Chapter 1 [ "Her New Start. His Final Game." ]
The Beginning of Something Wild
— Kriti Roy —
The city smelled different.
Mumbai wasn’t polite like Bengal. It didn’t knock before entering your life.
It barged in—smelling of sea salt, ambition, and something constantly burning in the distance.
Kriti Roy stood by the balcony of their half-furnished apartment in Andheri West, watching the skyline blink like a heartbeat. It was loud here—cars honking like war horns, children playing cricket in narrow lanes, and aunties yelling at delivery boys as if they were family.
But in all this noise, she felt something rare.
Possibility.
She lit a cigarette—half for rebellion, half for comfort. The wind stole most of the smoke, but the burn in her throat stayed.
“Kriti, unpack the books at least,”
her mother’s voice called from inside.
Calm. Measured. Always doing the right thing.
Kriti sighed. “On it, Ma,” she muttered.
Anjana Roy had published her sixth novel last month and decided it was time to shift base. Mumbai meant better publishers, better agents, better opportunities. And maybe, just maybe, a better life for her daughters.
Kriti didn’t complain. Much.
After all, she was leaving behind a town where everyone knew her name… and worse, her story.
The Roy sisters were the “fatherless girls” in Howrah.
Not orphans. Just… abandoned.
People whispered like their dad had died.
The truth was harder.
He hadn’t.
He had just left.
Left without a note, without goodbye, without an explanation.
Somewhere out there, Kriti’s father was breathing, living, maybe even loving someone else.
And that made it worse.
“Kriti Didi, which box has my uniform?”
Piya peeked in, her eyes wide with anxiety. Her first day at a new school was tomorrow.
“Check the blue one. I labelled it,” Kriti replied, reaching to stub her cigarette on the edge of the railing.
“You’re not supposed to smoke.”
“You’re not supposed to stress over uniforms. Go.”
Piya left, muttering something about mean sisters.
Kriti smiled, faintly. They fought often, but she’d burn the world for Piya. She had raised her as much as Anjana had.
In homes without a man, girls grow up faster. She’d learned that early.
And now, in Mumbai—a city that didn’t know her secrets—she wanted to start over.
Not as the girl who was left behind.
Not as the quiet, wounded daughter.
But something more.
A storm, maybe.
Or a spark.
Or maybe… just Kriti. Raw. Untamed. Real.
She didn’t know what this city had in store for her.
But she knew this—
She wasn’t here to be good.
__________________
The Boy in the Suit and the Sin
— Arjun Bajwa —
The lights were too bright. The girls were too loud.
And the fake smiles tasted like cheap champagne.
Arjun Bajwa stood at the center of the chaos—farewell night—and it felt like the world was throwing itself at his feet one last time before he walked out of high school like a king.
He wasn’t dressed for war. But he might as well have been.
Jet-black tux. Smirk locked in. And cologne that smelled like regret.
Girls kissed him like he was a ritual.
“Arjun, I’ll miss you so much,” one whispered against his neck.
Another slipped him a note with her number.
Another just stared like he was the reason oxygen existed.
But his eyes?
They weren’t on them.
They were locked on one girl across the hall—Siya Malhotra.
The one girl who had never once turned to look at him.
Four years of school, and not even a hint of interest.
Which only made Arjun want her more.
Not for love. Not for poetry.
Just because.
Because she thought she was above him.
Because no one ignored Arjun Bajwa and got away with it.
He walked over, slow. Confident. That grin that made girls forget their rules.
“Siya,” he said, gently, like he meant it.
She raised an eyebrow. “You know my name?”
He laughed. “I’ve known your name since orientation. I just never had the guts to talk to you.”
Bullshit. But it worked.
That night, he played every card.
The good boy. The deep thinker. The almost-poet.
He told her she was different.
He told her he saw her when no one else did.
He told her things that weren’t true, just to make her believe they were.
By midnight, she did.
By 2:00 a.m., she was his.
And by 4:00 a.m., she was nothing to him.
---
The next morning, Rahul stood at his gate, sleepy-eyed, feeding lies into Arjun’s mother’s worried phone.
“Yes, Aunty, he was at my place. Studying. I think he slept off. His phone died.”
“Yes, I’ll tell him to call you. Sorry, Aunty.”
Inside, Arjun wiped off the remains of the night from his lips and looked at himself in the mirror.
“Sweet boys don’t ruin girls like that.”
But he was never sweet. Not really.
Except for his mother.
Ramya Bajwa thought her son was a dream. Polite. Disciplined. Sober.
He let her believe it.
Because she was the only person in the world who didn’t ask him to be anything else.
His father, Prabu, was the opposite—cold, calculated, always judging.
Arjun didn’t love him. But he respected the man—for the way he loved Ramya.
And Samantha, his little sister?
She was pure. A reminder of what he had once been before the world tasted him and turned him bitter.
Now she’d be joining St. Xavier’s Junior, where she’d unknowingly sit beside Piya Roy.
He didn’t know the name yet.
But soon he would.
And even sooner?
He’d meet Kriti Roy.
And that would change everything.
To Be Continued
