Rahul Malhotra did not do "small gatherings." He did galas, launches, summits, and "intimate dinners" for forty people.
So when he said "We're celebrating," Isha assumed cake in the office with Vikram and Shreya.
She was wrong by about 300 guests and one rooftop in Worli.
The invitation came to her phone at 4 PM. Not a text. A PDF. Gold border.
_You are cordially invited to_
_An Evening Honoring Academic Excellence_
_Celebrating Ms. Isha Sharma, Rank 1, Dombivli College of Arts & Commerce_
_Hosted by Mr. Rahul Malhotra, CEO, Malhotra Holdings_
_Venue: Skyline Terrace, Trident, 7:30 PM_
_Dress Code: Formal_
_Note: Car will arrive at 6:45 PM. Do not wear chappals._
Isha read it three times. Then called Rahul.
"You did WHAT?"
"I threw a party," he said, like he was announcing he'd bought milk. "You got 97%. My fake girlfriend is now a real genius. That's PR gold. Also, you deserve it."
"Rahul, I don't know 300 people!"
"You'll know 30 by the end of tonight. The important 30." He paused. "Vikram will be there. Three feet, as always. And Sunita said yes. Car is picking her up too."
"Ma? At Trident?" Isha's voice went up two octaves. "She'll pack thepla for everyone!"
"She can pack thepla for the Prime Minister if she wants," Rahul said. "She raised a topper. She can do whatever she wants. 6:45. Be ready."
He hung up.
Isha looked at her wardrobe. One kurti, two jeans, one dress from her cousin's wedding that was now two inches too tight because stress-eating samosas was a hobby.
Sunita solved it. She arrived at 5:30 PM carrying a garment bag like it held the crown jewels.
"Your Dadi's," Sunita said, unzipping it.
Inside was a saree. Not a chawl saree. A _haveli_ saree. Dark peacock blue silk, real zari border, so heavy it could stop a bullet.
"Ma, ye kahan se?"
"Aditya bhej gaya. Subah. Bola 'topper ko topper wali saree pehni chahiye'. Maine lene se mana kiya. Fir bola 'ladoo ke saath ye bhi le lo, warna ladoo bhi wapas'. So I took it." Sunita shrugged. "Pride is pride. Saree is saree. Dono rakh liya."
Isha touched the silk. It was cold. Smooth. Expensive. "You sure?"
"I'm sure you're not going to Rahul's party in college farewell dress," Sunita said, pulling out a blouse. Also new. Also silk. Also perfect size. "He measured you. From that photo Vikram sent him. The hospital one."
"That's creepy."
"That's father," Sunita said. Simple.
At 6:45, a black Mercedes waited. Not Rahul's usual one. Bigger. With a driver who opened the door and said "Miss Sharma" like he'd said it all his life.
Vikram was already inside. Not in his usual black shirt. Suit. Dark grey. Tailored. He looked… wrong. Like a weapon dressed as a decoration.
"You clean up," Isha said, because her brain was short-circuiting.
"You're Rank 1," he replied. "Dress code said formal."
"Three feet tonight too?"
"Three feet, roof or riot," he said. "Rahul's orders."
Sunita got in last. Green saree. New. Also Aditya? Isha didn't ask. Sunita's eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Her pallu was pinned. She looked like she was going to a war she intended to win.
"Beta," she told Vikram. "If anyone asks, I'm your bua. Got it?"
Vikram's mouth twitched. "Yes, Bua."
Isha choked on air.
---
*Skyline Terrace, 7:35 PM*
It wasn't a party. It was a magazine cover.
Glass railings. Mumbai's skyline cut into lights. A live violin quartet playing something that wasn't Bollywood. Waiters in white gloves holding trays of things Isha couldn't name.
And people. Hundreds. Women in diamonds that could pay Sunita's rent for ten years. Men in watches that cost more than Aditya's car.
A banner hung between two pillars: _CONGRATULATIONS ISHA SHARMA – 97% – SEM 1 TOPPER_. With her college photo. The one from ID card. Where she looked like a scared squirrel.
Isha wanted to die.
Rahul found her in 4.2 seconds. He was in a navy bandhgala, no tie, hair done like he wasn't trying, which meant he'd tried for an hour.
"Relax," he said, handing her a glass of something pink. Non-alcoholic. He remembered. "You look like you're about to run."
"I am about to run," she hissed. "Who are these people?"
"Your new network," he said. He took her elbow. Not possessive. Guiding. "Come. Lesson one of being rich: never stand alone. Stand next to someone richer. Their spotlight hits you."
Stop one: A woman in pearls who smelled like money.
"Isha, meet Dr. Meera Kapoor. Dean, NMIMS. Meera, this is the girl who beat your son's coaching class."
Dr. Kapoor's eyebrows went up. "Ashok Nair's? He was crying in my office. Said a girl from Dombivli broke his streak."
"That's me," Isha said. "I didn't mean to break him. Just… studied."
Dr. Kapoor laughed. Real. "Good. He needed breaking. Here." She pressed a card into Isha's hand. "We have a summer analyst program. Toppers apply free. Apply."
Isha's head spun. NMIMS. On her resume.
Stop two: A man with a beard and a TV face.
"Rajeev Sinha, Editor, Business Today. Rajeev, this is Isha. She wrote a law answer that Professor Desai called 'best in 10 years'."
Rajeev Sinha looked interested. "We do a 'Young Achievers' column. 500 words. Your photo. Your story. Interested?"
Isha's mouth opened. Closed. "I… yes?"
"Good. Email me." Another card.
Stop three: A woman Isha's age, but in a dress that cost 2 lakhs.
"My sister, Riya Malhotra," Rahul said. "Riya, stop scaring her."
Riya grinned. "I'm not scary. I'm done with Stanford. I'm bored. You're the first interesting thing Rahul's brought home that isn't a merger." She linked arms with Isha. "You like finance? I'm starting a VC fund for women. Need a smart intern who isn't from Sydenham. You're in."
Isha's brain left the chat.
Sunita was three tables away, holding a plate of paneer tikka and lecturing a man in a Rs. 2 crore suit about "why poha is better than quinoa for students". The man was nodding. Taking notes.
Vikram was three feet away, holding a glass of water, eyes moving. Not drinking. Not eating. Watching. One waiter tried to hand him champagne. Vikram looked at him. The waiter left.
At 8:15, Rahul tapped a spoon to a glass. The quartet stopped. 300 heads turned.
"Friends," Rahul said. His voice carried. No mic. "Most of you know me for mergers. For headlines. For being a terrible son who won't get married."
Polite laughter.
"Tonight isn't about me. It's about a girl who got 97% while dealing with things most of us would quit over. Kidnapping. Hospital. Media. A fake boyfriend who's very real about her safety."
More laughter. Riya wolf-whistled.
"Isha Sharma," Rahul said, looking at her. Not at the crowd. At her. "You didn't just top your class. You topped my expectations of what a person can survive. So I invited people who can help you survive better. Use them. Use me. Or don't. Your choice. That's the point."
He raised his glass. "To Rank 1. And to choices."
"To Rank 1!" 300 voices said.
Isha's eyes burned. She didn't cry. Toppers don't cry at their own party. They nod. Like it's normal.
Riya shoved a mic in her hand. "Speech."
Isha panicked. Then looked at Sunita. Sunita mouthed: _Poha._
Isha tapped the mic. "Hi. I'm Isha. I got 97%."
Applause.
"I studied because my mom makes poha at 4 AM and says 'dimaag ko ghee chahiye'. So if I failed, ghee waste ho jaata. And my mom doesn't waste ghee."
Loud laughter. Sunita beamed.
"I don't know most of you. But Rahul says you're important. So… hi. I'm important too now, I guess. Thank you for coming. Eat paneer. It's good."
She handed the mic back. The crowd loved it. Short. Real. No fake "I'm humbled".
Business cards filled her clutch. 27. She counted. Lawyer. Editor. Dean. VC. CEO. CFO. NGO head. All women. All men. All saying "email me".
At 9:00, Aditya Pratap Singh walked in.
No suit. Kurta-pajama. Cream. Simple. Expensive only if you knew fabric. He didn't go to Rahul. He went to Sunita.
He didn't speak. He just put a small steel dabba on her table.
Sunita opened it. Ladoo. Same as morning.
She looked at him. Then at Isha. Then she took one ladoo and ate it.
The whole terrace saw.
Aditya nodded once. Then he found Isha.
"Congratulations," he said. "Your mother let me stay for one ladoo. That's more than I got in 17 years."
"Don't make it a habit," Isha said. But she was smiling.
"I won't," he said. "But I'll make poha. With onions. For when you get 100% next sem."
He left at 9:15. Didn't work the room. Didn't network. Came for ladoo and leave.
Rahul watched him go. Then looked at Isha. "You okay?"
"I have 27 cards, a scholarship offer, a magazine column, and a dad who learns poha," Isha said. "I'm better than okay. I'm… confused but happy?"
"Good," Rahul said. "Confused but happy is the goal. Stay confused. Stay happy. Stay away from my competitors."
Vikram appeared with a plate. "You haven't eaten. Three samosas. Doctor said no stress. Hunger is stress."
Isha took the plate. "You're not my bua."
"I'm your bodyguard. Bua is taken," Vikram said.
At 10:30, the party thinned. Important people left first. Then semi-important. Then friends.
Riya hugged Isha. "Brunch Sunday. My place. Bring marksheets. We'll frame them. I'm serious."
Dr. Kapoor hugged her too. "Application by Friday. Don't be late. Toppers are punctual."
Rajeev Sinha: "500 words by Monday. Make me cry."
Isha's clutch was heavy. Her heart was heavier. Good heavy.
In the car, Sunita kicked off her heels and sighed. "Rich people have good paneer. But their poha is bad. No onion."
"Ma, you talked to a billionaire about poha."
"And he listened. That's why he's billionaire. He listens." Sunita opened the steel dabba. One ladoo left. She broke it. Half to Isha. Half to Vikram. "Bua ka prasad."
Vikram took it. Ate it. Said nothing.
Isha looked at Mumbai passing outside. Her name had been on a banner. Her face was in 300 phones. Her email would have 27 new mails tomorrow.
Six months ago, she was on a news channel for being kidnapped. Tonight, she was on a terrace for being first.
She didn't know which photo would last longer. She knew which one she'd choose.
She texted Rahul: _Thank you. For the party. For the people. For not making me give a long speech._
_Rahul: Thank you for getting 97%. Made me look good. My mom called. She wants your kundli. I said you're busy. Topper things._
_Isha: Tell aunty I'm busy for 3 years. Degree first. Kundli later._
_Rahul: Already did. She sent you earrings. Gold. Will arrive tomorrow. Don't fight me on this._
Isha looked at Sunita. Asleep, head on window, ladoo fingers relaxed.
She looked at Vikram. Awake, eyes on road, three feet even in a car.
She was Rank 1. With a mom who weaponized poha, a bodyguard who weaponized samosas, a fake boyfriend who weaponized parties, and a father who weaponized ladoo.
She could work with this.
*Author's Note*
> *GUYS. RAHUL THREW A PARTY. ON A ROOF. FOR ISHA'S 97%* 🥂👑📈
> Favorite moments:
> 1. Sunita explaining poha to a billionaire and him TAKING NOTES😂 Mom of the Year
> 2. Aditya showing up just to give ladoo and leave. Soft Dad era loading?🥺
> 3. Vikram in a suit saying "Three feet, roof or riot". My heart🖤
> 4. Isha's speech: "Ghee waste nahi karna". Relatable queen🧈
> Networking haul: 27 cards. NMIMS Dean. Business Today editor. VC fund offer. Scholarship. Isha went from chawl to CEO pipeline in one night.
> Vote now:
> A. Team Rahul for throwing the party
> B. Team Vikram for samosa + suit combo
> C. Team Sunita for poha supremacy
> D. Team Dad for ladoo diplomacy
> *Comment your team + what job offer Isha should take first. I read everything* 👇💗
> P.S. No proposals happened. Only promotions. Isha said "Degree first. Kundli later." Frame it📜✨
> Next chapter: "Vikram's Accounting Class" OR "Riya takes Isha shopping"? You decide. 100 comments = double update 🔥
> 3.46K views to 5K let's goooo. Love you my toppers⏰💗
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