The auto-rickshaw screeched to a halt outside a nondescript black gate tucked between two old buildings on Bhulabhai Desai Road. The only clue that Veer had reached the right place was the faint glow of red neon light leaking from behind the gate, casting a rebellious shimmer on the cracked sidewalk. Above it, in near-invisible lettering, the words "The Ghetto" were spray-painted in grunge-style graffiti.
'I heard it's a go-to bar for young people. It's definitely looks a little funky with all the graffiti on the walls. Must be fun.'
He stepped out, dressed in a plain black tee, worn jeans, and sneakers that still smelled a bit too new. He tilted his head, listening. Muffled laughter, the low hum of classic rock, and the faint clink of beer mugs reached him through the walls. The city outside was still hustling, but this place—this felt like another universe.
He nodded to the two security guards who allowed him to enter without any problem. 'My same ol' charm worked at its full potential, otherwise it would have been tough to enter without any partner.' Veer thought with some glee. He pushed open the gate and stepped in.
Inside, the world exploded into color and noise.
The walls were splattered with neon graffiti—skulls, band logos, trippy eyes, and psychedelic shapes—like a giant teenager had been given a can of spray paint and a blank canvas. Dim red and purple lights lit the place like a scene from a Tarantino dream. The floor was concrete, stained and sticky in places, and a single pool table sat at the center, surrounded by people laughing, shouting, and taking shots in between plays.
The air was thick with the scent of beer, sweat, smoke, and something faintly herbal. Veer coughed once, instinctively covering his nose, but no one noticed—everyone was too caught up in their own chaos.
A jukebox in the corner played Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit, and Veer found his foot tapping without realizing it.
The bartender, a woman with spiked green hair and multiple piercings, raised an eyebrow at him as he approached the counter. "First time?" she asked, already pouring a chilled pint of Kingfisher.
"Is it that obvious?" Veer smiled, his voice half-drowned by the music.
"You don't look lost—just curious," she smirked, sliding the mug toward him.
He took a sip. Cold, bitter, slightly metallic. But it hit the spot.
Turning around with his drink in hand, Veer let his eyes wander. A couple danced barefoot near the speaker. A group of artists argued over a sketchbook in the corner. Two men sat close at a booth, whispering jokes and grinning like the world didn't matter. It was raw, unfiltered, alive.
He leaned against the bar, watching it all—the lights, the people, the imperfections—and for the first time in days, he wasn't thinking about his to-do lists, career strategies, or the future plans.
Here, in this neon-soaked cocoon of rebellion and rhythm, he was just a guy in Bombay. A guy drinking beer, soaking in a different kind of dream.
Veer smiled, lifted his glass, and toasted the city.
"Here's to Bombay," he whispered. "And to not giving a damn, just for one night."
---
While he was enjoying his beer when his sharp eyes caught something… off.
A group of college kids—young, loud, dressed like they were celebrating graduation. Among them, a smiling woman with a confident stance, expensive heels, and a glass of crimson cocktail resting on the table. Her laughter filled the air just before she excused herself to the restroom.
As she disappeared into the hallway, Veer's gaze followed the man who subtly reached across the table. Fingers swift, practiced, he slipped something into her drink. A powdered pill. Dissolved instantly.
'That smile of his.' Veer thought grimly. Too calm. Too confident.
His jaw tightened. 'These fucking lowlives! Resorting to such methods when they can't get a girl.'
He slipped off the stool and moved toward a shadowed pillar. A subtle shimmer ran across his face like heat waves. His cheekbones sharpened, nose changed, hair now messier and longer. Just enough to make him unrecognizable. A different man now—leaner, with a scruffy stubble and an easy, roguish grin.
As the woman returned, laughing again, she reached for her glass.
Before the drink could reach her lips, Veer appeared beside her, charming and effortlessly smooth. "Pardon me—are you the girl who just played that absolute banger of a solo on the air guitar outside?"
She blinked at him, surprised. "Huh? No—"
"Ah, damn." He grinned sheepishly. "I swore it was you. You've got that 'main character' energy going on. Must've been your doppelgänger then."
She laughed lightly. "Well, thank you, I guess."
He leaned casually on the edge of the table, scanning her face with warmth, but just as she brought the glass toward her lips—
Crash!
Veer's hand "accidentally" knocked her elbow, sending the cocktail glass tumbling and shattering across the floor. Crimson liquid spread in an artistic arc across her cream-colored dress.
"Oh, damn, I am so sorry!" Veer gasped, stepping back in a dramatic gesture. "That's on me. That's entirely on me. You okay?"
The girl stared down at her soaked outfit, blinking in disbelief. Her brows furrowed. "This dress is from my internship stipend," she muttered.
Veer's expression softened. "Then it has double value. I'll replace it. I promise." His voice dipped into a sincere tone, edged with charm. "Or at least offer you another drink. No elbows involved this time."
She laughed despite herself. "You're lucky you're cute."
From the corner of his eye, Veer spotted the man who spiked the drink. He was from the same group of students. Surrounded by two of his friends, likely lackeys. He was directly looking at Veer, jaw clenched, fists curled at his side. His gaze was burning holes through the air.
Veer gave him a slow, taunting smirk. Just a flick of his lips—and the man's face twisted with barely contained fury.
The next track faded out, and for a moment, the bar buzzed with nothing but clinking mugs and background chatter. Then, a voice crackled over the old mic near the corner stage, breaking the staredown between Veer and the other guy.
"Open jam time! Anyone got the guts to plug in?"
A few people whooped, some cheered lazily, but no one moved.
Veer's fingers tapped the rim of his mug. He turned towards the girl, "how bout' a song for an apology?"
The girl in question simply raised an eyebrow. "Well… your choice. But i'll definitely get angry if you bring down the pub's atmosphere." she replied in a mock anger, chuckling at the end.
"As you wish, my lady." Veer bowed, like a proper gentleman. The girl and her friends laughed at his antics.
The bartender—watching him with that sharp, amused gaze—nodded subtly toward the stage. "You play?"
He replied confidently. "Used to."
"You look like you still do."
She nodded toward the beat-up black Stratocaster hanging on the wall beside a Hendrix poster. "Go borrow it."
The next thing Veer knew, he was stepping onto the tiny stage, feeling the grain of the wooden floor under his sneakers. He lifted the guitar off the wall with a kind of reverence. It was scratched up, a couple of stickers peeling off its body, but when he strummed it lightly, the sound hummed true—gritty, like it had stories to tell.
He plugged in.
A low feedback hum filled the room as a few heads turned. Conversations dulled.
Veer rolled his shoulders, took a breath, and launched into a slow, bluesy riff—just feeling it out, letting his fingers remember what they hadn't touched in years. The amp growled with warmth, and people started drifting closer to the stage.
Then, he shifted gears—slid into the opening riff of "Whole Lotta Love" by Led Zeppelin. The crowd let out a cheer.
The room transformed.
A guy with long hair jumped in on the drums at the back. A bassist joined moments later, syncing in like they'd rehearsed for weeks. But Veer was the pulse—the lead. His fingers flew across the fretboard, coaxing out fire and freedom from the strings.
He wasn't Veer the playboy or the clone of Rajveer right now. He was just a man with a guitar, grinning like a teenager and playing like he'd never stopped.
By the time they hit the improvised solo, the crowd was wild—stomping, clapping, shouting. A few girls from that group including the girl Veer talked to, danced in front of the stage. The bartender raised her mug toward him, and Veer, still playing, gave a quick wink.
As the last note rang out, distorted and perfect, the bar erupted.
Cheers. Applause. Whistles.
Veer pulled the guitar strap off and handed it carefully back to the wall. The guy on drums slapped his shoulder. The bassist gave him a mock bow.
Walking back to the bar, flushed with adrenaline, he was surrounded by the girl and her friends, showering him with praises. Veer took another swig of beer while still chatting with the same girl.
"You were so good on the stage. Absolute fucking beast!" said the girl with genuine appreciation.
"Well… I am a beast in many things, especially in bed." he replied with a smirk, looking straight into her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction. She avoided his eyes, hearing the statement.
She said after finishing her drink, "Well… my dress is ruined because of you. Now it's your responsibility."
"You can give me your dress. I'll wash it for you. But for that you need to change. I know a very good place to change clothes." he said to the girl with a charming smile.
"And where is that?" she asked him with a knowing smirk.
"I think my bedroom will be a very good place"
Author Note: You can appreciate my work by rewarding my novel with stones. It will definitely motivate me to continue writing.