Chapter-5

The next morning dawned bright and crisp over Marseille, casting a golden hue over the city that never seemed to truly wake or sleep. In a luxurious five-star hotel overlooking the serene French Riviera, Aaryan stirred from his slumber.

His brows furrowed slightly as he sat up, the memory of yesterday still lingering—no, not the business meeting, not the flight, not even the chaotic negotiations that had brought him to France. It was her. The girl in the crowd. The girl with the fire in her hands and serenity in her eyes.

He stepped into a tailored white shirt and black pants with the ease of someone used to dressing for war, even if his battles were fought in boardrooms and bloodstained alleyways. With a sharp tug of his cuffs, he strode out of the suite.

His PA, a sharply dressed, no-nonsense woman named Mira, was already waiting in the hotel restaurant. Her laptop was open, tablet in hand, phone in the other.

"Good morning, sir," she said, standing.

"Morning, Mira. Let’s eat before the meetings,” Aaryan replied, sliding into the chair across from her.

They placed their orders—croissants, eggs, black coffee—and began eating in comfortable silence.

But just as Aaryan reached for his second cup of coffee, something on the flat-screen television mounted on the restaurant’s marble wall caught his eye.

BREAKING NEWS: "Young Cardiologist Saves Life at Airport – Goes Viral for Her Courage and Compassion.”

The footage played—blurry at first, but then clearer. The video had been taken from someone’s phone, capturing the very scene he’d witnessed: the fallen old man, the frantic crowd, and then her.

The woman.

Meher.

Now he saw her face clearly—framed in waves of dark brown hair, eyes intense, lips slightly parted as she pumped the man’s chest with determined force. Her white coat flared like a cape in the wind. The camera caught the moment when the old man came back to life and the tearful embrace of the wife. It ended with Meher walking away quietly, melting back into the crowd.

Aaryan forgot to breathe.

His fork fell to the plate with a dull clatter.

His heart, usually a quiet and obedient organ, thundered like a tribal drum in his chest.

Mira looked up in concern. “Sir?”

He didn’t answer. He stared.

The anchor spoke: “The hero doctor is identified as Dr. Meher, a leading cardiologist at Hopewell General Hospital here in Marseille.”

Aaryan grabbed his phone and searched for the clip. There it was—everywhere. Twitter, Instagram, YouTube. The video had gone viral across platforms, with hashtags like #AngelInWhite, #MeherTheSavior, and #RealLifeHeroine.

He played it again. And again. Each time, something in him stirred. Awe. Curiosity. And something deeper—something unfamiliar. A strange ache.

Was this... longing?

He didn’t know her. But he wanted to.

Far from him, in another part of the world, someone else had also watched that same video. With very different emotions.

France – Inside a Lavish Office Tower, Top Floor

Name: Arjun Thakur. Age: 29. CEO of the 5th largest tech conglomerate in the world.

Clean-shaven. Impeccable. Charming smile. Tailored three-piece suit. A gentleman on the outside.

A devil within.

Arjun watched the video of Meher saving the old man with his jaw clenched so tightly it could snap. The forkful of croissant in his hand remained suspended in the air. The girl who once lay on his chest, whispered dreams into his ears, who believed in him more than he believed in himself…

Now, she was trending. Adored. Celebrated.

And she had left France without a word. No text. No call. No tears. No begging.

“How dare she,” he murmured, slamming the tablet down.

He was seated at his private dining area with his new wife beside him—Sanya, heiress to the third largest conglomerate in Europe. Stunning, yes. Obsessive, absolutely.

“What happened, jaan?” Sanya purred, curling her fingers around his.

“Nothing,” he said coldly.

But his mind was spinning. Meher, who had always been soft-spoken, kind-hearted, and his, had simply walked out of his life and into the world’s spotlight.

And the worst part?

She looked… happy.

He knew her well. Knew that no matter how broken she was, she would never let it show. And that made him angrier. Because he had expected her to suffer. To fall apart. To crawl back.

But Meher wasn’t crawling. She was soaring.

And that made her dangerous.

Mumbai, India – Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport

The flight had landed after an exhausting ten-hour journey. Meher stepped off the plane with tired eyes but a calm heart. She rolled her suitcase behind her, the din of the airport loud but strangely comforting.

Mumbai.

The City of Dreams. The City of Crowds. The City where fate had decided her next chapter would begin.

She gazed out at the horizon through the terminal’s glass walls. Beyond the runways, the outline of the city shimmered—buildings tall and crooked, the air thick with heat and stories. So different from Marseille’s calm streets and café-lined boulevards.

Meher had spent her entire life in France. The language, the culture, the orphanage, the hospital—it was the only world she’d known. And yet, here she was, a stranger in her own country.

She took a cab arranged by the hospital. As the car sped along the roads of Mumbai, she watched in fascination—rickshaws zipping through traffic, colorful markets bursting with flowers and fruits, people bustling across roads like water currents.

Despite her exhaustion, her chest filled with cautious hope.

Soon, she reached her new residence—an apartment provided by the hospital. The building was clean and modern, nestled near Bandra. The hospital had done well.

She opened the door to find a modest but cozy flat—cream walls, simple furniture, a small balcony that overlooked a patch of trees.

Not bad, she thought.

She placed her suitcase in the corner, removed her shoes, and stepped out onto the balcony.

The breeze kissed her face. From below, the sounds of honking cars, children playing, and a distant azaan reached her ears.

She closed her eyes.

“I’m home,” she whispered. Not quite believing it yet.

But the universe had already begun moving its pieces.

Meher  name was now etched into the threads of fate.

And far away, two powerful men—one who wanted to destroy her, and one who didn’t even know he would one day protect her—had begun watching.

This was just the beginning.

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