Correction

Morning came too early.

Aarav hadn’t really slept.

The room was silent, but his mind wasn’t. Every word from last night replayed over and over—

“You won’t survive here.”

He sat up slowly, his body heavy, like even resting had taken energy he didn’t have.

A knock came at the door.

Sharp.

Precise.

“Come in,” Aarav said softly.

A staff member entered, placing neatly folded clothes on the bed. “Mr. Mehta has requested your presence in ten minutes.”

Requested.

But it didn’t feel like a request.

The clothes were unfamiliar.

Tailored.

Perfect.

Not his.

Aarav changed quickly, his fingers slightly clumsy. The fabric felt expensive against his skin—too smooth, too clean, like it didn’t belong on him.

Like he didn’t belong in it.

When he reached downstairs, Ruhan was already there.

Of course he was.

Standing by the window, phone in hand, voice low as he spoke to someone.

“…handle it. I don’t repeat instructions.”

A pause.

Then silence.

He ended the call without another word.

Aarav stopped a few steps away.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

Ruhan didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, his eyes moved slowly over Aarav—from head to toe.

Evaluating.

Judging.

Something about that gaze made Aarav’s chest tighten again.

“You’re late.”

Aarav blinked. “It’s only been—”

“Late,” Ruhan repeated.

That was enough.

Aarav lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Stand straight.”

Aarav froze for a second—then corrected his posture.

“Shoulders back.”

He obeyed.

“Look up.”

Aarav hesitated—

“…Now.”

He forced himself to meet Ruhan’s eyes.

Big mistake again.

Because there was still nothing there.

No warmth.

No patience.

Only expectation.

Ruhan stepped closer.

Not rushed.

Not angry.

Just controlled.

“You still look weak,” he said.

Aarav’s fingers curled slightly at his sides.

“I told you to fix it.”

“I’m trying—”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Silence.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

Ruhan’s expression didn’t change.

But something in the air did.

“Repeat that.”

Aarav’s throat went dry.

“I… I said I’m trying.”

A pause.

Then—

“Wrong answer.”

Before Aarav could react, Ruhan grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward—not violently, but with enough force to make him lose balance.

Aarav stumbled, barely catching himself.

His heart started racing.

“Trying,” Ruhan said quietly, “is useless.”

His grip tightened just slightly.

“You either change… or you fail.”

Aarav’s breath became uneven.

“I’ll change,” he said quickly.

“Then prove it.”

Ruhan let go abruptly.

Aarav stepped back, his wrist still tingling from the grip.

“From today,” Ruhan continued, walking past him, “you will follow a schedule.”

Aarav turned slightly. “Schedule?”

“You will wake at 5.”

Aarav’s eyes widened a little.

“You will train. Learn. Observe. Improve.”

Each word landed like a command carved into stone.

“You will speak when necessary. Stay silent when not.”

A pause.

“And you will not embarrass me.”

Aarav nodded slowly.

“…Okay.”

Ruhan stopped walking.

Then turned just enough to glance at him.

“Not ‘okay.’”

Aarav swallowed.

“…Yes.”

Another pause.

“Say it properly.”

His voice wasn’t loud.

But it didn’t need to be.

Aarav’s chest tightened.

“…Yes, Ruhan.”

“Wrong.”

Aarav froze.

Ruhan’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“You will address me correctly.”

Aarav’s mind went blank for a second.

“…Yes, Mr. Mehta.”

Silence.

Then—

A small nod.

“Better.”

The humiliation burned quietly.

Not loud.

Not visible.

But deep.

“Follow me,” Ruhan said.

Aarav obeyed.

Of course he did.

They entered a large room—empty except for mirrors and polished floors.

Training room.

Aarav stopped at the entrance.

“What is this?”

Ruhan didn’t look at him.

“You said you wanted to survive.”

A pause.

“This is where you start.”

Hours passed.

Or at least it felt like it.

Posture training. Walking. Speaking.

Everything corrected.

Everything criticized.

Every mistake pointed out.

“Again.”

Aarav’s legs trembled slightly.

He repeated the movement.

“Wrong.”

Again.

“Too slow.”

Again.

“Unacceptable.”

By the time it ended, Aarav’s body felt like it might give out.

But he didn’t stop.

Because every time he slowed—

Ruhan’s voice cut through.

Cold.

Precise.

Unforgiving.

Finally—

“Enough.”

Aarav almost collapsed in relief—but forced himself to stay standing.

Breathing quietly.

Barely.

Ruhan walked toward him again.

Close.

Observing.

“You’re still weak,” he said.

Aarav lowered his gaze.

“…I’ll improve.”

A pause.

Then—

“You don’t have a choice.”

Ruhan turned away.

Done again.

Just like that.

Aarav stood alone in the room.

His body hurt.

His pride hurt more.

But neither compared to the quiet realization settling inside him—

This wasn’t just control.

This wasn’t just strictness.

This was…

Erasure.

Piece by piece.

Day by day.

And no matter how much he endured—

Ruhan Mehta still looked at him like he was nothing.

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