Chapter 2: He’s so handsome…

The morning sun crept through the curtains of the bedroom window, casting a soft glow. Ishaan stirred, his eyes fluttering open as a strange sensation washed over him. His body felt light as air, weightless, like he was floating on a cloud. "What... what's this feeling?" he whispered to himself, sitting up slowly. A surge of energy and positivity flowed through him, tingling from his toes to his scalp, making every muscle hum with vitality.

He rubbed his eyes, the memory of yesterday's incident flashing vividly—the mysterious picture in the ancient book, the blinding light that seemed to swallow everything, the book vanishing into thin air. "Was that real? Or just a weird dream?" he questioned aloud, shaking his head in confusion. "I must have been too tired from all the drama at the mansion. Ari's tears... that must have messed with my head." But deep down, a part of him doubted it was that simple. The book had felt so tangible, its leather binding cool under his fingers.

Pushing the thoughts aside for now, Ishaan headed to the bathroom to freshen up. As he splashed water on his face and glanced in the mirror, he froze, his reflection staring back at him like a stranger. His muscles, which had been decent and functional from his daily exercises before, now looked perfectly toned, like those of an athlete who'd dedicated hours to rigorous training every day. His flat stomach had evolved into chiseled six-pack abs, his chest and arms defined with sharp lines. Even his long black hair, usually practical and unremarkable, shone with a healthy, glossy sheen, framing his fair, handsome face in a way that made him look like a total model from a magazine cover.

"Whoa... is this me?" he muttered, turning side to side to examine himself. "I never cared much for looks before—always too busy surviving. But this... this is insane! How did my body change overnight? Am I hallucinating?" He flexed his arm, watching the muscles ripple effortlessly. "No, this feels real. Too real. What if that book did something to me? But magic? That's ridiculous... isn't it?"

Amazed and a bit unnerved, Ishaan stepped out of the bathroom, still in disbelief. He decided to stick to his routine, starting his usual exercises in the living room—push-ups, squats, stretches. But as he began, the difference hit him like a wave. "No breathlessness at all?" he said aloud, completing double the reps without a hint of fatigue. His stamina had increased exponentially; what used to leave him winded now felt like a warm-up. "Okay, this is not normal. Before, I'd be sweating by now. Today? Nothing!"

Encouraged, he recalled the martial arts moves from his favorite TV show—the ones that were too difficult and technical before, requiring precision he could never quite master. He tried a complex spin kick, and to his shock, it flowed out with the grace of a practiced master. "How did I just do that?" he exclaimed, landing perfectly. He followed with a series of punches and blocks, each one seamless. "It's like my body knows what to do instinctively. No hesitation, no mistakes. What if I try that advanced flip I always failed at?" He attempted it, flipping mid-air and sticking the landing. "Impossible! I couldn't even get halfway before. This... this has to be from the book. But how? Why me?"

Breathing steadily—not a pant in sight—Ishaan moved to the kitchen, preparing breakfast with newfound ease. The dosa batter sizzled on the pan, chutney blended in seconds. "Everything's so effortless," he murmured, chopping vegetables at twice his normal speed. "Time feels slowed down. Tasks that took an hour? Done in half. Is this superhuman or what?" By 7 AM, the flat was spotless—floors mopped, laundry folded, breakfast laid out perfectly. "I've got time to spare. What now?"

With the household chores wrapped up unusually early, Ishaan stepped onto the balcony, the bustling Mumbai city sprawling below like a chaotic tapestry. The cool breeze ruffled his shining hair as he leaned on the railing, deep in thought. "Yesterday wasn't a dream," he said to himself, piecing it together. "I've changed—somehow. And there's all this knowledge in my head now, things I never learned. Ancient scripts, energy flows, techniques for strength... the book must have been a magical treasure. But why did it choose me? Was it fate, or just luck?"

He closed his eyes, feeling the invisible energy aura pulsing around him, faintly visible as a shimmer in his vision. "Something has truly changed in me," he whispered, a mix of excitement and fear bubbling up. "For Ari's sake, I can use this. No more silence, no more enduring. But how? Where do I start?" As the sun rose higher, Ishaan's mind raced with possibilities, but his thoughts were interrupted by Ari’s voice calling from the living room. “Ishaan! Ishaan, are you there?”

“Yes!” he replied, stepping through the door. The warm morning sun framed him, casting a golden halo around his figure. He wore his usual black t-shirt and pajamas, but today the fabric clung tightly to his chiseled upper body, sculpting him like a Greek statue. His skin glowed extra fair, and his long hair, tied in a messy bun, shimmered with an almost otherworldly sheen.

Ari glanced up, her breath catching. He’s so handsome… The thought slipped into her mind unbidden, and a blush crept up her cheeks. She quickly looked away. “Good morning,” she said quietly, her voice softer than usual.

“Good morning,” Ishaan answered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Do you need any help?” she asked, trying to regain her composure.

“All the household work is done for today,” he said, his tone calm but confident.

“Very nice,” Ari replied, a hint of relief in her voice. “Mom won’t be able to nitpick on you today.” She chuckled lightly.

Ishaan let out a small laugh, the sound rare and warm. They sat for breakfast together—dosa and chutney—sharing a quiet moment amid the tension of their lives.

As Ari prepared to leave for work at 8 AM, Ishaan hesitated, then spoke with effort. “Can I drop you? I know you take an auto, then a local, then another auto—it must be hectic. Should I drop you?”

Ari’s mind blanked for a moment, surprised by the offer. Coming back to her senses, she nodded. “Okay, then drop me to work today.”

Ishaan nodded eagerly, dashing to the bedroom. He emerged minutes later in a neatly pressed white shirt and black pants—clothes he meticulously washed and maintained himself, a small pride in his sparse wardrobe. “Ready,” he said.

“You look wonderful, Ishaan,” Ari said, her eyes widening. “Hope you could dress formal like this every day.”

Ishaan laughed silently, a shy grin on his face. Just then, Misahay, freshly awake, shuffled out. “Where are you going?” he asked, eyeing Ishaan suspiciously.

Ari stepped in. “I asked him to drop me to the office. Please let him borrow your bike for today.”

“No, I need to go to the farm!” Misahay protested.

“You can take a rest today,” Ari countered firmly. “Ishaan has cooked lunch and cleaned the house. Sometimes you need to rest, Father.” Without waiting for more objections, she grabbed the keys from the wall and pulled Ishaan out.

They sped off on the bike, heads turning at the beautiful couple weaving through Mumbai’s streets. At a signal, a sleek Mercedes-Benz S-Class pulled alongside. The driver, a rich-looking man in a business suit, lowered his window. “Ari!” he called.

Ari glanced back. It was Vickey Malhotra, Aadiv Bajaj’s friend's son—his wife died a year ago, and since spotting Ari at the office, he’d been infatuated. “Good morning,” she said curtly, facing forward.

“Hey, Ari!” Vickey called again. “If you’re going to the office, let me drop you. I’m heading there too.”

“No, my husband will drop me,” Ari replied politely but firmly.

Vickey’s face darkened with envy. “Why sit on a cheap bike and struggle? Come relax here with me. I bet your husband can’t even dream of driving a beauty like this!”

“No thank you,” Ari snapped, a hint of anger in her tone. The signal turned green, and they sped off, but Vickey’s words left her mood sour.

Seeing her frown, Ishaan offered, “I’m glad to drop you. Don’t let him get to you.”

She managed a small smile. “Thanks, Ishaan.” He dropped her at the office, then turned to leave, but a voice halted him.

“Ishaan!” a young man called—Prithvi Bajaj, Tanish’s son, Ari’s cousin. “What are you doing here?” he asked with a condescending sneer.

“Dropping Ari,” Ishaan replied evenly.

Prithvi smirked. “All you can do is do housework and play driver? Come, hold my bag to my cabin!” he demanded.

Ishaan quietly took the bag, following him through the lively office—hundreds of workers buzzing before the executives arrived. He dropped the bag in Prithvi’s glass cabin and turned to leave.

On the way out, Vickey spotted him. “Ishaan, wait!” he called, pulling him aside to the emergency staircase. “I need to talk about something important.”

“What is it?” Ishaan asked, his voice steady.

“I’m in love with Ari,” Vickey said, his tone smug. “Uncle, Aadiv told me your marriage is a facade—she’ll divorce you soon. Here’s a check for 10 lakhs Vickey took out his checkbook from his coat pocket and wrote him a check for 10 Lakh rupees . Enjoy it, just divorce her!”

Slap! Ishaan’s hand struck Vickey’s cheek, his once lifeless eyes now lively and fierce. Vickey staggered, stunned, a flash and sound ringing in his ears. Seconds later, he realized, “How dare you slap me, you fu—!”

Slap! Ishaan interrupted mid-sentence, stepping close. “Ari is not an object you can buy. She’s my wife. Remove all thoughts of her—consider this a warning.”

Vickey clenched his fist, raising it to strike, but Slap! Ishaan hit again before it landed. “Why can’t I see it coming?” Vickey’s mind jumbled, his cheek stinging.

Ishaan stepped down the stairs toward the exit. “You will pay! I’ll make you pay! How dare you slap me!” Vickey shouted, fury boiling.

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