Chapter 5: Chapter 3: The Weight of the Legacy

Arjun Malhotra

The alarm pierced through the silence like it did every morning, dragging me into another day. My hand slammed on the clock without hesitation, silencing the sound. I sat up, my head heavy but clear, the kind of clarity that comes when you know exactly what’s expected of you—and what you’ll have to face.

The world painted mornings as new beginnings, a fresh start to inspire and motivate. For me, mornings weren’t any of that. They were just… mornings. The same as yesterday. The same as the day before. Another step in the unending grind to keep the Malhotra name at the top.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I planted my feet firmly on the cold hardwood floor. The chill felt grounding, a reminder that nothing in my life had room for warmth or softness.

I walked over to the mirror, the reflection staring back at me like a stranger I had learned to tolerate. The sharp lines of my face were etched with the weight of responsibilities, my beard neat but not for vanity—it was about control. My eyes looked lifeless, not because I lacked energy, but because I had stopped letting anyone or anything get too close.

“Keep moving,” I muttered to myself.

I didn’t have time for anything else.

As I dressed, my thoughts wandered—as they always did—to Rohan. My elder brother. My parents’ firstborn. The one they had always pinned their hopes on. The one I had admired growing up, looking at him as though he could do no wrong.

Rohan Malhotra ,the perfect Malhotra—or at least he was supposed to be. The firstborn, the one everyone thought would carry the family legacy. He had it all: charm, charisma, and that maddeningly carefree attitude that made everyone love him. Even me.

But Rohan didn’t want this life.

He had made that clear years ago, standing in the same dining room where I would sit today. He had his dreams, he said. His own path to carve. Not one tied to the Malhotra family name or its empire. I still remembered the arguments, the shouting, the disappointment in our father’s eyes. But Rohan held his ground. He followed his heart, and somehow, after months of tension, he made them accept it.

And just like that, the weight of the Malhotra legacy shifted to me.

I had taken it without complaint. Without anger. At least, that’s what I told myself. But the truth? It broke something in me.

Rohan lived here, in the same house, with his wife, Kavya. They were happy, and I didn’t begrudge him that. But every smile on his face was a reminder of what I would never have. Freedom. Dreams. A life that was mine.

I admire him for being able to stand for himself and go against our parents selected career. But he forgot about the fact that if it's not him then it will be his younger brother, me.

Buttoning up my crisp white shirt, I slipped on my black blazer and adjusted my cufflinks. My morning armor. I was ready for the day. At least, outwardly.

Walking downstairs, the familiar hum of life in the Malhotra house greeted me. The aroma of breakfast drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the distant clatter of utensils.

Rohan was already in the living room, seated comfortably on the couch with a cup of tea in hand, reading something on his tablet. His wife, Kavya, was beside him, scrolling through her phone.

“Morning,” I said as I approached them.

Rohan looked up, smiling in that easy way of his. “Morning, Arjun. Big day ahead?”

“Every day is a big day,” I replied evenly, glancing briefly at Kavya. “Good morning, bhabhi.”

She smiled warmly. “Good morning, Arjun. You’re looking sharp as always.”

“Thanks,” I said, already moving past them. The longer I stayed, the more I felt the strain of being in their presence. I didn’t resent them, not exactly. But their contentment was a sharp contrast to my relentless grind, and it was easier to keep my distance.

At the dining table, my parents were waiting. My father sat at the head, flipping through the morning newspaper, while my mother supervised the staff setting up breakfast. Plates of parathas, bowls of fruit, and freshly brewed tea were arranged neatly.

I took my seat, my father acknowledging me with a slight nod.

“Arjun,” he began, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. His tone was steady, measured—too measured. I braced myself.

“You’re 28 now,” he said. “It’s time we talked about your future.”

I didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on my coffee. I knew where this was going.

“You’ve done a remarkable job with the business,” he continued. “Your mother and I couldn’t be prouder. But this isn’t just about the business. It’s time you settled down. Got married.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been. Marriage. Of course.

“We’ve already found someone,” my father added.

I felt my chest tighten, but I kept my expression neutral. “No,” I said curtly.

“You haven’t even heard about her,” he countered, his tone firm but patient, as if he was trying to reason with a child. “Ananya Kapoor. The eldest daughter of the Kapoor family. She’s educated, well-mannered, and comes from a respected background—”

“The eldest daughter,” I interrupted, my voice cold. “You think that’s supposed to impress me?”

My father’s expression darkened. “She’s nothing like what you’re imagining.”

My mother chimed in, her voice softer, more pleading. “She’s a good girl, Arjun. You’ll like her if you give her a chance.”

“I don’t need a chance, and I don’t need a wife,” I said sharply. “Marriage is a weakness. And if this is about preserving the family name, I’ve already done that by running the business.”

“This isn’t just about the business,” my father said, his voice rising slightly. “This is about the family. About stability. The Kapoors are expecting this, and it’s happening.”

I gripped my coffee mug tightly, my knuckles whitening. My father’s words felt like chains tightening around me.

But I didn’t let my anger show. Years of practice had taught me to keep my emotions locked away, hidden behind a polished exterior. I stood abruptly, setting the mug down.

“I have a meeting,” I said flatly, walking out of the room without looking back.

“Think about it,” my father called after me, stopping me in my tracks. “We’ve already told the Kapoor family we’re coming to their house this Sunday to meet Ananya.”

I turned slightly, my jaw tightening. “You didn’t think to ask me first?”

“You didn’t give us a choice,” he replied, his tone final.

I didn’t say another word. Instead, I walked out, the weight of his words following me like a shadow.

As I stepped into the car waiting outside, my thoughts churned. My life wasn’t mine. It hadn’t been for years. Not since Rohan decided to follow his dreams and left me to bear the weight of the Malhotra name.

But if there was one thing I had learned, it was how to wield power. My father could push for this marriage all he wanted, but in the end, no one—not even him—could control me entirely.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

---------

---

Hey guys, 😊

What do you think about Arjun’s perspective in this chapter? He’s someone who’s been forced to shoulder responsibilities he never wanted, all because his brother chose a different path. Do you feel for him, or do you think he’s being too harsh on Rohan? And what about this marriage arrangement? Can you blame him for resisting, or do you think it’s time for him to let someone in?

Let me know your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear your take on Arjun and the choices he’s being pushed to make!

• "What do you think about Ananya Kapoor being the eldest daughter? Do you think this meeting will change Arjun’s views?"

-----------

Follow @fictionallover23 for updates and to share thoughts directly. 💖💖