It's Also Love?

The Maldives Escape

Param's POV

Night's already there, and I grab my phone for one last scroll—check stocks, maybe a quick peek at some desi chut to unwind. But what the fuck is this? Image after image pops up in my feed—viral. Meet standing butt-naked in what looks like a school hallway, his little dick flopping out for the world to see. Students circling him, laughing their asses off, phones flashing. Comments flood: "LMAO tiny dick alert!" "White as a ghost—haunted nunu!"

Meet's in the middle, hands scrambling to cover, face red as a tomato, tears streaming. I stood up, gut twisting. What kind of clown school lets this happen? Feels like a punch to the balls—Meet's a soft kid, all innocent and cute, not built for this shit. As a man, I'd crush the punks who did this, but as a friend? Gotta call Rajbhir. Hate dialing this late, but hell, brotherhood's thicker than water.

Funny in a twisted way—life's a circus, and today the clowns targeted the wrong tent. But worried? Yeah, deep down—Rajbhir's gonna rage, and I'll back him. Real men protect the pack.

Rajbhir — POV

After Param and I finished speaking, I didn't go to the study. I went where it mattered. Lightning cracked as I drove to the Mehra estate, Meet's shaken face flashing behind my eyes. Fury rode shotgun—but so did resolve. I parked, stepped out, less businessman now, more father on a mission. The staff took one look and melted aside. Thunder rolled like applause as I pushed through the mahogany doors—heated, inevitable, and done waiting.

"Rajbhir?"

Hrithik's father and my business ally, Deepak Mehra, stood in the grand foyer, laughing awkwardly by my unexpected arrival. "A bit late for a social call, isn't it? What happened? Car break down in the storm? Come in, man, let's get you a drink."

"I'm not here for a drink, Mr. Mehra," I rumbled with contained fury. "I'm here for your son."

Deepak's smile faltered, sensing the shift in the air. He turned toward the stairs where Hrithik stood. The boy was tall, built like an athlete, his face handsome but marred by a smug, entitled curl of the lip. He looked at me with a jock's false bravado.

"Hrithik? What's he talking about?" Deepak barked.

I didn't wait for the boy to answer. "Your son cornered mine after a shower. He stole his clothes. He filmed him. He stood there while my boy was stripped of his dignity and he laughed as it went viral. He didn't just play a prank, Mr. Mehra. He tried to kill the soul of a Singhania."

Deepak's face darkened. He didn't argue—he struck, a sharp slap sending Hrithik reeling into the wall. "You idiot!" Deepak roared. "You touched Mr. Rajbhir's son?!"

I ignored Deepak. I walked straight up to Hrithik.

"Why?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. "He was your friend. He trusted the people in that hallway. How can you be this inhuman at seventeen? How does a person become this hollow?"

Hrithik's fear curdled into arrogance. "It... it was a joke, Uncle. Just a locker room thing. Everyone was laughing. Meet is just... he's a coward for making a big deal out of it. It's not like I actually hurt him."

The roar that left me silenced the storm. I bunched his shirt in my fist and drove him back into the cold wall.

"A coward?" I hissed, my eyes boring into his soul. "You think strength is found in a pack? You think you're a man because you attacked someone when they were vulnerable? Let me teach you a lesson your father clearly skipped. Boys like you are a cancer on this society. You aren't 'manly,' Hrithik. You are a bottom-feeder. A true man uses his strength to shield the weak, not to strip them naked for a laugh. You attacked a boy who has more courage in his smallest finger than you have in your entire, bloated ego."