"Mendhak ki Mendhaki."

[Mr. Frog and his Ms. Frog.]

__________________________

A dull yellow bulb flickered overhead, casting a tired glow across the cluttered desk. Files were piled high, some open, others half-forgotten under coffee-stained papers. The air was thick with the scent of paper, ink, and burnt-out energy.

Harsh sat alone, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His eyes hadn't left the crime scene photographs in over an hour.

Suddenly, his phone rang. He looked up to see.. Dhruv calling? Why was Dhruv calling him at this hour? He thought, swiping towards the pick-up button.

"Hello. Are you awake?" Dhruv's deep voice came as soon as he picked up the call.

"Dhruv, why are you calling me at this time of the hour? Did something happen there?" Harsh asked, sounding uninterested. Who he totally wasn't at the time.

"Yeah, about that.. ek choti si garbad ho gayi hai." Dhruv said without beating around the bush. Harsh frowned as soon as he heard those words.

[A little mishap happened]

"What mishap? What happened? What did you do?" Harsh asked, sounding slightly worried.

Dhruv rubbed his forehead, letting out a tired sigh, looking at the men on the ground before him. "Uhm.. I may or may not be surrounded by unconscious men right now." He said, staring at the said men.

"What?" Harsh's voice came something in between worried and confused. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

Dhruv sighed and started narrating the whole story to him. How he came to the forest again at night, the warehouse, the huge billrubin containers, the men, him getting caught.

Harsh scoffed. "So, you mean you went there to feel your main character energy and got caught while doing so?" He asked in disbelief. Dhruv hummed.

"And you also had 6-7 men surround you and one of them pressing a knife against your back?" Dhruv hummed again.

"And you're also telling me that you beat all of them up to unconsciousness when that totally wasn't necessary. You could've easily run away from their grasp! What was the need to fight them?" Harsh asked, his voice raising at last.

"Hey, it was necessary." Dhruv was quick to defend himself.

"Oh, was it now? You've been in such situations before, and you always escaped and avoided violence. So, what was so special about this one for you to retort to violence?" Harsh asked, scoffing. The irony was too much. He was telling all of this to a police officer for law's sake!

"Calm down. The guys are not dead. I know where to hit." Dhruv's voice was calm and unbothered. Too calm for someone in his situation should have. Harsh's annoyance only increased more at his nonchalant tone.

"Let me get this straight," he snapped, voice low and sharp. "You met some shaddy people in a warehouse in the middle of a forest-alone-at midnight. You didn't tell anyone. On top of them made them unconscious and are now telling me to 'Calm down' because they are not dead?! Dhruv, what the hell were you thinking?!"

On the other end, Dhruv's voice was ragged. "He pulled a knife on me. I just defended myself. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

Harsh let out a slow, furious sigh. "Yes, you defended yourself. But what was the need to when you could've just easily escaped from there like you always did? What if those people are not what we think they are? The Naveli police aren't your friend like I am."

Dhruv hummed again, nonchalantly. As if to dismiss Harsh's words. Harsh huffed.

"Did you stab anyone?"

"Kind of."

"Kind of? KIND OF?! What the hell is 'kind of'? You either stabbed someone or you didn't. What does 'kind of' mean?"

"I didn't stab him. He got stabbed. I just happened to be holding the knife when it happened."

"What?!" Harsh nearly shouted. "You're joking, right? Please, for once in your life, tell me you're joking."

"I mean... he swung first. I dodged. Bad luck for him. Good reflexes for me. Look, I didn't count his wounds or anything."

"Are you even aware of the fact that I'm a police officer? And you're telling me you stabbed someone and beat some men to unconscious ever so casually." Harsh asked, in disbelief. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.

"Because.. You're also my friend?"

"Are you telling me this or asking me?" Harsh asked, so done with the man he was on the call with.

"Maybe a little bit of both."

"Dhruv, why did you actually beat them? You're not the one to retort to such violence easily. You're supposed to be the calm, composed guy, remember?" Harsh's tone was flat. Almost amused.

"Harsh.. Who am I?"

"Now, what kind of question is that?" Harsh snapped.

"It's a simple question that has a simple answer. Just answer."

Harsh rolled his eyes. ""You're Dr. Dhruv Saxena-my best friend and the guy who somehow made being a forensic scientist look cool. Half the country thinks you're a legend. The other half thinks you're terrifying. Either way, you've got the best lab in India and a brain that makes murderers lose sleep. And me? I just get front-row seats to the madness." He deadpanned.

"Exactly." Dhruv muttered, looking at one particular man lying before him. "I'm all those things you listed.." his voice was low, but menacing.

"Aur ye saale mujhse aise baat kar rahe the jaise mai inka paltu kutta hu. Gussa toh aayega na yaar. They wound my ego. I had to aid somehow, didn't I?" His voice was unbothered, unhinged, and unapologetic.

[And these assholes were talking to me like I'm some kind of loyal little pet-like. I'm supposed to wag my tail and take orders. How the hell am I not supposed to lose it?]

Harsh was speechless.

But then, he burst out laughing. Watching Dhruv loose compusure was like watching moon and sun side by side. "You're impossible." He managed to say. Dhruv couldn't quite comprehend if that laugh was sarcastic, humorous, fed up, or somewhere in between the blurred lines of all three of them.

After that quick episode, Harsh exhaled heavily. What was much he could do to what was already done, anyway, "What are you going to do next? I'll handle the police there."

Dhruv hummed. "First, being the decent civilian I am, I'll call the ambulance and police for them. Second, I'll go to Ajmer and take the first train to Agra tomorrow." He hung up the call, making his way outside the warehouse.

__________________________

Meera's brow furrowed in guilt. Why did everything have to be so difficult in her life? Her life wasn't the typical 70s film. And she wasn't the typical herione. Then why did it suddenly feel like one? But she was determined not to make it like one.

Too much drama.

Too much daily soap.

Too much typicality in the wrong way. The worst way.

Meera suddenly huffed in frustration as she slipped out the back gate into the chilly night. Her breath fogs in the air. Crickets and bats chirp. The world is quiet - too quiet.

The chilling kind of silence.

She had almost turned around to go back inside the haveli, but then she remembered Garv's words.

"You can't give up on your dreams. I have a plan, admission form, money, and train tickets. Are you in?"

Meera slipped into the shadows, walking fast. Her heart pounded like a drum. Every sound - a barking dog, a car horn, footsteps - made her flinch.

She clutched her odhani over her shoulder and headed down, hiding her face so that no one familiar recognises her. It was risky. And all Garv's fault. If only her baba didn't come up with that stupid proposal, she'd be dreaming in her soft bed right now.

She flinched as she heard the sound of a police jeep. Why did it freaking feel like she was committing some crime? She was just eloping to escape a forced marriage.

"Ek auto tak nhi hai yaha." She muttered under her breath, in frustration. Of course, what was she even expecting? A royal chariot at 2:18 at night?

Why was eloping so difficult?

They make it seem so easy in serials and movies. They don't even show the heriones carrying bags. And here, she was struggling with three bags for her dear life. But it were essentials, so worth it.

Why was this railway station so far away?

Finally,

After battling endless hardships, dramatic pauses, villainous roads, and a journey that felt longer than a daily soap's 1000 episodes... she finally-yes, finally-set foot on the holy land called the railway station. Cue thunder, emotional music, and a slow-motion hair flip.

In and all, She finally reached the railway station, and it was still buzzing at this time. She searched her bag to find the ticket Garv booked for her only to gasp.

And let me elaborate (exaggerate),

As she stood amidst the bustling crowd, heroic music faded into suspenseful beats, with a flip of her long hair, flowing behind like (असुविधा के लिए खेद है पर लिखिका को कोई तुलना नहीं मिली, जिसके लिए वह अत्यंत समप्रार्थी है, समास्य के संबंध में आपकी समझ के लिए धन्यवाद।) She opened her bag with the confidence of a queen... only to be met with the horror of horrors-no train ticket.

She dug through her bag like a woman possessed-phone, a charger, a suspicious half-eaten chocolate-but no sign of the sacred slip of paper.

Her eyes widened, a dramatic gasp escaped her lips, and the camera zoomed in thrice-once on her face, once on the empty wallet, and once for absolutely no reason.

The world froze. The pigeons in the background flew off in slow motion. And she whispered, "Yeh toh hona hi tha..." This was bound to happen.

Ab meera kuch karne jaate aur jadbaad na ho.. aisa toh ho hi nhi sakta. [Now Meera is doing something and not causing drama... that's just not possible!]

She slapped her forehead, cursing herself for her carelessness. But can you really blame her, though? Now, if someone was in such a rush to run away, then in this condition, anyone is bound to be a little careless, right?

Meera was just thinking about what to do next when her eyes fell on someone-her Amma's aunt's son's cousin's daughter. The one she always butted heads with. If she saw Meera here, she'd definitely gossip about it. Ugh, that nosy little tattletale!

Wait a minute... what was she doing here? That too, this late at night, alone, and without even a bag?

She had to be here to meet her boyfriend. There is no doubt about it. If she dared to snitch, Meera won't be quite either. Well, if Meera didn't stir the pot by tattling now, could she even call herself Meera?

But wait-gossiping or not, Meera wasn't staying here long. She wouldn't get a chance to tell on her. Hmph. Anyway, this reminded Meera of what she was supposed to be doing.

Shivji really throws her from one mess straight into another-what is this behavior, Shivji?!

Just then, her aunt's cousin's daughter looked in her direction. Meera quickly ducked behind a bench. Once the girl turned away, Meera ran.

As fast as she could.

She had no idea which platform she ended up on, just that she did. Platform No. 7! she read. Oh-my-dear-shivji!!

But her train to delhi was supposed to leave from Platform No. 4.

Ugh, Meera's luck, her carelessness, and that meddling gossip queen!

Aaj hi milne aana tha isse apne boyfriend se!

She checked the time, and it was already 3:12. She didn't have much time left. She ran towards the ticket counter. Thankfully, there was only one man standing in the line.

She ran towards the ticket counter, nudging the man on the shoulder. Ek toh pata nhi kya kha kar ye aadmi 6-6 ft ke qutub minar ban jate hai. Aur ek Meera ko dekho, roj bournvita peke bhi 5'6 ki hi reh gayi.

[Seriously, what do these guys even eat that they turn into 6-foot-tall Qutub Minars? And then look at Meera-drinks Bournvita every day and still stuck at 5'6!]

"Suniye, kya hum aapse pehle ticket lele? Woh hume thodi jaldi hai." She called out, the man turned around, his face expressionless. Meera blinked for a moment... this man was..

[Excuse me, could we get the tickets first? We're in a bit of a hurry.]

He looked her up and down as if examining her. What was a girl doing at the railway station this late?

Seeing him not reply and continue staring at her, she frowned slightly and cleared her throat. "Dekhiye, bhaiya, kya hum aapse pehle ticket lele? Hume thodi jaldi hai. Side hatiye na." She said more firmly this time.

[Look, bhaiya, can I get the tickets before you? I'm in a bit of a hurry. Step aside.]

Bhaiya? He frowned but nodded and stepped aside nonetheless. Not that he minded being called that, but the way she had said that.. did she think he was staring at her in a creepy way? Did he look like a creep to her?

Meera stepped forward towards the counter, and behind the scratched-up glass sat a woman-middle-aged, clearly done with life, and even more done with her night shift.

The lady had half-moon spectacles perched at the edge of her nose, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders despite the summer heat, and a permanent scowl that could probably curdle milk. Her eyes flicked up at Meera, unimpressed, then back down to her register.

"What?" she snapped, as if Meera's very presence was an inconvenience. Her shrill voice peircing through the air in all wrong ways.

Meera blinked, taken aback. "That.. uhh.. ticket. I want a ticket."

The woman sighed dramatically, like Meera had just asked for a rocket to the moon. Her fingers, adorned with fading rings, clacked noisily on the keyboard. "ID proof?" she barked without looking up.

Meera fumbled through her bag, her hands shaking slightly. The woman drummed her nails on the counter, impatience oozing from every movement. Something about her demeanor screamed not to mess with her more than just existing. She looked like the perfect, frustrated, sleep-deprived government employee. Besides, she was middle-aged.

You kids always come unprepared," she muttered under her breath, loud enough for Meera to hear.

Meera handed over the ID silently, biting her tongue. This was not the time to argue. The woman glanced at the ID and looked at Meera, "Naam bol." [Your name?]

"Ji, Meera Choudhary."

"Kain jaano ro ticket chahiye?"

[Where do you want the ticket to?]

Meera blinked momentarily. "Kahi ki bhi de dijiye."

[Any ticket will do.]

For the first time, the lady's head fully turned up to look at her with a bewildered frown. Not only her, but the man standing beside Meera who was on his phone now, also looked up at her.

The woman paused.

"What? You want ticket to where again?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, as if Meera had just asked for a ticket to Mars.

"Anywhere." Meera said, twisting her lips distastefully. So done with life, so very done. "Jo pehle train abhi nikal rahi uski ticket de dijiye. Ek hi dena."

[Just... the earliest train going anywhere. One ticket.]

The woman stared at her for a beat too long. The sharp tongue that had just snapped at the last passenger now seemed momentarily stunned.

"You want a ticket to anywhere?" she said slowly, leaning forward slightly.

Meera nodded.

"Pehla te sochi ne aayi thi kya? Aur ye ke baat huyi - 'kahi ki bhi de dijiye'! Arre, koni jagah jano hovego ne? Koni sochyo hovego ne pehla te?" The lady said bewildered sharing a amused look with the man.

[Didn't you think it through beforehand? And what's this-'Give me a ticket to anywhere'? Come on, you must be going somewhere, right? You must have thought of that at least.]

Meera sighed. "Ab kya baataye aapko. Socha tha bhot kuch nhi tha par ho gya na. Ticket bhi li thi, delhi ki woh bhi, lekin ghar par bhul gyi." She said remorsefully.

[What can I even say now? I hadn't thought of a lot of things, but still. I even bought a ticket-to Delhi, no less-but I forgot it at home.]

"You want to go to Delhi. But the train is of Agra. And this isn't even the right platform. Just wait till morning, can't you?"

Meera's eyes widened, voice panicked. "No, no, I can't stay till morning. Just give me the ticket." She said hastily.

The woman muttered something under her breath-probably about kids and drama-and turned back to her computer. Her fingers clacked against the keys as she checked the schedules. The faint glow of the screen reflected off her glasses as she squinted.

"Platform 4. Train leaves in 10 minutes. One seat left in general. No refunds if you change your mind."

Meera slid the money through the slot.

The woman handed over the ticket, still looking at her like she was either brave, broken, or completely mad.

Meera took the ticket, didn't look at the destination, and walked off-towards the unknown, or maybe, towards freedom. The man beside her kept looking at her. Who was this strange girl?

"ha, bhai, bol." she barked towards the man, snapping out of whatever brief bewilderment she'd felt.

The man snapped back towards the lady, shaking his head. Ajeeb Gulabo thi. [She was strange.] He thought. "A ticket for Agra."

The lady glanced towards the screen again, asking for his ID and name. "Name?"

The man cleared his throat. "Dr. Dhruv Saxena."

____________________________

Meera went inside the train and started searching for her seat. It was damn difficult with three gigantic bags in hand of that little soul. But finally she got her seat. Surprisingly, her compartment was rather empty, only a few people here and there. Of course, who would even want to travel this late?

The coach was dimly lit, the ceiling fans rotating with a lazy hum, and the faint smell of steel, dust, and old newspapers filled the air. She dragged herself to her seat—near the window, second from the door—and sank into it with a sigh, her body finally beginning to register the exhaustion of the night.

She settled in her seat. She soon as she stared outside. She saw the same man she had asked to get a ticket before him coming towards her.

Is he following me? No, no, that can't be it, right? Why would he follow me over a ticket? I must be bluffing. I shouldn't judge someone like this. But he was staring at me, though.. of course, sundar hu na isliye.

[I'm pretty after all]

The man came searching for his seat, his ticket in hand, specs adorning his eyes as he looked. He stopped in front of Meera, looking at her with an expressionless face, who was looking at him with a wary, suspicious expression.

The seat in front of Meera creaked slightly as the man lowered himself onto it. It was one of those fixed pairs of seats that faced each other across a narrow strip of floor—barely enough legroom if both passengers decided to stretch. The vinyl cushions were faded blue, cracked at the edges, with stuffing poking out in places. A rusted metal handlebar jutted out beside each window, the only thing to hold onto when the train lurched unexpectedly.

He dropped into the seat with the kind of ease that came from years of solo travel. One arm slung over the metal side-rest, the other loosely resting on his thigh. His back was tilted ever so slightly—relaxed, but not careless, because at the same time it was alert.

The overhead light above him flickered once before steadying, casting shadows over his features. His navy blue hoodie was creased at the elbows, and the hood was pushed back, revealing dark, messy hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in hours—but somehow still worked for him. Her amber eyes shining under the station lights.

he had turned slightly to look out the opposite window—but the sharp line of his jaw, the slight stubble, and the calm confidence in his posture unsettled her a little. The specs that only made his appearance more civil, decent.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even glance her way.

And somehow, that made her more nervous.

Meera shifted slightly, pulling her dupatta tighter over her chest and glancing back out her own window, pretending to be absorbed by the darkness rushing past. But she remained stiff, every muscle alert. Her fingers tapped against her thigh, a silent, anxious rhythm.

She didn’t know him.

He didn’t seem dangerous—but she knew better than to trust appearances.

After all, she was a alone girl, travelling alone late at night.

Her posture and demeanor was so tense that Dhruv could feel it radiating out of her. He didn't need to look to know she was biting her lips, clutching her dupatta tightly, tapping her foot anxiously.

He also didn't miss the not-so-subtle stolen glances his way. But one particular glamce remained longer.

His voice broke the silence, low and smooth, with the slightest trace of amusement.

“You’re staring.” He turned to look at her. His expressions were neutral.

Meera blinked like a deer caught in red. She looked away for a moment, embarrassed. She wasn't staring staring. She looked back at him, trying to mask her embarrassment with a scowl. “You’re sitting.”

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Am I? Dekhlo kahi mai naach toh nhi raha." He said, with a hint of teasing in his smooth, deep voice.

[Are you sure, I'm not dancing?]

Meera's brows furrowed. Meera se hoshiyari? Trying to be a smartass in front of Meera. "Ji, dekh kiya," she gave him a tight lipped smile. "Aap naach nhi rahe hai, aap baarish ke mendhak ki tarah fudak rahe hai."

[I am sure/ you're not dancing, you're hopping around like a monsoon frog.]

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh really? Ek baar phir dekh lo, kahi tum baarish ki mendhaki ki tarah tar-tar toh nhi kar rahi?" He countered, in the same tone as hers.

[Take another look—are you sure you’re not croaking like a monsoon she-frog again?]

Meera gasped at his audacity. "Aapne hume mendhaki kaha?" [Did you just call me a she-frog?]

"Tumne mujhe mendhak kaha?" [Did you call me a frog?]

Meera narrowed her eyes and leaned back, biting the side of her cheek. Her posture was visibly more relaxed now, but relatively more annoyed.

Dhruv's lips twitched slightly watching the annoyed look. "What happened now, Ms. Gulabo?" He said, clearly trying to provoke her more.

Meera's lips parted but closed, as a crease of confusion graced her forehead. She clicked her tongue. "Tch, tch, aapko galatfehmi ho rahi hai, hum koi Gulabo-Wulabo nhi hai. Humara naam Meera hai, Meera." She genuinely corrected him.

[Tch, tch, you're clearly mistaken. I'm not some Gulabo-Wulabo, okay? My name is Meera.]

Meera. Dhruv thought in his mind.

Dhruv raised an eyebrow and gestured towards her outfit. She looked down, realising that she was wearing a pink lehenga-choli. [Check the media for her outfit.]

Oh, that's why he called me Gulabo. But hey, why did he call me that in the first place?

Because he didn't know her grace's name. The logical side of her brain taunted.

Dhruv shook his head, and took out his phone, and got busy on it. Meera sighed and looked out the window.

Why was it so dark? Because it was late night.

Why wasn't she sleepy, though? Anxiety.

Why did she have to do this? Technicalities.

After an hour or so, Meera looked up at him. Looking him up and down. "So, where are you headed to?" She asked.

You see, one thing about Meera, she couldn't keep her mouth shut for more than 15 minutes. She needed someone to talk to, even if it was about the rubbish-est thing in the world and even if it was with a total stranger.

Silence for too long made her anxious. She felt it suffocating like the air itself had grown heavy, pressing down on her chest. In those moments, she'd start tapping her fingers, biting her lip, glancing around for someone — anyone — to fill the void.

Her mind raced in silence, inventing conversations just to keep herself company. A quiet room wasn’t peace for Meera — it was punishment. She craved the comfort of voices, the rhythm of words, even if they were shallow or silly.

Most people found her chatter charming. A few found it exhausting. But Meera didn’t care — not really. Talking wasn’t just a habit. It was survival.

Because in silence, all the things she tried to avoid — the fears, the doubts, the memories she’d buried — came crawling back. And talking? Talking drowned them out.

Silence made her feel lonely.

It wasn’t just the absence of sound — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The stillness always felt too loud, like it carried things she didn’t want to remember, things she didn’t want to feel. When the world quieted down, her chest would tighten, her thoughts would scatter, and something cold would settle in her bones.

So Meera filled the quiet. With words, with laughter, with stories that didn’t always make sense. She talked to strangers like they were old friends and turned small moments into conversations that stretched longer than they needed to.

People often smiled at her warmth, her ease, the way she could turn a silent space into something alive. What they didn’t see was the way she clung to noise like a lifeline — not out of habit, but because she didn’t know what might rise to the surface if the silence stayed too long.

For Meera, talking wasn’t just something she did. It was something she needed.

Dhruv glanced up for a moment, then looked back on his phone screen. "This is a train to Agra, Gulabo." He said dismissively. But Meera didn't quite catch the 'dismissiveness' in his voice.

Meera nodded, scowling. Was it really necessary to respond like that? Couldn't he have just said it straight, like a normal person? But nope, sarcasm for life, right? Seedhe muh baat karne logo ko fine lagta hai kya  aaj kal?

[Is it a trebd to speak bluntly and rudely with people these days?]

Meera chose to ignore that. Instead, “Do you always sit this still? Or is this just your thing for train journeys?” She asked. Blame her chatterbox self, not her.

He didn’t look at her. “Quiet’s underrated.”

Meera made a face. “Only for people who have conversations with air.” How can someone be so quiet? She could bever. She didn't know what it was. But she needed a person to talk to, every now and then. She gets really anxious alone.

His gaze flicked toward her now, brief and assessing. “And people who talk constantly—what do they hear?”

Meera blinked. “You think I talk constantly?”

“You haven’t stopped since the ticket counter.”

Meera chose to again ignore that, "Waise aap waha kis kaam se ja rahe hai?"

[By the way, why are you headed there?]

Dhruv grumbled internally. He wasn’t very fond of small talks. Especially with strangers on top of that. He turned towards Meera and gave her a dead stare. "I live there." He deadpanned, focusing on his phone again.

"Akdu." Meera muttered under her breath, seeing his disinterest.

__________________________

How I feel after taking six long chapters and lots of drama to finally let the main characters meet?

Answer:

A chapter all about DHRUV-MEERA.

Anyway, how did you like their first meet?

Please, do vote and comment.

Till next chapter...

Adios, Mariposas🦋