━ INTRODUCING VIHAAN SINGHANIA.
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name: Vihaan Singhania
birthday: January 12th 1988
age: 37
gender: cis male
pronouns: He/Him
face claim: Sidharth Malhotra
occupation: Owner of Olive Oak Hotel
neighborhood: Coral Coast
hometown: pacific city, oregon
There’s a stillness to Vihaan Singhania that people often misread as arrogance. Maybe sometimes it is — but more often, it’s a man who’s spent his entire adult life being responsible for everyone but himself, trying to remember what it feels like to breathe without a weight on his chest. He’s thirty-seven, a Capricorn with all the precision and exhaustion that implies, and the owner of Olive Oak Hotel, one of the most polished and quietly luxurious places in Windsor Bay. The hotel suits him: clean lines, calm spaces, and a kind of understated elegance that doesn’t need to announce itself to be felt.
Vihaan grew up among pure chaos with three siblings, a mother who refused to crumble after losing her husband too young, and a bed-and-breakfast that required all hands on deck. He learned early how to change sheets with military tightness, how to deal with rude tourists, and how to pretend he wasn’t grieving so his siblings didn’t feel alone. Responsibility shaped him more than childhood ever did.
Eleven years ago, he landed in Windsor Bay with a plan that was equal parts ambition and escape. He tells people he came here because the town had “potential.” The truth? He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere where no one knew him as the eldest son, the dependable one, the substitute father figure. The hotel was supposed to be his freedom — but like every good eldest child, he accidentally built himself another cage. He’s tech-savvy, obsessive about systems, processes, and efficiencies. His staff joke that he has a sixth sense for slow Wi-Fi. He’s honest to a fault, resourceful when backed into a corner, and shockingly loyal to anyone who manages to get close enough.
But he’s also selfish in the ways only people who’ve given too much can be. Basically he guards his time, his space, and his heart fiercely. He’s lonely, though he’d rather chew glass than admit it, and he’s cynical because life taught him to expect disappointment before it arrives. He loves his family loudly and complains about them even louder. His mom calls too often; his siblings text too much. He threatens to block them all at least twice a month. He never will. They’re the one thing he’d burn his world down to protect. He listens to playlists that swing from AR Rahman to random EDM remixes at 2am. He uses Apple Music religiously. He will absolutely judge you for using Spotify.
Underneath the hard exterior is a man who wants softness but doesn’t know how to ask for it. Someone who leads because he had no choice, and who occasionally wishes someone would lead him instead. Windsor Bay wasn’t supposed to be permanent. But eleven years later, it’s the only place where he feels like he gets to simply be Vihaan — not the replacement father, not the family backbone, not the one who must always have the answers. Just a man running a beautiful hotel, trying not to fall apart in the silence he created.
H E A D C A N O N S ;
He responds to texts like they’re emails.
Full sentences. Punctuation. No emojis. He has typed “Best, Vihaan” at least once and immediately cringed.
His hotel is spotless, but his car is a disaster.
Water bottles, gym gloves, random receipts. He swears he’ll clean it “this weekend." He never does.
He stress-works out.
When overwhelmed, he disappears to the hotel gym for 45 minutes of punishing incline treadmill runs.
He sometimes eats standing up.
Behind the front desk. In the office. While checking emails. The man does not understand the concept of a proper meal.
Coffee is his coping mechanism.
Black. No sugar. Two cups before 10am. No one talks to him before the second one.
Quietly sarcastic.
He doesn’t tell jokes — he just makes dry observations that make people choke on their drinks.
He’s awful at flirting… unless he’s accidentally good at it.
The charm slips out when he’s tired, unguarded, or distracted. Then he denies it.
Sleeps like he’s on high alert.
Light, restless, and always half-listening — a leftover habit from being the eldest protector.
He doesn’t believe in fate… but he secretly wants to.
If someone soft enough walks into his orbit, he might start to.
