Abhimanyu, a runaway who fled the hellish environment his father created, has spent a decade navigating life's uncertainties through a world of gambling. Alone and drifting through the streets of Lucknow, everything changes when he encounters Roop...
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Abhimanyu pushed open the creaky apartment door, ushering Chand inside. The stale scent of takeout and forgotten laundry hit her nose even before she stepped over the threshold. His place was a monument to bachelorhood – clothes piled high on a rickety chair, empty pizza boxes stacked precariously on the coffee table, and a general air of disarray. Chand scrunched her nose, but a mischievous glint sparked in her eyes.
"Do you ever clean this place?" she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
Abhimanyu stared at her, surprised by her lack of disgust. He expected a shriek or a wrinkled nose, not amusement. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he settled back into his usual gruff demeanor. "Look, kid, do you want to stay here or not?" he started, but Chand cut him off.
"Yeah yeah," she chirped, letting go of his arm and darting past him. He watched as Chand, with the boundless energy of a child, embarked on a whirlwind tour of his tiny apartment. The cramped space held just a single room that served as a living area and bedroom, a miniscule kitchen, and a bathroom that looked like it hadn't seen a cleaning rag in weeks.
She darted straight for the kitchen, her stomach growling in protest. Disappointment clouded her face as she peered into the near-empty refrigerator. A stale loaf of bread and a few eggs were its only inhabitants. Chand sighed, the sound oddly mature coming from such a small person. The kitchen itself mirrored the rest of the apartment – cramped, cluttered, and lacking the warmth of a home-cooked meal.
"Do you even eat?" she asked, a hint of concern lacing her pout.
Abhimanyu leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. "I don't cook," he replied, his voice gruff but not unkind. There was a weariness in his eyes that belied his casual stance.
"You live alone and you don't even cook?" Chand pressed, her big eyes wide with curiosity. Something about the near-empty kitchen and Abhimanyu's weary demeanor sparked a new wave of questions in her mind.
Abhimanyu sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "You ask too many questions, kid," he drawled in a lazy tone.
He shifted his weight against the doorway, a shadow momentarily eclipsing the meager light filtering into the kitchen. Suddenly, he seemed to remember something. "What's your name again, brat?"
Chand puffed out her chest, a touch of pride evident in her voice. "Chand Kashyap," she declared, her brown eyes sparkling. "What's yours?"
Abhimanyu hesitated for a beat, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "Abhimanyu," he finally replied, but there was a clipped quality to his voice, as if the full name was something he rarely used.
Chand, ever perceptive, picked up on the subtle cue. She stopped bouncing on the bed, tilting her head to the side and giving him a long, considering stare.
"Just Abhimanyu? What's your surname?" Chand pressed, her brow furrowed in confusion. The concept of someone not having a last name was alien to her six-year-old mind. It was like a tree without roots, something she couldn't quite grasp.
