at him. A group of teenagers passed next, one wrinkling his nose and whispering to the others, “Ugh, these people are everywhere now.” Laughter followed as they hurried away.
A woman stopped briefly, her designer handbag swinging at her side. She stared at him with disdain, then muttered, “Go get a job,” before walking off.
Rohan’s throat tightened. Each rejection felt like a knife cutting deeper, exposing the raw reality he had been shielded from all his life. For the first time, he saw the world from the ground—the cruelty, the indifference, the way people looked past another human being as though they were less than nothing.
Minutes turned into an hour. His stomach growled, the drizzle made his clothes cling damply to his skin, and the humiliation gnawed at his pride. He began to wonder if this had been a foolish idea. Maybe his father was right—maybe such a woman didn’t exist anymore.
And then, she appeared.
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Priya
She came walking briskly, balancing a small bag of groceries in one hand and an umbrella in the other. Her long black hair fell across her shoulders, and her eyes—sharp but softened by kindness—met his. Unlike the others, she did not avert her gaze.
Rohan lowered his head, expecting another dismissive remark. But instead, he heard her gentle voice.
“Have you eaten?”
He looked up slowly, startled. For the first time that morning, someone had spoken to him as if he were human.
“No…” he admitted quietly.
Without hesitation, she reached into her bag and pulled out a warm packet of rice wrapped in banana leaf. She placed it gently in his hands. “Here. Eat. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”
Rohan blinked, caught between gratitude and disbelief. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Her lips curved into a small smile. “Don’t thank me. Just promise me you’ll stay strong. Life isn’t always kind, but it doesn’t mean we should stop being kind to others.”
For a moment, Rohan couldn’t look away from her. Her words struck something deep inside him, like sunlight piercing through the heavy clouds of the morning.
She started to walk away, but then paused. Turning back, she asked, “Do you have a place to stay?”
Rohan hesitated. His pride screamed to say yes, but his plan demanded honesty. “No,” he admitted softly.
She studied him for a long moment. Most people would have walked away. But instead, she sighed gently and said, “Come with me. At least you won’t be out in the rain.”
Rohan blinked again, utterly taken aback. “You… you would let a stranger stay with you?”
Her smile was faint but resolute. “Sometimes strangers just need a chance. Besides, you don’t look dangerous. Just lost.”
Something inside him stirred. For the first time since he began this journey, he felt a glimmer of hope.
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A Stranger’s Shelter
Priya’s home was modest—a small two-bedroom apartment tucked away in a bustling residential block. The walls bore faint stains of age, the furniture mismatched but well-kept. Yet, as soon as Rohan stepped inside, he felt warmth. It was nothing like the cold, expansive halls of his family mansion. Here, everything was compact, alive, and filled with traces of human presence.
“Sit,” Priya instructed, gesturing to a wooden chair by the dining table. “You must be exhausted.”
Rohan nodded, lowering himself slowly. He had never sat in a home so simple, yet it felt strangely grounding.
As she moved about the small kitchen, heating water and preparing tea, he watched her quietly. She wasn’t like the women he had known at high society events—the ones with perfect manicures, heavy jewelry, and carefully rehearsed smiles. Priya’s beauty was more subtle, natural. There was no pretense in her movements.
She placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him and sat across the table. “So,” she began, “what’s your name?”
For a brief second, Rohan hesitated. The truth—that he was Rohan Goh, heir to billions—hovered at the tip of his tongue. But he swallowed it quickly. His disguise was his shield now.
“Rohan,” he answered simply.
She nodded. “I’m Priya.”
The name settled in his heart like a stone dropped in calm water. Priya. The first person who had seen him not as a beggar, not as a nuisance, but as a human being.
They talked for hours. He told her fragments of a fabricated story—how he had lost his job, how life had spiraled, how he had nowhere else to turn. She listened patiently, her eyes never showing pity, only quiet understanding.
When night came, she brought out a thin mattress and laid it on the floor of the spare room. “It’s not much,” she said, “but it’s better than the street.”
Rohan looked at her, his chest heavy with gratitude. “Thank you… Priya. I won’t forget this.”
She smiled faintly, turning off the light. “Just promise me one thing, Rohan. Don’t waste the kindness life gives you. Use it well.”
As he lay on the thin mattress that night, staring at the cracked ceiling, Rohan felt something shift deep within him. For the first time since he had left his mansion, he wasn’t just searching for love—he was beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, he had found the first glimpse of it.
But he did not know then how complicated this journey would become, nor how cruel Priya’s kindness would eventually turn.
- Writer
