Twisted Thrones

Waking Up

Tuesday, 8:17 a.m.

Ballygunge, Kolkata

The soft strains of “E tumi kemon tumi” drifted from her phone, a morning tune she’d set weeks ago. It was slow, gentle, a sharp contrast to the city outside where honking taxis and dripping rainwater created a persistent rhythm.

Shanchayita groaned, muffling her face against the pillow, then peeked out through the half-drawn curtains. Morning light glittered across the room, catching floating dust motes that danced lazily in the calm air.

“Fine,” she muttered, sitting up and grabbing her phone. The lock screen glowed.

“Lunch with Ashmit – 2:00 p.m. 😬”.

She smiled faintly. The thought of the afternoon made her pulse quicken, a mix of nerves and anticipation.

Her room smelled faintly of wet cotton and the faint traces of flowers from the balcony. The study desk bore the familiar chaos. A half-read copy of Jibanananda Das, a cracked coffee mug, a tiny potted money plant leaning toward the morning sun. She swung her legs over the bed, bare feet brushing against the floor, and stretched, letting the morning warmth seep into her.

Shanchayita tied her bob-cut hair into a straight ponytail, shivered under the slightly cool air, and moved toward the bathroom. The cold splash of water on her face sharpened her senses, flushed her cheeks, and left her looking at her reflection; bare, natural, just herself. Enough. She liked it that way.

Back in her room, she opened her wardrobe, fingers brushing over folds of pastel kurtas, a lone indigo saree, and the pale beige kurta she always wore when she wanted calm. Today wasn’t the day to decide yet. She only let herself imagine the softness of the fabric against her skin and the quiet confidence it would bring.

Her phone buzzed insistently. Three missed calls, one message. She smiled faintly, seeing the sender: Sheyoshi.

“Wake up, you! Big day. Don’t make me late for all the fun 😏”

Shanchayita laughed, calling back while walking toward the balcony. “Tui ki Pagol ?” she said, teasing, holding the phone to her ear. “It’s too early for this madness.”

“Early?” Sheyoshi’s voice crackled through the line. “You’re the one meeting Mr. Smooth at two! I can’t even think straight. You better not mess this up.”

Shanchayita chuckled, leaning on the balcony rail, watching water trickle down the edge of the grill. “Relax. I won’t be able to mess this up. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Sheyoshi’s tone was sharp, teasing. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound confident.”

“I’m confident,” Shanchayita said softly. “Just… alert. You know how he can be.”

Sheyoshi laughed, the sound bubbling through the line. “Alert, huh? As if you need to be. You already know the man’s type. Don’t let him slip one of his ridiculous tricks.”

Shanchayita smiled at the memory. Yes, she had said yes. Last Friday, beneath the soft shade of the college park trees, Ashmit had proposed.The nervous way he had held her hands, the quiet sincerity in his eyes, the subtle tremble in his smile. She remembered every detail.

“I know,” she said, voice light. “I told you everything already. Today’s just lunch. Nothing fancy. Hopefully no surprises.”

“Oh, don’t tempt fate,” Sheyoshi warned. “And please, if he tries any ‘special moves,’ I swear, I’ll come hunt him down.”

Shanchayita laughed, leaning further on the rail. “You’ll survive my wrath instead. He’ll be fine. He’s… nervous too, I think.”

“Ha! Nervous or not, you better not be like last time someone tried to propose you with poetry. Remember that disaster?”

Shanchayita shook her head, the memory clear. The shy, awkward boy in the library with the tattered book of Jibanananda, all stammer and nervous apologies. She had smiled, of course, but inside she had teased herself mercilessly. “Yes, I remember. Don’t worry, I’m prepared today.”

Sheyoshi’s voice softened a little. “Good. Just… enjoy it. I know you’re cautious, but… let yourself have a bit of fun. You deserve that. You’ve been studying and worrying and...”

“I know, I know,” Shanchayita interrupted, smiling. “I’ll be fine. Lunch, a movie maybe, and then I can come home, alive and happy.”

“Alive and happy?” Sheyoshi teased again. “Sounding like you’re heading into battle.”

“Maybe I am,” Shanchayita said softly, looking down at the city below. The streets were half-empty, the rain leaving reflective puddles that mirrored neon signs and the morning light. Cars honked softly, a stray dog barked in the distance, and a faint smell of wet asphalt and jasmine hung in the air. “But it’s the kind of battle worth fighting.”

Sheyoshi laughed. “Just don’t let him see you sweat. Or I’ll know, and I’ll know exactly how to mock you later.”

Shanchayita glanced at her wardrobe once more. Today was about confidence, not aesthetics. Not makeup, not accessories, just her. Just her calm smile, her bobbed hair, her bright eyes. She took a deep breath, letting the sounds of the waking city fill her lungs, steadying herself for the afternoon.

“Promise me one thing,” Sheyoshi said, still playful, but slightly more serious now. “If anything feels off, you leave. Immediately.”

Shanchayita nodded, almost reflexively. “Promise. Nothing will happen I don’t want. You know that.”

“I know,” Sheyoshi said, relief in her tone. “Good. Now, go. Plan your outfit. Eat something. Hydrate. You’ll need all your energy for the charmer.”

“Got it,” Shanchayita whispered, smiling at the distant hum of the city below. She glanced again at her clothes, thinking, considering, imagining the gentle touch of a kurta against her skin, the way she could move freely, the way the wind would play with her hair on the way to lunch.

The city was heavy, quiet in certain pockets, yet alive in the reflections of rain. And she, with a fluttering heart, was about to step into the day that awaited her, armed only with her calm, her instincts, and the faint smile that never failed to reach her eyes.