8 years ago

Jiya's POV (age 16)

My house has never been this loud. Not even during Diwali. Maa is moving between the kitchen and my room like a storm that refuses to rest, carrying clothes, snacks, and random things she suddenly thinks I might need in Mumbai. Papa stands near my suitcase with a handwritten checklist, ticking things off carefully as if I'm leaving for war instead of junior college. Every few seconds he pauses to check something again, his forehead creased in concentration.

"Did you pack the medicines?"

"Yes, Maa(mom)."

"Thermal?"

"Maa, it's Mumbai."

"Still."

This is the fifty-sixth time she has repeated the same instructions. I counted. Papa(dad) clears his throat and looks up from the suitcase before pointing toward the side pocket of my bag. "Money is in there. Don't hesitate to call if you need more." I nod quickly, trying not to let the grin spreading across my face become too obvious.

This is happening. I am leaving.

India's top junior college. A sports scholarship in swimming. Me. A girl from this tiny two-bedroom house where the balcony grill still squeaks every time someone opens it.

Before I can feel too proud of myself, a familiar irritated voice interrupts everything. "No one showed me this much love when I left for hostel." I turn slowly and find Rishabh Shetty leaning against the doorframe. Third-year medical student, professional bully, and full-time menace.

I stretch one eye dramatically and grin. "Don't be jealous, princess."

The silence lasts half a second. Then I run.

Because I know exactly what I just did. I almost reach my room before the door pushes open with force. Rishabh has the strength of a bull, and trying to shut the door against him is pointless. With one shove I fall backward onto the bed, my back protesting as I glare up at him.

He grabs my wrist and twists it, not enough to break anything but more than enough to remind me he easily could.

I immediately try to kick him between the legs. He catches my leg effortlessly.

"Don't try to kill my future children, Jiyu," he mutters calmly. "Or you'll spend your whole life waiting for someone to call you bua (aunt). I taught you to use that move on other boys. Not me."

I struggle, but it's useless. Rishabh barely looks like he's using any effort to hold me down, which somehow makes it even more irritating. "I think I need gym training," I grumble under my breath, trying to twist my wrist free again. Instead, he twists it slightly more, just enough to remind me that he is still completely in control of the situation. "What did you call me?" he asks calmly.

I look into his eyes and immediately realize this bull is not backing down anytime soon. The more I struggle, the more entertained he looks, which only makes the situation worse. Finally, I let out an annoyed sigh and give up. "I won't call you that again," I surrender reluctantly.

He releases me.

The moment he does, I smack the back of his head and sprint out of the room before he can react. I slide behind Papa like a shield and stick my tongue out at Rishabh. He doesn't move toward me this time, probably because Papa is standing right there between us. For the moment, I am safe.

The excitement fades a little when the time actually comes to leave. Maa hugs me so tightly that I'm pretty sure she might accidentally break my ribs if she holds on any longer. Papa pretends he's completely fine, but the way he keeps adjusting the straps of my bag says otherwise. Rishabh stands a little away from us with his hands in his pockets, watching everything with an unreadable expression.

"If someone troubles you," he says finally, his voice calm, "just call me."

I grin immediately.

"Except you, no one dares to mess with the great Jiya Shetty."

He doesn't say anything, but I catch that familiar smirk again. The one that silently says you're definitely my sister. It's the same expression he always has when I say something stupid or dramatic, which is honestly most of the time.

A little while later I board the train and take the seat near the window. My three bags are stacked above me while my heart refuses to calm down. Mumbai. I still can't believe this is real. I take out my new phone, my own phone and immediately install Instagram.

After a moment of thinking, I type my username.

Jiyu_46.

Don't judge me. I'm proud of it.

I'm about to lie down when two men take the seats near me. They smell like cheap alcohol and sweat, the kind that lingers in the air long after someone leaves. One of them shifts closer and I move away instinctively, hoping the hint is obvious enough. A moment later he shifts again, clearly ignoring it. My patience lasts exactly three seconds.

I stand up abruptly.

"There's space," I say loudly. "Sit properly."

He laughs as if I just told the best joke he has ever heard.

"If you have a problem," he says, leaning forward, "sit on my lap."

My hand moves before my brain even processes the sentence. The slap lands hard across his cheek, the sound echoing slightly in the narrow train compartment. The second man grabs my wrist immediately, clearly thinking that will solve the problem.

Wrong move.

I slap him with my other hand. I should thank my brother for teaching me self defence. 

People around us begin standing up as the noise grows louder. Someone calls for the ticket checker and he arrives quickly, pushing through the small crowd forming around us. The two men step back, throwing angry looks in my direction as if I'm the one who started this. I report them anyway. They glare at me one last time before moving down the aisle.

I sit back down, trying to calm my breathing and pretending the entire thing didn't just happen.

A few minutes later, a loud thud echoes outside the train. Screams and gasps follow immediately, loud enough to make everyone turn toward the windows. Someone near the door shouts and people rush to look outside. I glance up just in time to see two bodies lying near the tracks.

I couldn't see their faces clearly. The train had already moved too far.

People begin whispering around me, voices low but excited.

"They fell and hit the pole."

"The same two men who created a scene some minutes ago."

My stomach tightens. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe someone made sure it looked like one. For a brief moment, I remember Rishabh's calm face standing outside our house before I left.

Then I shake the thought away. He's hundreds of kilometers away.

God punishes quickly, maybe.

I stare out the window, watching the blur of tracks and passing lights outside the train. For a moment, an uneasy feeling creeps over me, like someone is watching from somewhere I can't see. The thought lingers only for a second before I shake it away. It must just be my imagination.

The rest of the journey passes in a strange, uncomfortable silence. People still talk about the accident, but their voices are quieter now, careful and uncertain. Some blame the alcohol. Others call it fate, the kind of thing that was bound to happen eventually.

No one mentions me. And I don't mention them either.

I sit back down in my seat and stare at my phone screen, pretending to scroll through news posts that I don't actually read. The images pass by without meaning, my mind replaying the same moment again and again, the slap, the glare, and the sudden fall.

By the time the train finally slows into Mumbai Central, my excitement forces its way back. The city already feels different even before I step out onto the platform. Everything seems louder, faster, and somehow more alive than home. It feels like the kind of place that doesn't slow down for anyone. Like if you stop for even a second, the whole city will just keep moving without you.

I drag my luggage out of the train with determination that lasts exactly three minutes. After that, I immediately regret not letting Bhai(brother) come with me. At least he could have carried my bags instead of me struggling like this. Then I remember the emotional drama I performed at home before leaving.

"I need to be strong."

"I can manage. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't handle it."

"I'm not a baby anymore."

Now here I am, almost crushed between two aunties fighting over an auto.

Strength. Very nice.

After negotiating with an auto driver who clearly thinks I look like easy prey, I finally reach my dorm. It's not huge, but it's clean and organized. White walls, two beds, and a window that looks directly into another building's wall. Not exactly a scenic view, but it could be worse.

Perfect.

I dump my bags on the floor and collapse onto the bed for a moment. Tomorrow is my first day in India's top junior college. A completely new life, new people, and new experiences waiting to happen. The thought alone makes me grin into the empty room like an idiot.

Then my phone buzzes.

Princess Calling.

I stare at the screen for a moment before answering, deliberately letting it ring for a full thirty seconds. If he thinks he can just call and order me around like always, he can at least wait a little. Finally, I swipe to answer and bring the phone to my ear.

"Yes, big bull?" I tease immediately.

"Come downstairs."

"Why?"

Silence fills the line for a second. He doesn't repeat himself, doesn't explain, and doesn't even pretend to answer the question. Instead, he simply disconnects the call like he always does.

I pull the phone away from my ear and glare at the screen. I hate this man for always ordering me around.

For a moment I just stare at the display, waiting for it to ring again as if this whole thing is a misunderstanding. Then the thought hits me.

No.

He didn't.

There's no way.

I rush downstairs wearing shorts and an oversized T-shirt, my hair messy and completely uncared for. The moment I step outside the dorm entrance, I see him immediately. He's leaning casually against a bike with both hands in his pockets, standing there like he belongs here more than anyone else.

Girls near the entrance are openly staring at him.

One of them even pretends to check her phone while very clearly checking him out instead. The way her eyes move up and down his body makes it obvious what she's thinking. She's practically undressing him with her eyes.

I narrow my eyes.

What's wrong with girls these days, how can they like someone like my brother?

Without wasting another second, I march straight toward him, grab his arm, and drag him away from the entrance before anyone else can continue staring at him like that.

"What are you doing here?!" I whisper-yell, trying not to attract attention even though I'm already annoyed enough to shout. He looks at me like I just asked the dumbest question in the world, completely unfazed by my reaction. "I wanted to see where you're staying," he says calmly, as if that explains everything. I stare at him for a second, waiting for the part where he admits this is some kind of joke.

"How did you come here?" I ask suspiciously. "Train," he replies without hesitation. I blink once, then point toward the bike he's leaning against. "How did you get a bike?" He shrugs lazily, like the answer is obvious. "I get what I want." That is absolutely not reassuring.

I narrow my eyes at him, suddenly remembering something important. "Did you come in the same train as me?" I ask slowly, watching his expression carefully. "Yes," he replies simply. My heart pauses for a second before the next question escapes my mouth. "Did you see those two guys who fell?"

He looks at me blankly, his expression not changing even slightly. "What guys?" he asks. "The ones who were—" I start, but he cuts me off immediately. "I don't know what you're talking about." His tone is steady. Too steady.

I search his face carefully, waiting to see something, guilt, hesitation, any kind of reaction that might tell me he's lying. But there is nothing there except the same calm expression he always has. I finally exhale slowly and look away, forcing my thoughts to settle. Thank God he doesn't know.

Because if he knew...

No. He said he doesn't know about them. He could have been sitting somewhere far from my seat. I shake my head slightly, pushing the thought away.

Accident.

It was an accident.

He looks at my dorm carefully, his eyes moving across the windows and the entrance like he's memorizing every detail. For a moment he says nothing, just standing there with that calm, unreadable expression. Finally, he glances back at me. "Call me if anything happens," he says.

"Ya, ya," I reply, rolling my eyes. "My big brother bodyguard."

Before I can move away, his hand lands on the top of my head.

Hard.

I glare up at him, rubbing the spot dramatically. Someday I will tie this man to a chair and hit him with anything I can find just to see how he likes it. He doesn't look even slightly guilty.

"Go inside," he says calmly. "It's already cold and dark."

"You're the one who called me down!" I protest immediately, pointing an accusing finger at him.

He just stares at me. That stare. The one that clearly says he'll stand here all night if he has to.

I sigh dramatically and turn toward the dorm entrance, deciding it's not worth arguing with him anymore. But just before stepping inside, I glance back over my shoulder.

He's still standing there.

Not looking at the girls around the entrance.

Not checking his phone.

Watching the building.

After a moment he finally starts the bike, the engine breaking the quiet of the night before he rides away down the street. I stand there for another second before heading back inside.

Back in my room, exhaustion crashes over me the moment the door closes. I don't even bother unpacking properly and just kick my bags to the side before collapsing onto the bed. My muscles ache from the long day, and my head feels heavy from everything that happened.

As I close my eyes, my thoughts drift slowly. Maybe here I won't feel so lonely.

Because despite the noise at home, despite Maa's endless worrying and Papa's quiet support and Bhai's constant bullying, sometimes it still feels like something is missing. Like there's a space somewhere in my life that hasn't been filled yet.

Like I'm waiting for something I don't understand.

Tomorrow, college begins. And maybe, just maybe, this city will give me something I didn't even know I was looking for.