Chapter 2 – Tom (Part 1), (part-2),( part-3)

Chapter 2 – Tom (Part 1)

The cameras always found him first.

Bright flashes burst across the lobby of the Grand Mumbai Hotel as Tom stepped out of the black car, adjusting the cuff of his white blazer. At just twenty years old, he had already learned the rhythm of this world — chin up, shoulders straight, smile soft but confident. His face, smooth and almost childlike, had become one of the most recognizable in India. Some called him baby cute, others called him the face of the new generation.

But behind the gloss of the cameras lay a story that had begun far away, in a different country.

Born in England

Tom was born in London on a quiet winter morning. His parents, Gujaratis from Ahmedabad, had moved to England for work years before he was born. His father drove a cab; his mother worked part-time at a local store. They didn’t have much, but they gave Tom everything they could.

London shaped him in small but lasting ways. He grew up bilingual, speaking Gujarati at home, English at school, and later picking up French with remarkable ease. His teachers often smiled at the way he pronounced French words so cleanly, like he had lived in Paris. He loved performing in class — whether it was a poem recital or a play, Tom shone on stage.

He was the boy with the innocent face and unusual confidence. By the time he was twelve, strangers would stop his parents on the street and say, “Your son should be in movies.” His mother would laugh it off, but Tom quietly believed them.

Settling in India

When Tom was fifteen, his family decided to return to India. His father longed for home, his mother missed the smell of Gujarati thepla in her neighborhood, and Tom… well, Tom was excited. He wanted to see the land his parents spoke about in stories.

They settled in Mumbai, the city of films, glamour, and endless crowds. At first, Tom felt out of place. His accent was too sharp, his manners too Western. Classmates teased him, calling him “firangi.” But slowly, he blended in. His Gujarati roots helped, and soon he was switching effortlessly between Hindi, Gujarati, English, and French.

People noticed him everywhere. At malls, at cafes, even walking down Marine Drive — heads turned. Modeling scouts began approaching him. At sixteen, he did his first photoshoot: a small clothing brand ad. By seventeen, he was walking on ramps for fashion shows.

The Rise of a Model

What set Tom apart was not just his looks but the aura he carried. Photographers said his face “spoke,” that he didn’t just pose, he told a story with his expressions. His cuteness wasn’t childish — it had a magnetic pull.

Soon, he was on hoardings across cities: perfume ads, clothing lines, watches, even luxury cars. His social media exploded. Boys envied him, girls adored him, and brands wanted him.

Then came the movie offers.

The Bold Step into Films

Tom chose carefully. His debut was not the typical romantic drama or action flick. Instead, he signed an LGBTQ+ film — a bold choice in India, where such topics still drew mixed reactions.

The film told the story of two young men finding love against societal odds. Tom played one of the leads. His soft features and expressive eyes brought vulnerability and strength to the role. The film was praised in international festivals and caught the attention of critics at home.

Not everyone approved. Some called him “too bold,” some questioned his choices. But Tom didn’t care. He believed in the story. And the more controversy swirled, the more famous he became.

The Craze

By twenty, Tom was everywhere. His interviews played on television, his ads dominated billboards, and his face smiled from magazine covers. Fans screamed his name at airports. Boys and girls both confessed their crushes on him openly. Memes, fan edits, fan clubs — his world was a whirlwind of admiration.

But fame was a strange companion. The lights never dimmed, and the noise never stopped. Tom smiled at the cameras, but at night, in the silence of his penthouse, he sometimes wished for just one real conversation, untouched by glamour.

The Parallel Thread

That evening, as Tom gave yet another interview — this time for a perfume brand campaign — his face appeared on hundreds of television screens across India.

In one small flat near Howrah, Kolkata, a young man named Andrew looked up from his cooking, his kitchen filled with the scent of biryani, and saw Tom’s smile flicker on his old TV.

Two lives, worlds apart, had just brushed against each other — and neither of them knew how dangerously close those worlds would one day collide.

Chapter 2 – Tom (Part 2)

The lights of the city never slept, and neither did Tom, or at least, that was what it felt like.

Behind the flashes of cameras, the endless interviews, and the fan madness, there was a part of Tom that remained unseen. A fragile, quiet part — the part that remembered nights he wished he could erase. Nights with Alex.

Alex.

The name itself carried both warmth and dread. He was the reason Tom had stepped into the industry, yes, but also the reason for the shadows that sometimes clouded his smile.

Alex had been there from the beginning. The first photoshoots, the first modeling contracts, the first movie audition — it was Alex who had pushed him, guided him, opened doors that would have remained forever closed. And for that, Tom owed him everything.

But Alex had another side. The side that demanded more than professional loyalty. That whispered into Tom’s ear, always, “Sleep with me, baby.”

Tom’s father had died when he was only fifteen, and his uncle Eti had taken responsibility for him. Eti was kind, yes, but he didn’t understand the world Tom had stumbled into. He was worried about Tom, always. He warned him of predators in the industry, of people who would use Tom’s looks, his charm, and his dreams against him. But in those first few years, Tom didn’t know how to refuse Alex.

At first, it had seemed harmless — just a way to survive in a cutthroat world. But over time, it became a burden. Nights spent with Alex left a hollow ache inside Tom, a part of him that whispered: This isn’t love. This isn’t life.

For the past few days, Tom had refused Alex. Quietly, carefully, he avoided the late-night calls, pretended to be busy, even left sets early. But Alex was persistent, clever, manipulative. He promised changes, new boundaries, gifts, attention — anything to sway Tom back. And yet, none of it worked.

Tom knew he had to stand firm. The industry could make him a star, yes, but he didn’t want to lose himself in the process. His fame was his own now, and he would not hand over the parts of himself he still owned.

Evenings were the hardest. After a long shoot, after the applause, the camera flashes, the fake smiles, Tom would lie awake in his penthouse, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of Mumbai traffic. Alex’s voice would echo in his mind, insistent, seductive, always asking. And yet, for the first time in years, Tom felt the strength to say no.

Eti had always told him: “A man who respects himself will never let anyone take his soul for granted. Fame is nothing if you lose who you are.”

Tom held on to those words like a lifeline. He remembered the nights he cried quietly, the letters he never sent, the dreams he had carefully hidden from the world. He was twenty, yes, and famous beyond imagination. But he was also alone. And that loneliness was both terrifying and liberating.

Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to meet someone who adored him for him — not his fame, not his face, not his body. Someone who saw Tom, the boy behind the camera flashes, the boy who had lost his father and relied on an uncle’s love, the boy who was brave enough to say no.

Alex’s influence had given him industry access, yes, but Tom’s heart had grown wary. He had tasted freedom, and he would fight for it, even if it meant pushing away the one person who had built the bridge to his dreams.

And in the quiet hours, Tom allowed himself a small, forbidden thought — maybe, just maybe, the person who truly understood him was still out there somewhere. Someone who didn’t know his name, didn’t care about his fame, someone like… a stranger he would one day meet.

He shook his head, trying to chase the fantasy away. Focus. Work. Shoot. Smile. Fame was loud, unavoidable, but Tom was learning to be louder, to hold his own in a world that tried to own him.

The night stretched on. Outside, the city lights shimmered on the glass of his window. Inside, Tom felt something shift — a small but firm seed of independence.

He would not be Alex’s pawn anymore. He would not be anyone’s.

He was Tom. And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

Chapter 2 – Tom (Part 3)

The room was quiet, save for the hum of the ceiling fan. The city below Mumbai’s skyline pulsed with neon and headlights, oblivious to the private battles fought in penthouses and apartments alike.

Tom sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor. His phone buzzed — another message from Alex. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to answer. And yet, a part of him knew that refusal was pointless.

He slipped quietly into Alex’s waiting arms later that night. It wasn’t about desire. Not anymore. It was routine, survival. The instructions were clear, the orders unspoken but unmistakable: follow, comply, appease. And Tom did, quietly, mechanically, like a ghost moving through someone else’s world.

Inside, he was screaming.

Every touch, every whispered word, felt like another layer of his soul being chipped away. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them back. No one could know. Eti didn’t, the world didn’t, not even himself sometimes.

He cried inside, the sobs hidden behind the calm face he presented to Alex. He imagined calling for help, running away, leaving the industry, leaving Alex, leaving everything. But the fear of losing his dream, the fear of being forgotten, silenced that part of him.

Alex, as always, spoke softly, coaxingly, insisting that Tom was lucky, that he owed this, that this was how the world worked. And Tom, obedient and beaten down, let him.

He lay there afterward, staring at the ceiling, tears finally spilling over in solitude. Each drop felt like both release and punishment. The room smelled faintly of cologne, warm skin, and the metallic scent of his own despair.

He remembered his father, the brief memories of laughter, the stern but loving gaze that always made him feel safe. Father, who had protected him, was gone. Uncle Eti did what he could, but he wasn’t here, wasn’t able to shield Tom from the complicated, predatory world he had entered.

For hours, Tom just lay there, letting his mind drift between guilt and fear, between longing and hopelessness. The industry had given him fame, wealth, recognition — but at what cost? Each accolade felt hollow now, each fan scream a reminder that nobody knew the real him.

By dawn, he would put on his mask again — the perfect smile for interviews, the dazzling energy for photo shoots, the charm for fans and media. But inside, Tom knew the truth: his soul felt heavy, and the loneliness was eating away quietly, relentlessly.

And yet, a tiny ember of defiance flickered somewhere deep inside. He didn’t know how to protect it fully yet. He didn’t know when it would grow. But it was there, whispering that one day, he might stand tall, even if it meant defying Alex completely.

For now, he followed orders. For now, he cried quietly.

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