Chapter 1: First collision 💥
Ankith woke up at 5:00 AM exactly, not because he enjoyed mornings, but because he believed even time behaved better under discipline. His room looked like it had signed a contract with order itself—books stacked in perfect symmetry, pens aligned like they were reporting for duty, and not a single object daring to exist out of place.
He checked his math notes once, then again, as if formulas might secretly change overnight out of fear of his authority. Mathematics, to him, was the only subject that didn’t lie, didn’t complain, and didn’t create unnecessary drama. Satisfied, he adjusted his watch, looked at the clock like it was a student that might be late, and left for Velora Institute of Science & Arts with the calm expression of someone who believed students were just predictable variables waiting to be solved.
On the other hand Akhila’s alarm was beeping, but she was emotionally unavailable for responsibility. She finally woke up late—on her first day of college—staring at the ceiling like it had betrayed her entire existence. MPC was not her choice; it was more like a family decision passed unanimously without her consent. Her marks in 10th were just enough to survive MPC, not enough to escape it. She loved English because words felt alive, she loved Sanskrit because it sounded peaceful even when she didn’t fully understand it, and she spent an impressive amount of time watching BL series, Korean dramas, Thai stories, and Chinese dramas instead of solving math problems she had already mentally rejected. To her, math felt like rules without reasons, and she strongly believed life should make emotional sense even if it refused logical sense.
Her mom Devi, was already ironing her uniform with serious concentration, like wrinkles were a national emergency. A neatly pressed blue chudidhar and a perfectly folded grey chunni waited like they had their own discipline schedule. Akhila’s dad stood nearby, a retired army man, silent and observant, the kind of presence that made even clocks feel late. He believed in discipline, punctuality, and zero excuses. Having Akhila as a daughter felt to him like a mission report that kept getting updated with “unexpected errors.”
He cleared his throat. “In my time, we were ready before time.”
Akhila, still struggling with her bag strap and existence, replied casually, “In my time… I am still not ready in time, dad.”
That earned a long, judging silence from him.
This girl 😒
She turned back to the mirror and tried fixing her hair—but her hair had its own personality issues. Because in 10th, she had confidently cut bangs.
And it had turned out… dangerously iconic.
Not stylish-iconic.
More like Shah Rukh Khan in a windy emotional slow-motion scene iconic.
She pulled them left. They went right.
She pushed them down. They stood up like they had opinions about life choices.
She stared at herself and sighed. “Even my hair has no discipline… how am I supposed to survive MPC?”
Her amma handed her uniform anyway: a neatly pressed blue chudidhar and a grey chunni folded like it had military training. “Go fast,” Devi said calmly.
Akhila nodded like she was heading into a battlefield she didn’t revise for. “First day… let’s not get emotionally failed.”
Velora Institute of Science & Arts stood ahead like a very serious promise, with its polished gate and dramatic slogan: “Where Logic Meets Learning.” Akhila immediately translated it in her head as “Where sleep goes to die peacefully.”
Students rushed in like attendance was a competitive sport. Ankith entered from one side with calm, measured steps, looking like even his walking followed an equation. Nearby students whispered, “That’s Ankith sir… he once got annoyed because someone wrote ‘approx’ instead of solving properly.” Another added, “He doesn’t shout… he just silently marks your future as ‘improvement needed.’”
At the same time, Akhila rushed in from the other side, slightly late, slightly chaotic, her bag strap attacking her shoulder and her chunni trying to escape like it had better life plans. She tried fixing her rebellious bangs mid-walk and immediately failed. “Why did I think cutting bangs was a personality upgrade?” she muttered. Ugh this sucks already 🙄.
She nearly bumped into someone and instantly said, “Sorry sorry sorry—gravity issue,” as if physics itself was personally targeting her.
For a brief second, Ankith and Akhila moved on intersecting paths—he calm like structure, she chaotic like a formula refusing to simplify. They didn’t meet properly, just narrowly avoided each other, as if even fate paused and said, “Let me enjoy this slowly.”
And unknowingly, in that small near-collision of discipline and disorder, Ankith’s structured world and Akhila’s chaotic one quietly stepped into the same story
