Chapter three: The roommates
Mumbai never slept, but Aman did.
The one-bedroom apartment smelled like fried food and cheap cologne.
Krish stepped inside, his sharp eyes immediately spotting Aman was snoring loudly, sprawled out on the tiny sofa, with a plate of samosas. A cricket match blared on the TV.
"Wake up," Krish muttered, throwing a towel at his face.
"Welcome, my criminal brother," Aman greeted "How was your meeting with the Godfather?"
Krish shook his head, tossing his jacket onto the chair. "Stop calling him that."
Aman waved him off. "I can't help it. You work for a full-on Bollywood villain." He took another bite of his samosa. "What's the new mission? Smuggling? Shootout? Kidnapping?"
"Spying."
Aman raised an eyebrow. "Ooooh, like James Bond?" He gave Krish a once-over. "You need a suit for that, man. You've got the face, but this plain-shirt look isn't helping, you need a tuxedo !"
Krish smirked. "Not everyone needs flashy clothes to look good."
Aman gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? My wardrobe is a carefully curated masterpiece. Unlike yours, which looks like a black-and-white movie."
"So, who are we spying on?"
Krish hesitated. "A woman."
Aman's eyes widened. "A woman? Oh no. No, no, no." He pointed at him. "Krish, my dear, emotionally unavailable roommate, this sounds dangerous."
"It's just a job," Krish said firmly.
Aman leaned back, shaking his head. "You say that now. But what if she's beautiful? What if she smells nice? What if she makes you feel things?" He shuddered. "Women are terrifying." Krish rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot."
Aman grinned. "And you love me for it."
Krish didn't respond, but there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes.
Aman was the only family he had now.
Aman clutched his chest in fake pain. "Wow. You wound me." He sat up, nudging Krish's shoulder. "Come on, man. At least tell me who is this woman, what our great and mighty Dravid wants now. Or is it another one of his 'I trust you the most' bullshit speeches?"
Krish didn't respond immediately. He leaned back, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest. "It's about Aarohi."
Aman's brows shot up. "Ohhh. The Aarohi?"
Krish nodded.
Aman let out a low whistle. "So, you finally get to see the woman behind the name. Dravid only talks about her when he's drunk, and trust me, it's either 'she's mine' or 'I'll kill her one day.' No in-between."
And deep down, he knew—no matter how simple this mission seemed, nothing in his life ever stayed simple for long.
Krish didn't react, but something in his gut twisted.
Aman leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Bro, tell me honestly—do you actually care about all this, or are you just running on autopilot at this point?"
Krish's jaw tightened. "It doesn't matter."
Aman sighed, shaking his head. "You know, if you ever want to do something that actually makes you happy, let me know. We'll open a chai stall. 'Krish & Aman's Legendary Tapri.'"
Krish gave him a blank stare.
Aman threw his hands up. "Fine, fine! No tea business. But seriously, man. Just because Dravid pulled you out of jail doesn't mean you owe him your whole life. Even though you didn't do anyt crime "
Krish's fingers curled slightly. I owe him.
Aman saw the shift in his eyes and sighed. "Forget it. You're impossible."
Krish stood up. "I'm going to sleep."