The city was louder than Meher imagined.
Cars. Bikes. People. Noise everywhere.
She stood outside the bus station holding her suitcase tightly while looking around nervously.
Her father was supposed to come with her.
But early morning, one worker from the farm got badly injured, and Gurmail had to stay back.
“I’m sorry, puttar,” he said on the phone. “I wanted to come.”
“It’s okay, Papa,” Meher lied softly.
But the truth was…
She was scared.
Very scared.
After somehow reaching the company hotel in a cab, Meher decided to go out and look for PGs and small rooms nearby.
The company only booked the hotel for four days.
After that, she had to manage everything herself.
She checked the cab fare again and sighed.
“Two hundred rupees again…” she whispered.
In the village, that amount felt huge.
Still, she booked another cab because she had no choice.
“Thank God for these cab apps,” she muttered quietly while getting inside.
By afternoon, the sun became harsh.
Meher stepped out near a busy market area to check another PG location.
But the road ahead looked terrifying.
Cars moved fast without stopping.
People crossed carelessly like it was normal.
Meher stood frozen near the footpath.
“Bas… run and cross,” she told herself nervously.
The moment she stepped forward—
HONKKKKK!!
A black luxury car stopped suddenly inches away from her.
Meher gasped in fear.
Inside the car, Armaan Malhotra closed his eyes tightly in anger.
“What the hell!” he snapped.
He opened the car door immediately and stepped out.
People nearby turned to look.
Meher’s face had already gone pale.
“I-I’m sorry…” she stammered.
Armaan looked furious.
“Are you crazy?” he said sharply. “Road cross karna nahi aata toh ghar pe baitho!”
Meher’s eyes widened.
“I looked both sides…”
“Clearly you didn’t.”
His voice was cold and rude.
“You people just walk onto roads without thinking.”
That sentence hurt.
“You people.”
Meher tightened her grip on her dupatta.
“I said sorry,” she whispered.
Armaan looked at her simple clothes, frightened face, old suitcase beside her.
Then under his breath, irritated, he muttered—
“Illiterate.”
And walked away.
Meher stood there silently while his car disappeared into traffic.
Her eyes slowly filled with tears.
Not because he shouted.
But because the city suddenly felt exactly like her relatives described.
Cold.
Fast.
Unkind.
A few people nearby stared at her before leaving.
Meher quickly wiped her tears and picked up her suitcase.
“No crying,” she whispered to herself. “You wanted this.”
But her voice shook while saying it.
That evening, she returned to the hotel room completely exhausted.
Her feet hurt.
Her head hurt.
And she still hadn’t found a place to stay.
She sat on the bed and looked around the small hotel room.
One bed.
One lamp.
One window showing tall buildings outside.
So different from home.
At home, evenings smelled like fresh rotis and chai.
Here, everything smelled like room freshener and loneliness.
Her phone rang.
“Papa Calling.”
The moment she heard his voice, tears returned again.
“How was your day?” Gurmail asked softly.
Meher quickly wiped her eyes.
“It was good.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find a place?”
“Not yet.”
There was silence for a second.
Then her father spoke carefully.
“Come back if it feels too difficult.”
That sentence almost broke her.
Meher looked outside the hotel window at the giant city lights.
For a moment…
She really wanted to go home.
But then she remembered all those relatives.
“All girls belong in villages.”
“City changes girls.”
“She won’t survive there.”
Slowly, Meher straightened her back.
“No,” she said quietly.
“I’ll manage.”
And somewhere else in the same city…
Armaan had already forgotten the scared girl from the road.
Or at least…
He thought he had.
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