Hidden Accidental Marriage

AHAAN

It was somewhat around 10:30 pm on a Saturday night. I was driving my favorite black matte Audi through street-lamp lighted streets.

This was the only peace period that showed up after a long and hectic work schedule.

Being an actor, I had to make use of weird—thief sorts of stuff—in order to save myself from the clever fanatic gazes that would recognize my real identity within twinklings.

I wore a black beanie, black leather jacket, and broad framed black aviators. So far I was lucky enough not to get recognized by the intelligent eyes of my enthusiasts and admirers.

Fans these days were on another level. Ten times smarter and faster than paparazzi. I swear if stalking was a profession, my fans would have been experts in the field.

We, celebrities—our every move was captured by the paparazzi, and the next day we became breaking news. Spotted here, there, with him, with her, friends, family, ex-wife, stepfather, aunt, uncle, neighbors, dog, pizza, lollipop, spotted breathing… blah… blah… blah… Social Mediaonly made unrealistic things look substantial to the whole fucking world. I hate them for a reason.

Traveling freely in the world?

Fuck that thought.

We couldn’t even breathe freely.

There had to be someone hiding somewhere and capturing the way we breathe. Next day articles would be put on various platforms: See the way AHAAN AGNIHOTRI breathes. How effortlessly sexy!

Dammit. Utter crap.

Sometimes being watched and photographed was all cool and fun. However, sometimes it was creepy and irritating as hell.

Celebrities were surrounded by CCTV named paparazzi and media. Both constantly behind us, capturing our every fucking move. Our personal life became headlines of their news channels and articles. They didn’t care if it was an intimate moment that shouldn’t be recorded or displayed to the people who were diseased by boundless curiosity. They blindly recorded us and sold our photographs and videos for money. I did not mind them making a profit out of celebrities until the times when they stooped so low in the compulsion of greed.

People assumed celebrities had a fantastically chilled out life with loads of popularity, fame, money, luxury, and leisure. Sadly, the ugly truth was—our life wasn’t as extravagantly beautiful from inside as it was reflected from outside.

A legend once said: Reality was the son of a bitch. Period.

Being an actor had always been a tough job. People loved us yet at the same time they criticized us. Well, I received more amount of appreciation for my performance in films than stinging criticism. Blessed. Truly. That’s all I could say.

I had an extraordinary fan following all over the world. Audience loved and enjoyed my acting skills. My hardwork as an actor had been paid off incredibly. It was an absolute pleasure to be honored with numerous awards right from the start of my journey till now. I received my first best actor award for my first film. The shelf of awards in my bedroom was piling up already.

The only thing for which I received considerable criticism was my character. People thought I was a player. A casanova. A heartbreaker. I had dated almost every actress of the film industry, hence people tagged and labelled me as a playboy.

I never understood what was wrong if I had dated more than one woman. It wasn’t that I dated all of them at the same time or I cheated on any of them. Things didn’t work out and that’s simply why my relationships broke. Most of the chicks were gold diggers. My family’s prestige and wealth had often been the main reason for chicks to date me. And I had been nothing than a fool to believe my relationships were something special and real.

Some chicks tried to dominate over me, my career, and my personal life. You could say it hurtmy thick male ego to be ruled and pussy whipped. I couldn’t tolerate a woman ordering me to do things. It was my fucking life and I was the one to decide what was supposed to do, how to do or whatnot to do. Thus, woman dominance was another major reason behind the failure of my relationships.

Currently, I was bound in a passionate lust-driven relationship with Emica Lemos—one of the top leading actress. She was olive-skinned with a sexy zero figure, long wavy silhouette black hair, full luscious lips, sharp nose, and 5’8 feet tall.

Fuuuuck. Thinking about Emica was the biggest distraction. I might commit an accident due to thewild thoughts of her running in my mind right now.

I parked my car in the parking plot of a renowned restaurant bar. I’d come here to grab a bottle of whiskey each night of my peace drive. Nobody would notice me as my beanie, jacket, and aviators safeguarded my real identity. Only the restaurant’s manager was aware of me. I strictly had instructed him by shoving money in his mouth for keeping my arrivals secret.

On my way back to my car, I saw two eight-year-old seeming kids sleeping on an ice-cold ground and shivering badly. My heart ached to watch such homeless souls suffer. I removed my leather jacket that never failed to provide warmth and spread it over the trembling bodies of the homeless kids. I also stuffed thousands of bucks in the inner pocket of the jacket before returning to my car. My mother had brought me up with the preaching of helping the needy. She taught me to be good to people. Though for me it only applied in the case for innocent kids.

As I pulled open my car door, my phone rang so loudly that I almost jumped in my spot. Shit. I could've had a heart attack.

It was Zehaan Rehman. My one and only best friend.

“Hey, asshole!” he greeted me in his usual way—our way.

“Heyyy, asshole!”

“Ammi has cooked a special Chicken Biryani for you. So you better bring your greedy ass at my place, right now!”

My mouth watered imagining my favorite delicious Chicken Biryani. Aunt Zeenat made the best Biryani in the entire universe. Hands down. Nobody else could make a finger-licking Biryani than my lovely Zeenat Aunt. She legit was the best cook ever.

“I fucking love Aunt for always cooking her special Biryani just for me. Can’t wait to devour it!”I smacked my lips.

Biryani, Biryani, my favorite Biryani. I mentally sang.

“I don’t know why my mother pampers and loves you so much when I’m her son” He whined like a child.

A chuckle broke out my throat. “I’m Aunt’s favorite since childhood. Accept it or die in the bitter truth, asshole.”

“Whatever! Come fast! She won’t let me eat unless you bring your ass here. So better be quick. I’m fucking starving,” he growled like a hungry beast that he was.

"Control your hunger Zehaan Fucking Rehman. I’m a human. Give me at least fifteen minutes.”

“Awaiting for your red carpet entry, Megastar.” He hung up the call. Hungry Angry Millionaire Asshole!

I drove my car through the silent moonlighted streets and sipped my beloved whiskey side by side.

By now, it was late at night. A benefit for me to drive fast in order to reach ‘The Rehman Residency’ on time and devour the heavenly Chicken Biryani.

Suddenly, I saw those stupid speed bumps erected ahead on the road.

Shit!

Shit!

Shit!

My feet hastily slammed against the brake to stop my car from stumbling over those damn speed bumps and leading to a dangerous accident.

Good God. Thanks.

My car halted just before the uneven road whereas my head hit against the steering wheel.

Son of a bitch.

Although my head hurt, it was bearable and definitely a million times better than an accident.

“Ouchhh!”

A voice boomed in the car.

A ladylike voice, to be precise.

I looked out on the empty road. There was no woman found. So... the voice I just heard… where did that ladylike come from?

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

Was it a ghost?

Or a hot witch on a flying broom?

Or a sexy vampire?

Or a badass female werewolf?

Weird, creepy, and scary thoughts were bouncing in my bewildered mind. Where did that ladylike voice come from?

My smart senses ultimately discerned someone’s presence in the dark backseats of my car. I gulped down the lump collected in my throat. My thumb smashed a sleek round button to switch on the lights at the backseats.

Cool, Ahaan.

Cool, man.

Cool. Cool. Cool.

And I finally turned behind.

Whoa-uh-whoa—the fucking reality!