new beginnings

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.

---

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 😉

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