The plane touched down in Mumbai like a whisper.

Zoya blinked hard against the harsh city lights outside the plane window. Somewhere between Bokaro and Mumbai, her tears had dried up — but the weight in her chest hadn’t.

She stepped off the flight like a ghost with a passport.

The airport was huge, loud, and chaotic — the exact opposite of her. People rushed around her with purpose. She walked slowly, gripping her bag like a lifeline. Her heart still beat to the rhythm of Jharkhand — small town, small voices, small cages.

But not anymore.

Now… she was here.

---

Just outside the terminal, a girl in a lavender hoodie came running through the crowd like a sunshine bullet.

“Zoyaaa!”

Zoya turned — and for the first time in weeks — smiled like she meant it.

Aarfa crashed into her with a hug that nearly knocked the fear out of her lungs.

> “You're really here! You're really—oh my God! You left everything. You really did it.”

Zoya laughed into her shoulder, a little shaky.

> “Yeah. I did.”

---

They took an auto to the apartment. Mumbai roared around her — buildings scraping the sky, horns that never stopped, strangers with stories in their eyes.

She peeked out the window like a curious kitten.

“Everyone here looks like they’re going somewhere,” she murmured.

Aarfa grinned. “Because they are. But for now, you’re going home.”

---

The apartment was small, but warm. Cozy, chaotic, and full of personality — just like Aarfa.

Posters of BTS, fairy lights, a little coffee corner with mugs that said “girl boss” and “over it.”

Zoya dropped her bag by the couch and stood in the middle of the room.

This wasn’t a palace.

But it was the first place she’d ever stepped into where she didn’t feel owned.

She belonged here.

> “From now on,” Aarfa said, handing her a cup of coffee, “no one decides for you but you.”

Zoya nodded, eyes glassy. “And no one calls me dramatic for crying either.”

“Not unless they want to get smacked.”

They both laughed. Loud. Free.

---

Later that evening, Aarfa told her they’d go visit her college the next day.

> “You’ll love the place. Xavier’s feels like a movie. You’ll get in easily — and I already told the gang about you.”

Zoya tilted her head. “Gang?”

Aarfa smirked. “My group. Friends. We’re a little insane. You’ll fit in.”

Zoya smiled faintly. “We’ll see.”

---

Meanwhile... 30 minutes away

A basketball bounced on a rooftop court as the sun dipped low behind the city.

Akif Malik stood alone in his black tee, sweat dripping down his neck, headphones tucked in, lost in his own world.

His throws were clean. Effortless. Focused.

The boy didn’t speak much, but his game said enough.

Downstairs, his younger sister called up from the balcony.

> “Dinner’s ready, bhai! And you promised Ammi you’ll stop skipping it!”

Akif didn’t reply — just threw the ball one more time, dead center.

He stared out over the Mumbai skyline, jaw clenched.

Something in his chest had been feeling strange lately.

A shift. A restlessness. Like something was coming.

Or someone.

---

Back at the apartment

Zoya sat curled up on the couch, scrolling through her gallery.

Old photos. Old messages.

A past she wasn’t ready to delete… but didn’t want to carry either.

She looked up at the ceiling and whispered,

> “I don’t want anything big. No fairytales. No prince charming.

Just peace. That’s all.”

Little did she know — peace

would come wrapped in storms.

In late-night stares, soft arguments, shared secrets… and him.

---

💗To be continued…

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