"In My Dreams, I Found You"

At 25, Manju is a powerhouse of ambition and determination. A qualified Chartered Accountant, she’s disciplined, meticulous, and fiercely dedicated to her goals. Success doesn’t intimidate her; she thrives on challenges and the satisfaction of achieving what others might consider difficult. Yet, beneath her professional confidence lies a sensitive, introspective soul. Manju feels deeply—whether it’s the joy of a personal milestone or the quiet ache of unspoken emotions. She’s the kind of person who notices subtle details, reads between the lines, and cherishes meaningful connections over casual chatter. Manju is strong-willed but grounded. She doesn’t give in easily, but she’s not stubborn for the sake of ego. When faced with obstacles—whether in her career, personal life, or even the chaos of Mumbai—she remains composed, thinking strategically while trusting her instincts. She has a gentle charm, a mix of elegance and authenticity that draws people in naturally. She’s warm and caring to those she trusts but keeps a protective wall around herself when unsure. Manju’s heart is brave: she doesn’t shy away from loving, dreaming, or hoping—even when the outcome is uncertain. Her love for cricket isn’t just fandom—it’s passion, admiration, and inspiration. And her long-time crush on Shaan Iyer isn’t a fleeting infatuation; it’s a quiet, enduring admiration that has shaped little dreams and daydreams over the years. She’s witty, self-aware, and resilient—a modern woman navigating career, emotions, and unexpected twists of fate, all while keeping her dignity and inner strength intact. Manju, had just achieved what many only dream of. A qualified Chartered Accountant, she had landed a prestigious position in one of the Big Four firms in Mumbai. The company, impressed by her credentials and sharp mind, even offered her a company-provided flat in the heart of the city. It was supposed to be a fresh start—a new chapter in both her career and life. Little did she know, fate had a playful twist in store. Her new flat was directly opposite the apartment of her long-time crush… Shaan Iyer Shaan Iyer Tall, athletic, and effortlessly charming, Shaan had the kind of presence that made people notice without him trying. His dark eyes, sharp yet kind, seemed to see straight through pretenses, and his easy smile could lighten the mood in any room. He wasn’t just a face; he carried the aura of someone disciplined yet free-spirited—a rare combination that drew people in. A professional cricketer with a rising career, Shaan lived a life in the limelight, yet those close enough knew he was grounded, humble, and unexpectedly witty. Fame hadn’t inflated his ego; instead, it had polished his confidence. He had a natural aura of calm in chaos, the kind that made people trust him instantly. Despite his fame, Shaan had a streak of casual mystery. He didn’t flaunt his achievements; he let actions speak louder than words. Yet, there were moments—like the rare, unguarded laugh or the intensity in his eyes during conversation—that hinted at depths few ever glimpsed. The day of moving in, the Mumbai heat was already teasing her as she stepped out of the taxi, dragging her luggage behind her. Heart thrumming with a mix of excitement and nervousness, she paused at the entrance of the building. This wasn’t just a new home—it was the threshold to something entirely unexpected. She pressed the lift button and waited. The faint hum of the elevator approaching made her pulse quicken. The doors slid open. And there he was. Their eyes met. For him, it was just another fleeting glance in the busy chaos of life. But for Manju… her heart skipped, stumbled, then thudded against her ribcage like it had a mind of its own. A brief pause in time, a flutter she hadn’t felt in years. Yet Manju was nothing if not composed. Strong-willed, determined, and disciplined—she straightened her shoulders, smoothed her expression, and walked into the lift as if nothing had happened. And as if the universe had a sense of timing that loved irony, Shaan exited the lift at the exact same moment she stepped in. “Of course,” she thought, rolling her eyes with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Perfect timing, Manju. Just perfect.” The sound of the city outside was a constant hum, a mix of honking cars, distant chatter, and the faint rumble of the train tracks that cut across the heart of Mumbai. Manju dragged her suitcase into her new flat, pausing to take it all in. The walls smelled faintly of fresh paint, the floor gleamed under the warm light, and the kitchen was small but neat. Everything was… new. Everything was hers. Yet, somehow, the city sounds, the smell of paint, even the sterile calm of the flat—all of it was drowned out by the memory that refused to leave her head. That lift. That moment. Shaan Iyer’s face. Those eyes. That effortless tilt of his head as he stepped out, just as she entered. She leaned against the kitchen counter, closing her eyes for a second, and let the memory replay like a film on loop. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she whispered to herself, a soft giggle escaping her lips. “Why does he look like that? And why did I feel like… my heart stopped?” Manju shook her head, trying to chase away the sudden flutter of nerves. She grabbed a box labeled “Kitchen – fragile” and set it on the counter. As she unpacked the neatly stacked utensils, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him. Her fingers lingered over the handle of a coffee mug, and she imagined, just for a second, him walking past her window. “Okay, Manju,” she scolded herself softly, a grin spreading across her face, “It’s not love. Not love. It’s… a crush. Just a crush. A huge crush… maybe the biggest crush ever, but still, a crush.” Her eyes darted toward the window. Across the street, she knew, somewhere, Shaan lived. Somewhere nearby. She didn’t know the exact flat, and that small detail made her heartbeat speed up in ways she couldn’t explain. “He could be right there… or there… oh god, what if he sees me staring? No, calm down, Manju, calm down.” She laughed quietly, a soft, uncontrollable giggle that bounced off the white walls of her flat. The sound startled her at first, and then she shook her head, thinking, “Who am I even talking to? Just me. Just me and my ridiculous brain.” As she unpacked, she began arranging things meticulously, almost obsessively. Cups with cups, plates with plates, pens in one drawer, notebooks in another. But her mind wasn’t on utensils or stationery—it was on him. Shaan Iyer. That name felt heavier in her chest than it should, carrying memories of years of admiration, stolen glimpses of him on TV, news, i********: posts, and now… this moment. “Okay, think logically, Manju,” she muttered, tapping a plate lightly. “He’s famous. He’s literally a celebrity. And now he’s my neighbor. My… neighbor.” She paused, letting the word settle. Neighbor. The ordinary word suddenly seemed extraordinary, almost magical. She could picture the scenarios—a casual wave if their eyes met again, a “good morning” while leaving for work, maybe even a conversation by the elevator. Her cheeks warmed at the thought. She grabbed another box—labeled “Books & Papers”—and sat cross-legged on the floor. As she sorted through her notes, business books, and personal journals, her giggles came back. “Who even giggles like this over a crush? I’m twenty-five. Twenty-five, Manju, and I’m acting like a schoolgirl. But… but it’s Shaan Iyer. It’s impossible not to be this way.” She leaned back, letting herself daydream. She imagined him leaning on his balcony, looking at the city lights, maybe sipping tea or scrolling on his phone. Her mind painted him in different moods: smiling, concentrating, laughing, even a rare frown. Each image made her heart flutter, each scenario made her lips curve into a shy smile. “Okay, not love… not love…” she repeated aloud, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking her head as she tucked a stack of files neatly. “Just… maybe… just a super-duper, insanely huge crush. Nothing more.” She giggled again. Her own voice echoed back to her, a gentle reminder of how giddy and silly she felt. She could almost hear herself, if someone were listening, thinking, “Yes, yes, I know… it’s embarrassing, but who cares? I’ve waited years for a moment like this… or maybe just for him to exist in the same city, breathing the same air as me. That’s… that’s enough for now.” The day continued with Manju unpacking, organizing, and occasionally stopping to let her thoughts drift back to him. Every cup she placed on the shelf, every notebook she stacked, was accompanied by tiny mental snapshots of him—his laugh, his eyes, his effortless charm. And with each image, she felt a strange warmth, a thrilling anticipation that had nothing to do with love, and everything to do with her heart recognizing something it had wanted for years. At that time the door bell rang.....