Episode 3
1189 Words
The first week in Priya’s home was like a dream compared to the streets. Rohan couldn’t deny it—her initial kindness had saved him. She had fed him, given him shelter, and spoken to him like a human being when everyone else had looked away.
In those early days, he tried to be useful around the apartment. He washed the dishes, swept the floor, and even accompanied her to the market, carrying her grocery bags with quiet gratitude. At night, they sometimes sat on the balcony sipping tea while the city’s hum filled the silence between them.
For Rohan, who had been starved of simple companionship all his life, it felt like the first taste of freedom. No expectations, no cameras, no headlines—just two people sharing space.
But soon, the warmth began to cool.
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A Subtle Change
It started small. Priya would return from work and sigh loudly, dropping her handbag on the couch.
“You’re still here?” she muttered one evening. “Aren’t you going to look for a job or something?”
Rohan hesitated. “I… I will. I just don’t know where to start yet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone says that. If you really wanted to, you’d have found something by now. Don’t think I’ll keep feeding you forever.”
The words stung, though he swallowed his pride. He reminded himself that she had taken him in when no one else had. Maybe she was just tired.
But the remarks continued.
“You’re eating too much rice. Do you know how expensive groceries are?”
“Why do you sit around here all day? Go do something useful.”
“Don’t touch my things. You don’t own anything here.”
Rohan nodded quietly each time, forcing a smile. Deep inside, though, doubt began to creep in. Was this the woman fate had led him to? Or had her kindness been only temporary, a mask worn for convenience?
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The First Slap
One night, as he sat reading an old newspaper Priya had left on the table, she came home later than usual. Her lipstick was smudged, her perfume stronger than normal, and her laughter lingered even after she closed the door.
Rohan looked up, concerned. “You’re late. Is everything alright?”
Priya dropped her purse on the counter. “Why do you care? You’re not my husband.”
“I didn’t mean—” he began.
Before he could finish, her hand struck his cheek, sharp and unexpected. The sound echoed through the tiny apartment.
Rohan froze, stunned. Never in his life had anyone dared to slap him. For a moment, the weight of his real identity burned inside him—if she only knew who he was, she would never…
But that was the point. She didn’t know.
He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
Priya smirked, brushing past him. “Don’t question me again. Understand?”
The humiliation cut deep, sharper than the sting on his skin. That night, as he lay on the thin mattress, he replayed the moment over and over. He could have revealed himself right then, could have reminded her that he was no beggar but the heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the nation. But what would that prove? That she only respected wealth, not people?
No. He clenched his fists. He had to see this through.
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Treated Like a Burden
In the weeks that followed, Priya’s cruelty escalated. She began bringing men into the apartment—friends, coworkers, sometimes strangers. She would laugh loudly with them, ignoring Rohan completely.
Once, when he timidly asked if she could at least introduce him, she snapped. “Introduce you? As what? My charity project?”
The words cut deeper than the slap.
Other times, she left him locked inside for hours without food, tossing him scraps when she returned. When he tried to help around the house, she accused him of meddling.
“You think cleaning a few dishes makes you useful? Don’t fool yourself.”
Each insult, each cold glance, wore away at him. But instead of anger, he felt sorrow—sorrow for the truth he was uncovering. This was what he had feared: that when stripped of wealth and status, he was invisible, disposable.
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The Breaking Point
One rainy evening, after another argument about groceries, Priya finally snapped. She stormed into the spare room, grabbed his worn-out bag, and hurled it into the hallway.
“Get out!” she shouted, her voice dripping with disdain. “I’ve had enough of you. I don’t care where you go, but you’re not staying here anymore. You’re nothing but a burden.”
Rohan stood frozen in the doorway, the sound of rain pounding against the building. For a moment, he wanted to argue, to beg, to remind her of the night she had promised kindness. But when he looked into her eyes, all he saw was contempt.
Silently, he picked up his bag and stepped out into the rain. The door slammed behind him, the echo final and cold.
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The Lonely Road
The streets were slick with water as Rohan walked aimlessly, his head bowed. Each step felt heavier than the last. He had endured humiliation, insults, even violence, all for the sake of his search for truth. And yet, as he trudged through the downpour, a question gnawed at him: Was this worth it?
His clothes clung to his skin, his shoes soaked through, but none of it hurt as much as the emptiness inside him. He had thought Priya was different. He had thought her initial kindness had been real. Instead, she had revealed the very greed and cruelty he feared.
Rohan stopped beneath a flickering streetlight, dropping his bag to the ground. He leaned against the cold pole, closing his eyes as rain streamed down his face like tears.
“Maybe Father was right,” he whispered to himself. “Maybe such a woman doesn’t exist.”
But just as despair threatened to consume him, a voice cut through the storm.
“Rohan?”
His eyes shot open. Standing a few feet away, holding a small umbrella, was Sophie—Priya’s best friend. Her brows furrowed in concern as she took in his drenched clothes, his bag on the ground, his broken expression.
“What happened to you?” she asked, stepping closer.
Rohan hesitated, shame filling his chest. But then the words spilled out—the slap, the insults, the eviction. Everything.
Sophie’s eyes blazed with anger. “She did that to you? After everything? How could she—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. Without another word, she grabbed his hand firmly.
“Come with me. You’re not spending another night out here.”
As she led him away from the storm, Rohan felt something shift deep within. Priya’s betrayal had crushed him—but Sophie’s sudden kindness lit a fragile flame of hope.
For the first time, he wondered if perhaps his journey wasn’t over yet. Perhaps, just perhaps, his answer lay not in Priya… but in Sophie.
- Writer
