The day Delhi’s sky turned grey with monsoon clouds, Ananya Sharma stood on the edge of two realities — one she was born into, and one she dreamed of building.

The rain had started again — soft at first, then aggressive, like the world didn’t want to give her a moment’s peace. She was sitting on the cracked stone floor of their narrow balcony, her laptop propped on a pillow, Wi-Fi flickering like her hope.

Her finger hovered over the email.

“Congratulations! You have been selected for the MBA Program at Delhi Global School of Management.”

Her heart beat louder than the thunder outside.

This wasn’t just a seat in a top B-school — this was everything. Her escape. Her future. Her only shot.

But even as her eyes blurred with tears, her mind did the math. ₹6.5 lakhs in tuition. Another 2 for living. And all they had were bills — her father’s monthly medication, her younger brother’s school fees, and a kitchen that somehow always ran out of essentials two days before payday.

She shut the laptop.

“Anu,” her mother called out from the kitchen, “Gas cylinder is low again. Subah chai mat bnana, okay?”

Ananya walked in, hiding her thoughts behind a practiced smile. Her mother was standing in front of a half-empty rack, shifting spice jars that no longer held anything.

“Okay, Ma.”

Her mother looked older these days. Tired. Her silk sarees were now cotton and her bangles fewer. Her eyes still had warmth, but it was the kind that comes from loving with an empty wallet.

Inside the bedroom, her father lay asleep, a wet cloth on his forehead. He'd been coughing all night. His once loud, dominating voice had been replaced by wheezes and whispers. COPD, the doctors said. Treatable, but expensive.

Ananya sat by his bedside. She pressed the cloth gently on his forehead, her fingers trembling.

She had always been the daughter who topped classes, handled electricity bills, managed school admissions for her brother — never the one who needed help.

But now, even she had no answers….

.

15 Kilometres Across Town…

At the other end of the city, in a penthouse wrapped in glass and gold, Rishaan Malhotra was signing off on a deal worth ₹12 crores without blinking.

His office overlooked the Delhi skyline — neat, towering, cold.

He stood by the window, suit crisp, expression unreadable. Not a hair out of place, not a second wasted.

“Next,” he said, flipping the file shut.

His assistant entered. “Tanya ma’am and Aarav sir are waiting in the lounge.”

He nodded.

Tanya, his sister-in-law — elegant, beautiful, and lately, more bitter than usual — was still recovering from another failed IVF. His elder brother Aarav, always calm, always neutral, stood beside her like a shadow.

Rishaan didn’t understand why they wanted a baby so badly when everything else in their life was already perfect — a thriving family business, a luxury home, influence, fame.

“Maybe you don’t get it because you don’t want love, Rishaan,” Tanya had said once. “You want order. A child would mess up your control.”

He hadn’t replied then. He wouldn’t now.

But today was different.

Today they were asking him to oversee the surrogacy process. Aarav didn’t trust lawyers and hospitals. Tanya didn’t trust strangers.

But everyone trusted Rishaan — because he got things done.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said flatly. “But I’ll handle the interviews myself.”

Tanya smiled, satisfied. Aarav looked relieved.

Rishaan, however, felt nothing.

He never did.

Back in Laxmi Nagar…

That evening, Ananya borrowed her friend’s Wi-Fi and began scrolling — not for loans or scholarships this time, but for “urgent part-time jobs for females in Delhi.”

Most led to spam. Some led to sleaze.

Then one ad caught her eye. Simple. Clean. Direct.

“Looking for healthy young woman to be a surrogate. Legal. Confidential. High compensation.”

She stared at the screen.

Surrogacy?

Her chest tightened.

She clicked the link.

If someone had walked into the room at that moment, they would’ve seen the same girl who always had answers — now sitting still, quietly crumbling..

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