"Hook. Line. King."

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•○NANDINI○•

"What?" I asked in disbelief, staring at the 6'7" man before me. Who was standing as if he might kill anyone who touches him or even breathes near him. Hai kon ye namuna?

"Aapki bhasa hume gyaat nhi." He spoke, again, staring at me-intently, cautiously. And wait a minute, my language? He doesn't know english?

"Tumhara matlab tumhe english nhi aati?" I asked. His body was still so rigid. I could see his muscles contract. So Alert. So cautious.

He frowned, then thought for a while, and then nodded. I looked at him up and down, contemplating his costume. And he looked like he was doing the same to me.

"Konse drama company se bhage ho?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"Drr-ram.. co-omp, kya?" He asked, looking irritated now. "Dekhiye hum kahi se bhage nhi hai. Aapko hum bhagne walo mein se dekhte hai kya? Hume gyat nhi hum kaha se yaha aakar phas gaye." He looked around as if this was some sorcery world.

Oh, yeah, he doesn't get english. What is a company called in hindi? "Konse naatak co - jagah par kaam karte ho?" I asked again. And he looked like I had committed some grave crime asking him that. He looked so offended. He might as well hang me for it.

"Aapka itna dussahas aap hume nautanki wala samajh rahi hai? Yadi abhi aap humari rajya mein hoti toh - Khair chodiye, ye bataiye ye konsa sthal hai?" His voice came off, deep and commanding and full of something... heavy.

I blinked. Konsa kya hai? "Sthal?"

"Ye sthan." He repeated. Jaw clenched. Slower. As if I was the dumb one here. As if he wasn't the one dressed like a clown. Acting crazy. "Ye konsa sthan hai? Naam kya hai iss sthan ka?"

I gave him a once over. "Okay.. who let a patient out?" This man was definitely mentally ill. Must've run out of some asylum.

"Aap phir uss vichitra bhasha mein vartalab kar rahi hai." His eyes narrowed. Intimidating. But he looked genuinely puzzled.

"Ho kon tum? Naam kya hai?" He looked taken aback, giving me a look as if to ask, 'you don't know me?' But he snapped out of it and answered nonetheless.

"Raja Aariv Dhir Yaduveya." His chest puffed in pride, annoucing his name as if some royal. He thinks he is some king. And we are all his peasants. I scoffed.

Is this some prank? Some stupidity in the name of a social experiment? Where is the camera? I'd charge them for taking me in their video without permission. When will the people come out and say 'hey! So this was a prank. Did you like it? What were your first thoughts?'

I looked at him weirdly.

He looked at me then rephrased. "Humara naam Aariv Dhir Yaduveya hai. Hum apne rajya se pata nhi yaha kaise aa gaye." He said, looking dead serious and so real. I might've actually believed him for a moment.

Great. He wasn't just weird - he was delusional, too. A delusional mentally impaired madman. Pata nhi bechara kaha sir de mara.

"Tum bachpan se hi aise ho?" I asked again.

"Ji, hum baalpan se kaise hai?" He countered, looking puzzled. His voice was commanding, stern, yet respectable.

"Dimaag se paidal." I deadpanned. Judging him. Hard. Yeah, well, you see, i like to switch my profession with some people. He happens to be one of them.

He glared at me intensely, taking a step closer to me. I have a cutter in my purse. One wrong move, and this man is so dead. "Aap stree hai, isliye aapka samman kar rahe hai." His voice was cold, commanding, and I'd be lying if I say it didn't make a chill run down my spine.

"Ye bataiye ye konsa sthan hai, aur konsa varsh hai." His expressions were now stern. He was demanding an answer. And the right one that he was looking for, any other answer and this just might be my last day. If he thinks he can scare me, then do hell with him. Iski toh mai-wait a minute. Wait a minute. He can be useful.

"This is mumbai, 2025." I said, noticing his expression. His eyes widened as he looked around once again. He looked like he was having some battle with his inner self. Why is he so eager to see the world? Was he just born yesterday or what?

"Ye do hazaar pachisva varsh hai. Iska arth hum ikkisvi sadi mein hai. Hum yaha kaise aa gaye." He muttered to himself, almost in disbelief, amusement, astonishment, and shock. Alright, weirdo, it's time to be a little useful now.

He was looking around with a strange sort of reverence - and confusion. "Suno. Tumne kaha tum Raja ho. Woh sach tha?" I asked, my words and tone calculated.

"Bilkull. Hum kabhi asatya nhi kehte." He declared. I stared at him. Not like how I look at fools. More like how a shark looks at something shiny and bleeding.

Because either this man was completely insane - or the most brilliant liar I'd ever seen.

"Alright, Rajaji." I nodded and gestured towards the table, "Baithiye zara. Aapko ek cup chai pelate hai." He raised his eyebrow, looking at me suspiciously. Not so much of a fool now, is he? His suspicious gaze was asking whether he could trust me or not. Well, no.

"Arre, I swear-I mean, kasam se bas chai hi hai, zeher nhi." I reassured him. But he looked as convinced as clearly we could see air. Yeah, I got it. He's not easy to convince. A tough nut to crack, indeed.

"Ye c-chai kya hota hai? Aur aap hume ye kyu pilana chahti hai?" He said, suspiciously in his deep, demanding, and fucking authorative voice. My brows furrowed. He didn't know what tea was? What the, what?

"You - tumhe nhi pata chai kya hoti hai? Tum issi planet se ho na? Konsi alien prajati ke ho, bhai?" I asked in disbelief. How can someone not know what tea is? For once, I get it, if people say they don't like tea, or even despise it. But a person saying he doesn't know what tea is. That's just another level.

"Aap jo bhi bol rahi hai hume kuch samajh nhi aaraha." He grumbled in frustration, looking furious by everything around him. A control freak? I get it. He's getting annoyed his understanding and control is slipping.

"Ek baat batao, kaha ke raja ho tum? Aur konsi sadi ke?" If he was thinking he was some ancient King, he must have all the details, too. Aise pagal apni alag hi duniya bana lete hai.

His expressions turned neutral, as he thought. Maybe thinking whether he should tell me or not. Sochta bhot hai ye aadmi. "Satravi sadi ke Yaduvansh ke punarutthaan samrajya, Yaduveya ke raja hai hum." He said. And all I understood was that he thinks he's from the 17th century. What kind of psychotic disorder does he have?

I took my phone out and Googled.

Schizophrenia.

Schizophrenia involves psychosis, a type of mental illness in which you can't tell what's real from what's imagined. At times, people with psychotic disorders such as schizophrenia lose touch with reality. Google said.

I took a moment and Googled something else, too.

Tea was introduced to India by the British during the 19th century, specifically between the early 1800s and India's independence in 1947.

Oh, that's why he doesn't know what tea was. How can someone let such a sick person out. So careless. But bless them, their carelessness is going to benefit me a lot. A hell lot. I mentally grinned.

"Maharaj, aap baithiye toh. Mai batati hu na aapko ki chai kya hoti hai." I smiled sweetly, gesturing towards the table. He raised an eyebrow and looked at me with a new strange look in his eyes. He followed my gesture and sat on the table. And sat he did.

He sat-not merely rested but claimed the chair-as though it were a throne and the area, his kingdom.

His spine was straight, shoulders relaxed yet firm, radiating an effortless authority. One leg crossed over the other with casual precision, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Though the table was ordinary - wood, maybe a bit worn - it might as well have been carved from ivory and draped in velvet, the way he occupied it.

Dramebaaz namuna.

I controlled the urge to roll my eyes and sat beside him. He stilled. Of course. No girl must've come this close to him seeing his condition. Consider this your lucky day, man.

I smiled widely, sweetly, and ordered two cups of tea for us. And turned towards him. He was already staring at me. If only he wasn't useful to me or a mental patient, I'd have straight up dragged him to police station. Creep.

"Toh, Rajaji," I began, but he cut me off.

"Ek baat bataye?" He asked, and I nodded. Say, say, say all you want, whatever you want, while I let you. "Apni muskaan par jara kaam kijije. Sampurna hai parantu thodi aur mehnaat kaam ayegi." He said.

I was taken aback. All those years, I had perfected my smile. The smile that I show the world. And dare, I've even fooled Prem, who's almost the only one who had seen my real smile. How did he...? Anyway. Not the bread about to be rotten. Teez toh hai ye aadmi.

I smiled widely, sweetly, making sure I made the smile look extra fake. He doesn't get to tell what to do. He raised his eyebrow as if questioning my audacity and courage. Oh haa, Rajaji ke zamane ab auratein baat kaha kar pati hongi. But he didn't look as much offended, rather amused, if I were to say.

I cleared my throat and said. I don't have the time, and will to deal with this namuna. Let's just get straight to the point - in a curved way.

"Tumne kaha tum Raja ho toh tumhe ye sab royal strolls, documents, articles, papers and stuff ke baare mein toh pata hi hoga, haina?" I started off, smooth. Let's feed his delusional a little. Mujhe na logo ko chane ke jhar par chadha kar dhap se niche girane mein bada maza aata hai.

He brows furrowed again. "Ji kya pata hoga?" He asked. Shit, now what are these terms called in hindi. I took my phone out and Googled. I never did Google this much.

Ye kaise bhari-bhari words aagye yaha? Oh god, the things I am doing for this man. I'd have charged him if only he was sane. "Rajsi b-brahman, prapatra, lekh, sodh patra, prastavana patra, ityadi." I managed to say.

He looked like he wanted to point out my pronunciation but chose otherwise. Good.

"Avashya, hum raja hai, swabhavik hai ki hume inn sabhi cheezo ki mahiti hogi." Okay, smartass, no need to so smug about it. Just say you know it. Though, I doubt that. But for now, you will have to do. Delusional Rajaji.

But anyway, "Perfect," I muttered, mostly to myself. "Absolutely bloody perfect." Thank you for sending him to me, Universe.

I could feel the idea forming in my head - fast, dark, brilliant.

I am a fucking genius.

I don't think I give myself enough credit, let alone others.

I turned to him to see him eyeing my phone. I snapped my fingers in front of him. He turned his sharp gaze towards me. His eyes. How can someone have such eyes? A mixture of green, brown, and onxy, and so deep.

Stop simping over his eyes, Nandini!

Seriously, though, why do boys have longer lashes when it's the girl batting them?

I cleared my throat and raised an eyebrow to ask him why he was simping over my phone while I was simping on his eyes. All deep, gre- stop it!

He gestured towards my phone. "Ye konsa vichitra yantra hai? Aapne abhi ispar kya kiya?" He asked, titled his head, inspecting my phone as it was granite about to explode. Now, he doesn't even know what a phone is. Great.

I took a deep breath and calmed my nerves, steading myself to explain to this ancient 'king'. It's time for my inner teacher to shine. "Ye phone hai, iss sadi ka avishkar. Iski madat se hum jo chahe woh kar sakte hai." I said.

"Jo chahe woh? Aapka arth hai hum iss chote se yantra se kuch bhi kar sakte hai?" He asked, looking impressed, astonished, and amused.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a notification. He jumped up in alert, brows furrowed, fists clenched, body stiff, muscles contracting, as if ready to lead a war. He thinks he's some hero from an action film. Just now, some goons will come, and he'll send them flying across the road.

I mentally scoffed, seeing him staring at my phone like it was about to attack him.

Waise, ye banda kitna gym gya tha aisi body banane ke liye? Jaha dekho waha muscles hi mucles hai. I swear, he is definitely hiding 8- rock hard-packs under that fancy dress costume.

"Yaar, tum ye khade kya ho gaye? Baitho. Mera phone chaku nikalkar yudh nhi karne wala hai tumse." I asked, gesturing him to sit. He looked at me and the phone skeptically. But then sat down.

I looked at what had buzzed in my phone to see a text from Prem.

Wherever the fuck you are, I swear, if you aren't here in 10, I'll *beep* *beep* *censored*!!!

I looked at the time, shit, just 15 minutes were left for the break to end. I made to make this quick. I turned to him frantically, who raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of my demeanor.

"Tumhe apne rajya wapis jana hai na?" I asked. His nod was almost as quick. "Mai tumhe waha le chalungi. Lekin usse pehle hume ek karna hoga, thik hai."

"Konsa karya, aur aapko wapis jane ka marg gyat hai?" He asked skeptically. He looked like he was deep in thoughts. Conflicting and confusing. Thinking, calculating, planning his next step, next move, ever so sharply. Iss aadmi ko koi batao yaha chess ka 1x1 nhi chal raha hai.

I've always believed desperation makes people dangerous - but confusion? Confusion makes them controllable.

And this man - this Aariv - was confused to his bones.

Not visibly. On the outside, he stood tall and imposing, like he owned the land, his boots crushed. Shoulders squared, eyes sharp. A warrior's presence. A king's arrogance.

But underneath all that? The way his eyes flicked too quickly at every passing vehicle, the way he kept reaching for a sword that didn't exist at his waist - he was lost.

Completely, disarmingly, beautifully lost.

And me?

I was about to take advantage of that.

My tea was now cold, but I didn't care. I tilted my head at him, studying the lines on his face. Not soft, not broken - hardened. A man made of battlefield choices. Every scar, internal or not, carried purpose.

That was grief, the feeling of everything sleeping out of his control, in his eyes. But not the kind that weakens - the kind that brews into rage.

Which meant I had to move carefully.

"Dekho, tumne kaha tum satravi sadi se ho. Tum obviously yaha kisi ko jaante nhi hongi. Aur ek mai hi hu jo tumhari madat kar sakti hai - karna chahti hai," I said softly.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Aur ye sahayata aap kyu karna chahti hai?" He thinks I have some other motive. Well, technically, he is right. But, I am not about to let him know that just yet.

I smiled. A gentle, convincing lie. "Ek insaan hone ke naate mera farz banta hai ki mai ek dusre insaan ke kaam aau. Yahi toh insaaniyat hoti hai, haina?" There goes my rook -straight towards the typical sentiments.

A pause. His expression didn't change - but something flickered in his gaze. Hope? No. Something more primal. The desperate, prideful need to reclaim what was his.

"hume aap par vishwas nhi," he said finally, letting his inner thoughts out. As I said, this man was indeed sharp. He would definitely not trust a fake-smiling stranger like me. But ouch. That was blunt.

"Acchi baat hai," I said, standing up. He did the same. I turned towards him, jeeping my expressions neutral, calm, steady. "Vishwas aksar logo ko bewakoof hi banata hai. Tumhe mujhpar vishwas karne ki koi zaroorat nhi hai, lekin tumhe madat toh meri hi leni hogi." I said calmly. Calculated.

"Aur aapko aisa kyu lagta hai?" His jaw ticked.

Desperation, baby. Desperation.

Along with confusion, frustration, annoyance, and the feeling of being lost - somewhere in between -you're desperate. To go back. To get a hold of the situation unfolding.

I opened my mouth to speak, shit, what's desperation called in hindi. I did, what I have been doing - I googled.

Okay, I got it.

So,

"Kyuki tum hatash ho, aur lachar bhi. Aur sirf mai hi hu jo tumhari madat karne ko taiyaar hai." I smiled gently, knowing I hit the bulls eyes.

A man like him, who looks like he'd rather be in control than anything else, now, being called helpless, was it for him.

Another pause.

His hand flexed. His lips pressed into a thin line. And then - he gave me the smallest nod.

Hook. Line. King.

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Till next chapter..

Adios, Mariposas🦋