KISSES & CHAOS

KISSES AND CHAOS

Chapter 1: FIRST: FLIGHT: FATE

Kolkata Airport buzzed with its usual pre-flight chaos—passengers rushing, announcements echoing, the aroma of overpriced coffee lingering in the air. Drishti stood by a bookstore near Gate 23, her fingers skimming the covers of neatly arranged novels, searching for something to accompany her on her flight to Mumbai.

Her eyes landed on a striking book—Kisses & Chaos Part 1. The cover, an abstract swirl of deep blues and fiery reds, intrigued her. She had never heard of the author—Prayag—but something about the title and design spoke to her. Impulsively, she picked it up, feeling the smooth texture of the paperback under her fingertips.

Just as she was about to walk to the cashier, a voice interrupted her.

“Good choice,” the voice was deep, confident, yet laced with amusement.

Drishti turned, finding a man in a black turtleneck and a leather jacket standing beside her. His hair was slightly tousled, the kind that wasn’t styled but naturally fell into place, and his sharp eyes held a quiet intensity.

“And you are?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“The guy who wrote that book,” he replied smoothly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Drishti blinked. Then let out a short laugh. “Nice try. You don’t look like a writer.”

“Really?” Prayag crossed his arms, feigning offense. “And what do writers look like? Old men with glasses and ink stains on their fingers?”

She glanced at him again. He looked more like a model who occasionally broke into action-packed thrillers than a writer. “Something like that,” she teased.

Prayag chuckled, pulling out his phone. “Here, let me prove it.” He opened his Instagram and showed her his profile—Prayag | Author | The Tashkent Case | The Voyage | Falling Apart | Kisses & Chaos.

Her lips parted slightly. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Completely.” He took the book from her hands, flipped to the title page, and scribbled something before handing it back. She glanced down.

“To the girl who judged a book by its author—Prayag.”

Drishti couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, you win. But if the book is bad, I’m unfollowing you.”

“I like a challenge,” he said, slipping his pen back into his pocket.

The airport announcement broke their conversation. “Indigo Flight 6E-241 to Mumbai is now boarding.”

“That’s me,” Prayag said.

Drishti’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re on this flight too?”

“Writer’s Summit,” he confirmed.

She checked her ticket. Row 6, Seat B. Just ahead of him. Fate had a strange way of working.

—

The plane hummed with the soft murmur of passengers settling in. Drishti, now sitting in 6B, peeked over her shoulder. Prayag was in 7A, staring out of the window, lost in thought.

An idea struck her.

“Excuse me,” she leaned toward the flight attendant. “Would it be possible to swap seats?”

Minutes later, she slid into 7B, right beside Prayag.

He turned, surprised. “Wow. Stalker much?”

“Relax,” she smirked. “I just figured if I’m going to judge your book, I might as well interrogate the author while I read it.”

Prayag chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Drishti.”

She glanced at him. “I never told you my name.”

“You wrote it on your coffee cup back at the airport,” he said, nodding toward the Starbucks cup on her tray.

Drishti bit her lip, impressed. “Observant.”

“Writer,” he said simply.

As the plane took off, she opened Kisses & Chaos to the first page, but her attention kept drifting to the man beside her.

A few minutes passed in silence, the hum of the aircraft filling the space between them. Drishti read the first few lines of the book, but she could feel Prayag watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you going to stare at me the whole flight?” she asked without looking up.

Prayag smirked. “Just making sure you don’t skim through the best parts.”

She glanced at him. “Oh? And which parts are those?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lower now, almost teasing. “The ones inspired by real life.”

Drishti raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Real life? As in… your life?”

“Maybe,” he said mysteriously. “You’ll have to keep reading to find out.”

She flipped another page, pretending to focus, but her mind was already spinning with curiosity. Prayag had an effortless charm, the kind that pulled people in without trying. She hated to admit it, but he was interesting—more interesting than she had anticipated.

The turbulence hit suddenly, a sharp jolt making the cabin tremble. Instinctively, Drishti’s hand clutched the armrest.

“Nervous flyer?” Prayag asked, glancing at her hand.

She scoffed, quickly relaxing her grip. “Please. I’ve been on enough flights to know this is normal.”

Another jolt. This time, she almost cursed. Prayag chuckled. “Uh-huh. Totally not nervous.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” she muttered.

Without a word, Prayag extended his hand toward her.

Drishti frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Helping,” he said simply.

She hesitated. The rational part of her mind screamed that this was ridiculous—he was a stranger, just someone she had met hours ago. But there was something about him, something steady and composed, that made her fingers move before she could think.

She placed her hand in his.

His grip was warm, firm, reassuring. Not overly tight, not intrusive—just enough to say I’m here.

The turbulence faded, but he didn’t let go. And neither did she.

A flight that had started as coincidence now felt like the beginning of something neither of them had planned for.

Outside the window, the sky stretched endlessly, filled with a quiet promise.

And inside the cabin, somewhere between the pages of a book and the silence of held hands, something had already begun.

—

To be continued…