I'm here with the first chapter!

Are you guys ready to meet our Heroine

Who doesn't really need a hero... for now at least.

Let's get started!

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'TIME IS MONEY, DON'T WASTE IT IN BARGAINING.'

Well...well.

I have an abundance of one and a scarcity of another, so- I know I can spend a lot of my time bargaining the hell out of what I want...and desperately need to save from the pennies I have.

I sighed after reading the tiny sign calling me poor, and feeling my bare feet getting roasted on the hot concrete road!

What a way to welcome me, City of Joy!

Another defeated sigh escaped from my mouth upon seeing the prices on the footwear displayed behind the glass. It had nothing under my budget.

I didn't even have a budget for shoes because I didn't know I'd need one. May God blast the one who stole my comfy shoes from my seat.

Who steals shoes, man? Who? Who? Who?

Well...someone who was broke, desperate and had good taste like me. Actually, no, I was wearing a pair of worn-out slippers because I was intelligent enough not to showcase my best while travelling in a sleeper class coach from Mumbai to Kolkata.

City of Dreams to the City of Joy.

But neither have I got a dreamy life in Mumbai, nor am I experiencing any joy here.

I'd have liked to wipe my sweaty forehead but the luggage that I was carrying didn't allow me to do so. So, I just felt the tiny drops travel down from my temple to my face.

"Why do you have to be so hot, Kolkata?" I softly growled at the clear sunny sky, showering all the rays I didn't want.

Ouch! My foot!

I winced—closing my eyes and gritting my teeth to swallow the scream when someone mercilessly stepped on my toes; but after looking up, I found a middle-aged hawker, balancing a wooden cart on his head.

"Sorry, maa." He apologised, his Bengali accent was very prominent.

Okay, how sweet is that language?

The man was caught up, his hard work shining in the form of tiny diamonds resting on his tanned face.

I smiled at him, shaking my head. Not knowing what to reply.

He might have understood what I couldn't say, as he became part of the passing crowd again.

Unknowingly, I heaved another sigh, tugging on the bag on my shoulder, I finally decided to let go of my broken trolley and wipe my face. The idea of touching my face with a dirty hand irked me, but I'm sure my face was no better, and the bright day didn't even let me have a faded reflection on the glass.

Looking around, I pulled the trolley once again...technically carrying it because... my trolley and I were in the same situation: broken.

Instead of asking for directions to the clock room after deboarding the train, I decided to walk to the local market near Howrah station, around four to five hundred metres away—barefoot—to look for a pair of decent, cheap shoes.

With a duffle bag on my back, a tote on my shoulder, a trolley in hand, I continued my hunt-and then, I didn't find what I was looking for, but found exactly what I needed.

A hawker selling sandals on the footpath, a square piece of cloth was all he could call a shop, and it had hundreds of pairs of shoes and sandals piled up.

Instead of sighing in relief, I took a deep breath to prepare myself for the burn my feet faced as soon as I jogged my way towards the hawker stall, cutting through the crowd. People probably cursed me in the language I didn't know...yet.

"Kitne ka diya, dada?" I asked loudly, so that I was heard among the crowd of half a dozen women, but I doubt he heard me. It wasn't an issue because he was shouting the price every 15 seconds.

(How much, brother?)

"Dedh-shau taka, dedh-shau!"

"One-fifty?" My eyes sparkled seeing all varieties of shoes scattered there; from converse to sandals to stilettos, there was all! But with just a tiny problem: we had to find the pair among the hundreds of scattered footwear.

I knew I had only a single five-hundred-rupee note in my wallet, and that had to cover my ride to the hostel and today's food. I could only afford a single pair of footwear, so I had to make it count. I scanned the pile for something comfortable, something in my size and my taste. My eyes stopped at a violet... maybe purple and white converse, I quickly bent down to pick it up and another sandal came with it, tangled in its lace.

I gasped in delight, the sandal that came along was a bright red stiletto of five inches of heel in good condition! I could bet that there was no way I would get my hands on a heel like this at such a cheap price; all I had to do was find its pair.

"Aaoo!" I shrieked again when something sharp pierced my right foot. I snapped my head in the direction from where the sandal came, ready to pick a fight with the person who carelessly discarded the high heel which landed straight on me, but after a look at it, my anger changed into gratitude. The heel that injured me was exactly what I needed. Without wasting any other second, I picked it up to make sure it was the pair of what I had chosen... er... What chose me.

Same height, same size, good condition. A win!

Wow! I got what I needed without even searching for it?

I wanted to jump to celebrate. But a grown-up 27-year-old, jumping in between the busy crowd, holding bright red heels in hand while being barefoot, won't be a very...normal sight. As much as I am feeling the main character, I'm NOT in a Bollywood movie or K-drama. And the 'K' here doesn't stand for Korean but the 'K-universe' of Ekta Kapoor.

Taking out the only note I had from the back pocket of my purse, I handed it to the hawker and after a few seconds he returned the balance to me. He asked if I needed a plastic bag but I shook my head again.

I really need to learn basic Bengali.

I left the spot for new customers and standing near the footpath, I just kept looking at the pair of stilettos I was holding. It seemed like a character of its own; smiling at my recent purchase I looked forward to the busy road. People were rushing the same way as they did in Mumbai. What made the difference was the surroundings: the signature yellow taxi and blue public buses running on the road. The ticket-collecting person was shouting at all the stops at the people waiting in the stand.

Wow. That was new for me. Helpful too.

I was enjoying the chaotic view when the clouds cleared and the rays fell on me like a spotlight, making me squint my eyes.

Yes, I am the moment.

A sweaty person, standing barefoot on Kolkata roads with three different forms of luggage, one of them defective—FYI, holding a pair of brand new heels deserved the spotlight and nature was working for it.

I slid my finger on the length of the heel—it was nothing less than five inches. That would make my 5'6" frame, 5' 11" tall. I smirked at the picture my mind created, which was obviously wearing a flowy dress instead of the track pants and T-shirt I was in.

I always wanted to wear these heels but...

'Can't you just wear slippers and sandals? My friends were calling me chotu in front of you!'

The echo from the past made me chuckle.

Girls, when you are giving a chance to 'short kings' make sure they are secure with themselves as well as you. And he wasn't even short. He was 5'11" himself. I mean... in the way boys measure their height, you know.

And I, blinded by love, gave up on my heels to make him feel secure in his own skin. I even stopped wearing two inches of heels because that would bring me to his eye level.

All these sacrifices, only to end up divorced after 3 years of love marriage.

And now, after 9 long years, I finally let my feet slip into the heels I missed. The red stilettos fit me like it was made for me. Or maybe I was made for them. Or we were made for each other.

We were sole-mates.

The not-so-minor change in my height made me feel more confident about myself, and about my new journey.

Was buying these stilettos for a busy uneven road like this; after getting my sole grilled and pricked by hot broken concrete, and not knowing how long I'll have to walk for God knows how long was practical? Nope.

But, I've been practical my entire life. From now on... I'll be what I always wanted to be-

New City. New Journey. But I'll be myself. My own true self.

The heels changed my perspective as well; the City of Joy started to feel like its name. The colours started to feel more vibrant, the air felt cooler or maybe because the cloud covered the sun again.

I belonged to the height, I always did. It was stupid of me to shrink myself for someone else

Too much of the main character moment again; I turned my head left and right to find my way and you know what? Even when I wanted to stop behaving like the main character, the divine didn't!

A yellow ambassador taxi stopped in front of me asking where I would go.

What? They do that here? I don't have to run behind them and convince them to take me as their passenger?

Oh my God. I love this city already!

"Kaha jaana hai, didi?"

(Where do you need to go, sister?)

"Lake Market," I replied to the man in the blue uniform. He might be around 40 years old.

"Teen-sau lagega."

(Would cost 300)

In my budget. But would I accept it? Nope.

"300? Paheli baar aayi hu kya, dada?" I countered.

(300? Do you think I came here for the first time, brother?)

Yup. First time.

"Hamesha ka hai mera; aise hi 300 dedu? Meter se chaloge?"

(It's a regular way for me, and you expect me to pay 300? Will you go by the meter rate?)

Nope. It's not. I'm setting foot in Kolkata for the very first time.

"Tell ka dam dekha hai didi? Do-sau-assi dedo."

(Are you aware of the petrol prices, sister? Ok, give 280.)

"200."

"Itni garmi mein kyun mazak kar rahi ho, madame?" He started to get annoyed.

(Why are you cracking jokes in this hot weather, madame?)

"To aap kyu kar rahe ho, bhaiya?" I directed the same question at him with a frown, the summer heat getting the best of all of us. "220 mein final karo!"

(Then why are you joking, brother? Close it at 220.)

"Dhai-sau kardenge."

(Would make it 250)

"Do-sau-chaallis. Bas. Isse zyada nahi." I made my final offer and started walking towards the back of the taxi to get rid of the weight I had been carrying for an hour now. I smiled at my victory when the driver stepped out to help me with my luggage.

(Two-forty. That's it. Nothing more than that.)

He organised my trolley and bags in the dicky, and I made my way towards the door in my five-inch stilettos. I didn't even have to walk around to find myself a ride!

"You're lucky for me." I smiled at my heels after getting comfortable in the backseat, allowing myself to finally relax.

I didn't want to miss a single second of my ride but the 36-hour journey was too exhausting and my eyes wanted rest, but I forced them open because my gender didn't come with the privilege of dozing off anywhere I liked. I have to stay alert 24/7, and even more if I'm a new girl in a new city. Which is exactly what I was.

Snapping myself out of thoughts with a tiring yawn, I kept looking at the passing view:

Hundreds of people going on with their own lives; unaware of the next person's story. I looked at the person in front of me, driving me to my destination.

"Are you from here... Mera mat-"

(I mean)

He answered my question before I could finish translating it, thinking that he might not know English, but I was wrong.

"No, madame. I'm from MP."

I was surprised to hear him speak in English.

"Wow, bhaiya. Your English is very fluent."

"I used to drive in Bangalore before coming here. Then all the language things started happening...it kind of... acha nahi lagne laga."

(It didn't feel good after that.)

I understood his point but I also believed that it was important for one to protect their essence and culture. India has lost so much of its glorious identity and has accepted new cultures too, which makes our India so culturally rich and diverse today. It's important to celebrate it rather than... whatever people are doing in the name of protecting it.

"I understand. And what about Kolkata? Did you learn Bangali?"

He laughed, "Bengalis are the sweetest people. They'll learn your language to make you feel welcomed and accept your broken Bengali. But yes, be respectful and don't crack the 'Bhalobasha and maach' jokes."

(Love and fish)

I laughed agreeing with him; the phone inside my purse started ringing and I muttered an apology before answering the call.

"Hello, is this Mahinoor Haider?"

I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath to cool down my rising temper after hearing my name being mispronounced once again. Exhaling softly while closing the window to muffle the city noise, I replied... corrected her in my professional voice,

"It's Mah-e-Noor, and yes, you're talking to her." I even pulled a smile as if she could see me on the other side.

"Ok, Miss. Haider, I'm Sheila calling from Glam Media," she used my surname instead of correcting her mistake. Nevermind. I rolled my eyes.

"I am calling you to confirm your presence for the final round of the interview scheduled tomorrow at 11:30 am."

"Oh yes, yes. I'll be there."

"Thank you. I've forwarded the location to your WhatsApp number, as well as your email. We are looking forward to meeting you."

"Same here."

"Have a good day Miss. Haider."

"You, too, Sheila. Take care."

The call was disconnected with that. Holding the phone close to my chest, I rolled down the window, letting the humid air touch my face once again.

Oh, Kolkata. Please be gentle with me. The City of Dreams has given me enough nightmares.

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And that was our first chapter!

Mah-e-Noor has arrived in the City of Joy and found her

Sole-mate.

From which city are you reading this? Name it without naming it!

Did you guys like the chapter?

Would love to know which segment you enjoyed reading the most.

Let me know the know you'd prefer this story to be updated.｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡