Part 1: Leaving Mumbai
Cardboard boxes lined the hallway like sleepy soldiers.
Each one taped shut, labelled in black marker — “Kitchen,” “Books,” “Clothes,” “Misc.”
There was even one that simply said “Nisha’s Stuff”, because no one really knew how to categorize the random memories she’d stuffed inside.
Nisha sat cross-legged on the floor of her almost-empty bedroom, staring at the pale rectangle on the wall where her photo frame used to hang.
It looked strange now.
Everything did.
The fan creaked above her, slower than usual. Or maybe she was just noticing the sound for the first time in years.
“Last box?” her father asked, peeking into the room with a roll of brown tape in one hand and a half-eaten banana in the other.
She nodded, though technically there were still a few things scattered around. A pair of mismatched socks under the bed. A diary she wasn’t sure she wanted to carry. A sticker on the cupboard door that said "Dream big or go home."
It felt like the walls were saying goodbye to her too.
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Mumbai had always been noisy.
Their flat was on the fourth floor, right above a samosa shop that opened at 6 a.m. sharp every morning and played old Bollywood songs till lunch.
On weekends, the alley below turned into a cricket pitch. Kids shouting “Howzzat!” so loud, Nisha never needed an alarm.
And now, just like that, it was over.
The movers came at noon. Two men with tired eyes and quick arms began lifting her life piece by piece. The bookshelf. The mattress. Her desk with the scratched corner.
She watched silently as her world was reduced to taped cardboard and bubble wrap.
Her mom walked in, carrying a polythene bag full of snacks. “We’ll eat once we reach Pune,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t look so mopey. New beginnings are good for the soul.”
Nisha didn’t reply.
She just nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.
Her parents were excited — her mom had already found a nearby NGO to work with in Pune, and her dad was thrilled about working from a new balcony.
They were moving for “a better pace of life,” as they put it.
Nisha never complained out loud. She understood. It wasn’t like they were uprooting her out of cruelty.
Still, her chest felt heavy.
Like something was being peeled away from inside.
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The final moment came faster than she expected.
She stood in the doorway one last time, backpack on, eyes roaming across the now echo-filled flat.
The hallway where she used to race her cousin.
The balcony where she once kept a failed herb garden.
The kitchen where her mom made her favourite kanda bhaji on rainy days.
“I’ll miss the monsoons here,” she murmured, mostly to herself.
“I’m sure Pune has rain too,” her dad chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair.
She ducked away instinctively, muttering, “Dad, I’m not twelve.”
“True. You're thirteen and a half now. A proper grown-up.”
She rolled her eyes, but smiled — the tiniest curl of her lips.
With one last deep breath, she stepped out of the house, down the old staircase with the chipped railings, and into the sunlight.
The city didn’t pause for her goodbye.
Rickshaws still honked.
A street dog barked lazily.
Someone yelled for change at the paan stall.
But inside her — something was changing.
And she wasn’t sure if it was sadness or just a weird kind of hope.
Part 1 Continued: Leaving Mumbai
Scene: The Bus Ride
The bus jerked forward with a grunt, and just like that, the journey began.
Nisha clutched her tote bag to her chest, slid her phone into airplane mode, and tried to melt into the corner of the window seat. But peace was a distant dream.
Tara had already taken off her sandals and made herself horizontal on both seats. “Didi, can I keep my legs on you? My back is hurting.”
Before Nisha could reply, Maanav — now holding a leaking juice box — climbed onto her lap like she was a cushion.
“Seriously, Maanav?” Nisha hissed, swatting him off. “You’re seven, not two!”
“I’m eight!” he snapped, dramatically. “And this is my seat too!”
Their mom was two rows ahead, apologizing to another passenger for Tara’s earlier failed attempt to climb the overhead shelf “to see the view.”
Their dad was already asleep with his headphones in. Must be nice.
Nisha pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to focus on the Mumbai skyline blurring past — neon boards, speeding rickshaws, the buzzing life she’d always known. Behind her, a toddler started crying, and Maanav joined in — not crying, just howling to mimic the baby.
Tara clapped. “Maanav sounds exactly like a dying cat!”
Nisha nearly screamed.
“This is going to be the longest ride of my life,” she muttered under her breath.
Still, something about leaving the city — that old, crowded, fast-beating heart — felt like a page being turned. The chaos around her was just noise. In her mind, it was quiet.
A kind of goodbye.
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Part 2: First Glance at the Slow Life
The bus hissed to a stop, brakes whining like it, too, was tired of the chaos within.
Tara jumped up before the wheels stopped turning. “Are we there? Is this Pune? Is this what Pune smells like?”
“It smells like sweat and samosas,” Maanav announced dramatically, stretching like a cat.
Their mom was already fussing about forgotten water bottles and asking if Nisha had her hairbrush. Their dad yawned and began unloading luggage like it was muscle memory.
But Nisha...
She didn’t move.
Feet still, heart pausing in the middle of a beat.
Her eyes wandered — not wildly, not searching — just drinking it all in.
The world outside looked slower. Not silent, but not hurried either. People walked like they had time. The sky looked... wider, somehow. The buildings less crammed, the trees more real. The roads weren’t honking symphonies. They were just roads.
And in that moment, everything inside her turned soft and still.
“Nisha! Get down, you’ll block the people behind!” her mom called.
She blinked, grabbed her bag and Tara’s doll, and stepped down.
Her feet met the ground, and suddenly… it wasn’t just a change of address.
It was a shift in something deeper.
The girl from the dazzling chaos of Mumbai had entered a world that breathed differently.
Slower. Gentler. More curious.
Something told her… things were going to change. And not just the kind of change you pack for.
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Part 2 (Continued): First Glance at the Slow Life
Her chappals hit the dusty ground, the sun gently warming her toes as she stood still, bag hanging off one shoulder, taking it all in.
“Nishu, take this bag, please—”
“Where’s Maanav now?”
“Tara, stop running—”
Voices swirled around her like background music.
And that’s when she saw him.
Just for a second.
A boy zipped past on a cycle, turning down the next lane without a care in the world.
wearing shirt, sleeves half rolled, hair slightly messy from the breeze.
Not dramatic. Not slow-motion. Just… effortless.
But something in the way he balanced the cycle with one hand, his gaze ahead, his shoulders relaxed like he owned the road—
It caught her off guard.
Something in her stomach did a flip. Not butterflies. Just… a weird flutter.
She looked back.
He was gone.
Tara tugged her kurti. “What are you looking at?”
Nisha blinked, coming back to earth. “Nothing.”
But the thought lingered like a wisp of perfume.
She didn’t even see his face properly. But something told her…
She would.
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The First Night in Pune
That evening, after a long day of settling in and organizing their new home, Nisha sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the piles of notebooks, books, and old textbooks that hadn’t yet been unpacked. The room smelled faintly of fresh paint, new curtains, and something earthy — like the cool air after a storm. Her mind wandered.
She had a whole new life to look forward to.
New school. New friends. New everything.
“Let’s try to find something to do here, okay? Not just sit around all day like we did in Mumbai,” she told herself, cracking a small smile.
But first things first: her first day at school.
Nisha had always been a planner. If there was one thing that kept her grounded in times of change, it was routine. She glanced at the clock. It was already late, but she needed to prepare herself. Tomorrow was a big day.
She slipped into her light, casual outfit—a loose top and shorts—perfect for the humid summer day. She stood in front of the mirror for a while, brushing out her long, black hair, thinking. She didn’t want to seem like she was trying too hard, but she still wanted to make a decent first impression.
As she stared at her reflection, a thought popped into her head: What if he goes to my school?
She shook her head, chuckling at herself.
No, that was ridiculous.
But still, her thoughts kept drifting back to that moment—the boy on the cycle. There was something so carefree about him. It was almost as if he didn’t even realize the world was watching.
Her heart skipped again.
You won’t see him again, she told herself firmly.
But even as she said it, she wasn’t so sure.
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The Next Morning
The next morning came quickly.
The house was already alive with the usual noise. Tara had her backpack half-packed, Maanav was yelling about missing his favorite pencil, and their parents were fussing over breakfast. Nisha pulled on her shoes and grabbed her bag, her nerves suddenly giving her that all-too-familiar buzz of excitement and anxiety.
Her first day at a new school. She hadn’t had this feeling since her childhood days in Mumbai, when every school year was an unknown. The feeling that you might not belong. The feeling of wanting to be invisible, but also hoping someone noticed.
As she walked out of the house, the familiar, earthy smell of the morning hit her, and for a brief moment, everything felt right. The air felt fresh and crisp. The streets in Pune were quieter than the chaotic roads in Mumbai, but there was a comfort to it, a slowness she wasn’t used to. A kind of peace.
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School: The First Glimpse of the Day
Nisha arrived early, hoping to scope out the school before everyone rushed in. She stood outside the school gates, fiddling with her phone, glancing around nervously. She was nervous, but she didn’t let it show. She’d gotten used to new schools by now, always a new place, always a new start.
As she glanced up, she froze.
There he was again.
The boy from yesterday.
Riding in effortlessly on his cycle, the same posture, the same calm confidence. She couldn’t help but stare, feeling her stomach twist again.
He wasn’t aware of her gaze, lost in his own world, but somehow, it felt like their paths had crossed more than once. And maybe they hadn’t even met yet, but... maybe they would.
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Yeah yeah I know this chapter was long but it is important for story introduction right, tell your options in the comment section 😁
how is the storyline?! I want it to be relatable and slow phased as the story itself suggests so if you enjoy slow life, you would love this story!! No worries there is going to be lots of romance in this as the story name suggests 😉
Arvind's point of view:
Pune was quiet that morning — like a city holding its breath. The breeze wandered lazily through the trees, and the sky above was soft, watercolored with gentle streaks of light. He pedaled through empty lanes, the creak of his cycle the only sound in rhythm with his thoughts.
Tomorrow was the start of 10th.
That thought had been sitting in his chest like a stone for days now. Not fear. Not excitement. Just… weight.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. Maybe he should’ve been more focused, more driven like his sister Meera, who was already halfway through her NEET preparations. She was older by three years — sharp-minded, always calm, and never one to forget assignments or lose sleep over late-night thoughts. Their parents called her the example.
And him?
He was trying.
Trying — that word followed him everywhere. No matter how hard he worked, fourth or fifth place was all he ever reached. Close, but never close enough. He remembered the way his parents’ voices sounded — not harsh, just tired.
"It’s not bad... but you need to work a little more."
"Meera managed to top at your age, didn't she?"
Sometimes he wondered if trying so hard was ever going to be enough.
He slowed the cycle near the curve that overlooked the old football ground. It was empty now, just dust and silence. He leaned against the handlebar and stared ahead. His fingers itched for the pencil tucked in his journal at home — the one he only used when no one was watching.
Sketching had always been his quiet thing. He liked lines. Shades. The curve of shadows on the side of a face. The swirl of a falling leaf. But it never felt important enough to speak of. Not when there were tests to crack and ranks to climb.
His thoughts wandered like that — soft, shapeless — until the sound of a bus in the distance reached his ears. He looked up lazily, watching it groan to a stop ahead. A few students got off, maybe new arrivals for school. Some kids laughed, dragging bags, others walked with sleepy eyes. He didn’t really look at them.
Just another day in the city.
Except… for the briefest second, his eyes brushed past a girl stepping down slowly from the bus. There was nothing striking — just something oddly quiet about her presence. Hair catching the breeze. Eyes on the ground. She looked like she was listening to something far away.
He blinked — and she was already part of the moving crowd.
He didn’t notice her.
Not really.
Just a blur in his line of sight. A smudge of motion in an otherwise still morning.
He adjusted his cycle grip and turned the corner.
The road ahead was long. He’d probably spend the rest of the day reviewing math chapters. The pressure of “tomorrow” would keep him from picking up the pencil again.
Because even now, even when the air was so calm —
He felt like he wasn’t doing enough.
So he kept going.
Trying.
Always trying.
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First Day Of School
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part 2: The First Day of school
The school gates came into view—same faded red, same squeaky iron latch, same group of juniors standing awkwardly near the tree.
Arvind pulled the brakes gently, the cycle slowing beneath him. His chest rose and fell with that quiet, familiar anxiety, but there was something else under it today. A current he couldn’t quite name.
He swung one leg off the cycle, feet planted on the earth, and looked up.
And there she was.
She wasn’t stepping out of a bus. She was walking alone—unhurried, calm, like the day itself bent around her pace. Her hair swayed slightly with each step, and her gaze was steady, not rushed or distracted like the others around her.
And then…
She looked at him.
Their eyes met.
Just for a moment. Maybe less.
But it was enough.
Something stirred inside him—a kind of flutter. Awkward, unfamiliar, almost uncomfortable. Like the beginning of a thought that had no words yet.
Puberty, maybe. Or something deeper. The kind of feeling that arrives unannounced and leaves you standing still while the world keeps moving.
“Arvind!”
A voice cut through the quiet. His friend’s.
He blinked, breaking the eye contact, his head turning toward the voice instinctively.
By the time he looked back—
She had already walked past.
He swallowed, unsure of what he was feeling....
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Arvind had no idea, not yet. He couldn't have known that this simple, ordinary moment — a glance, a distraction — would set off something far more extraordinary. The world has a way of pulling people into its twists and turns when they least expect it.
And for Arvind, this was just the beginning. The cycle of routine was about to shift. The question is... would he notice the change before it was too late?
But don't rush to find out. Some things are best left to unravel on their own.
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As you read the next chapter, dear reader, let yourself drift into the quiet moments that are about to unfold. Arvind’s story is just beginning, and with every turn, you'll see how things might change—slowly, yet unmistakably. Stay with him, stay with the story. After all, sometimes the most beautiful things take time to reveal themselves. 👀✨
---First Day Of School
Nisha’s first day at school began with a strange feeling tugging at her heart. Even as she walked through the school gate, her mind drifted back to the boy from the corridor. That eye contact—they hadn’t even said a word to each other, yet it lingered in her thoughts like a whisper she couldn’t ignore.
Arvind, on the other hand, sat in his class, unusually quiet. He couldn’t shake the image of the girl he locked eyes with earlier. There was something about her—something that caught his attention and didn’t let go.
Later that day, Nisha’s class teacher offered to show her around the school. As they walked through the corridors, the teacher casually mentioned, “That’s the 10th-grade section. You’re in 9th.” Arvind’s class was just nearby. As they passed, Nisha glanced inside—and there he was, sitting by the window.
Their eyes met again.
This time, it lasted a little longer, like a silent question passed between them.
He blinked, recognizing her as the new girl. His friends nudged him, whispering about how pretty she looked. “Did you see her eyes? And the way she carries herself? Confident, na?”
Arvind didn’t reply. He just looked away, feeling an odd discomfort. Why was he feeling this way? Uneasy, almost... protective?
Meanwhile, Nisha couldn’t help but wonder: Were they talking about me? Was he too? Did he even notice me? Who is he? She shook the thoughts off. Whatever. Not my business.
In class, the teacher asked Nisha to introduce herself. With her signature boldness, she stood up straight and said, “Hi, I’m Nisha. I’m new here, and no, I don’t believe in staying quiet. I speak my mind, and I’m here to learn and enjoy school.”
The girls were instantly curious. “Omg, do you like anyone here yet?” one of them asked with a mischievous grin.
“Like? As in... romantic?” Nisha raised a brow. “No, I haven’t. Don’t even understand that stuff. Too dramatic.” She smirked and brushed off their questions.
During the mid-break, Arvind and his friends were hanging out near the corridor. That’s when Arvind spotted her again—Nisha, walking alone, seemingly lost in thought. Her lips moved slightly, like she was lipsyncing to a song only she could hear.
He stared, wondering, What’s she thinking? What’s she singing?
His friends noticed immediately. “Oye oye... look at him staring again!”
Arvind snapped out of it. “No no, it’s not like that!” he said quickly and began walking away—faster now, but still stealing glances at her as their eyes met again for a second.
Nisha noticed it all—the way his friends teased him, the way he walked off without breaking eye contact. And something about it made her wonder, Am I weird? Why did he run away like that? Did I do something wrong?
Back in his classroom, Arvind’s friends wouldn’t let it go. “When we were talking to you, you kept saying ‘hmm’ and ‘hmm’ while just staring at her! Now don’t say you don’t like anything about her.”
“I don’t,” he said, lying straight-faced—but his eyes betrayed him.
The school day neared its end. Nisha sat with her chin on her hand, thinking, That’s it. I’m here to study. No distractions.
Arvind, across the building, had the same thought. Focus on studies. That’s all.
But as the final bell rang, and the students lined up by class, fate had other plans. Nisha, standing at the back of the 9th-grade girls’ line, turned her head. There he was—Arvind, lined up across with the 10th-grade boys.
Another eye contact.
This one... different. It wasn’t just a look. It felt magnetic—like something invisible pulling them closer, something neither of them understood, but both could feel.
As the lines began to move, Nisha walked with her new friend, but her heart was still in that moment. She glanced back one last time.
Arvind exited the gate, eyes scanning. He saw her again, walking with someone—but his heart whispered, Forget it. Just a coincidence. He tried to silence the chaos in his chest, mounted his cycle, and rode off.
Nisha saw him leave, her heart oddly still. She waved her friend goodbye and grabbed the hands of her younger siblings, walking home with her usual responsible energy. But somewhere inside her, she hoped he’d notice.
Traffic piled up on the highway. Arvind zigzagged through it on his cycle. Nisha walked calmly with her siblings, managing to pass through faster on foot. She noticed him but wasn’t sure if he saw her.
Was that him again? Does he even notice me?
He wondered the same.
Back home, they both changed into casual clothes. Nisha, who usually hated Mumbai balconies and their view of honking traffic and dust, stepped outside today. Something felt different.
Across from her colony, in the facing building’s balcony, sat Arvind—relaxed, peaceful, sketchbook in hand, lost in lines and shades.
She froze.
He looked up.
They made eye contact.
Again.
The world stood still.
Neither smiled. Neither waved. But in that quiet moment, something passed between them. Something silent... but unmistakable.
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Author's Note:
Thank you for reading this chapter! We’ve just begun to witness the subtle sparks of something special between Nisha and Arvind, and I hope you’re enjoying their journey so far. This chapter is all about those first, unspoken connections—the kind that leave you wondering, "What does it mean?" I wanted to capture those moments of curiosity and the silent yet powerful pull that can form between two people.
Stay tuned for more as their paths continue to cross in unexpected ways. I’d love to hear your thoughts and feelings about their growing bond. What do you think is going through their minds? Feel free to leave a comment or share your thoughts with me. Until next time!
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Thanks for reading ❤️
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