BOOM

Aarvika's POV

“Some mornings feel like they start without me. And by the time I join in, the world’s already halfway through chaos with a plate of paratha and a deadline breathing down its neck.”

The sun was already halfway up in the sky when I opened my eyes. The soft hum of utensils clinking in the kitchen. Distant honks from the street. A sharp realization hitting me harder than any alarm clock ever could.

8:45 AM.
College. Assignment. Notes. Intern meet. Dead.

I jumped out of bed like a possessed cartoon, barely managing to not crash into the side table. My towel, my kurti, my phone—why is everything always missing when I’m running late?

Racing through brushing, barely surviving eyeliner warfare, and throwing on my semi-wrinkled dupatta, I rushed downstairs like a woman with a purpose. Only to find… the horror.

“Ma! Scooty?!”

There was no scooty in sight.

Just mom at the dining table sipping chai, scrolling through her office emails like she wasn’t the reason I woke up a full hour late. 🙃

“Aapne mujhe uthaaya kyun nahi?” I complained, breathless.

She looked at me over her glasses. “Tumko kal raat ko teen baar bola tha. Utho mat toh sone se pehle alarm laga lo and most importantly I'm not ur PA ”

“Alarm mujhe nahi, aapko lagana chahiye tha!” I argued back dramatically, like the very concept of time management had personally offended me.

Before she could clap back with her trademark sarcastic mom line, a louder shout left my mouth

NYRAAAAA!” I yelled like a banshee. “YOU'RE STILL SLEEPING?!”

The wildchild herself appeared at the top of the stairs — messy bun, brushing teeth, and walking like she was in slow motion.

“Bajra ke aate ki kasam, we're LATE!”

Mom joined the yelling squad:

“Both of you! If you're going to scream, do it outside!”

Somehow, after a solid 6 minutes of drama, Nyra came running down with a half-zipped bag, still stuffing books into it.

We glared at each other.

She landed next to me, panting.“Di, tum late ho. Main toh ready ho hi rahi thi.”

“Haan, runway se hi aa rahi hogi madam fashion designer.”

We gave each other the classic sister-death-stare before both realizing: we were going to be super late and there was only one scooty.

The car?
Used by mom for office — gone already.

The scooty?
Well, currently hostage to whichever of us grabs the keys first.

I glanced at the key rack. Empty. My eyes met Nyra’s.
Game on.

Before I could blink, Nyra’s hand was already on the key.

“HA! Loser.” she grinned, waving the scooty key like it was a trophy at the Olympics.

I groaned. “This is cheating. I wasn’t even wearing my chappal yet.”

“Not my problem, slowpoke,” she smirked, strapping on her bag.

But before we could start the Great Scooty War of 2025, I heard mom yell from the kitchen:

" Aarvika nyra ka college tere raste mein hi padta hai. Don’t waste petrol. Go together.”

Oh, the betrayal.

We both looked at each other like we’d just been sentenced to mutual doom.

“Fine,” I huffed.
“Whatever,” she snapped.

Mom stood victorious

“Halfway your college, then I drop you and fly to mine,” I declared like a deal was signed.

“Fine. But you drive like a drunk giraffe,” Nyra shot back.

“Better than a chicken with Wi-Fi,” I smirked.

The scooty started. So did our bickering.

Midway, Nyra asked while fixing her lipstick through the scooty mirror:

“BTW... deadline aa rahi hai. Did you finish your epic fantasy novel?”

I made a dramatic face. “Of course I did. In my head. While dreaming. Deeply. Peacefully.”

She rolled her eyes. “I swear, you and your overthinking.”

I dropped her outside her metro station. She waved and blew a fake kiss.

Now it was just me, my half-broken scooty, and a mild sense of existential panic.

And that’s when the genius inside me decided to take a one-way shortcut. In the opposite direction.

Because logic? Who needs that in the middle of panic.

Just a little bend left…

And then — BAM!

My scooty slightly collided with a sleek black car turning the other way.
I lost balance and fell, just hard enough to bruise my elbow and ego. My bag went tumbling.

People gathered.

And like any proud Indian girl who just embarrassed herself in public — I got up angry.

“Chashma lagwa lo bhaiya agar dikhayi nahi deta toh! Scooty ka kya kasoor tha!”
I yelled without even looking at the driver, dusting myself off and picking up the scooty.

Someone from the crowd muttered, “Lagta hai madam wrong side se aayi thi.”

“Haan toh kya?” I shot back. “Zara si galti pe public court chalu ho gaya kya?”

The driver stepped forward, about to speak — but I didn’t even care to look.

Just as I gripped the handlebar, the car passenger door opened.

A deep, calm, sharp voice spoke — almost too controlled to be natural.

“Isn’t this a one-way street?”

I froze.

Something in the tone made me look up — but I only caught a glimpse of his silhouette. Sharp suit. Cold eyes.

But I didn’t care. I had no time. No mood. No more dignity left to lose.

“Thoda patience rakh lo, highway commissioner,” I muttered under my breath and zoomed off before he could say anything else.

Author's pov

Just as Aarvika zoomed off in her usual tornado style, a voice broke the tension.

“Vivaan sir, please! Why did you step out?” his driver whispered urgently.
“You’re already on trending searches since last night… what if media catches this? You should’ve stayed inside.”

Vivaan didn’t reply. He simply stared at the dust trail her scooty left behind.

She didn’t even flinch.
No filter, no fear… just fury.

He brushed a speck of dust off his suit.

“I had to see the storm myself.”

Vivaan Rathore's pov

It was supposed to be a quiet morning.

A routine check at the site. A board meeting. No detours.

But the moment her scooty crashed — full speed, wrong lane, zero guilt — it was like life paused.

The yelling.
The sarcasm.
The hair flying.

She wasn’t like the usual type that tiptoed around me. She screamed. Pointed fingers. Spoke like I was just another man on the street.

“Thoda patience rakh lo, highway commissioner.”

She didn’t even stay long enough to hear his correction — that she was in the wrong lane. That she hit his car.

She just drove off.

And for a moment, Vivaan Rathore — CEO of AVE Enterprises — just stood there.

Still.

Still thinking about that girl with too many words and no brakes.

“Interesting,” he muttered again, stepping into his car.

Ok so aapki author ji ne finally story ko firse start kr liya h ji 😅 aur ab ye story chlti rahegi don't worry 🫠 aapki author ka mansik santulan thoda theek nhi h toh bs kbhi kbhi ho jaata h but don't worry i will do my best this time in story 😉 😗...
Bahut baate ho gyi rehene do ise aur mujhe ye btao ki.....
Ki...........

Aapko story ka pehla chapter kesa lga?
Jesa bhi lga aap logo ko bs pyare pyare review aur commennts kr dijiyega taaki mujhe pta chle aur me usko aur improve kr sku ..

No target obviously 😉😁 ( bs me thoda late update deti hu na isiliye no target filhaal ke liye aap bs enjoy kriye 😗)

This is my insta id isko follow kr lijiyega plzzzzzzz @writeswithkyra_

📍don't ever think this story is funny one it has so many upside and downs that makes me confuse so u all will be also confused so read it carefully like u are reading ur question paper ... 😁😂 itna dhyaan se kya pdh re ho 🤣 ....

I am in love with emoji so kbhi kbhi chapter me bhi use kr leti hu so thoda sa cooperate plz 😊....

Chlo aaj ke liye biee 🤗 milte h agle chapter me ek naye twist ke saath 😉😁