The first thing I did after waking up was check my phone.
Not for messages.
Not for notifications.
Just for the time.
8:47 AM.
My heart jumped instinctively. Late. Again.
I sat up abruptly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders, already preparing myself mentally for the familiar panic. Meetings. Deadlines. Editor's sharp voice. Newsroom chaos.
Then it hit me.
There was no office to rush to.
Because yesterday... I was fired.
The realization settled slowly, painfully, like cold water sinking into my bones. My thumb hovered over the lock screen, staring at the empty notification bar. No newsroom alerts. No breaking news pings. No missed calls from colleagues.
Silence.
I dropped back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. Jaipur sunlight filtered in through the curtains, warm and golden. Too peaceful for the storm inside my head.
Back home.
Unemployed.
Humiliated.
I had already told my parents everything last night. Between exhaustion and quiet tears. They hadn't asked too many questions. Maybe they saw how broken I was. Maybe they didn't want to push.
But waking up made it real.
This wasn't a bad dream.
This was my reality now.
I shut my eyes, but the memories didn't listen.
The newsroom flashed behind my eyelids.
The editor's cold stare.
The whispers.
The laughter that wasn't even subtle.
"You lost the pendrive with confidential footage, Vedika. Do you understand what that means?"
I remembered standing there, hands clenched, throat dry, trying to explain that it wasn't negligence. That someone had tampered with my bag. That I had double-checked before leaving the field.
No one cared.
"Crime journalism is not for everyone," he had said, loud enough for the entire office to hear. "Maybe stick to lifestyle pieces. Or better... find another place."
Another place.
The words still burned.
I had walked out with my bag on my shoulder and my dignity in pieces.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
Six years of studying journalism. Three years of running behind crime scenes, police stations, late-night interviews. And one mistake was enough to erase everything.
I pushed myself out of bed and walked to the window. Jaipur looked unchanged. Same narrow streets. Same early morning vendors calling out. Same smell of chai drifting from somewhere below.
But I wasn't the same.
For a moment, I let myself feel it.
The anger.
The hurt.
The humiliation.
Then I straightened my shoulders.
They made fun of me.
They doubted me.
They threw me out like I was replaceable.
Fine.
One day, they would read my byline again.
And this time, it would be on a story they wouldn't be able to ignore.
After breakfast, I returned to my room and opened WhatsApp. My status from last night was still there.
Back to Jaipur after a long time.
A notification popped up instantly.
Mihir Bajpayee:
So madam journalist finally remembered her hometown and her best friend?
A small smile tugged at my lips.
Mihir.
One of the four idiots who once believed we would conquer the world together.
Me
Mihir Bajpayee
Rohit Trivedi
Shreya Mathur
School benches. Tuition fights. Secret crush confessions. Endless dreams.
Now Life had scattered us across different cities, but the bond never really faded.
Me:
Excuse me, you also have a phone. Works both ways.
Mihir:
Fair enough. When did you come?
Me:
Last night.
Mihir:
And you didn't even tell me? Criminal behaviour.
I sighed, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Me:
It's been... a rough few days.
His reply came instantly.
Mihir:
Then it's decided. Evening coffee at our old café. No excuses.
I stared at the screen for a second.
Our old café.
Where four friends once sat for hours, sharing dreams and overconfident plans about life.
Maybe I needed this.
A familiar place.
A familiar face.
Me:
Okay.
By evening, I changed into a simple black top and jeans, tying my hair into a loose ponytail. I grabbed my sling bag and stepped outside.
The café was only a few streets away. Jaipur evenings were loud and alive. Honking vehicles. Street vendors. Children playing cricket in narrow lanes.
Normal life.
Something I hadn't felt in a long time.
As I pushed open the glass door of the café, the familiar aroma of coffee and baked bread wrapped around me.
And then—
I collided with someone.
Hard.
My bag slipped slightly from my shoulder as I stumbled back.
"Can't you see where you're going?" I snapped instinctively, irritation spilling out faster than logic.
The man steadied himself and looked down at me.
Sharp eyes. Calm expression. Expensive suit.
"Maybe you should try walking without attacking people," he replied evenly, his voice low and controlled.
For a second, we just stared at each other.
There was something about him.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But intense.
The kind of presence that made the air around him feel heavier.
I opened my mouth to reply—
"Vedika?" Mihir's voice called from behind me.
I turned instinctively.
When I looked back again, the man was already walking away.
For some reason, my eyes followed his retreating figure until he disappeared outside the café.
My chest felt strangely tight.
I didn't know it then.
But that collision wasn't random.
It was the beginning of everything.
Author's Note:
First of all Hello Eveyone!
How was the chapter 1 and Are you excited for chapter 2?
And any guesses who is the person with whom Vedika Collided?
Please comment your feedbacks 😊 and Vote the chapter if you like it.