"Bhaiya es location pe chaloge?" I asked, showing the location on my phone for the tenth time. My voice laced with exhaustion and defeat. No one... not a single taxi driver was ready to go there.

[Brother can you take me to this location?]

My eyes stung. God, I wanted to cry so bad right now. What kind of twisted beef does the universe have with me anyway?

"It's too far from here madam. I can't." he said flatly, brushing off my hope like dust from his dashboard.

Please, not again.

If only I had my own damn car. But no—my junior reporter salary could barely handle rent and two square meals, let alone a vehicle.

And asking my brother? No. He'd shut down his entire restaurant just to be there for me. The guilt of risking his livelihood is heavier than this heat pressing down on my shoulders.

"Das-bis rupye extra lelo bhaiya but please chalo." I request.

[Take ten-twenty rupees extra but please take me there.]

"Madam aaj kal das-bis rupye extra mai kya hota, sao extra dogi to chalunga." His voice was nonchalant, as if he wasn't squeezing the soul out of a girl already hanging by a thread.

[Madam, what even happens for 10-20 rupees extra these days? If you give me a hundred extra, then only I'll go.]

I snapped, my irritation flaring.

"To fir to jhangnam hi le chalo bhaiya, Kam se kam waha sukun to milega." I muttered, too tired to care if he heard the sarcasm bleeding from every word.

[Then just take me straight to hell brother, at least I'll find some peace there.]

He clicked his tongue. "Accha chalo thik hai na apka na mera pachas extra do or chalo."

[Alright then, let's call it even, not yours, not mine. Just give me fifty extra and let's go.]

I didn't even hesitate. "Ok then, it's final. Now let's go and please hurry."

I slid into the seat, slammed the door shut and stared out the window while the driver started driving.

I check my wristwatch—damn it. I'm already running half an hour late from the time I initially decided. All because I wasted that much time begging drivers to get me here.

I just wish I could meet Sarthak and convince him for the interview. I hope he agrees-just agrees, that's all I needed.

Please Babaji, thodi kripa kardo.
[Please God, bless me a little.]

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down at the screen. It was a message from my best friend and flatmate—Ina Clifford.

Ina: I am leaving the office, where are you Ishu? I found your cubicle empty.

She works in the same company as me. Pretty cool, right? Two college best friends ended up in the same workplace.

But she's on the tech side. She's a camera expert. She handles all the footage and recordings for the news we air. While I chase stories, she captures the visuals.

Me: I am on some field work, I might be late so lock the door before you go to bed.

Ina: Okay take care of yourself and for dinner I would make your favourite aalo ke parathe and put it in the fridge. Do eat it when you come back.

Me: I would take care of myself and thank you for the dinner, Ina you are the best! [Pink heart emoji]

Ina: Love you take care.

Me: Love you more.

We met in college and shared the same hostel room there, and we just clicked. I can't even remember when exactly we got this close. It just happened. Now, we take care of each other like soulmates.

After college, we shifted into an apartment together. My brother insisted that I should stay with him in luxury, but I wanted to be an independent woman.

I needed to prove to myself that I could handle life. Of course, managing everything alone is my daily routine now, though you just saw me on the verge of crying, begging for a ride.

It wasn't easy. Ina's Christian and I'm Punjabi. So yeah, we had a lot of cultural differences. Our parents weren't exactly happy about it.

But if Ina and I can adjust with each other, why can't they? Our parents didn't take it well. But we handled it. With my brother's help, eventually they accepted us and they themselves become good friends.

Suddenly, a random thought hit me-a thought every girl has once in a while.

When am I due for my periods? Umm I still have 15 days left for it. I am clear for now.

I sighed and leaned against the window. The city had disappeared. Shops faded into trees and buildings into forests. Endless green rolled past me now. It made me ache for Punjab. It's earthy scent, its wide open skies. Its calming.

But just as I was enjoying my little nature moment—my stomach growled.

A sudden cramp took over my stomach which was sharp and twisting.

What the hell? Aj to mene kuch ulta sidha bhi nahi khaya.

[I hadn't eaten anything wrong today.]

Then I felt it. A warm release between my legs.

No! No no no! Shit!

Kya kaali zubaan hai meri? Why did I even think about my period earlier? Fifteen days early? Really?

[My tongue is jinxed?]

I fumbled for my tote bag in panic. Did I even have a sanitary napkin? Last time I gave one to a colleague, and I don't remember if I restocked.

I checked once. Twice. I don't have one.

Of course. Because why not? Life just loves playing these personal problem games with me.

"Bhaiya," I asked softly, "is there any public washroom nearby?"

"Yes, not too far. We're close," the driver said.

"Can we stop there, please? It's urgent."

"Okay, but be quick. It's getting dark. I don't want to be late going back."

"Understood. I'll be fast, promise."

I thanked him and rushed out, making sure I didn't stain the seat. Can this day get any worse?

I cover the back of my skirt with my tote bag and walk fast to the entrance. Paid the charge, and entered the women's section, praying they had a sanitary napkin dispenser.

They do.

Thank God. You finally did something right for once today.

There's a woman in front of the mirror, fixing her hair, as I rush to the dispenser. It says to insert a ten-rupee coin.

I dig into my bag, heart racing.
Have you ever heard of hadbadi mai gadbadi? That's my whole life.

[In a rush, there's a mess.]

In the rush, my things start falling out.
OH GOD!

"Here, use this." The woman who was fixing her hair earlier walks over with a sweet smile and hands me a coin.

She's gorgeous. And weirdly familiar. I feel like I've seen her before, but I can't remember where.

"Thank you," I mutter awkwardly, accepting the coin as I bend to collect my things from the floor.

I insert the coin and get the napkin.
Thank god.

"Excuse me, your skirt is ruined by stain."
She says it gently. I turn to look, and yeah a massive spot took all over my grey pleated skirt.

Noooo. How the hell do I even approach Sarthak like this?

I feel my throat tighten. My eyes burn. I don't even realize when the tears start falling.

"Hey hey don't cry," she panics, stepping closer.

"I have a spare skirt with me, and I think it would fit you perfectly. It would really go well with your blue shirt."

She walks to her luggage and pulls out a pleated black skirt—almost identical to mine, just in black.

"Go try it on," she insists.

"But how could I..." I hesitate.

She smiles softly, calming my wild, overwhelming emotions. "Don't hesitate. It's fine. Try it on."

I walk into a stall with the sanitary napkin and the black skirt. It fits perfectly.

When I step back out, she's waiting. "I told you it would fit you. Here, keep your stained skirt in this polybag."

She passes me a polybag, and I carefully place my skirt inside, then wash my hands.

"Thanks for today. If you didn't turn up, I don't know how I could've handled it. I might've cried rivers."

"Don't thank me. I was just helping."

"By the way, give me your contacts. I would wash the skirt and give it back to you," I say sincerely.

"Oh, you don't have to return it. But if you are insisting, just DM on Instagram handle—"Adyasingh. We could meet for coffee someday."

"Sure. Here, keep my card in case you wanna keep an eye on your skirt." We both laugh as she takes the card.

"Okay, I have a shoot. See you soon, maybe?"

"Yes, sure. Go ahead, and thanks for today." We exchange goodbyes and she leaves.
I rush out, hoping the driver hasn't left me stranded. Thankfully, he's still waiting.

I slide into the seat and see him glance at me through the mirror. "Kitna late madam?"

[How much late madam?]

"Sorry sorry bhaiya," I say sheepishly. How do I even explain that the universe had me fighting a personal war in a public washroom?

He sigh and started the engine.

Thank god I met that woman. If I hadn't, I genuinely don't know how I would've made it through this hell of a day.

Wait, she gave me her Instagram handle. Let me stalk her, she looked so familiar, as if I had seen her before.

I opened Instagram, typed her username in the handle and froze.

No way. Ishika, how can you not recognise her?!

I slapped my head, again and again, my frustration boiling over. The driver kept glancing through the rearview mirror, clearly wondering if I had finally lost it.

"Madam, are you alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Ap car chalaye bhaiya, mai thik hu... shayad." I muttered, half-dazed.

[Please drive the car, I am alright... I guess.]

God, why am I so dumb? I let a golden opportunity go right past me like a fool. Ishika, what the hell is wrong with your brain today?

The woman I met in the washroom, she wasn't just anyone. She was Adya Singh—a famous influencer, and a top model and the cherry on top? She was Sarthak Singh's little sister.

My pulse spiked. I could've asked her to help me and I could've gotten through to her brother for the interview.

God, I'm so dumb.

But no, it's not over yet. I can still try. Plan A, approach Sarthak. If he says no, then plan B is to approach Adya. Maybe through the skirt. Yes. That could work.

Just don't cry now, Ishika. Don't embarrass yourself any more than you already have.

Not soon enough, but finally, I found myself standing outside Fit and Body Gym.

The surroundings were dead quiet. The gym looked nothing like the ones Instagram fitness models showed off in their stories—no flashy lights or glass panels. Just raw metal and simple lighting

A security guard stood at the entrance, eyeing me lazily.

I walked toward the door with fake confidence wrapped tightly around me like armor. But he stepped forward, blocking my way.

"Madam, kaha ghuse chali ja rahi ho?" He barked.

[Madam, were do you think you are going?]

"I am going inside the gym. I want to take this gym subscription," I lied, trying to sound casual.

"Gym is closed," he said, clearly bluffing.

I could see the lights were on. Someone was in there. My gut screamed it was Sarthak.

"But the lights are on. Let me go inside," I insisted, inching forward but again he stepped right into my path.

"VIPs are in there, you can't go in."

"Let me just check out the gym. I'm planning to take a VIP subscription too," I shot back, keeping my tone calm but firm.

"No subscription is allowed here. Please get out." His hand shoved me back lightly, but still a shove!

"You can't push me like that when I am talking nicely here!" I snapped, frustration bubbling over. I started shouting loud so that Sarthak just come out once hearing it.

"Madam don’t shout at me," he shouted back.

"Do you think I am shouting? DO YOU THINK I AM SHOUTING?! IT'S YOU! How dare you push me?"

I keep shouting but again the guard pushed me—this time with enough force to throw me off balance.

My foot twisted, and with a harsh thud, I hit the ground. Pain shot through my ankle like a lightning bolt.

Just then the door of the gym, flies open. The cricketer, people chase for, and die for was standing infront of me.

"Dinesh ji, what's wrong? What was that sound?" A cold, commanding voice rang through the air.

"Nothing sir, this woman here was trying to get in forcefully," the guard replied quickly.

His black eyes met mine—intense and unreadable, and sweat glistened on his sculpted, tanned body. His hair was messy, dark, and wet from the workout.

"Sarthak?" I whispered while my eyes go wide.

Here he is Ishika. Sarthak Singh, the famous cricketer who hates journalists, was standing infront of me.

It's your time Ishika. Mission Sarthak 69 finally begins.

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