Chapter 1
I swiped my Metro Card like a seasoned warrior entering battle. “Outta my way, peasants!” I mentally screamed, while in reality, I squeaked a polite “Excuse me” and bolted towards the platform like my GPA depended on it.
I was late for college again, classic me. As I huffed and puffed up the escalator, I brushed against a very plump woman. My life flashed before my eyes.
“Sorry, Aunty!” I gasped, dramatically pointing at the metro as if it were Noah’s Ark and I was the last unpaid intern he forgot to bring. I squeezed myself in through the closing doors like toothpaste being pushed back into the tube.
Adventure, I thought. This is peak Indiana Jones.
Then I saw it. A seat. A real one. The kind you only hear about in legends. I pounced like a starving lion on a bean bag. Unfortunately, I landed next to an uncle whose glare could melt steel. He looked at me like I’d stolen his WiFi password and his daughter.
I tried not to make eye contact and scanned the train. That’s when I saw her — a girl who looked weirdly familiar. Maybe from a past life? Tinder? My building’s Diwali function?
She smiled at me. A real smile. Not the “Why is this guy staring?” kind. Encouraged, I decided to break my number one rule: Never talk to strangers who look like they might have a LinkedIn profile.
I cleared my throat and said confidently, “Excuse me, Aunty!”
Silence.
People from the next bogie leaned in like this was live theatre.
She blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, Aunty!” I grinned, channeling my inner good boy.
“Come and have a seat,” I offered, patting the throne next to me.
She walked over… and SLAPPED me. Right across the face. Not a polite slap. A Bollywood heroine after interval slap.
The whole train turned into a reality show audience. Gasps. Giggles. One guy even took popcorn out of his bag.
And then, she slapped me again.
“WHAT is happening?” I squeaked.
“Aunty, stop!” I begged.
SLAP.
“You are Rahul, right?” she asked.
“Yes! Rahul Kapoor!” I whimpered.
“From DJ Sanghvi Engineering College?”
“Yes!”
“Second Year B.E. Electronics?”
“Yes…” I said, shrinking.
“Division B?”
“…Yes.”
“And you think I’m an Aunty?!”
I blinked. “Oops.”
Turns out, she was Eshita Saxena, my classmate. My own batchmate. Apparently, she had attended classes. Unlike me. I only showed up for the intro lecture and free WiFi.
She sat on the seat I’d offered, regal like Queen Elizabeth but angrier.
I stood. Staring at the floor. Trying to disappear into it. My cheeks were red. My ego was in the lost-and-found bin.
I wanted to say, “This is between you and me, okay?” But my cheeks politely declined. They’d suffered enough.
From that day on, I never looked at Eshita again. Mainly because she kept looking at me like she was still carrying one more slap in her bag. Just in case.
