चिपक-चिपक के चलती हैं कभी-कभी दो राहें

जुड़े-जुड़े कुछ ऐसे कि लगा हो जैसे gum

Double, double होती थीं जो कभी-कभी तक़लीफ़ें

हाँ, किसी के संग में चलने से हुई half से कम

हो, तेरा-मेरा, मेरा-तेरा

तेरा-मेरा, मेरा-तेरा क़िस्सा अतरंगी

कभी-कभी चलती है

कभी-कभी रुकती कहानी बेढंगी

कश्मीर मैं, तू कन्याकुमारी

North, South की कट गई देखो दूरी ही सारी

कश्मीर तू, मैं कन्याकुमारी

50-50 हर situation में हिस्सेदारी, hey-hey

___________________________________________

Maya’s POV

The next morning, St Xavier’s campus was buzzing like a beehive that had overdosed on espresso. Posters for the inter-department project hung everywhere:

“Create something that defines youth & culture.”

I sipped my filter coffee and muttered, “Perfect. Matlab ab professors hamse bhi inspiration expect kar rahe hain.”

Rhea walked beside me, swinging her tote bag like life was a music video. “You say that, but you’re totally excited.”

> “Excited nahi, terrified. Last time maine ‘creative project’ suna tha, mere partner ne editing ke chakkar mein meri poori story climax se pehle hi cut kar di thi.”

“Then let’s manifest good luck,” Rhea said, closing her eyes dramatically.

“Universe, give us partners who are cute and cooperative!”

Maya:- > “Universe, ignore her,” I added. “Just give me one who knows spell-check.”

As we reached the quad, I spotted a familiar profile at the coffee stall—messy hair, confident grin, holding two cups.

> “Of course,” I sighed. “Caffeine criminal strikes again.”

Rhea followed my gaze. “That’s Arjun Rai? He’s in your writing course, right?”

Maya:- > “Unfortunately, yes. The universe clearly uses bad Wi-Fi; it keeps reconnecting me to the wrong person.”

Across the courtyard, Arjun laughed at something Kabir said. He looked effortlessly chill—the kind of guy who’d call being late ‘a creative choice.’

Rhea nudged me. “You know, he’s cute.”

> “So are volcanoes. Both ruin outfits.”

---

Arjun’s POV

Kabir and I were perched on the low wall outside the cafeteria, half awake, half pretending to be intellectuals.

> “Bhai,” Kabir said between bites of vada pav, “today is judgement day. Project partners reveal.”

> “Hmm,” I mumbled, scrolling my phone.

“Main bas itna chahta hoon ke mujhe koi serious writer na mil jaaye. Mujhe stress allergy hai.”

> “Aur agar mil gayi toh?”

> “Toh main likh dunga—‘based on a true tragedy.’”

Kabir snorted coffee through his nose. Then his eyes drifted toward a pair of girls crossing the lawn.

> “Woh right side wali dekh. Red kurti … cute na?”

> “Hmm.” I followed his gaze. Then realized who the other girl was. “Aur left side wali … oh no.”

> “Kya?”

Arjun:- > “Coffee Girl.”

Kabir’s grin widened. “Perfect! Universe loves sequels.”

Arjun:- > “Nahi bhai. Universe mujhe roast karne mein maza le raha hai.”

Maya glanced our way for half a second, then looked away with that deliberate I-didn’t-see-you-but-I-saw-you look.

I took a sip of coffee. “Truce my foot,” I muttered.

Maya’s POV

In the main hall, Professor Desai tapped the mic. “Good morning, everyone! Today we announce your inter-department creative partners. Remember, each pair must produce an original short film or performance piece by semester’s end.”

The crowd buzzed—phones ready, hearts ready, maybe egos ready too.

Rhea squeezed my hand. “Manifest cute and cooperative, manifest cute and cooperative.”

Desai began reading names. “Rhea Khurana — Kabir Mehta.”

Rhea squealed. “Oh my god, who?”

From across the aisle, Kabir shot up, grinning. “That’s me! Destiny delivered.”

Everyone laughed; Rhea blushed crimson.

Then Desai continued, “Maya Patel — Arjun Rai.”

The universe smirked.

Maya:- > “Nahi nahi nahi nahi,” I whispered, staring at the list as if sheer denial could rearrange it.

Rhea leaned over, whisper-shouting, “Plot twist!”

> “Plot twist? Ye toh nightmare remix hai!”

Across the room, Arjun gave me a slow, dramatic bow.

Arjun:- > “Milke khushi hui, partner.”

Maya:- > “Khushi tumhari hogi. Mujhe toh acid reflux ho raha hai,” I muttered.

The class erupted in laughter. Professor Desai smiled. “Ah, seems like you two already have chemistry.”

> “Sir, that’s caffeine reaction, not chemistry,” I said.

> “Students, St. Xavier’s isn’t just an institution,” he began, voice echoing. “It’s a family.”

I whispered to Rhea,

Maya:- > “Great, another family. I barely survive mine.”

She snorted, earning us a death-glare from the teacher’s assistant.

The auditorium buzzed like an exam hall after a surprise question paper.

> “This project,” he continued, “will decide 40 percent of your grade and will be presented at the annual fest.”

I sat straighter. Forty percent?

Okay fine, God, maybe I’ll actually try not to hate my partner.

Arjun’s POV

Destiny clearly binge-watches comedies.

Arjun:- > “Maya Patel?” I said under my breath. “Of all the people…”

Kabir nudged me.

Kabir:- > “Bro, isn’t she the coffee-girl?”

Arjun:- > “Coffee-girl?” I hissed. “More like caffeine-terrorist.”

He grinned. “Perfect partner material then.”

Dr. Mehta droned on about deadlines, but I was stuck replaying her expression — the way her eyes flashed like she was ready to sue me for emotional damages.

---

Maya’s POV

After the announcements, groups formed in the courtyard.

I spotted him leaning casually against a pillar, talking to Kabir like he owned the place.

Of course he did. People like him always do.

I marched over.

Maya:- > “Arjun Rai?”

He turned, smiling.

Arjun:- > “Ah, Miss Newton. Careful, no liquids around this time?”

Maya:- > “Wow, tumhara memory power strong hai. Tumhare marks bhi utne hi high hain kya?”

Arjun:- > “Nahi, main marks se nahi, charm se pass hota hoon.”

Maya:- > “Toh phir fail hone ke liye ready ho jao.”

He chuckled.

Arjun:- > “Acha sun na, let’s be professional. Project ke liye ideas discuss karte hain.”

Maya:- > “Sure. Mera idea simple hai — tum kam bolo.”

Arjun:- > “Impossible. Main bolta hoon toh dialogues likhe jaate hain.”

I folded my arms.

Maya:- > “Arrogant much?”

Arjun:- > “Confident much,” he shot back.

Rhea whispered from behind, “Oh my God, tum dono ek hi frame mein ho toh full on Karan Johar vibes aa rahe hain.”

I glared at her.

> “Rhea, please. Mujhe romantic BGM nahi chahiye.”

---

Arjun’s POV

We were supposed to brainstorm ideas in the media lab, but it turned into a roast battle.

> “Let’s do a short film about ambition,” she said.

Arjun:- > “Yawn,” I said. “Everyone does ambition. Let’s do sarcasm.”

Maya:- > “You mean autobiography?”

Arjun:-> “Touché,” I admitted. “Okay fine — how about love interrupted by sarcasm?”

She stared at me like I’d stolen her diary.

Maya:- > “Wait what?”

Arjun:- > “I’m serious. Imagine two people who can’t confess because they roast each other for sport.”

Maya:- > “Sounds stupid.”

Arjun:- > “Sounds familiar.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

For the first time, there was silence between us. Not the awkward kind — the charged kind, the kind that smells like a plot twist.

Then she broke it.

Maya:- > “Fine, we’ll think about it. But final say mera hoga.”

Arjun:-> “We’ll see, partner.”

---

Maya’s POV

We walked out of the media lab, both pretending to ignore the weird static hanging in the air.

Rhea caught up with me.

> “So, how’s your partner?”

Maya:- > “Like a mosquito. Annoying but impossible to ignore.”

Rhea:- > “And kinda cute?”

Maya:- > “Uff, shut up Rhea!”

Still, as I watched him walk away, hands in pockets, whistling some filmi tune, I couldn’t help but smile — the kind you hide behind sarcasm.

Maybe Mumbai had more drama planned than I signed up for.

---

Maya’s POV

Hostel, 4 p.m.

My kurti was soaking in detergent like it had fought a war. Honestly, it had.

Rhea lounged on the top bunk scrolling through reels. “Still angry?”

Maya:- > “Main angry nahi hoon,” I said, typing furiously on my laptop.

“Main sirf ek sarcastic rant likh rahi hoon jiska title hai ‘Coffee, Crime and Clueless Boys’.”

She giggled. “You should post that; it’ll go viral.”

Maya:- > “Haan, aur phir wo Arjun ya jo bhi uska naam tha, mujhe copyright notice bhej dega for using his face.”

I opened my draft folder. There it was — a half-written scene about two characters who hate each other’s guts but still end up talking at 2 a.m.

I stared at it for a long minute.

No. Absolutely not.

I slammed the laptop shut.

> “Maya Patel, tu yahan film likhne aayi hai, film jeene nahi,” I muttered.

Rhea peeked down. “You sure you’re not a little into him?”

Maya:- > “Please. Main us type ki nahi hoon jo coffee ke stain ko destiny samjhe.”

Yet, when I went to hang my washed kurti on the balcony, I caught myself laughing at the memory of his expression when he said ‘Limited Edition Latte Kurti.’

Annoying.

Infuriating.

Kind of… funny.

---

Arjun’s POV

Boys’ Hostel, 5 p.m.

Kabir was lying on his bed, scrolling through college group chats and already spamming memes.

Kabir:- > “Bhai, ye dekho!” he said, showing me a reel: ‘When you spill coffee on your crush on Day 1’.

Arjun:- > “She’s not my crush,” I replied automatically.

Kabir:- > “Then kyun itna defensive tone aa gaya, Mr. Caffeine Criminal?”

I threw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

The truth? I couldn’t get her face out of my head — the way she’d glared, then accidentally smiled.

There was something magnetic about her confidence. Most people either laugh at my sarcasm or get offended. She fought back.

I pulled out my notebook — the one where I jot random dialogue ideas.

On a blank page, I scribbled:

> “What if two people who can’t stand each other end up writing the same story?”

Kabir leaned over. “Bro, ye kya likh raha hai? Romantic line?”

Arjun:- > “Nahi re. Bas character study.”

Kabir:- > “Character study ya girl study?”

Arjun:- > “Chup kar, Kabir!”

He laughed so hard he almost fell off the bed.

---

Maya’s POV

The Xavier’s café at 6 p.m. looked like every college student’s therapy centre—cheap coffee, free Wi-Fi, and background noise loud enough to drown guilt.

I sat near the window, laptop open, typing “Project Draft 1” and sipping something that tasted like hope and burnt beans.

Arjun texted:

> “Running late. Mumbai traffic decided to test my patience aur mere brakes.”

I rolled my eyes. Classic Mr. Filmy.

Ten minutes later he appeared, hair slightly wind-blown, camera slung over his shoulder, wearing that grin that probably came with a warning label.

Arjun:- > “Sorry Miss Writer. Ek auto driver se philosophical debate ho gayi thi.”

Maya:- > “About what? Tu late kyun hai?”

Arjun:- > “He said ‘Life is a journey.’ Main bola ‘Haan, par meter band kar do phir.’ He did not agree.”

I couldn’t stop the snort that escaped.

Maya:- > “Tumhare paas seriously time kam aur bakwaas zyada hai.”

He grinned.

Arjun:- > “Bakwas mera creative process hai.”

---

Arjun’s POV

She sat there—hair tied in a messy bun, fingers tapping like she was typing the next Bollywood hit.

For a second, I forgot to speak. Then my brain kicked in with: Say something smart, idiot.

Arjun:- > “So… Miss Patel, what masterpiece are we creating?”

She looked up.

Maya:- > “Something real. Something about people who use sarcasm as armour.”

Arjun:- > “Oh, autobiographical again?”

Maya:- > “Tch, tumhe har baat mein joke kyun lagta hai?”

Arjun:- > “Because lifecomedy se hi toh bachi rehti hai.”

Her lips twitched despite herself. Score one for me.

---

Maya’s POV

We started throwing ideas around: ambition, heartbreak, failure.

But somehow, everything turned into banter.

> “So the girl in our story is strong-minded,” I said.

Arjun:- > “Obviously. Mere saamne aake bold ban jaayegi toh dialogue chahiye.”

Maya:- > “Aur guy?”

Arjun:- > “Witty, charming, dangerously handsome—like me.”

Maya:- > “Perfect. Usko mar dete hain first scene mein hi.”

Arjun:- > “Kya baat kar rahi ho, tragedy mat banao!”

Maya:- > “Audience ko relief milega.”

He laughed so loud the barista glared.

For the first time since arriving in Mumbai, I was… actually having fun.

This annoying boy somehow made every moment sound like a scene worth writing.

---

Arjun’s POV

We worked till the café lights dimmed.

Between plotlines and punch-lines, we discovered strange overlaps—her obsession with old songs, my addiction to 90s Hindi films, our shared hatred for soggy samosas.

When the power flickered, she pulled out her phone flashlight.

> “Look, even electricity can’t handle your dialogue load.”

> “Electricity bhi sharma gayee hogee mere charm se.”

> “Charm nahi, static charge hai.”

I couldn’t stop laughing.

For someone who claimed to dislike me, she sure liked roasting me professionally.

---

Maya’s POV

We finally packed up near 7  p.m. The campus was quieter now, distant traffic humming like background score.

> “So, Partner,” I said, “kal library mein scene structure pe kaam karte hain.”

Arjun:- > “Done. Main coffee laata hoon.”

Maya:- > “Better not spill it again.”

Arjun:- > “Promise—ab sirf dil girega.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Arjun:- > “Script mein matlab tha,” he said quickly, mock-serious.

Maya:- > “Haan haan, sure. Tumhare filmy dil ko credit mil gaya.”

He grinned, walked backward a few steps.

Arjun:- > “Goodnight Miss Sarcasm.”

Maya:- > “Goodnight Mr. Overconfidence.”

As he disappeared down the corridor, I caught myself smiling again—genuinely this time.

Maybe Mumbai wasn’t just about chasing dreams.

Maybe it was also about meeting someone who challenged your script… line by line.

---

Arjun’s POV

Back in my hostel room, Kabir was sprawled on his bed scrolling reels.

> “Kaisa tha aaj ka project date?” he asked.

Arjun:- > “Date nahi tha,” I said. “War tha.”

Kabir:- > “Aur winner?”

Arjun:- > “Undecided. Lekin dialogues mast mile.”

He smirked. “Bro, tum do log na—perfect script banoge. Ek dusre ke sarcasm mein love story chipki hai.”

Arjun:- > “Kabir, tum reels kam dekha kar.”

But after lights-out, I couldn’t stop replaying the day.

Her laugh, her sharp comebacks, that spark in her eyes when she challenged me.

I smiled into the dark.

> “Love interrupted by sarcasm,” I murmured. “Sounds like a hit already.”

---

Maya’s POV

11 p.m.

Lights-out was a joke; half the hostel was alive. Someone was playing a guitar; someone was crying about leaving their dog back home.

I sat at my desk, drying my hair, when my phone pinged — message from home.

Mom: Beta, hostel ka first day kesa tha? Koi acha banda mila?

I rolled my eyes. Typical.

Maya:- > Me: “Haan mila. Ek idiot jo meri coffee ko fashion bana gaya.”

Mom: Aww… rom-com shuru!

Maya:- > “Nahi maa, ye action thriller hai.”

I laughed quietly. Parents always smell drama before it starts.

I looked out the window again; the hostel opposite ours had lights still on. For a second, I imagined him there somewhere, writing something, probably smirking at his own jokes.

> “Maya, you’re so doomed,” I whispered.

---

Arjun’s POV

Midnight.

Kabir snored like a dying motorcycle, and I couldn’t sleep.

I opened my phone and scrolled through the new student WhatsApp groups. Profile pictures everywhere — but not hers.

Then a random number popped up in the “Scriptwriting Dept.” group: Maya P.

Her intro message:

Maya:- > “Hey everyone, excited to start! If you spill coffee on me, I will end you politely.”

I laughed out loud.

Arjun:- > “Mujhse zyada filmy ye nikli.”

I typed and erased a dozen replies — ‘Welcome to the caffeine club,’ ‘Sorry again,’ ‘That line deserves an Oscar.’

Finally, I settled for nothing. I just smiled and shut the phone.

Tomorrow, I thought, I’ll apologize properly.

Or maybe just tease her again.

Yeah… definitely tease.

---

Maya’s POV

Morning, 6 a.m.

Mumbai smelled of filter coffee and monsoon dust. I got ready early — maybe to prove to myself that the day wouldn’t start with him again.

But as I walked toward the cafeteria, I saw a familiar silhouette at the vending machi

ne — same messy hair, same easy grin, two cups of coffee in hand.

He noticed me, raised a cup, and said,

> “Truce? No spills this time.”

I paused. Then smirked.

> “Depends. Is that decaf? Because I’m done with high-risk caffeine.”

He laughed, that full-bodied laugh again, echoing across the corridor.

And just like that — sarcasm interrupted my peace… again.

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