Internet Wala Love ~ Munrik Three Shot [Completed]

Chapter 1 (Late-Night Confessions)

Munni sat cross-legged on her small bed in the staff quarters, staring at the cracked screen of her second-hand phone. The Shanti Niketan above was buzzing with its usual late-night chaos, but down here, it was quiet—just her and a faint WiFi signal leaking from the living room.

She hesitated for a long time, biting her lip. Should I really do this? What if he finds out? What if Tulsi maa scolds me? Finally, she took the plunge and typed out a new username: Munmun. For a profile picture, she chose a blurry shot of the moon she had clicked weeks ago. Her bio read: Just a small world, big dreams.

Taking a deep breath, she searched for Hrithik Virani. His profile appeared instantly—selfies with Angad, awkward family photos, and too many posts about cricket. Her thumb trembled as she pressed Send Friend Request.

To her shock, the request was accepted within seconds. She blinked in disbelief. So fast? Does he even check before accepting?

Almost immediately, a message appeared. Hrithik asked who she was. Munni quickly typed back that she was just a friend, someone looking for a little fun and companionship.

And just like that, it began.

At first, their exchanges were light—silly memes, teasing jokes, and playful arguments about cricket versus Bollywood songs. Hrithik laughed when she called his hairstyle “a little too filmy,” while she rolled her eyes when he insisted he could easily become a professional batsman if he “just took practice seriously.”

But as the nights stretched on, the conversations deepened. One evening, Hrithik admitted something he had never told anyone. “You know, girls in college used to ignore me,” he wrote. “They called me a duffer. Said I wasn’t cool enough.”

Munni frowned at her screen, feeling the sting in his words. She replied softly, You’re not a duffer, Hrithik. You’re funny, you’re kind, and you make people smile. Being cool isn’t about Instagram likes or stylish clothes.

There was a pause, a long silence where she wondered if she had said too much. Then his next message appeared: You really think that?

Her lips curved into a smile as she typed back, Of course. Otherwise, why would I have accepted your friend request?

Somewhere in the grand Shanti Niketan, Hrithik grinned at his phone like a teenager. That night, their conversation stretched until almost three in the morning—Hrithik opening up about his insecurities, and Munni confessing her secret love for old Bollywood songs. They laughed about everything and nothing, two insomniacs bound together by weak WiFi and unspoken loneliness.

When Hrithik finally said goodnight, he felt lighter than he had in years. And Munni? She stared at his last message for a long time before sleep pulled her under, whispering to herself, “Just hope he never learns the truth.”

The days slipped into a rhythm neither of them had planned. Every evening, once the chaos of the Shanti Niketan settled and the lights upstairs dimmed, Munni would retreat into her little room, curl up with her phone, and wait for the familiar ping.

Hrithik never kept her waiting.

Their chats were no longer just playful jokes. They were longer, slower, filled with things Hrithik never said out loud in the real world. He told her how invisible he sometimes felt in his own house, how everyone expected him to be cheerful but no one noticed when he wasn’t. He admitted he hated being compared to Angad, who seemed to succeed effortlessly in everything.

One night, Hrithik typed, “Sometimes I wonder if anyone would miss me if I just… disappeared. People say I’m funny, but maybe I’m just the family clown.”

Munni’s chest tightened as she read his words. She wanted to run upstairs, to tell him face-to-face that he mattered more than he thought—but of course, she couldn’t. Instead, she poured her feelings into her reply. “Don’t say that. You make people laugh because you carry light in you. You may think they don’t see it, but I do. And honestly, it makes me feel less lonely too.”

Hrithik stared at the screen for a long time before sending back a single line: “You always know what to say.”

For Munni, the words were both a balm and a sting. She loved the way he trusted her, the way his laughter reached her even through text. But every time his guard dropped, every time he typed something vulnerable, her guilt gnawed a little deeper. He thought she was someone else—someone who belonged in his world, not just in its shadows.

And yet… she couldn’t stop.

If anything, their bond only grew. They teased each other about their worst habits—Hrithik confessed he talked to himself in the mirror before family events; Munni admitted she sometimes burned food just to avoid being asked to cook again. He began sending her voice notes, his deep, slightly awkward laugh echoing through her tiny room at night.

One evening, Hrithik wrote, “I don’t know why, but I feel like I can tell you things I can’t even tell my brothers and sisters. It’s like you’re… different.”

Munni’s fingers hovered over the keypad. She wanted to type, Because I see you for who you really are, but the words felt too dangerous. Instead, she settled for, “Maybe it’s because we’re strangers. Strangers are easier to be honest with.”

But Hrithik wasn’t convinced. “You don’t feel like a stranger anymore,” he replied. “You feel like… mine.”

The message made her heart thud wildly. She pressed the phone to her chest, eyes shut tight, torn between guilt and excitement. She had created Munmun as a mask, but every night the mask blurred a little more, until it felt like Hrithik was talking not to an invented profile, but to her.

Still, a question haunted her: How long before he finds out? And when he does, will he forgive me—or will he hate me for fooling him?

That night, Hrithik sent one last message before bed: “Goodnight, Munmun. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Munni stared at the glowing screen until her eyes burned. She whispered into the darkness, as if he could hear her, “Goodnight, Hrithik. Please don’t ever find out who I am.”

By now, Munni’s days revolved around a secret rhythm. She smiled when she carried tea to the Virani brothers, knowing that hours later she’d be laughing with Hrithik on her phone. She hummed while folding laundry, remembering the silly voice notes he had sent her the night before.

But with every message, Hrithik was growing closer. Too close.

One evening, their chat started the usual way—memes, teasing about Hrithik’s cricket obsession, and Munni’s dramatic rants about old Bollywood heroes. But then, out of nowhere, Hrithik typed, “You know what I realized? I don’t even know your real name.”

Munni froze, her fingers trembling above the keypad. She tried to brush it off: “Names don’t matter. Feelings do.”

But Hrithik wasn’t laughing. “It matters to me. I share everything with you, Munmun. My insecurities, my fears… and I don’t even know who you are. Don’t I deserve to?”

Her throat went dry. The truth hung on her lips, but so did the fear of losing everything. If he knew she was just Munni—the maid who polished his shoes and served his dinner—would he still smile at her texts the same way?

She tried to change the subject, but Hrithik pushed harder. “Meet me once. Just once. I promise I won’t ask questions. I just… I want to see you.”

Munni’s chest tightened. Her heart leapt at the thought of being seen by him—not as a shadow in the background of the Virani mansion, but as someone who mattered. Yet the risk was too high.

She typed, “Not now. Maybe someday.”

Hrithik’s reply came slower this time. “Someday… I’ll hold you to that.”

That night, Munni couldn’t sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling, guilt twisting in her chest. She had started this as harmless fun—a profile, a little escape from her ordinary life. But now Hrithik’s words echoed in her mind: You feel like mine.

For him, it was real. For her, it was real too. But it was also a lie.

She pressed her palms to her face and whispered, “What will you do, Hrithik, when you learn Munmun is just Munni?”

And upstairs, in his room, Hrithik scrolled through their old chats with a goofy smile, already imagining what it would be like to meet the girl who made his nights brighter.

For him, it wasn’t just Internet wala love anymore.
It was love, plain and simple.

-----

To be continued.

Chapter 2 (The First Meeting)

Munni stared at the cracked mirror in her small room, her heart thudding wildly. For days she had wrestled with her conscience—whether to reveal her truth or let Hrithik remain charmed by “Munmun.” But today, his words echoed in her ears: “I feel like I’ve known you forever. I wish we could meet.”

That single line tipped her decision. She couldn’t resist anymore.

With trembling fingers, Munni slipped into one of Pari’s short gowns, shimmering and stylish, nothing like the simple clothes she usually wore. The fabric hugged her frame, transforming her into someone she had only seen in magazines—a model, a diva. She carefully curled her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders, and added bold lipstick that made her lips gleam.

When she looked in the mirror, she almost gasped.
“I’m Munmun now,” she whispered, as if convincing herself.

At the café, Hrithik sat by the window, fiddling with his phone. Every few seconds, he glanced at the door, nerves gnawing at him. He had played this moment a hundred times in his head.

Just then, his elbow nudged the table, knocking over the little vase beside him. The crash startled him—and as he bent to pick up the pieces, his glasses slipped from his face and clattered to the floor. A crack split across one lens.

When he put them back on, the world turned blurry, softened at the edges. He cursed under his breath, trying to adjust them, but it was no use. Everything was hazy now.

And then she walked in.

Munni’s heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as she stepped inside, her gown shimmering under the café lights. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to turn and run, but her eyes found him—Hrithik, waiting with a crooked smile, his face slightly tilted as if searching for focus.

His blurred vision didn’t matter. The silhouette before him, glowing like something out of a dream, was enough.

He stood up instantly, voice a little shaky. “Munmun?”
Munni nodded, her throat dry. “Yes.”

As they sat, Hrithik leaned forward, squinting slightly but grinning all the same. “You’re… even prettier than I imagined,” he said softly.

Munni blushed, guilt gnawing at her heart. If only you knew who I really am.

But the blur worked in her favor. Hrithik’s eyes couldn’t catch the small tells—the nervous fidget of her hands, the way her earrings didn’t quite match, or the hint of her simple accent slipping between her polished words. To him, she was a soft outline with a warm laugh, a gentle voice, and the aura of someone who belonged to his dreams.

For once, Munni wasn’t the maid, wasn’t the imposter—she was just a girl, sitting across from a boy she loved, tasting what life could be if dreams ever dared to come true.

“Funny,” Hrithik said with a casual chuckle, leaning closer, “you remind me of someone. But I can’t quite place it.”

Munni’s heart hammered. She wanted to laugh and cry at once. How could he not recognize her voice, her mannerisms? Yet, she realized—it was the very thing she had once feared: his careless clumsiness had accidentally become her shield.

So she smiled—an unfamiliar, bolder smile. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Hrithik tilted his head, studying her hazy outline with narrowed eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe the universe just keeps bringing me back to the same kind of people.”

That sentence burned into her heart. The pull between them was undeniable, but the charade forced her to stay still. Each meeting that followed only deepened the paradox—Hrithik falling for the mystery girl, unaware she was the same Munni who moved quietly around his home, setting his table and clearing his mess.

And yet, every time his fingers brushed hers when handing over a coffee cup, or when he leaned closer to hear her better in the noisy streets, she felt her resolve thinning.

How long could she play this game before the truth—and his broken specs—brought everything crashing down?

The moon hung low, scattering silver streaks across the sleepy lanes as the café lights faded behind them. After an evening of laughter and half-truths, Hrithik stretched his arms and glanced at her with a boyish smile.

“Shall we go for a walk? The night feels… good.”

Munni hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded, clutching the shimmer of her borrowed gown as though it were armor. “Okay. But only a short one. Don’t blame me if you get tired halfway.”

Hrithik chuckled. “Me? Get tired? You don’t know me yet, Munmun. I can walk for miles.”

Her heart twisted at the name, but she smiled anyway, falling into step beside him. Their strides matched naturally, soft laughter spilling between them as they passed shuttered shops and flickering street lamps. For Munni, it was unreal—walking beside him as someone he admired, not as the maid he barely noticed at home. For Hrithik, with his cracked glasses tucked into his pocket, it was simple and effortless—he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so unguarded.

But the peace shattered in an instant.

Three men staggered from a dark alley, reeking of alcohol. Their eyes latched onto Munni, their smirks vile. One whistled. “Arrey, look at this one. Glamorous, eh? Come with us, darling—why waste your time with him?”

Munni froze, her blood running cold. Hrithik immediately stepped in front of her, shoulders squared, his voice sharp with warning. “Back off.”

The men sneered. “Or what? You’ll fight us?” One shoved him hard.

Hrithik didn’t hesitate. He lunged, fists flying, his body fueled by instinct more than strength. He fought with a ferocity Munni had never seen, shielding her from their filthy hands. Every punch landed with purpose, but there were three of them, circling, snarling.

Still, Hrithik didn’t give in. Not once.

Finally, he sent two sprawling to the ground. The third stumbled, then swung a heavy rod, striking Hrithik across the back. He staggered but managed one last blow, sending the man crashing into the gutter. The goons fled, cursing under their breath.

But Hrithik’s body gave way. He collapsed on the pavement.

“Hrithik!” Munni cried, dropping to her knees beside him. She shook him frantically, her fingers trembling as they brushed the hair from his forehead. “Wake up! Please, wake up!”

Tears blurred her vision. He was breathing—but weak, too weak. Her hands cupped his cheeks, her voice breaking. “Don’t leave me like this…”

And then—before fear could stop her—she bent down and pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate, an unspoken plea for him to stay.

Her first kiss. Their first kiss.

Hrithik stirred faintly, a groan slipping from his lips as his lashes fluttered. Munni jerked back, flushed, tears clinging to her cheeks. For a second, she didn’t know whether to feel relief… or terror.

“Mun…mun?” Hrithik whispered weakly, his blurred gaze struggling to focus on her face.

Munni quickly brushed her tears away, forcing a trembling smile. “I’m here… you’re okay.”

But inside, her heart thundered with a truth she couldn’t confess. Because in that moment—between broken specs, stolen identities, and a kiss born of desperation—everything had changed forever.

Munni’s lips still tingled when he lifted a shaky hand and cupped her cheek, pulling her back into a kiss—this one not weak or broken, but filled with gratitude, passion, and something deeper he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now.

The kiss deepened naturally, breaths mingling, fears dissolving. Munni clung to him as if he were her only anchor, and Hrithik kissed her like he was afraid to lose her again. The world around them—the dim street, the fallen goons groaning in the distance—ceased to matter.

Breaking the kiss only to breathe, Hrithik gathered her gently into his arms. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, though his voice was ragged. Munni buried her face against his chest, her tears soaking his shirt.

He carried her carefully to his car, every movement tender, as though she were fragile and precious. Once inside, with the faint glow of the streetlamps filtering through the windows, their eyes met again. Neither needed words—the silence was heavy with the unsaid emotions of the past days.

Hrithik leaned in, capturing her lips once more. This time, the kiss was slow, reverent, as if he were memorizing her. Munni responded with equal vulnerability, letting go of fear, letting herself trust. The space between them vanished, replaced by warmth and longing.

What followed wasn’t rushed—it was a surrender. In that car, wrapped in each other’s arms, they made love tenderly, their souls weaving together in a way that made time stand still. For Hrithik, it was no longer about protecting her—it was about cherishing her. For Munni, it was about finding strength in the very man she once thought untouchable.

When it was over, she lay curled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, while his arms encircled her protectively. The night air outside was cold, but inside, their world had changed—intimacy had bridged the distance, and both of them knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Next morning

The sharp rays of the morning sun streamed through the windshield, landing on Hrithik’s face. His eyelids fluttered open, his body aching from the previous night’s fight. For a moment, he lay still, piecing together flashes of the chaos—Munni’s terrified screams, his fists colliding with the goons, the desperate rush to protect her… and then—her lips. Her warmth. Their surrender to each other in the darkness of the car.

A strange stillness filled the vehicle now. Hrithik sat up slowly, his hand instinctively reaching for her.

“Munmun?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Silence answered him. His chest tightened as his eyes darted around the car—empty. Only her shimmering gown lay draped across the seat, a faint trace of her perfume—sweet and heady—still clinging to the fabric. A few loose strands of her hair rested neatly beside it, catching the sunlight like a cruel reminder.

And then he saw it—
A small note, handwritten in her delicate script.

His fingers trembled as he picked it up.

“Hrithik, last night wasn’t a mistake… but it wasn’t the end either. Our next meeting will change everything between us. Until then, don’t look for me.”

His throat went dry. He reread the words, his mind spinning. Change everything? What did she mean? Why leave him like this?

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The silence of the empty car suddenly felt deafening. Her absence pressed against him harder than the bruises on his body.

Yet beneath the ache, her kiss still lingered. And the promise in her note—cryptic, heavy—ignited a fire in his chest.

Hrithik closed his eyes, clutching the note tightly.

“Munmun… whoever you really are, I’ll find you,” he whispered, his voice both a vow and a plea.

------

To be continued.

Chapter 3 (Truths Unveiled)

Shanti Niketan: The Search Begins

Hrithik parked his car outside Shanti Niketan, the elegant gates looming in front of him. His body still ached from the fight, but it wasn’t the bruises that weighed him down—it was the hollow emptiness left by her absence. The note burned in his pocket, its words looping endlessly in his mind: “Our next meeting will change everything between us.”

Change everything? He couldn’t stop replaying it.

Inside the mansion, the morning was already buzzing with routine. Maids hurried across the hall with trays, the gardener trimmed hedges in the courtyard, and his cousins’ laughter echoed faintly from the dining room. It all felt painfully ordinary while his world had turned upside down.

“Sir, you’re home early?” the butler asked politely.

“Yeah,” Hrithik muttered, distracted, his eyes sweeping over the house as if she might suddenly appear. Munmun. Whoever she was—he had to see her again.

Munni’s Struggle

In the servant quarters, Munni sat frozen on the edge of her bed, clutching her dupatta so tightly her knuckles whitened. She hadn’t slept a wink. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face in the dim glow of the car, the way his lips had claimed hers, the way his arms had wrapped around her with tenderness she had never dared to dream of.

Her note had been a coward’s escape, but what else could she do? If Hrithik discovered that “Munmun,” the glamorous woman he adored, was none other than Munni—the maid of Shanti Niketan—he would despise her. The thought of that rejection cut deeper than anything.

And now he was back. She could hear his footsteps in the hall, the lilt of his voice as he greeted the family. Her pulse raced.

Stay away. Just stay away, she told herself.

False Clues

At breakfast, Hrithik asked casually, “Did anyone see a girl come by yesterday? Curly hair, short gown, bold lipstick?”

His siblings smirked, nudging each other. “Oho, Hrithik! Secret date, huh?”

He forced a smile, hiding the storm brewing inside him. “Just curious.”

The staff exchanged glances but said nothing. Only Munni, serving quietly at the far end of the table with her head bowed, trembled inside. Each word from him felt like it was aimed straight at her, even though his eyes slid past her as though she were invisible.

Later, Hrithik cornered the gatekeeper. “Did anyone come in last night? Around midnight?”

The man frowned. “No, sir. Except… I did hear a car door shut near the back lane, but when I checked, nobody was there.”

Hrithik’s jaw clenched. She was close. She had to be.

Near Encounters

That evening, Hrithik wandered through the gardens, lost in thought. Munni was watering plants at the far end, hidden behind a curtain of bougainvillea. She froze when she saw him approach, ducking lower, her hands trembling so hard the water splashed over her skirt.

Hrithik paused just a few feet away, his cracked glasses dangling in his hand. “Strange,” he murmured to himself, “the scent here… it’s the same as her perfume.”

Munni’s throat constricted. She held her breath until he finally turned and walked back toward the mansion. Only then did she let out a shaky sob, the weight of her secret pressing harder.

Hrithik’s Determination

That night in his room, Hrithik unfolded the note once more, smoothing the creases with his thumb. He could still feel her lips, still hear her whispered pleas.

“She’s here,” he muttered. “I can feel it. She’s not gone.”

Outside, Munni sat alone in the servant quarters, clutching the same gown she had worn, tears soaking into the fabric.

Both of them—so close, yet caught in the cruel dance of truth and lies, love and fear.

And neither knew how long the charade could last before the universe forced their paths to collide again.

A New Arrival

The next morning, Shanti Niketan buzzed with an unusual excitement. A sleek black car rolled into the driveway, and from it stepped a girl who looked like she had walked straight out of a fashion magazine. Long hair bouncing, sunglasses perched perfectly on her nose, she carried herself with confidence that made even the young Viranis glance up in awe.

“Who’s this?” whispered one of the younger staff members, peeking curiously.

Munni, carrying a tray of fresh flowers into the hall, froze. Her heart stopped when the girl smiled at Tulsi and said brightly, “Hello, I’m Munmun. I believe Hrithik has spoken about me?”

The world tilted. Munni nearly dropped the tray. Munmun?

Hrithik, standing nearby, blinked slowly, his expression unreadable. His cracked glasses slid down his nose as he regarded her. “You’re… Munmun?”

The girl chuckled, tossing her hair. “Of course! Who else would I be?”

Hrithik’s lips curved into a smile—measured, calm, almost too composed. “Right,” he said softly, as though it explained everything.

To Munni, watching from the corner with her pulse hammering, it looked like relief—maybe even joy—had washed over his face. But behind Hrithik’s eyes lingered something deeper, something carefully hidden that no one else seemed to notice.

The Intruder’s Charm

Days passed, and the girl—this new “Munmun”—slipped into Shanti Niketan as though she belonged there. She laughed easily, touched Hrithik’s arm when she spoke, and made sure everyone noticed how close she was to him.

Hrithik didn’t push her away. He let her sit near him at dinner, let her whisper things into his ear, let her tug him playfully toward the garden for evening walks. At times, he even smiled—softly, faintly—as though indulging her presence.

To Munni, each moment was a knife. From her place at the edge of the room, invisible as always, she saw only what her heart feared: Hrithik accepting this stranger as the Munmun he had once kissed beneath the stars.

When the girl leaned close to feed Hrithik dessert one night, Munni’s hands trembled so badly she spilled water across the table.

“Careful, Munni!” Tulsi scolded.

Munni mumbled an apology, eyes burning. She dared a glance at Hrithik, but his expression was maddeningly calm, unreadable, as though nothing was out of place.

And that calmness cut deeper than anger would have. If he wasn’t questioning her—if he wasn’t fighting for the truth—then maybe he really believed this girl. Maybe what they shared was already slipping through his fingers.

Jealousy’s Bite

Late one evening, Munni crossed the garden with a basket of laundry. Her steps faltered when she spotted them under the lantern glow—Hrithik and the so-called Munmun. The girl was laughing, tugging playfully at his sleeve, her long hair swaying as she leaned closer.

Hrithik didn’t pull away. Instead, he let her chatter fill the air, nodding once or twice, his gaze lowered, a faint smile curving his lips.

Munni’s heart clenched. That smile—soft, almost secret—stabbed her like betrayal. She dropped the clothes without realizing, her throat tightening until tears blurred her vision.

She ran before either of them could see, fleeing into the servants’ quarters. There, behind the closed door, she pressed her fists against her lips to smother the sobs.

She’s not you, her mind screamed. He kissed you. He held you. He made love to you. Not her.

But in her silence, she had given the imposter her place. And Hrithik—oh, Hrithik seemed to be letting it happen.

The Breaking Point

The next morning, Munni was polishing silver in the dining room when she overheard the girl’s voice from the living room, bright and careless:

“Hrithik, darling, we should go out tonight—just us. A long drive, some music… like last time.”

Munni’s rag slipped from her hand. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Last time?

Her body burned with fury. There was no last time. That was me. Me!

She clenched her fists until her nails cut into her palms. The jealousy, the humiliation, the ache—it was too much.

She looked up, just in time to catch sight of Hrithik’s face as he listened. His expression was unreadable, calm as ever, but Munni only saw cruelty in that calmness.

The fake Munmun was winning. And Munni’s silence—her fear—was the only thing letting her win.

Something inside her cracked. If this went on, she would break. She knew it. And perhaps… perhaps that was what destiny wanted—to push her until the truth burst free from her own lips.

The Edge of Truth

That evening, Shanti Niketan glittered with guests. Tulsi had organized a small gathering for family friends, and the house buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music floating through the halls.

Munni worked silently, gliding from room to room with trays of snacks, her eyes betraying her whenever they strayed toward Hrithik. He looked devastating in his crisp black suit, standing near the piano with Munmun—her laughter chiming like bells as she leaned in too close, her hand brushing his arm.

Each touch was a dagger in Munni’s chest. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her tears at bay.

But then—Munmun’s voice rose above the chatter. Sweet, confident, almost mocking:

“Hrithik,” she said, turning to face him, “why don’t you tell everyone about our night together?”

The room quieted. A few curious glances flicked their way. Munni froze mid-step, her tray trembling in her hands.

Her heart thundered as Hrithik adjusted his glasses, the cracked frame glinting under the chandelier. He didn’t answer right away, just looked at Munmun with that calm, unreadable smile.

Munmun leaned closer, her voice lilting. “You do remember, don’t you? The walk… the fight… the kiss?”

Munni’s throat constricted. The tray slipped, silver clattering against marble. Gasps echoed around the hall as juice spilled across the floor.

Everyone turned.

Munni stood there, pale and shaking, her wide eyes fixed on Hrithik. The silence was suffocating. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t swallow down the storm raging inside her anymore.

Her lips parted, her voice breaking before she even realized the words were spilling out.

“That’s a lie,” she whispered, her chest heaving. “It wasn’t her… it was me.”

The tray clanged again as it hit the floor completely, forgotten.

Every head in the room snapped toward her. The guests murmured in shock, Tulsi’s hand flew to her mouth, and Hrithik—Hrithik simply stood there, his gaze locked on Munni, the faintest flicker of triumph hidden deep in his eyes.

The web of lies had finally snapped.

And now, the truth—raw, undeniable—hung heavy in the air, ready to change everything.

The Private Confrontation

The hall buzzed with stunned whispers, Tulsi scrambling to cover the awkward silence with a brittle laugh.
“Arrey, Munni is… she’s just confused. Must be tired.”

But Hrithik’s voice cut through, low and steady. “Enough.”

Every head turned toward him. His gaze, sharp even behind his cracked glasses, never left Munni’s face. She stood frozen, tears shimmering in her eyes, her dupatta clutched so tightly it trembled in her fists.

“Come with me,” Hrithik said firmly.

Before anyone could object, he strode across the hall, seized Munni’s wrist—not harsh, but unyielding—and led her out. Her pulse raced beneath his touch, her legs unsteady as he guided her through the winding corridors. Behind them, murmurs rose and fell, but no one dared follow.

He didn’t stop until they reached the secluded library, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the pounding of her heart.

Hrithik turned, stepping closer, his eyes burning into her. “Why, Munni?” His voice was quiet but laced with fire. “Why would you say that in front of everyone?”

Munni’s lips quivered. “Because…” She faltered, looking away, shame flooding her cheeks. “Because I couldn’t watch her… touch you… claim you. It wasn’t her, Hrithik. It was me that night. It was always me.”

Her confession tumbled out like broken glass, each word cutting her deeper.

Hrithik’s chest rose and fell, his jaw tight. “Then why the disguise? Why the lies?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Because I’m nothing. A servant in your house. You’d never look at me—not really. But that night… for once, I wasn’t invisible. You saw me. And I couldn’t let go of that, even if it meant deceiving you.”

For a long moment, silence hung between them. Munni trembled under his gaze, bracing herself for rejection.

But Hrithik exhaled sharply, his voice low, deliberate. “You think I only just found out tonight?”

Munni’s eyes widened. “W-what do you mean?”

“I didn’t know at first,” Hrithik admitted, stepping closer, his tone heavy with memory. “That night in the café, my glasses were cracked, my vision blurred. I wanted so badly to believe in the dream standing in front of me that I didn’t question it. But later… back here, in Shanti Niketan… the pieces began to fit.”

He reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “The way you served me tea, the faint trace of that same perfume on your dupatta, the softness in your voice when you spoke my name… Munni, it was you. It was always you. And I realised I’d been blind in more ways than one.”

Her breath caught. “Then… the other Munmun—?”

“That was Tanya.” Hrithik’s jaw tightened, though his eyes never left hers. “My friend. She agreed to help me because I needed you to stop hiding. I needed you to admit it yourself, not because I cornered you, but because you couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

Munni staggered back, overwhelmed. “You knew… and you played along?”

“I had to,” he said firmly, stepping forward until she could feel his warmth. “Because this—” he gestured between them, his voice breaking with intensity, “—is too important for lies. I needed to know if what I felt was real… and if what you felt could survive the truth.”

Her tears fell harder, but this time she didn’t look away. His hands cupped her face, grounding her.

“You’re mine, Munni,” he whispered hoarsely. “Not because of a gown or a disguise. But because when I finally saw you—really saw you—I knew there was no one else.”

Her voice cracked, her hands trembling. “I thought if you knew the truth, you’d hate me.”

Hrithik closed the distance between them in two strides. He gripped her shoulders, tilting her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Hate you?” His voice shook now, rough with something she couldn’t name. “Munni, do you have any idea what it did to me when you left me that night? When all I had was your perfume and your note? I searched every corner of this house, every street, like a madman. Hate you?”

His thumb brushed away another tear. “No. I could never hate the woman who saved me, who kissed me, who made me feel alive again.”

Munni’s breath caught. Her knees threatened to give way beneath the weight of his words.

“Hrithik…” she whispered.

The storm between them snapped. His lips crashed against hers—this time not desperate, not stolen, but deliberate. A claiming. A confession in itself. Munni gasped against him, then melted into his arms, clutching at his shirt as though she might drown without him.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers. “No more lies, Munni. No more running. You’re mine. Do you understand?”

Her tears came again, but this time they were soft, mingled with relief. She nodded, her voice barely audible. “Yours.”

And then, all at once, the dam inside her broke. She buried her face against his chest, sobs wracking her small frame. Hrithik’s arms tightened around her instantly, his hand stroking her hair as though to soothe away years of fear and silence.

“It’s all right,” he murmured against her crown. “You don’t have to hide anymore. Not from me.”

Her fists clung to him, as though she feared he might vanish if she let go. “I was so scared,” she whispered between sobs. “Scared of losing you before I even had you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” Hrithik said fiercely, his lips brushing her temple. “Not now. Not ever.”

For the first time, Munni allowed herself to believe it. Wrapped in his arms, with his warmth anchoring her, she felt the weight of her secrets finally lift.

And in that quiet library, with the world shut away outside, the servant girl and the master no longer existed. There was only Munni and Hrithik—two souls who had found each other, at last.

------

The End.

@coderlady Do read this if you get time.

Does she know Hrithik in person? Someone out of her reach and more of a fantasy friend?

She is the staff. He is the boss's son. Their relationship will be frowned on. She is not part of their world and it will not be easy to be accepted.

She is afraid to meet him. Too much will be revealed. Even if his love is true and he doesn't care about her station in life, others will.

The broken glasses did help but what followed will not be hidden. They have gone way too far.

One thing is sure that He is good. He did not back down when she was in danger. He did everything in him to protect her.

He met her at a cafe. So how does he know she is nearby? Why is he asking his staff if they saw someone?