Beep. Beep.

"Yaar!!! Itna lamba traffic?!" I exclaimed, banging my forehead lightly on the steering wheel in frustration. "Aaj toh main gayi kaam se." My voice was laced with exasperation as I glanced at the clock on my dashboard. 8:47 AM. Great.

Ye is mahine ki 23vi baar hai jab main office late ho rahi hoon. Mere boss mujhe definitely aaj pakaa nikal denge. Aur sach kahun toh, unki gusse waali aankhon ka soch ke hi meri rooh kaanp jaati hai. But seriously, aakhir traffic ka reason kya hai?

Curiosity got the better of me. I turned off the engine, snatched my phone and handbag, and stepped out of my car — Maruti Suzuki. Meri first salary se li thi maine. Every time I look at it, I feel proud. Mujhe yaad hai, papa ne kitna encourage kiya tha mujhe,- Apne pairon par khadi ho ja beta.

Oh! I forgot to mention. I am a Software Engineer. Isn't that cool? Matlab, coding, debugging, late-night deadlines, aur of course — the caffeine addiction. But trust me, ye sab cool tab tak hi hai jab tak tum time pe office pahuch jao. Otherwise? You are done.

I sighed and started walking ahead, weaving my way through the stalled cars. It was chaos—horns blaring, people shouting, and bikers trying to squeeze through the narrowest of gaps. Par sabse zyada curious cheez thi crowd. Log ek jagah pe jam ho gaye the. As I pushed my way inside the crowd, brushing shoulders with strangers, I finally reached the core of the chaos. "Kya ho raha hai bhaiyya?" I asked a middle-aged man wearing a pale blue shirt and holding a tiffin in his hand.

He glanced at me and said, "Arre baccha, pata nahi. Koi aadmi kisi ki car ke samne aa gaya tha. Lagta hai suicide tha..." My heart dropped. Suicide? Suddenly, I felt cold. My throat dried up, chest tightened, and breathing became difficult. I hate deaths. I really do. There's something about the finality of it that always brings back the one night I try hardest to forget. I stumbled away from the crowd, forcing myself to walk faster, back to my car. I slammed the door shut and curled into myself, clutching my arms tightly. The haunting night. The one that never really leaves me. My darkest nightmare.

M-my mom died. That one sentence still shatters me like glass. I was just five. One moment she was singing lullabies and cooking my favourite kheer, and the next, she was... gone. Just like that. Tears welled up in my eyes as my breathing turned shallow. I hated how easily the memories flooded back — the silence in the house, papa's trembling hands, and my small self hiding under the bed not knowing what was going on.

"Bhagwaan ne thodi bhi daya nahi dikhayi..." I sobbed, clutching my chest, wishing I could rip the pain out. It was too much — too raw — even after all these years. "Mujhse mera sab kuch cheen liya..." The pain consumed me, just like the crowd had consumed the scene of the incident. Everything blurred. Everything hurt.

But then, as if my heart remembered its anchor, I thought about

Papa.

A soft, shaky smile formed on my lips. At least I have him. He didn't leave me. Never made me feel the absence of maa. He worked double shifts, made maggi when I cried at night, and even learned to braid my hair—messily, but with so much love.

"Papa..." I whispered, wiping the tears from my face. He was my superhero. My strength. Slowly, the pain dulled a little. It was still there, but not enough to drown me anymore. I had survived. Because of him.
Just then, a loud siren blared through the area, jerking me out of my thoughts. "Toh police aa hi gayi..." I muttered. God! I love officers. Especially IPS officers. That had once been my dream. Uniform, power, justice—it fascinated me since childhood. Par height ka kya karein? Bhagwaan ne 5'2" mein hi sab kuch sama diya. Toh IPS ka sapna reh gaya sapna hi.

Still, whenever I see officers, my heart skips a beat. They have a vibe, you know? A confidence that lights up the air. So obviously, I peeped out of my window to get a look at the arriving officers.

AND THERE HE WAS.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" My inner fangirl screamed. "IPS OFFICER ALERT!!"

Calm down, calm down, I told myself. But how could I?! There he stood—majestic as ever. Mujhe toh sirf ek jhalak hi mili, lekin usmein hi main behosh hone ko thi.

Rolled-up sleeves. Perfectly gelled dark hair. Aur woh aankhen — dark brown — intense and commanding.
Bhai! Ye toh dhamaka hai!
Wait... why did his voice sound familiar?

I squinted, trying to get a better look, but the crowd was insane. Someone moved, and for a brief second, I saw him directing his team with authority, his voice calm but commanding. It felt like I had heard him before. "Arre!" I slapped my forehead. "Ye koi TV serial nahi hai ki hero mujhe roz dikhe."

But still... that man. Something about him pulled me in. Maybe it was the dreamer in me who never really let go of the IPS dream. Maybe it was fate giving me butterflies on an ordinary, disastrous morning.
Mujhe toh ab lagta hai... agar shaadi karungi, toh sirf ek IPS officer se! Waise bhi, aise log responsible hote hain, disciplined hote hain, aur ufff uniform mein toh bilkul filmy lagte hain.

Soon, the officers managed to clear the traffic. Finally. The road was open again. But meri toh waat lag gayi thi. I glanced at the clock again. 9:25 AM. "Aaaaaaaa!!!" I screamed. "Main gayi!!!" I rushed back to my seat, buckled up, and started the engine. I drove like a woman on a mission, dodging potholes and cutting corners like a pro.

Aaj toh Meher, tu gayi. Aaj toh tere boss tujhe office ki deewar pe frame karke usmein aarti utarenge. But even as I sped towards my workplace, part of me was still stuck back at the traffic jam. Still thinking about those dark brown eyes.

Still hearing that familiar voice.