Chapter 1: Touchdown at Midnight

I stepped off the plane, the harsh white lights of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport making everything around me look even colder than it was. The air stung my cheeks, thick with that unmistakable Mumbai blend—jet fuel, old dust, and somewhere in the staff canteen, the distant aroma of vada pav frying. Dragging my battered suitcase behind me, I took a shaky breath and messaged my sister:

[Are you awake, didi? Can you come pick me up at the airport?]

Her reply came almost instantly—a voice note, her tone as lively as if it were noon, not past midnight.

"Kaun hai re, itni raat ko? Koi photo bhej, warna main nahi aa rahi!"

I didn’t bother typing. My fingers were stiff with the cold and nerves. I just hit the video call icon, thumb shaking slightly, the airport’s free WiFi flickering between one bar and none.

Before she picked up, I glanced at my reflection in the phone’s black screen, ran a hand through my hair, and tried to look a little less tired than I felt.

When the call connected, the familiar golden glow of fairy lights on her Bandra window grills lit her face. The TV was blaring some OTT serial in the background, and I could hear the clink of glasses and her friends’ giggles. My sister was sprawled lazily on the sofa, swirling a wine glass—definitely not from our home collection. Two friends hovered nearby: one in a faded kurti, another with hair tied in a wild bun.

We locked eyes for a second—both appraising, like the old days before a board game would turn into a war. Priya instantly sat up straight, the glass nearly toppling, and tried to look dignified.

"Kal Ma aur Papa se puchungi, kitne bhai chahiye tujhe," I teased, letting my grin show.

She spluttered, choking on her wine as her friends burst out laughing. One of them cackled, "Arey, Priya, yeh tera bhai hai ya chocolate hero? Introduce kara na!"

Priya swatted at her friend with a cushion, muttering, "Pagal hai kya? Apna bhai hai!"

I kept grinning. "If I’d told you earlier, I wouldn’t have found out about all your little brothers. Kal Ma-Papa ko bataunga main."

She rubbed her temples, giving me the classic warning glare, but her words slurred: "I drank too much, don’t tell Ma and Papa."

I snorted, and the group went "Sab log hass-hass ke pagal ho gaye."

Priya recovered, rolling her eyes. "I can’t drive. I’ll send my most beautiful and well-mannered friend to pick you up. Bas, theek hai?"

The camera shifted. Pale lavender nails reached for the phone, and suddenly Meera’s calm, striking face filled the screen. Our eyes met—her gaze was cool but gentle, and I felt my stomach twist.

Before I could say anything, the call cut out. I stared at the black screen, heart racing. I hadn't seen Meera in years. Tonight, everything felt possible—and terrifying.