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Manish unlocked the door of his apartment, pushing it open to reveal the luxurious space he had bought four years ago. 

It was a far cry from the small, dingy room he had lived in for so many years—a symbol of how far he had come. 

The moment he stepped inside, he flicked on the lights, illuminating the large living room with its sleek furniture and modern décor. 

Everything here was expensive, a testament to the success he had achieved after years of hard work.

But as the lights filled the room, they only seemed to emphasize how empty it was.

Manish shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly. 

He had come a long way, there was no doubt about that. 

From the boy who had grown up in an orphanage, taunted, beaten, and bullied, to the man who had made a name for himself in the entertainment industry as a successful director. 

But in moments like these, when he came home to an empty, silent apartment, the loneliness seeped in. 

No matter how much wealth or fame he had, the silence always made it clear that something was missing.

Every person who worked hard for a living, who faced the grind of life, wanted one simple thing—to be greeted by someone at home. 

A family. 

For most people, it was a given, something they took for granted. 

But for Manish, it was something he had spent his entire life craving, something he never truly had.

His mind drifted back to his childhood, to the orphanage where he had spent the earliest years of his life. 

He had been a nameless boy back then, just another face in the crowd of children who had no one to call their own. 

He remembered how the other kids would bully him, mock him for being an orphan. 

"Maybe you were a burden to your parents—that's why they left you," they'd say. 

"You must have bad blood. That's why no one wanted you." 

Some had whispered that he was probably someone's dirty little secret, abandoned because he was too much of a shame to keep.

Those words had stung, but what had hurt most was that, deep down, he had believed them. 

He thought there had to be something wrong with him, something so fundamentally unlovable that even his own parents had left him behind.

But then came Sarita Saini.

Manish's face softened as he thought of her, the woman who had changed his life forever. 

Sarita was a newly appointed warden at the orphanage when she arrived, and for some reason, she had instantly connected with him. 

He still remembered the day she had called him into her small office, her kind eyes studying him. 

Back then, he had no name, just a number in the system. 

But Sarita had seen him, really seen him.

"You don't have a name yet," she had said with a smile. "How about we change that?"

He had blinked at her in confusion. "A name?"

She had nodded. "From now on, you'll be called Manish. It means 'the god of the mind'—mann ke ish."

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