बातें ज़रूरी हैं, तेरा मिलना भी ज़रूरी

मैंने मिटा देनी, ये जो तेरी-मेरी दूरी

बातें ज़रूरी हैं, तेरा मिलना भी ज़रूरी

मैंने मिटा देनी, ये जो तेरी-मेरी दूरी

झूठी हैं वो राहें सारी दुनिया की

इश्क़ जहाँ ना चले

तेरा होना, मेरा होना क्या होना

अगर ना दोनों मिले?

तू पहला-पहला प्यार है मेरा

तू पहला-पहला प्यार है मेरा

तू पहला-पहला प्यार है मेरा

तू पहला-पहला प्यार है मेरा

Chapter 1 — Welcome to St. Xavier’s: Where Sarcasm Finds Its Match

(Maya’s Morning, Ahmedabad)

Maya’s POV

The alarm buzzed like it was personally offended that I was still asleep.

I slapped it off and stared at the ceiling, thinking, This is it. The big day. New city. New life. Possibly new people to irritate.

Mumbai. St. Xavier’s University. Mass Communication.

And me — Maya Patel, self-proclaimed sarcasm queen, scriptwriter in progress, and occasional bathroom singer who thinks she’s underrated by the universe.

The faint smell of chai drifted into my room. My mother’s way of saying, Get up before I lose patience.

I rolled out of bed, hair a total crime scene, and muttered,

Maya:- > “Bas ek aur din mummy ke lecture se bach jaoon, toh main Bollywood ke liye ready hoon.”

Before I could even find my slippers, Mom’s voice echoed from the kitchen:

Sneha :- > “Maya! Subah ke 8 baj gaye! Plane chhoot gaya toh tujhe hi hawa mein uda dungi main!”

Maya:- “Good morning to you too,” I mumbled.

---

The Patel Household: Morning Madness

Downstairs, my dad was reading the newspaper like the world’s problems depended on him solving them before breakfast.

Mom was multitasking — yelling, packing, and judging me — all at once.

The TV played an old Govinda song in the background because apparently, chaos needed a soundtrack.

Ravi:- > “Maya beta,” Dad said behind his glasses. “Mumbai ja rahi hai, na? Remember, focus on studies. No distractions.”

Maya:- > “Of course, Papa,” I said sweetly. “I’m only going to one of the most vibrant cities in the world for the next three years. No distractions at all.”

> “Mujhe teri tone pasand nahi aayi,” Mom said, squinting. “Woh sarcasm chhodke jaana wahan.”

Maya:-> “Main koshish karungi, Mummy,” I smiled innocently. “Lekin agar sarcasm chhod diya, toh main kaha rahungi?”

Mom groaned. Dad chuckled under his breath.

I sat down for breakfast, my plate loaded with the usual — the “you’re leaving home” feast. Parathas, aloo sabzi, and emotional blackmail.

> “Beta,” Mom sighed dramatically, “Mumbai bahut bada sheher hai. Sambhal ke rehna. Wahan ke log…”

Maya:- > “Mujhe khayenge?” I interrupted. “Mujhe bhi khana pasand hai, toh fair deal hoga.”

She gave me that look. The one that said, Stop before I feed you your sarcasm for lunch.

---

Maya’s Thoughts — The Goodbye

As we drove to the airport, the city of Ahmedabad looked almost poetic — the old houses, the smell of street food, the chaos I loved complaining about.

I leaned my head against the window, watching everything pass by.

Part of me was thrilled. Part of me was terrified.

> “Mumbai,” I whispered to myself. “The city that never sleeps. Perfect, because I don’t either.”

My mom noticed me smiling.

Sneha:- > “Kya soch rahi hai?”

Maya:- > “Bas yeh ki ab aap log mujhe phone karke ‘jaldi sone ja’ nahi keh paoge,” I said with mock sadness.

Sneha:- > “Main har raat video call karungi,” she warned.

Maya:-> “Aur main har raat pretend karungi ki network nahi hai.”

Her glare was instant. Worth it.

At the airport, Dad hugged me tightly — the kind of hug that says I trust you, but please don’t make me regret it.

Ravi:- > “Proud of you, beta. Just… stay grounded.”

Maya:- > “Main flight mein ja rahi hoon, Papa. Grounded rehna mushkil hoga.”

He sighed. “Iss ladki ka kuch nahi ho sakta.”

And just like that, I was off — boarding a flight to a city I’d dreamed about since I started writing my first script.

---

On the Flight — The Dreamer’s Confession

Somewhere above the clouds, I pulled out my little black notebook — “Things I’d Rather Say Out Loud.”

It had everything: sarcastic notes, half-written scripts, random thoughts.

I scribbled —

> “Scene 1: Girl leaves home. Family emotional. Girl acts like she’s chill. Reality — she’s panicking inside.”

Yeah, that was me.

I wasn’t nervous about college itself. I was nervous about people.

I’ve always been better with fictional characters than real ones.

At least the fictional ones follow your script.

Still, there was something electric about the idea of Mumbai — a place where everyone wanted something big.

And for me, it wasn’t fame. It was freedom.

Freedom to write, to sing, to be unapologetically sarcastic.

---

Arrival at Mumbai

When I stepped out of the airport, the first thing that hit me wasn’t the humidity. It was the sound.

Car horns, street vendors, local trains in the distance — Mumbai didn’t whisper, it roared.

> “Welcome, Miss Patel,” I muttered to myself. “Hope you like chaos. Because this is your new roommate.”

My cab driver looked back and grinned.

> “First time Mumbai?”

> “Haan,” I smiled. “Par lagta hai Mumbai ko milke maza aayega.”

He laughed. “Aap jaise logon se hi toh maza aata hai, madam.”

I didn’t know what he meant, but it sounded like a compliment, so I took it.

---

St. Xavier’s — The First Glimpse

By the time the cab turned into St. Xavier’s lane, my heart actually skipped.

The campus was alive.

Students laughing, music playing, groups forming, chaos brewing.

There were banners for the Fresher’s Orientation, and the smell of cutting chai filled the air.

It was loud, colorful, overwhelming — and somehow, exactly what I needed.

> “This is it,” I whispered, gripping my bag. “Time to star

Arjun’s POV

Mornings in the Rai household were never quiet.

They were like background music from a Bollywood family drama — loud, dramatic, slightly out of tune, but full of love.

I was half-asleep when Mom barged in, armed with a dupatta and dangerous energy.

Vasudha:- > “Arjun! Uth jaa! Flight hai aaj teri! Yeh bed tera nahi hai jo Mumbai le jaayega!”

I groaned into my pillow.

> “Maa, thoda dramatic kam ho jao na. Main film mein nahi jaa raha hoon — college ja raha hoon.”

Vasudha:- > “College hi toh teri film ban jaayegi! Bas script achhi likh le,” she shot back, yanking the blanket.

Welcome to my life: half lecture, half audition.

---

The Rai Family Circus

Downstairs, Dad was pacing the living room like a director on set.

He had already packed three extra camera lenses and two tripods—“for inspiration.”

When your father’s a small-time filmmaker, even breakfast comes with behind-the-scenes footage.

Sandeep rai:- > “Beta, Mumbai is where stories breathe,” he said, handing me a coffee. “Observe, feel, absorb everything. Aur haan, ek day you’ll make a film better than mine.”

Arjun:- > “Papa, low bar mat set karo na,” I teased. “Aap ki film toh OTT pe aayi bhi nahi.”

Sandeep:- > “Kyun aayegi jab tum review me hi taunt likh dete ho,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

Mom interrupted, waving a lunch box.

Vasudha:- > “Main kehti hoon na, sarcasm tumhare DNA me likha hai. Sab tumhare papa se mila hai!”

Arjun:- > “Arre nahi Maa,” I said, sipping coffee. “Thoda mujhe credit do. Main khud ka brand hoon.”

---

The Sibling Entry

My little sister Anya peeked from the stairs, smirking like she’d caught a criminal.

Anya:-> “Bhaiya Mumbai jaa rahe ho na? Main aapka room le loon?”

> “Nahi,” I said calmly. “Main college jaa raha hoon, NASA nahi. Wapas aaoonga.”

> “Dekhte hain,” she said innocently. “Mujhe tumhara Bluetooth speaker chahiye waise bhi.”

> “Mujhe tumhara bhaav nahi chahiye,” I shot back.

She rolled her eyes. “Boys are so lame.”

Arjun:- > “Girls are so predictable,” I said, flipping my hair in slow-motion.

Mom’s slipper landed right beside my foot.

> “Bas karo tum dono!”

Classic Rai family scene. If there were background violins, it’d win an award for Most Chaotic Breakfast in Delhi.

---

Arjun’s Mind — The Dream and the Fear

On the surface, I was all jokes and one-liners.

Inside, I was buzzing. Mumbai meant freedom, yes—but also pressure.

Dad’s shadow was long. Everyone expected “the filmmaker’s son” to have it easy.

Truth? I wanted to prove I could stand on my own shot — no director’s chair needed.

I looked at my packed bags: one suitcase, one camera, and an unearned sense of confidence.

> “Bas Arjun,” I told myself, “college mein apni film banani hai — flop nahi.”

My phone buzzed. Kabir, my best friend since ninth grade, had already texted:

Kabir:- > “Bro, Mumbai freshers = fresh start. Time to create history (ya at least insta stories).”

I typed back, “Main padhne jaa raha hoon, flirting nahi.”

Then added a wink emoji — because self-control is overrated.

---

Arjun’s POV

The cab horn outside sounded like judgment.

> “Arjun! Nikal!” Dad shouted from the porch. “Flight miss hui toh main tujhe editing room mein lock kar dunga.”

Arjun:- > “Wah Papa, motivation dialogue mil gaya. Next time aap Oscar speech likh dena,” I yelled back, dragging my suitcase.

Mom stood at the gate with a dabba like every Indian mom’s secret weapon.

Vasudha:- > “Yeh parathe aur pickle rakh le. Mumbai mein aise ghar ka khana nahi milta.”

Arjun:- > “Maa, main jail nahi jaa raha,” I grinned, “wahan canteen bhi hai aur Zomato bhi.”

> “Zomato tumhe pyaar nahi dega,” she said, teary-eyed.

> “Par discount toh de dega,” I winked.

Dad burst out laughing. Mom tried not to smile but failed.

That’s our love language—poking fun until someone forgets they’re emotional.

---

The Airport Chronicles

Delhi airport was a movie set—people rushing, announcements playing like background music.

I wheeled my bag toward check-in when I heard a familiar voice.

Kabir Sharma, my partner in crime and bad decisions, came running, bag half-open, headphones dangling.

Kabir:- > “Bhai! Tu soch raha tha main tujhe akela bhej dunga?”

> “Tera ticket kaise mila?” I asked.

Kabir:- > “Contacts, bro. Airline wali meri mausi ki padosan hai.”

Arjun:- > “Tu kamal ka network rakhta hai. Wi-Fi bhi sharma jaaye.”

He slung his arm around my shoulder.

Kabir:-> “Mumbai mein dono milke college toh crazy kar denge denge.”

> “Ya principal ko crazy kar denge,” I said.

Kabir:- > “Same thing, bro!”

We both cracked up so loud that an auntie turned and glared. Kabir bowed.

> “Sorry aunty, hum freshers hain, mann naya hai.”

---

In-Flight Philosophy Once seated, Kabir slept instantly—like a baby with zero ambition.

I plugged in earphones and stared out the window. Clouds looked like cotton candy and dreams.

For a moment, sarcasm took a backseat. I thought about Dad’s words.

Sandeep:- > “Observe, feel, absorb.”

Fine, Papa. Challenge accepted. I’ll absorb Mumbai like a sponge soaked in filmy dialogues.

A flight attendant paused by our row. “Tea or coffee, sir?”

> “Coffee,” I said. “Black. Bitter. Like my fate after assignments start.”

She chuckled. “First year?”

Arjun:- > “How did you guess?”

> “You still sound hopeful.”

Ouch. Truth served with a smile.

---

Landing and First Look at Mumbai

When the plane descended over the Arabian Sea, the city shimmered below like a million tiny ambitions flickering.

Kabir stretched, yawning.

> “Bro, ready for fame, fun and filmy girls?”

> “Main sirf padhai karneaaya hoon,” I said, deadpan.

Kabir:- > “Aur main Shahrukh Khan ka nephew hoon.”

We both laughed again. Typical.

Outside the airport, humidity slapped me like an over-enthusiastic extra.

The city smelled of rain, sweat, and stories waiting to happen.

> “Mumbai,” I murmured. “Let’s see who writes the better script —you or me.”

Somewhere across town, a girl with a coffee habit and an attitude problem was probably thinking the same thing.

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