Chapter 1: Dawn on the Balcony
The first rays of dawn spilled across my Mumbai balcony, painting the city’s high-rises in a soft golden haze. I sat cross-legged on the cool stone, a steaming cup of chai warming my palms, listening as the city slowly stirred—milkman’s scooter honking, crows cawing, temple bells ringing somewhere in the distance. It was in these quiet moments that I thought most about my two childhood friends: Arjun, a fox shapeshifter with a mischievous grin, and Kunal, a silent asura who always seemed to lurk in the background.
From the very beginning, our trio was the talk of the colony. Ma would shake her head and mutter, "Arre Priya, kya ajeeb jodi banayi hai Bhagwan ne! Ek insaan, ek lomdi, ek asura—pura Bollywood picture lagta hai, beta." Still, even with all the aunty-jis’ whispers and teachers’ odd stares, we stuck together. Sometimes, under the big peepal tree during our evening games, I’d wonder how strange and magical our friendship really was, feeling the earth cool beneath me and the tree’s ancient roots at my back.
That particular morning, as the city yawned awake, both my friends entered adulthood at the same time—each one desperately in need of comfort from their destined partner. The air itself felt charged, thick with the promise of change. My heart pounded; I sensed the childish safety of our old days was slipping away, replaced by something raw and urgent.
And out of all the millions in Mumbai, it was me they both turned to.
That realisation pressed down on me like the city’s humid air. For a second, I felt oddly flattered—then panic swept in, sharp as a rickshaw’s horn.
Before I knew it, I abandoned the asura and went looking for the fox shapeshifter—only to stumble upon a truth I never expected.
For all my so-called loyalty, when it came down to a choice, my feet simply moved on their own. I didn’t even think of Kunal as I locked the door and rushed out, Arjun’s name echoing first in my mind, like it always did. Maybe it was habit, maybe it was that old ache in my chest.
Hidden in the velvet shadows of the bar’s corridor, I heard Arjun’s voice, edged with the arrogance only a pampered Bandra boy could manage. "Just watch, between me and Kunal, Priya will definitely choose me. What use is Kunal’s capability? As long as I keep Priya under my thumb, he’ll always be my defeated rival."
The faint, oily smell of frying samosas from the bar kitchen drifted past, mixing with the stickiness of the Mumbai night air. My heart thudded in my ears, drowning out my breath. Was this really the Arjun I’d defended from bullies under the peepal tree?
A rough Mumbai tapori voice chimed in, half-mocking: "Haan bhai, tum fox log toh naturally talented ho. Tu toh Priya ko pasand bhi nahi karta, phir bhi usko ghumata rehta hai. Lekin is baar kuch zyada hi ho gaya. Asura agar bina partner ke adulthood mein gaya toh mar bhi sakta hai. Tu ne Priya ko yahaan phasa diya—kuch ho gaya toh kaun sambhalega?"
I clutched my dupatta tighter, twisting the fabric between my sweaty fingers, feeling every stare, every judgement. How could they talk about Kunal so casually, as if his life was just another round of their silly game?
Another sneering voice added, "Darna kya hai? Time aane par Priya ko blame de dena. Kya destined partner, yaar? Sirf asuraon ko aise gande rishte chahiye—mar bhi jaaye toh accha hai..."
That familiar voice was dripping with contempt, cruelty, and gloating. A cold wave of humiliation washed over me. The very air stung. In that dim corridor, I suddenly felt small, foolish. My so-called best friend, whom I’d trusted so blindly, was laughing about me—and about Kunal, too.
My hand reached for the wall to steady myself, my world spinning, humiliation burning in my cheeks. The sound of the ceiling fan from inside the lounge felt distant, as if I was floating outside my own body. Was this really happening? Why did it hurt so much?
Before the pain fully hit, a memory flashed: Arjun, age nine, splitting his tiffin with me under the peepal tree when I’d forgotten mine—pressing a warm aloo paratha into my hand, grinning, "Mere paas do hain, tu lele." The sweetness of that moment made the betrayal sting even deeper. My knees trembled. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. Even the comfort of old memories couldn’t shield me now. My heart ached, and the Mumbai dawn outside felt impossibly far away.