description
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Miraya lands the envied opportunity to do a feature cover for the popular magazine MIRROR. When she realises the celebrity she has to work with is the one who ruined what could've been the best years of her life, things don't seem very enviable.

Shray Nivas is the hot, rising youth star of South India. His irresistable charm isn't only for the cameras and Miraya knows that first-hand. Having more than ten years of history between them, it becomes hard to stick to the itinerary when they are forced to work together.

Set in Southern India, watch Miraya and Shray's lives take an unexpected turn, bringing them together in a troublesome fake-dating arrangement and making them the talk of the town with eye-opening truths and secrets from the past to keep them entertained.

characters
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M I R A Y A

S H R A Y

playlist
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put a little love on me | niall horan

run into you | clara mae

the 1 | taylor swift

fix you | coldplay

what if i love you | gaitlin

tightrope | zayn

author's note
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Hello! This project of mine has been in the planning process for quite a while so I decided it was time I put it in words. Talk of the Town is set in India, Chennai to be specific. This means that there will be references to (my favourite) cafés, places, food, culture and cinema in the city. But it also means that the typical south-Indian attitude, the prejudices, the double standards and the stereotypes also tag along.

There is going to be a lot of drama, scandals, school-day memories, first crushes and romances. It contains all of my favorite tropes in romance - enemies-to-lovers, fake-dating and bestfriends-to-lovers. This one is going to be really fun, trust me.

Important: The characters in this story, especially Miraya, is flawed. I've written her as real as possible and that might make it frustrating for readers but this story is exactly that -— it's messy, it's angsty, it's chaotic. You can comment your perspective about the characters and their actions but please don't hate on them. Some readers might relate or identify with the character so please restrain from offending anyone, even unintentionally. thank you.

So add this baby to your libraries and your reading lists so that you know when the updates start (because I myself don't know when it will). Thank you so much!

cara xx

reach me through
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instagram and twitter: caramelstreet_

spotify: caragalene

pinterest: caramelstreet (for more aesthetics and possible spoilers)

wattpad: caramelstreet

PART 1

assumptions

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matilda, you talk of the pain

like it's alright, but i know that you feel

like a piece of you's dead inside.

— harry styles.

how's your heart after breaking mine?

— taylor swift.

it sucks when the only person

who can make you feel better

is also the reason

why you always cry.

— anonymous.

It has been three weeks since MIRROR's new office in Chennai was ribbon-cut and grandly opened by the Chief Editor's son (The Chief Editor couldn't come because of food poisoning) but there isn't a coffee machine in the office yet. Miraya refuses to understand the reasons behind the delay in setting up one. She had even gone to the extremes of aligning benches and making a welcoming space for the machine, but there has been no effort to acquire one. Sure, the office is fancy and minimalistic, outlooking the disgusting Chennai traffic (thankfully noise-cancelled) but what is an office without a smart coffee machine tempting gullible human minds to take a break every half-hour to sip free delicious coffee?

Miraya places the large takeaway cup of coffee on her desk, and Fiya, after looking at it, sighs visibly.

"Watch this lose all its warmth before I finish half of it," Miraya says, seating herself with contempt. Don't get her wrong. She loves her job, she loves her office and she loves the people working in it but she simply cannot function enough to love them if there's no caffeine in her.

"The pain," Fiya says.

"Good for you, non-coffee drinking alien. You got your Alphabet juice?"

"Hey! Don't insult my ABC juice. It gives me life." Fiya is in a white blouse tucked into a lilac pleated skirt that reaches her ankle. Her hair is French-braided, and her eyes are lined with extra kohl. Miraya realises that she is going out on a date with Ashraf tonight. Good for him, she thinks.

Miraya powers on her computer and sinks back into her seat. She looks around and discovers that the chief editor's room and the art director's office are empty. "Is there a meeting going on?"

"Oh, yes. All the department heads rushed into the cabin room at the same time. Must be a last minute story that the Delhi unit has conveniently pushed to us," Fiya says, typing on her computer.

"When do you think we will write our south-Indian cover story? All we've been assigned is the Life Essence column and the piece about Rising music trends. I mean, the music one is fun, but I can't wait to interact with celebrities I grew up with and write a posh article about our conversation. I have so many ideas to make it funny and catchy—"

"What if this meeting is about a cover story?"

"No way. You know that we book celebrities for the cover way before, right? If it was someone from the South, they surely would have informed us about it."

Fiya pouts. "This is so sad. When will we get to do the cool stuff? And who is on the cover for the next month's issue anyway? I swear if it's Deepika Padukone again —"

Miraya bursts out laughing. "I am sure it's not. What is your problem with Deepika?"

"I mean, I love her. But she is literally on every magazine cover these days. I want someone new. Don't you think so?"

It is true. People need to read about fresh faces and the unheard voices. The undiscovered need the spotlight more.

"It's not up to us anyway. Have you finished your piece for the website? Sam has been nagging me about it. He needs to upload it on Thursday."

Fiya groans and goes back to typing, uninterest painted on her face . "I'll send it to you by today."

Miraya smiles and picks up where she left off last evening. But her mind wanders off to the possibility of actually getting to do a cover story. If they are given the opportunity, Miraya knows for a fact that she would be the obvious choice to do the piece because she had the most experience in the field. She has worked for a popular fashion magazine in Germany for two years and one year in MIRROR's main quarters. On top of that, she has recently been promoted as editor. The staff writers are not experienced enough to handle such a big section.

Miraya smiles to herself and sips her coffee.

The cabin room's doors swing open, and the department heads filter out one by one, each carrying a binder or a notebook or a coffee cup in their hand. Miraya and Fiya crane their necks to see what the buzz is about and find the nervous smile on Mrs Nandhini's face to be confusing. She is the chief editor and their head.

"Miraya. My office, please," she says, as she walks past her. Miraya scrambles off her chair, almost knocking her coffee. She hurries to Mrs Nandhini's door but comes back to grab a notebook and a pen before asking permission to enter.

"Miraya," Mrs Nandhini says, sorting the huge black binders on her table. "Take a seat. We have big news."

A ball of undefined emotions rolls inside her stomach. She hates suspense. As horrifying as it sounds, she is someone who googles a movie's spoilers and ending during the intermission of the movie if the suspense is really thick. It doesn't sit well with her stomach.

"I'll be candid with you and tell you what is going on in the office right now. Only then, we can pull this off because it's huge."

All the groundwork of disclaimers from Mrs Nandhini only makes things worse for her.

"So, this month's cover model was supposed to be Aayush Sharma. He was booked a month ago but apparently, he pulled out of it. So, the main quarters have cleverly given the job to us to find a replacement."

Miraya's jaw hung open. She blubbers. "But– but it's not easy. How can we do that in such short notice?"

Mrs Nandhini sighs and leans back into her seat. "I know. But there's no point complaining about it. This is our first cover story that we are in charge of. We can't complain no matter how unfair it may seem. Do you know how the people in the main quarters speak of us?"

Miraya looks down. She hates this. This can't be happening.

"Don't look so down. We have already booked a celebrity. We also think he can bring us good or more than average sales. Luckily we have been given enough resources and a reasonable budget. And good thing that Grace wastes her time making hypothetical mood boards for cover shoots. The art team has some pretty good ideas. We've asked for Eliza as the photographer. The thing is, you don't have to worry about the photoshoot. It'll be taken care of. What I wanted to talk about was whether you are willing to do the cover story?"

She blinks. Did her daydream just become true– holy divine shit. This is huge.

"Really? Are you serious?" Miraya asks, just in case she was hearing her own thoughts.

"You were the obvious choice, Miraya. Everyone wanted you to do it. We've seen your work and we know how talented you are," Mrs Nandhini says, smiling at her surprise."Are you willing to do it?"

"Of course. No doubt."

Her heart beats fast. She tries so hard to keep the excitement neatly tucked in.

"But that isn't the only news."

Miraya glances up.

"Director Shankar has his new movie releasing in the first week of October. He is throwing a grand party next week to celebrate and many popular south-Indian stars are expected to attend. Everyone knows how lavish his parties are. The stars are going to come dressed equally well. That's where we come in."

Her eyes go wide. "Don't tell me..."

"Yes. We have press tickets to the event. There are going to be a lot of actors and musicians who we haven't seen in a while popping in at the party and it's going to be fabulous content for the magazine. Don't you think so?"

The party is a much more attractive opportunity than the feature. It is loud, crazy and nerve-wracking unlike the quiet, couch-to-couch assignment she has been given. Miraya loves extravagant parties, mostly because she hasn't been to many. But with the stories she's been told, she knows it's her kind of place.

Suddenly, all the praises Mrs Nandhini showered her with turns invalid and she wants to swap assignments.

"So..." she begins but doesn't know what to say.

"Shreya and Varun are covering this story. They make a good team, no? Their collaborative piece about Shah Rukh Khan's home was stunning."

When Miraya hears the names, she feels another stinging slap on her face. She has always wanted to work with Varun. His photography skills are fantastic. It would have been so much better if she was given this assignment instead. Miraya understands it is greedy of her to want more than what she has been given but she can't help but feel disappointed. It feels like winning first place but receiving the trophy for second place.

She sinks back in her seat, hoping Mrs Nandhini doesn't notice the enthusiasm slowly vacating her body. She doesn't like the feeling. Miraya tries to find more reasons to bring back the initial excitement she had. She makes a list in her head.

One, the cover story is one of the most important segments of an issue. It can bring great exposure.

Two, Eliza is the photographer for the cover shoot. She is a petite, young photographer who was an intern but soon became a part of the office in Delhi. She is extremely talented and has an obsession with jewellery made out of sea shells and sea stones. Miraya has already worked with her and they gel well together. So, that's comforting.

Three, it will give her the chance to implement her ideas.

Four, a nice personal talk with a celebrity isn't so bad. Something always tends to go wrong at parties, right? Maybe it's a good thing she has been assigned this piece instead.

"Okay. When should I start?" she asks, deciding the pros weighed more than the cons.

"I'll ask Giri to give you the details once he has sorted out the schedule. I assume it should be around next week or so. We'll be busy with the party as well. There's the artwork for the Monsoon essentials column pending too. It's going to be really tight this month. We are going to be wishing the Delhi unit did all the work on their own after this!"

Mrs Nandhini tries to laugh out the stress that is looming in the corner, waiting to pounce on her.

Miraya plays along and smiles. She stands up to leave. "Thank you, Ma'am."

She is next to the door when she frowns, realising she has missed an important detail. "Who is the celebrity we booked? It surely can't be a top actor. Who am I working with?"

Mrs Nandhini's laugh booms through the room when she realises that she'd forgotten to tell her the core detail of the assignment. "My mind is all over the place. I am so sorry, Miraya," she says, recovering. "I can't believe I forgot to say that."

"This month's cover story will feature the rising young star of the south," Mrs Nandhini introduces. One person strikes Miraya's mind when she hears those words.

Anyone but him, she prays. If it's him, then this assignment would no longer be the one she has been looking forward to. Instead, it would become the chore she has been hoping to avoid all her life. No amount of pros could ever be enough to rule out the disadvantage of his presence. Please. Not him. Not him. Not him—

"Shray Nivas."

Miraya feels her soul leave her body.

"Such a handsome face, no? I wonder where..." Everything else falls deaf to her ears.

Hearing the one name she despises the most uttered straight to her face feels like someone punctured her lungs with a million needles. The name, the two-word abomination, lingers like an echo.

Shray Nivas. Shray Nivas. Shray Nivas.

It prints his infuriatingly perfect face on her mind. She can't shake the image away or the fact that it is him who she'll be interviewing out of all the people in this world.

It simply had to be him.

The diabolic asshole who ruined her life.

The one person she swore she'll steer clear of.

"I thought you were the one advocating more spotlight for undiscovered and rising stars. Now, why do you suggest booking a model instead?" Mrs Nandhini says.

Miraya squeezes her eyes close and opens them again, her brown eyes bright like the forced smile on her face. "Yes, but don't we usually book models if a celebrity pulls out? Maybe we can do...um, Shray Nivas, in the next issue, with better planning and organisation? We can't do him justice in such a short time." His name makes her tongue feel so weird that she wants to spit the organ out. Away from her.

She won't be given the privilege of doing the cover story of the issue twice in a row. If she manages to put him next instead of quitting the assignment altogether, everything would go back to being great. It was a clever idea.

"No."

"Ma'am —"

"I don't understand what you are trying to say, Miraya. Are you suggesting that we might not be equipped enough to pull off this? You should know that we have carefully considered our options and come to the conclusion. Shray has a growing fanbase, especially women. If my niece gets the chance, she'll buy all the copies herself, stick his pictures in her room — if there's any space left, that is — and memorise his interview. There are so many girls like her. Shray is very relevant right now. We should be grateful that he has agreed to do it despite his busy schedule. We are in no position to pick. Beggars can't be choosers, Miraya. "

She bites her lip. "Ma'am, please consider —"

"No, Miraya. You don't understand. We have already reached out to his team regarding it and they are interested as much as we are, especially for the promotion he can get for his upcoming film. Though, they mentioned some time and venue adjustments because of his tight schedule for the month but we think we can accommodate it," Mrs Nandhini says, breaking her heart with every word.

She continues the assault. "I am afraid your suggestions and ideas are fruitless right now, Miraya. It's only a matter of whether you will take it up or not. If you don't want to, I can ask Shree to do it. With a little guidance, she will be able to —"

"NO." Miraya blurts. She can tolerate it if the assignment went to someone else but if it's Shree, then absolutely not.

Shree is like an annoying fruit fly that hovers even if you swat it away.

If an opportunity is given to her instead of Miraya, Shree will make up a story that she will repeat ten thousand times a day. The story will include a woman who is offered an opportunity and is shocked when she receives it (Played by Shree). But instead of taking it like a 'greedy' woman, she will insist it be given to the 'deserving' one (Played by Miraya). Eventually, under high persuasion, the 'greedy' woman ends up taking the opportunity.

Note of paramount importance: It isn't out of greed but out of pressure that she accepts it; She will give it all away in a blink.

As if.

The amount of bullshit in the story manages to impress Miraya every single time. She shudders when she pictures listening to Shree transform her urge to show off into fake guilt and apology.

No.

She wouldn't let herself be upstaged by that fruit fly. She would swat it away before it got the chance to fly.

"I'll take the assignment. It would be a pleasure," Miraya says, smiling through her teeth. Mrs Nandhini beams, a glimpse of relief in her eyes. God, why do I hate so many people in my life? They just have to be annoying, haven't they? she thinks.

"Is there anything else, Ma'am?"

"You can take Fiya with you if you need assistance. It might be a good experience for her. Update me on the progress. You can leave now," Mrs Nandhini says. Miraya turns, wanting to pull her hair out for landing in such a situation. How does she keep attracting trouble? Where does all the bad luck keep coming from? "And Miraya?

She stops at the door.

"Good luck."

Oh, she will be needing lots of that.

That and the divine power of tolerating the upcoming torturous days with the calmness of a saint.

"I heard we are doing the cover story. You got it, didn't you?" Fiya stands just outside the door and whisper-yells at her as soon as she steps out. Miraya forces all the enthusiasm she could find in her body and hugs her with a fake grin. "I told you. I told you that you would get it. So, am I coming with you?" she asks.

"Wasn't that obvious?"

Fiya flings her arm around Miraya and gushes about how it is going to be her first time meeting a celebrity and how she is going to post in on her social media and flaunt the perks of her job. She doesn't notice that Miraya is oddly still in her arms or that she is barely holding her disappointment in.

"The social media team is saying that this month's cover model is Shray Nivas. Is it true?"

Miraya winces. That damn name.

"You said you'd be there," Shray said, his fingers focused on removing his socks but his eyes on her. The nurse had left early that day, so the PE teachers asked Shray to treat his wounds in the Nurse's room. He had dragged Miraya with him.

"I know. But they scheduled the selections for my throwball match at the same time as your game. I tried to come but since I am the team captain I couldn't," Miraya said, kneeling in front of him and grimacing at the swelling on his ankle. "It looks really bad."

"I would've won if you were there."

Miraya rolled her eyes. "No, you wouldn't have. You spent all your time annoying me instead of practising. It's all your fault."

"I knew I was going to lose from the moment I realised you weren't going to make it," Shray said, stretching his leg out towards her.

"Stop being stupid," Miraya said, dabbing rubbing alcohol on the bloody scrape on his knee.

"Just think about it. I've won every match that you've come to. I've lost the two that you didn't. You carry my luck, Miranda. Whether you like it or not." Shray's hair dripped with the water he had dumped on his head after the game. When he said things like that with his eyes on her, she felt her breath catch.

Miraya blew on his wound. "The day you call me by my actual name is when I'll consider coming to your game."

Shray leaned back and propped his body weight on his palms. "I'd rather lose my game than do that, Miranda."

She threw the cotton swab at him, shaking her head. "You're insufferable."

As promised, Shray never stopped calling her Miranda — the name of an orange-flavoured soft drink — and Miraya, contrary to what she said, had never skipped a game of his after that.

In the end, he got what he wanted. She didn't mind losing to him.

"Miraya?"

"Huh?"

Fiya frowned at her but repeated her question. "I asked if it's true? Are we meeting Sh—"

"Yes."

"You know that I have a huge crush on him, right? Oh my god, this is the best news. What if I meet him and we just click?" Fiya asks and the first thing her mind comes up with is the fact that Fiya is not Shray's type. He would never go for her. Not that Fiya isn't beautiful or funny but there's no chance they would hit it off romantically. "Or what if we become friends? Who knows, right? Anyway, I am going shopping today."

"I thought you had a date with Ashraf?"

Her palm flies to her forehead. "Shit. I forgot about him completely."

Miraya rolls her eyes and walks past her to her seat. She thinks about what it might feel like to meet Shray again. Can she stare at his eyes with the same confidence she had years ago? Her biggest fear now is meeting him and reliving her traumatic past that she had left with him when she had let him go. She can't afford to break down in front of him. He can't know how much the thought of him still affects her.

Should she go back and quit the assignment and let Shree take it? The worst that she will have to bear is a few bruises on her ego and a fake apology from Shree. Right?

"You know what?" Fiya circles her seat and leans forward. "Mr Hari said they'd definitely buy a coffee machine if this month's issue is a success. We are covering most of it this time so if it sells more than average, we could even get a refrigerator."

"Really?"

"It's confirmed news. So, Miraya, it's our job to make Shray look like the delicious and charming man he appears to be so that people go crazy after this issue. If we do that, that coffee machine is ours." That won't be a problem, Miraya thinks. That asshole is charming even if he didn't try.

She glances at her coffee and curls her fingers around the cup. It has lost all its warmth. It sits cold on her table.

Miraya sighs and closes her eyes, massaging her forehead with her index fingers. She is supposed to be enjoying this assignment and loving the process. And here she is, hesitating to even begin it.

The question running in her mind is: Is this assignment and the coffee machine worth all the heartache she is going to inflict on herself? Is she strong enough to survive him?

"What are you thinking, Miraya? You're awfully distracted. Is something wrong?" Fiya inquires.

Miraya quickly composes herself. "No. Not at all." She swallows the less than warm but not cold coffee like it's cough syrup, barely letting it linger on her tongue. Once she's done, she crushes the cup and throws it away.

Miraya will do the assignment. She can face him. She can stay strong through it all.

She has to.

She will.

"Are you sure?" Fiya presses.

The smile on her face is almost real. "Yes. Everything is perfect."

A/N:

Hi! Thanks for deciding to continue reading. I am so glad you're here.

Miranda is (used to be) an orange-flavoured soft drink that was almost available everywhere when I grew up. Fanta was one of its rivals. Honestly, I didn't see the difference between the two but Miranda, as far as I know, is extinct now (RIP). The nickname originated from this drink but coincidentally, Miranda is a character in  Shakespeare's play Tempest, which Shray and Miraya had to learn in their 11th and 12th grade. All the more reason for the name to stick, right?

x caramelstreet

The thing about Chennai is that no matter which time of the day, you will hear the buzz and rush of a crowd, the annoying horns from the impatient vehicles in the traffic, and see the swirling dust and familiar pollution. But this pertains only to the centre of the city.

Miraya loves to take a walk along Elliot's beach in the evening, drinking in the beautiful sunset and the soothing ebb and flow of the waves. And now, she walks barefoot in the sand, her skin relishing the delicious grind of sand against her feet. Past her, an old man with his granddaughter walks by, throwing his head back as he laughs at how the little girl skips with her red balloon. Just across them a couple sit together, their bodies propped on their elbows, half-sunk into the sand, as they talk and laugh. Once in a while, the woman turns and watches the man talk, smiling to herself.

Miraya lowers her head, watching her feet dip in and out of the sand. However many times she denies it, the truth is that she aches for love. A love like the couple on the beach. Genuine, simple and meaningful. Nothing extravagant or impossible. Just a walk on the beach with the man she loves, their hands intertwined as their faces reflect the pinkish glow of the sunset. A shoulder to lean on. An arm to catch her when she stumbles. An ear to listen to her worries and excitements.

She drops her sandals on the sand like an anchor and sits next to it, her feet stretched and crossed at the ankles. Miraya sighs. Maybe she will never get to feel that kind of love. Maybe her chances of finding something like that had reduced to zero after what happened in school.

Just as she plugs in her earphones in her ears and listens to the first twenty seconds of a song, Amma calls. Her fingers hover over the red side because she simply doesn't have the energy to deal with her. But, if she declines this call, she knows ten more will follow. She will only be giving an opportunity to Amma to make her day even difficult to get through.

Swiping the green side, she says, "Hello."

"Were you busy? What took you so long to answer?"

"I was searching for my phone in my bag. It took a while. What are you doing, Ma?"

Lying was natural when it came to conversations with Amma.

"Your Appa wanted Chapati and cauliflower gravy for dinner. So before I start making them, I thought I'll call you and ask if you wanted to join us. It's been awhile since you came home."

Miraya presses her eyes close. "I know. But work has been really tight and I'll only become busier because of next month's issue. I'll see if I can find time and let you know. How is Appa?"

"He is the usual. Comes home at seven and he is so tired he falls asleep right after he's had his dinner," Amma says, the clinking sound of cutlery echoing in the background. "So, where are you?"

"In the balcony." Another lie again. See how flawless it is? It took Miraya years to perfect the art.

Amma thinks the balcony of her and Dakshina's apartment is her favourite place in the world. The balcony is so full of Dakshina's plants that there is barely any place to stand. Her mother doesn't know that.

"How is Dakshina? She is not bringing men to your apartment anymore, right?"

Miraya rolls her eyes. "Ma, she can bring whoever she wants. It's her apartment too. I can't control that."

"I hate that girl. She'll spoil you also."

"I can't have this conversation right now, Ma. Bye." With that, she hangs up and lies back down on the sand, closing her eyes.

Dakshina has a boyfriend and sometimes he stays over. Ranav knew the 101 about comforting a person when they are in a bad place. Dakshina says that's one of the reasons she keeps him around and that he's precious.

And that is why she can never ask Dakshina not to bring him to their apartment anymore. Miraya has grown fond of his presence too. She would never ever do that to him. And she wouldn't be the person to ruin someone's love for some crooked reason. Being a victim of it is enough trauma in itself.

Miraya rubs her forehead with her index fingers. This is exactly why she hates talking to Amma, especially on a bad day. She makes things worse. If Miraya had continued the conversation, she would've asked her to move back to their house, which would've led to a bigger argument.

The main reason Miraya was firm on moving out was to gain her freedom back. Choosing journalism as her major had been one way. She used her education to explore places and cultures.

Later when she secured a job, she didn't want to lose the freedom she experienced. Going to work from her house would be going back to square one so she chose to move out altogether. Even though it took a lot of arguments, second opinions and mini-hunger strikes to make her parents agree, Miraya deems that decision as one of the best decisions she's ever made.

Miraya's phone rings again. She quietly groans, expecting it to be Amma, attempting to make peace. But she sits up straight when she sees the caller ID.

"Hey. Kishore?"

She can hear the announcements from the airport before she can hear him. "Mira. Guess where I am?"

Miraya's lips curve into a smile and she balances her phone properly next to her ear. "The airport."

"That's kinda obvious, isn't it?" he says from the other side. She can bet that he is scratching the back of his neck. "Guess which airport?"

Her eyes go wide. She looks back at her phone screen and realises belatedly that he hasn't called her on Whatsapp like he always does. It is a normal call from an Indian number. "Don't tell me..."

"Yup. I am in Chennai!"

"Oh my god, are you on leave from work? Your presence is very much appreciated in this city, but why the sudden visit? How come you didn't tell me?"

"My school is hosting an alumni reunion. I really didn't want to miss it. I had to come," he says. "And I didn't tell you because I had difficulty getting leave. This trip was not happening until yesterday."

Alumni Reunion. Sometimes Miraya wondered what her schoolmates were doing right now; if they were still the same person they were then.

At that moment, her brain painfully reminds her that she is, indeed, going to have a little reunion with an important person from her school life soon. And when she meets him, he would know that she isn't the same stupid school girl anymore and that she understands the cunning ways of the world now. After all, he had been the first one to teach her that lesson.

She also realises that, despite her curiosity, if Miraya is ever invited for a reunion in her school, she would rather die than attend.

But that doesn't stop her from feeling excited for Kishore.

"That's really great. Are you going to your hometown?"

"Yes. But before that, I want to see you. I've missed you, roomie."

She laughs.

Miraya met Kishore in her German class. He was from a small town in the south of Tamilnadu. He was so smart and sweet that Miraya clung to him from the moment she realised it. If it weren't for his help, she would've failed the exam. They kept in touch after the exams and even when they were working in the same German city in different areas. Miraya had roomed with an Indian girl who worked in an export company. Not even a few months into the job, she decided to go back to India and get married. Miraya couldn't pay for the rent on her own so she tried searching for a roommate and when that was a flop, she asked Kishore for help. He had suggested rooming with him, if she didn't mind.

She didn't.

Miraya had lied to her parents that she got a new roommate, creating a new woman named Mizra to keep them unsuspecting. She moved to Kishore's apartment for the rest of the year.

Their friendship only became stronger, since they got to learn each other's habits, likes and dislikes and accepted them as who they were.

They became inseparable best friends. In fact, he is the only male friend she has. And she thinks it's only possible because her parents don't know.

"Where are you staying tonight?" she asks.

"At my sister's. I wanted to see my niece."

"Dhriti? Aww. Give her a hug for me, no? I miss her early morning video calls," Miraya says.

"Sure."

"So, when do you want to meet?"

"Tomorrow for breakfast? Or do you want to meet me for lunch?"

"Maybe breakfast? A lot of things happened today. I want to tell you everything." Miraya needs to vent.

"I'll be all ears tomorrow. Oh — my baggage is here. I'll see you in the morning. Text me the details. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Get home safe. Text me when you do."

"I know the drill, Ma'am."

She smiles. "Good. Now, go. Bye."

Sometimes she misses the days in Germany where it was just her work, the peers at her office and Kishore. No nosy relatives, no parents who had fallen prey to the norms of Indian society and no judgemental community. It was just everyone minding their own business. Those were good days, she thinks with a sigh.

When she stands up and dusts the sand off her dress, the sun has exited the scene completely. Mild grey clouds loom over, suggesting a possibility of rain. When she walks to her car, she notices the same old man she had seen moments ago. This time he is pacifying his granddaughter, handing her a different balloon. But the little girl's hands are pointing at the sky, at the bright red dot floating in the air. She cries and shakes her head.

Because she knows.

The little girl knows the first balloon can never be replaced.

She knows that because she loved it too much.

She knows that because it hurt when she let go.