Jethalal had been watching for three days.
He watched from his balcony, neglecting his potted plants while his gaze burned a hole into the seventh floor.
The new bachelor. The man who had dinner with Babita Ji. The man who made her laugh in a bright, chiming way that Jethalal had never been able to elicit from her.
It was a slow, agonizing poison.
Thursday, 9:00 a.m.
Suyash strolled down to the shop for milk. Jethalal handed him the packet, stretching his lips into a plastic smile.
"Good morning, Suyash bhai," he said, leaning casually against the counter. "You're becoming quite the celebrity in society. Everyone is talking."
"Oh?" Suyash's tone was infuriatingly calm.
"Yes, yes. Babita Ji asked about you yesterday. She wanted to know your schedule." Jethalal forced a hollow laugh. "I told her seven-thirty, like clockwork. She seemed very interested."
Suyash offered a small, unreadable smile. "She's a good neighbor.
"A good neighbor." Jethalal tasted the ash of the words. "Yes, very neighborly."
He watched the younger man walk away, feeling the familiar, pathetic twist in his gut. He was being ridiculous. Babita was married to Iyer. And this boy was just a kid. But Jethalal knew what he had seen last night: Babita standing in her doorway wearing a delicate gold chain he had never seen before, her eyes fixed eagerly on the staircase.
Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
Jethalal couldn't take the uncertainty anymore. He needed to see it for himself. Armed with a dusty book that Iyer had lent him months ago, he marched up to apartment 602.
He knocked. The door swung open.
Babita stood there. She was wearing the gold chain.
"Jethalal ji?" she asked, blinking in surprise. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing!" He practically shoved the book at her. "Iyer lent me this. I forgot to return it. I'm so sorry."
As she took the book, Jethalal's eyes darted past her shoulder. The dining table was set for two. Tall candles. Expensive wine. A fresh vase of lilies.
"Expecting someone?" His voice cracked.
A faint blush dusted her cheeks. "Just a guest. Just a neighbor."
Footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Suyash appeared, wearing a crisp, dark kurta and holding a second bottle of wine. He paused, taking in the scene. His eyes met Jethalal's, and for a split second, there was a flash of profound, cutting pity.
"Jethalal," Suyash said smoothly. "Good evening."
"Good evening." Jethalal looked at the wine, the candles, and how Babita naturally stepped aside to let Suyash into her home.
He felt like a fool. He was a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a predictable life, standing outside a door that would never open for him.
"I was just returning a book," he choked out, forcing a smile that felt like shattered glass.
"Goodnight, Babita Ji. Goodnight, Suyash."
He turned and walked away. Before he reached the stairs, he heard her laugh. That same beautiful, carefree laugh.
He climbed up to his own apartment. He opened the door, and the heavy, stagnant silence of his life swallowed him whole.
Sunday, 10:00 a.m.
The neon glow of a dozen flat-screen televisions cast shifting, kaleidoscopic shadows across his face. He stood motionless behind the glass counter at Gada Electronics, a ghost trapped in a sanctuary of artificial colors. The screens played a symphony of different channels, but his eyes were empty as he stared at a reflection he barely recognized anymore.
"Jethalal."
The voice cut through the hum of refrigerators and cooling units like a blade.
Jethalal flinched and clipped a stack of remote controls with his elbow. They clattered against the glass, sounding loud in the empty shop. Steadying himself, he looked up and saw Suyash standing in the doorway. The morning light framed the younger man, casting him in silhouette.
"Suyash," Jethalal managed, his voice thicker than intended. He forced his salesman's mask into place, but the corners of his smile felt brittle.
"Do you need something? A new charger? A fan?"
"Nothing electronic."
Suyash stepped fully into the shop. He didn't browse. He didn't look at the displays. He walked straight to the counter and leaned against the glass with an effortless grace that made Jethalal's stomach twist.
"Babita Ji and I," Suyash said in a conversational yet precise tone. "It's not what you think."
Jethalal let out a sharp, bitter bark of laughter. The sound startled even him.
"What do I think?" His hands gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. "I think nothing! You're young, she's beautiful, and Iyer is always away on science tours. These things happen in the modern world."
He hated how his voice wavered on the last syllable. He hated the pathetic, wounded sound of it.
"She's lonely," Suyash said softly. His eyes were unreadable as he analyzed Jethalal with terrifying clarity. "She likes having someone to talk to who actually listens. That's all it is." Suyash paused, letting a breath of silence stretch before dropping the hammer. "For now."
For now. The words hung in the sterile, air-conditioned air like a guillotine.
Without breaking eye contact, Suyash reached into his pocket and placed a small, midnight-blue velvet box on the glass. "I brought you something. To say thank you. For keeping an eye on society. For being the first to welcome me."
Jethalal frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows as he flipped the lid open.
Inside was a sleek, dark-metal chronograph. Though not dripping with diamonds or ostentatious, it exuded a quiet elegance. Its matte finish caught the TV lights. It was the kind of watch a man would wear if he didn't need to demand respect because he already commanded it.
"What is this?" Jethalal rasped, his throat dry.
"A gift. From a friend."
Jethalal stared at the ticking hands. Second by second, sweeping silently. He looked up at Suyash, searching his face for a smirk or the slightest hint of mockery. But he found nothing but quiet, terrifying sincerity. The burning, acidic jealousy in Jethalal's chest didn't disappear, but the sting was numbed, replaced by a cold caution.
"You're a strange boy," Jethalal muttered. He snapped the box shut with a sharp sound. "Who gives a luxury watch to the man who sells them basic electronics?"
"Someone who knows it's better to have you as a friend than an enemy."
For a long moment, neither man moved. Then, slowly and deliberately, Jethalal opened the box again and slid the watch onto his wrist. The metal was heavy. It was ice-cold against his skin.
He met Suyash's gaze. The bumbling, easily flustered merchant vanished, replaced by someone much older and harder. A protective, older-brother severity flared in his dark eyes—a latent power he hadn't known he possessed.
"Friends," Jethalal agreed, his voice dropping to a dangerous hush. "But if you hurt her... I will know." He leaned forward and tapped the glass counter. "I see everything from this shop, Suyash. Everything."
It wasn't a bluff. From his vantage point, he controlled the flow of the compound. Every entrance. Every exit. Every shadow moving between the buildings.
Suyash smiled, and for the first time, the smile reached his eyes. "I know you do."
Later that night:
The night air was thick, carrying the distant sound of Mumbai traffic. Jethalal stood alone on his balcony, shrouded in darkness.
Across the compound, the light in Flat 602 finally clicked off on the sixth floor.
Jethalal exhaled a long, shuddering breath. His right hand instinctively reached over, and his thumb traced the cold metal face of the watch on his left wrist. It was a gift from the man who was doing what Jethalal could not. A man who dared to cross the lines Jethalal had spent a decade drawing around himself.
"You're a fool, Jethalal," he told himself, his internal voice laced with venom. You're a jealous, middle-aged fool clinging to a phantom.
But the watch was heavy. It grounded him. The vow he had made in the shop today—if you hurt her—was even heavier. It was a purpose.
He remained on the balcony until the entire society was swallowed by silence. Only then did he retreat inside and slide the glass door shut. He sat in his armchair in the dark. In the corner, the television flickered, playing a black-and-white movie on mute and casting a pale light over his weary features.
He closed his eyes.
He thought of Babita's bright, musical laugh.
He thought of the gold chain resting at her throat.
He thought of Suyash's calm, predatory eyes.
Staring into the flickering static of the room, he wondered if he had ever truly known love—or if he had only ever known the quiet, starving agony of wanting it.
----------------------------------------------------
Author's Note- Hey everyone, a quick heads-up! 👋🚨
I didn't get the chance to edit the last 7 chapters, so you will definitely notice some grammar errors and mismatched paragraphs in those. 😅 I'm really sorry about the rough state! Please bear with it for now—I promise I'll go back and edit them properly as soon as I have some free time. 🛠️⏱️ The good news is that Chapters 8 and 9 are fully edited and good to go! ✨📖
A massive shoutout and thank you to kumar_vaibhav_34 for the Power Stones! 💎🙌 I really appreciate the support. 🙏❤️
If you are enjoying the story, please drop some Power Stones and leave a review! ⭐🚀 It really helps boost the novel. 📈
Also, I want to hear your thoughts on where the story goes next. 🤔 Drop a comment down below and let me know: 👇💬
* Crossovers: 📺 Are there any other TV serials you want me to merge into this universe? 🌌
* The Harem: 💃 Any specific beauties you want to see added to Suyash's harem? 😏❤️
* Story Focus: 🎯 Should I spend time building up the side characters and their storylines, 👥 or keep the focus strictly on Suyash and his women? 🔥
Let me know in the comments. 🗣️ Thanks for reading! 📚❤️