Ctrl+Alt+Hearts (One-Shot)
Pairing: Pritam Parker x Female Reader
Tropes: Forced Proximity, Protector MMC, Hurt/Comfort, Sudden Romance
Synopsis: When your toxic ex-boyfriend hacks your phone and threatens to delete your unreleased romance manuscript, you go to the Goa Cyber Crime Cell for help. The office is a chaotic mess, but you meet Pritam, a quiet tech genius who instantly takes charge of the situation. With your manuscript on the line, he takes total control of the situation to protect you. What starts as a terrifying, high-stakes race against the clock turns into the unexpected beginning of a real-life romance.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This fanfiction is based on the character of Pritam Parker, portrayed by Vir Hirani from the web series Pritam & Pedro, created by Rajkumar Hirani. It is a work of transformative fiction intended purely for entertainment purposes and is not affiliated with, authorized by, or endorsed by the filmmakers, actors, or production companies.
Your life was supposed to be about fictional happily-ever-afters, not real-life psychological thrillers. As a successful romance novelist, your entire career—your upcoming manuscript drafts, your social media accounts with thousands of readers, your personal emails, your banking—was tied to your phone.
And right now, it was completely compromised.
Your ex, a bitter, controlling nightmare who couldn't handle the breakup, had somehow installed spyware on your phone. He was currently text-bombing your phone screen-which is completely black, threatening to wipe your unfinished book, leak your private drafts, and tank your reputation by releasing your private photos, before the publisher's deadline if you didn't meet him tonight.
Panic-stricken, you had ended up at the Goa Cyber Crime Cell, which currently felt less like a police station and more like a fish market.
"Arey Pritam! Kahaan mar gaya? Look at this! The mouse is not moving again! Yeh tera modern technology bilkul bakwaas hai!"
Inspector Pedro Gonsalves was currently slamming a perfectly functional computer mouse against his desk like he was trying to tenderize meat.
Sitting a few feet away, practically slumped into a plastic chair, was Pritam Parker. He looked exhausted, his hair a messy bird’s nest, absentmindedly clicking a pen. At this point, he is regretting his entire life decisions that brought him In the radar of Pedro sir.
"Pedro sir, please," Pritam sighed, not even looking up. "If you keep hitting it, obviously it won't work. It’s a mouse, sir, hathoda nahi hai."
"Don't give me attitude, haan? Yahaan pure Cyber Cell ka mazaak bana ke rakha hai," Pedro grumbled, finally noticing you standing by the doorway, trembling slightly as you held out your completely blacked-out phone. "Yes? Bolo, madam. What happened? Someone steal your phone?"
"No," you said, your voice shaking slightly. "My ex... he hacked it. He has everything. My emails, my banking, my pictures, my unreleased manuscript. He’s threatening to delete my entire career and release all my pictures by midnight if I don't meet him."
Pedro blinked and pointed a dramatic finger at Pritam. "Pritam! Uth. Tere vacuum cleaner ki sales chor. Look at this."
Pritam rolled his eyes, adjusting his hair that kept falling on his forehead, muttering under his breath. But the moment his eyes met yours, his sarcastic expression completely faltered. He stopped mid-stride. The absolute vulnerability and fear in your eyes hit him instantly, stirring a protective instinct he didn't even know he had.
"Give it to me," he said gently, taking the phone from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours, sending a sudden, unexpected spark through the tension in the room.
Pritam plugged the phone into his rig. Within ten seconds of typing, his eyes darkened behind his lenses.
"This bastard used a custom stalkerware app," Pritam muttered, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. "He’s mirroring your screen in real-time. He can see your location, your front camera, everything."
"Kya mirror? English mein bol," Pedro yelled, peering over Pritam’s shoulder. "Can we arrest this badmaash or not?"
"Sir, aap do min shaant baitho na," Pritam snapped mildly, turning his attention entirely to you. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a protective whisper so Pedro wouldn't interrupt. "Listen to me. He thinks he’s smart because he bought a cheap spy script online. Infact, right now he can see us and hear us very well. But he just pissed off the wrong guy."
Pritam looked directly into your eyes, his dark eyes intense and completely focused on you. "He’s tracking this phone's GPS. If you go home, he’ll know. For tonight, you're staying with me-I mean us- where I can monitor the network and secure everything. Main hoon na. Kuch nahi hone dunga."
Before you could reply, a loud notification chimed on Pritam's monitor. Your ex had just sent a new message: I see you're at the police station, darling. Wrong move.
The monitor flickered, showing a new text string popping up directly from your mirrored phone layout: You think these local cops can help you? 10 minutes. Turn around and walk out, or I press delete on the drive. Let's not even forget your pictures. Acting innocent in front of everyone is not going to save you when I release those pictures. Everyone will know who you are, you bitch.
The casual, mocking tone of the threat made your stomach twist. Your entire career, three years of research, drafts, and your upcoming release—everything was sitting on a cloud drive he had compromised. You don't even care about the pictures- they are not even that bad or compromising. Just some selfies you clicked in the mirror wearing your lingerie and some pictures you clicked on the private beach you went with your ex on a vacation, in a bikini. You were more worried about your career than anything else.
Pritam’s hands froze over the keyboard. The bored, sluggish posture he had maintained all afternoon vanished instantly. He didn't crack a joke; his jaw tightened, and he stared at the flashing cursor on the screen with a quiet, sharp focus. No one threatens a woman like that on his watch. Who the fuck does he think he is-Pritam is sure he will find that bastard and bury him 6feet in the ground for talking to you like that.
"Ten minutes," you whispered, the reality hitting you. "He's not waiting until midnight. Pritam, he’s actually going to do it."
Pedro leaned over the desk, squinting at the monitor, his loud demeanor dialing back slightly as he saw the genuine panic on your face. "Yeh toh bohot bada harami hai. Pritam, trace the location immediately. Kahaan baitha hai yeh saala?"
"Sir, phone track nahi kar sakte, he's routing the ping through three different VPN layers," Pritam said, his voice dropping into a tense, rapid monotone. He didn't look up, his fingers moving across the keys with an urgent, rhythmic precision. "If I try a brute-force trace right now, the system will flag the intrusion and trigger the remote wipe automatically. He designed it to delete everything if anyone tries to break the encryption."
You took a step back, pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead. "Then let me just go. I'll talk to him. If I just get him to stop—"
"No," Pritam said, his voice cracking slightly with an unexpected sharpness. He finally looked up from the screen, turning fully toward you. The irritation he usually carried in this office was completely gone, replaced by a raw, protective seriousness. "You going there won't change anything. People like him don't stop just because you ask them to. Aaj tum uske paas wapas jaugi to kaal wo phirse kuch naya tarika dhundega tume harass karne ke liye."
He reached out, his hand hovering over yours for a brief second before he gently caught your wrist to stop you from turning toward the door. His touch was warm, grounding against your cold skin.
"Look at me," he said quietly, ignoring Pedro entirely. "Listen to me. Usse lagta hai ki uske paas control hai because he has a digital lock on your files and pictures. But every lock has a flaw. I just need you to buy me five minutes. Can you do that?"
"How?" your voice was barely a whisper.
"Text him back from my system. Tell him you're leaving the station now, but the police are making you sign a form. Keep him typing. The moment he starts replying, his data packets will sustain a connection, and I can bypass the trigger." He looked straight into your eyes, his gaze steady and intense. "Mujh par bharosa rakho. Ek bhi file delete nahi hone dunga."
Pedro clapped a heavy hand on Pritam’s shoulder, looking between the two of you. "Theek hai, madam, do what he says. Pritam jab seriously kaam karta hai, toh achhe achhon ki bolti bandh ho jaati hai. Start typing, I'll get the vehicle ready."
Your fingers trembled as Pritam pulled up the messaging interface for you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he leaned in to watch the screen, waiting for the countdown to begin.
Your breath hitched as you stared at the blank text box on Pritam’s monitor. The cursor blinked rhythmically, a tiny, digital heartbeat counting down your life.
"What do I even say to him?" you asked, your voice tight. "If he senses I’m stalling, he’ll just do it. That asshole knows me too well."
Pritam leaned down, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. He smelled faintly of old paper and black coffee. "Type exactly what he expects to hear. He wants to feel powerful right now. Give him that illusion. Tell him you’re terrified, you’re leaving the station, but the inspector is making you sign a property release form for your phone."
You nodded, your fingers hovering over the mechanical keyboard. You typed out the words in Hinglish, the way you used to text him when things were normal: Please don't do anything. I'm leaving. Ek inspector hai yahaan, he's making me sign a stupid form before letting me take my phone back. Baas mujhe 5 minutes do, I'm coming outside.
"Send it," Pritam muttered, his eyes glued to a secondary terminal displaying raw data streams.
You hit enter. The silence in the cramped, dusty office was deafening. Pedro was uncharacteristically quiet, standing by the door, jingling his jeep keys with a tense, low rhythm.
For thirty agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then, the three dots appeared.
"Got you," Pritam whispered under his breath. His eyes were wide, sharp, tracking lines of code like he's on a war mission. "He’s replying. The connection is stable. Keep him going."
A message popped up: You have exactly 4 minutes now. Main gate ke baahar rukh, don't try to be smart.
"Pritam, his typing speed is fast, he's using a laptop, not a phone," you noticed, your writer's instinct picking up on the pacing. "He’s stationary somewhere close."
"Exactly," Pritam said, his fingers flying across the keys so fast the clacking sounded like gunfire in the small room. "He’s using a local cellular tower relay. He’s within a one-kilometer radius of this station. Probably sitting in a car nearby."
He hit a heavy stroke on the enter key. A localized map of the neighborhood bloomed onto his screen, a red circle shrinking rapidly over a grid of streets.
"Pedro sir," Pritam called out, his voice sharp and authoritative. "Corner of 4th Street, near the old bakery. A parked car with a single occupant. He’s routing through the bakery’s open Wi-Fi to mask his IP."
"Saala, mere area mein aake chutiyaapa kar raha hai?" Pedro’s face hardened. He pointed at you, then at Pritam. "Pritam, lock this system down. Madam, you stay right here with him. Main abhi iski khair nikalta hoon."
Pedro slammed the door behind him, his heavy boots echoing down the corridor as he rushed to the police jeep.
The sudden silence in the room felt heavy. The monitor showed a progress bar: Isolating Cloud Server... 74% Complete.
You let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for months, your shoulders slumping. "Is it... is it working?"
Pritam didn't answer immediately. He reached over, his hand gently covering yours where it still rested on the keyboard. His palm was warm, slightly calloused, and completely steady. He guided your hand away from the keys, locking his fingers with yours for just a second before letting go to hit the final command.
"The remote wipe protocol is completely disabled," Pritam said softly, turning his chair to face you fully. The intense, hardened look in his eyes softened as he looked at your face. "Your manuscript, your accounts... everything is safe. Maine bola tha na, kuch nahi hone dunga."
You looked at him, noticing the faint dark circles under his eyes, the absolute sincerity in his expression. For a guy who looked like he barely managed his own life, he had just saved yours without hesitation.
"Thank you," you said, your voice thick with genuine emotion. "Seriously, Pritam. I don't know what I would have done."
A faint, slightly awkward flush crept up Pritam’s neck. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away for a split second before looking back at you with a small, quiet smile. "It's fine. Mera kaam hai. But... your ex is an idiot. Anyone who knows you and claims to love you will never let you go and even if he does, will never call you such names and threaten to ruin your career."
Before you could process the sudden intimacy of the moment, the walkie-talkie on the desk crackled to life with Pedro's loud, static-filled voice: "Pritam! Saale ko pakad liya hai! He was sitting in the back of a taxi with a laptop. Madaam ko bahar le aa, let's finish the paperwork!"
The tension that had been gripping your chest for the past hour finally dissolved, leaving behind a wave of pure relief. You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face in your hands for a brief second.
Pritam didn't move away. He stayed right there, his shoulder brushing against yours in the small, cramped space of the Cyber Cell desk. He reached out and unplugged your phone from the main terminal, handing it back to you. The screen was no longer black; the familiar, comforting wallpaper of your lock screen- a Taylor Swift collage wallpaper from the Eras tour-was back to normal.
"He's done," Pritam said, his voice quiet and steady against the background noise of the police station. "Ab kuch nahi kar payega woh. Pedro sir will make sure he spends the night—and probably the next few months—explaining himself to a judge."
You took the phone, your fingers lightly brushing against his. "I don't even know how to thank you. If he had deleted that drive... that was literally a year of my life."
Pritam looked down at the keyboard, a small, self-deprecating smile catching the corner of his lips. He shuffled his feet, suddenly looking more like the quiet tech guy who preferred code over people. "It's fine, really. Tumhari stories toh safe hain na? That’s what matters." He paused, looking back up, his dark eyes surprisingly intense. "Though... I did see a few folder names while the data was transferring."
Your heart skipped a beat. "You did?"
"Yeah," he murmured, a faint, teasing glint in his eyes. "'Draft 4', 'Draft Final', 'Draft Final_FINAL' I didn't open it, obviously. But... do your main characters usually get into this much trouble like their writer?"
"Usually, it's just emotional drama and much more romance than one can digest," you admitted, the color rising to your cheeks. "Not high-stakes cyber stalking."
"Good. Because real life has enough of that," he said softly.
Before the conversation could stretch into something deeper, the heavy wooden door of the office swung open. Inspector Pedro walked in, sweating slightly from the Goa heat but looking thoroughly pleased with himself. He tossed a heavy backpack onto the spare table—the ex's laptop bag.
"Chalo, matter closed!" Pedro announced, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "He was trying to hide the laptop under the car seat, saala. But I told him, 'Beta, Pedro Gonsalves se bhaag nahi sakta.' Shindhe, write the FIR draft. Madam, aapko ek statement sign karni padegi, then you are free to go."
You stood up, smoothing down your clothes, suddenly realizing how exhausted you actually were. "Thank you, Inspector Gonsalves. I really appreciate everything you did."
"Arey, don't thank me, thank this champ," Pedro said, thumping Pritam hard on the back, making him wince and stumble forward a half-step toward you. "If he hadn't tracked the tower relay within two minutes, we would still be searching for that haramkhor. Dimag toh hai iske paas, bas use nahi karta time pe."
Pritam adjusted his sleeves, throwing Pedro a look of mild irritation. "Sir, statement fill up karwao please. She needs to go home and rest."
"Haan, haan, correct," Pedro muttered, rummaging through a drawer for something and asking Shindhe about the forms.
While Pedro was distracted, you turned back to Pritam. He was already leaning against the desk again, the adrenaline fading, returning to his usual slumped posture. But the way he was looking at you hadn't changed.
"So," you said quietly, stepping closer so Pedro wouldn't hear. "Since you saved my entire writing career... do you think you’d ever want to read that draft? The one you didn't open? The final final one?"
Pritam blinked, caught off guard. A genuine, unscripted flush crept up his neck, contrasting sharply with the confident hacker who had just dismantled a network encryption five minutes ago. He rubbed the back of his neck, a small, genuine smile breaking across his face.
"Only if it has a good ending," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
"I'm a romance writer, Pritam," you smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest that had absolutely nothing to do with fear. "They always have a good ending."
"Then yeah," he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring the chaotic filing sounds Pedro was making behind him. "Mujhe padhna hai. Send it to me. I'll make sure it's the safest file on the internet."
Three months later, the Goa Cyber Crime Cell was exactly the same—dusty monitors, the smell of damp files, and the ambient noise of Inspector Pedro Gonsalves losing his mind over an Excel sheet.
"Pritam! Yeh double click kyun nahi ho raha hai? I am pressing it twice, crashed toh nahi ho gaya system?" Pedro bellowed, slamming his index finger onto the mouse with enough force to break the plastic.
Pritam didn't even look up from his screen. He was sitting in his usual slumped posture, wearing the same faded blue shirt and loose tie, but his expression was entirely different. He was smiling. A quiet, genuine smile that had absolutely nothing to do with code.
"Sir, aap left-click ki jagah right-click kar rahe ho," Pritam said, his tone lazy but affectionate. "And please, mouse par reham kijiye."
"Don't teach me policing, haan! Apna kaam kar!" Pedro grumbled, though he quietly switched his finger and successfully opened the file.
You walked into the office carrying a tray with three cups of cutting chai and a small box of local sweets. The moment the door clicked, Pritam’s eyes snapped toward you. The bored, tired look he usually wore for the world instantly vanished, replaced by a warmth meant only for you.
"Look who is here! Humari star author!" Pedro beamed, instantly pushing his keyboard aside. "Madam, bataiye, how is the new book doing? I saw your post on that Instagram thing. Bohot log tareef kar rahe hain."
"It hit the bestseller list this morning, Pedro sir," you smiled, setting the tray down on the main table. "So I brought celebratory chai."
"Wow! Mithai bhi hai? Perfect!" Pedro grabbed a cup and a sweet, completely content. "Pritam, look at her. Itni badi author ban gayi hai, and look at you—still debugging selling vacuum cleaners and securing phones."
Pritam just rolled his eyes, standing up from his chair. He walked over to you, his eyes locked on yours. He didn't care about Pedro’s teasing; he was just looking at you with that quiet, intense pride that always made your heart skip a beat.
"Bestseller, huh?" he murmured, leaning against the edge of the table next to you. His shoulder brushed against yours, a familiar, grounding contact. "Congratulations. Maine bola tha na, tumne characters ke bichme chemistry ko pura fire likhi ho."
"You only read the drafts because you were checking them for malware," you teased softly, looking up at him through his glasses.
"Hey, after what happened, malware check karna zaruri tha," Pritam replied, a soft smirk playing on his lips. He reached down under the edge of the table, his fingers gently finding yours and locking them together, hidden from Pedro’s direct line of sight. His palm was warm and steady. "But seriously. I’m really happy for you."
"Arey, Pritam," Pedro interrupted, dusting sugar off his hands. "Go down to the main gate, the courier guy has the new security hard drives. Go verify the serial numbers. Jaldi ja."
Pritam sighed, letting go of your hand with evident reluctance. "Sir, two minutes..."
"No two minutes! Duty pe romance nahi chalega, chal uth!" Pedro barked, though there was a massive, knowing grin on his face. He wasn't blind; he’d watched Pritam transform from a cynical, detached kid into someone who fiercely protected your time together over the last three months.
Pritam adjusted his glasses, giving Pedro a look of mild defeat before turning back to you. "Wait for me outside? Ten minutes, max. Phir beachside wale uss cafe chalte hain."
"I'll be by the jeep," you smiled.
Ten minutes later, the humid Goa breeze was rustling the palm trees outside the station. You were leaning against the side of the old police vehicle when Pritam came jog-walking down the steps, his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking completely done with his shift.
The moment he reached you, he didn't hesitate. He stepped right into your space, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close, burying his face into the crook of your neck for a brief second.
"God, Pedro talks too much," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin, making you laugh.
"He's just happy for us," you said, winding your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the messy curls at the back of his head.
Pritam pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. The fading evening sun caught his deep brown eyes, making them sparkle, but his gaze was entirely clear, soft, and completely focused on you.
"I still can't believe the guy who fixed your phone ended up in the dedication page of a bestseller," he whispered, a genuine, slightly breathless smile on his lips.
"You didn't just fix my phone, love. You saved my life," you said softly, leaning in closer until your forehead rested against his. "And you're the best boyfriend a romance writer could ask for. Real-life main characters are hard to find."
Pritam chuckled, his hands tightening gently around your waist, pulling you completely against him. "Well, ab toh lock ho gaya hoon. No remote wipe can delete me from your life now."
"Good. Because I'm not planning on hitting delete," you whispered.
Pritam leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, lingering kiss right there in the quiet courtyard of the station. It was warm, real, and perfectly unscripted—the ultimate happy ending to a story that had started with a hacked screen and ended with the safest, happiest file in his heart.
HEYYYY GUYSSSS-SO MY FIRST TIME WRITING A FIC ON PRITAM
ILOVEHIMSOMUCH-I REALLY WANT TO GOBBLE HIM UP-
Anywaysssss pls do give a like and comment if you like it XOXO
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