Chapter 1: The Descent

Delhi’s posh brats always needed a new high. For Arjun Agarwal, it was diving—deep, dangerous, and always solo.

With his Ray-Bans perched on his head and a GoPro always strapped to his chest, Arjun was every bit the Instagram daredevil. His swagger was currency in Delhi’s elite circles, where adventure meant status and a viral clip was worth more than a medal. The thrill-seeking spirit ran wild in him, the kind you pick up in hostel corridors with midnight dares and whispered legends.

In a bid to smash a world record, Arjun dove alone into a sixty-metre cave—and got himself trapped.

To most people, it was just another filmi natak—rich boy chasing viral fame, risking his neck for a few hundred Insta likes. But underwater, bravado counts for nothing; it’s just you, your breath, and the darkness squeezing from all sides.

As for me, I spent nearly an entire day hauling him out.

That day, I was Rohan Singh—rescue diver, world record holder, and the pride of my entire gali. Twelve hours underwater will turn your skin to wrinkles and your muscles to jelly, but when a life is at stake, there’s no room for tiredness. You just go on.

But after all that, he joined hands with the media and accused me of trying to murder him under the water.

A simple rescue turned into spicy masala for every news channel. Prime time anchors, their voices dripping drama, painted me as the villain lurking in the shadows, waiting to end a rich man’s legacy. WhatsApp groups buzzed: “Kya sach hai, beta?”

Knocking him out had been my last resort, but my reputation was shredded, and the upcoming diving competition was cancelled.

It wasn’t just my face on TV; it was my dreams being torn up in the shouting matches. My mother, hunched in our one-bedroom flat, whispered prayers over her beads. My father stopped his evening walks, unable to face the neighbours. Once the colony’s aunty-jis start, your izzat is finished.

Even my professional diving licence was revoked.

The notice came by post—a single, official sheet from the All India Diving Association. My hands shook as I tore it open. Twelve years of sweat, discipline, and missed family weddings—gone. Amma wept, Abba just stared at the window for hours.

A year passed. The same rich heir attempted the challenge again—and once more, he got trapped.

And this time, I was the only one who could save him.