Nandini stood still for a moment, staring at her phone screen. A sigh escaped her lips as she booked an online cab. "Your cab will arrive in 5 minutes," flashed on her screen. Perfect.
The cab arrived promptly and whisked her straight to Bal Krishna Society. But the question lingered in her mind—why did the GPS direct the cab there when she had clearly set a different location?
The journey took a long, dragging 35 minutes, far longer than expected. As the cab rolled to a stop at the main gate, the society's security guard squinted, eyeing the cab and its lone passenger.
"Hey bhai, where are you going?" the guard asked the cab driver.
"Passenger," the driver grunted briefly.
The guard stepped towards the rear window, peeking in.
"Arre Miss Nandini! It's you?" he exclaimed with mild surprise.
Nandini, aware of the curiosity she sparked in this old society after her quiet divorce, kept her expression unreadable.
"Yeah. Any problem?" she asked sharply.
"No, no problem," the guard replied quickly but turned to the driver. "Make sure Miss Nandini is dropped safely inside. Don't just leave her at the gate. Understand?"
"Haan ji," the driver muttered and drove into the compound, finally stopping near the second circle.
Nandini stepped out, glancing at the dimly lit apartments. She made her way to her flat where Mrs. Meera Sharma was feeding Tommy, her overly pampered Rottweiler.
"Took you long enough, Nandini. Poor Tommy was starving! He came to me begging for food," Meera scolded playfully.
"Got stuck in some mess," Nandini replied vaguely.
"But you did get Tommy's shampoo and food, right?" Meera asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Uh... the car's gone for repair. The stuff's still in the boot. Probably will get tossed in the workshop trash," Nandini shrugged.
"How did the groceries go bad in the car?" Meera pried.
"Go ask Mr. Vampire yourself," Nandini muttered under her breath.
"What was that?" Meera tilted her head.
"Nothing," Nandini said hastily and hurried to her room.
Inside, she shut the door, dropped her bag, and rushed to the washroom. Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a towel, she flopped on the bed, her mind reeling.
Every moment played like a bad movie: her shopping, the cab ride, and the chaos that followed. After buying groceries, she'd been driving home when Ruhan—the neighbor with more charm than sense—forced himself into her car.
"Get out!" she had hissed, but Ruhan had smirked, ignoring her. Seconds later, gunshots rang out. A biker fired at the car.
Later she'd find out why: Ruhan had apparently kissed a gangster's wife in a drunken stupor at a wedding. Fantastic.
"Idiot! May Farhan's goons get him before I do," she groaned, pulling the pillow over her head.
An hour later, the doorbell rang. Sighing heavily, she dragged herself to the door.
"Nandini! You here? What a surprise!" Isha greeted with exaggerated joy, flour on her cheek.
"What the hell happened to you? Baking or wrestling a flour bag?" Nandini raised an eyebrow.
"Bunny kept jumping while I was making cake," Isha grinned.
Isha's eyes darted to Nandini's hand. "Need something?" she asked.
"Milk," Nandini admitted.
"You went to the supermarket and forgot milk?" Isha teased.
"Our milkman's gone for a wedding. You know, the guy who sells goat, cow, buffalo milk, even almond milk if you ask politely."
Isha giggled. "Yeah, only for you he might bring camel milk! Come in."
Nandini stepped inside the cozy chaos of Isha's flat.
"So what drama today?" Isha grinned.
"Don't ask. Ruhan hitched a ride. Then bullets. Some gangster's wife. Long story."
"No! You attract drama like Meera attracts stray cats," Isha teased.
"Hey! I didn't choose the gangster life. The gangster life chose me," Nandini deadpanned.
They burst into laughter.
"Wait—did Ruhan kiss a gangster's wife?" Isha gasped.
"Yep. And now I've been ducking bullets thanks to him. I should bill him for trauma."
"I'd make him buy you diamonds!" Isha laughed.
"Not that he can afford them. Anyway, what about you? Burned another cake?"
"Shut up! I tried new icing. It attacked me."
They laughed again, the tension melting.
Isha handed Nandini a milk carton. "Here. Stay for tea?"
"Can't. Need to decontaminate from gang wars," Nandini winked.
"Your life's a thriller. You need bodyguards. Or at least pepper spray."
"I have stilettos," Nandini smirked.
"Even better. Femme fatale!"
They giggled like schoolgirls.
As Nandini left, her phone buzzed.
Ruhan: "Hey babe, thanks for the ride. You saved my life!"
Nandini muttered darkly. "I'll kill him before the gangsters do."
But she smiled faintly. Chaos followed her like perfume—but maybe, just maybe, that made life interesting.
She snorted, typing fast.
Nandini: "How did you get my number?"
Her thumb hovered over the send button for a second longer than necessary. She hit send. The three little dots popped up almost instantly.
Ruhan: "Wow... You do look smart, but clearly you aren't."
Her eyes narrowed.
Nandini: "What do you mean…?"
She added an angry emoji for effect.
Ruhan: "Arre madam... I moved here five days ago, remember? The great secretary of Bal Krishna Society, Suraj Singh Rawat himself, added me to the building's WhatsApp group. Guess whose number was already there? Yours."
A small 'Oof' escaped her lips.
Nandini: "Haan… I see."
She stared at the screen, mortified. Stupid question. Of course her number was in the society's resident group. Everyone's was.
Before she could stuff the phone into her bag and pretend the conversation never happened, his next message buzzed in.
Ruhan: "So... Miss Detective. Planning to interrogate me further? Or is this 'goodbye forever' after one rescue mission?"
Her thumb danced over the screen, a mischievous smirk curling her lips.
To be continued...