Author Note 🌸 📝
Hey, you yes you reader!
Ignore this chapter at your own risk.
I know this relay long chapter . This one turned out longer than I planned—thanks for sticking with me till the end! ✨
I will personally hunt you in your dream.
But if you read it all, I will give you a big thank you and a cookie and your are my hero.
So please read—I'm only joking, but really, please read.🍪🍪
....….....…..........................
If chaos had a capital, it would be Crawford Market at noon. Vendors yelling, tourists
haggling, pigeons rioting — and right in the middle of it, Amaya and Vikram arguing about
Google Maps.
"It says take a left!" Amaya snapped.
"It's your phone, Amaya — even the GPS sounds confused," Vikram replied.
"Maybe it's allergic to your attitude."
They had come straight from Pune station, after Amaya refused to "sit still while her
destiny—aka her pink suitcase—was being kidnapped."
Now they were standing beside a fruit cart, out of breath. The vendor, Chotu, eyed them
with pure Mumbai amusement.
"Madam, you look like you ran from the police."
"We might've," Amaya muttered.
Vikram glared. "We didn't."
Chotu grinned. "Yet."
He handed them each a nimbu soda before Amaya could argue.
Meanwhile… three streets away, Bobby, Pinto, and Chhotu (the thieves) were
"strategizing," which mostly meant fighting over pani puri.
"Boss, we can't just walk around with the box!"
"We hide it until the buyer calls."
"Where?"
"Somewhere safe and invisible."
They looked up — at a food truck labeled "Raju's Tiffin Express."
"Perfect," Bobby said. "Nobody suspects food."
Moments later, they stuffed the tiny wooden box into one of Raju's empty lunch tins and
ran off.
Back to our "detective duo" — Amaya was showing a blurry CCTV screenshot from Rhea.
"See? That's my suitcase! And those idiots running—"
"—are apparently the thieves," Vikram finished. "Brilliant. Let's hope they posted their
location too."
Suddenly, a man in white pedaled past them, carrying a tower of lunchboxes.
Amaya squinted. "Wait… that box looks familiar."
Vikram frowned. "Please don't say what I think you're about to say."
"That's my artifact tin!"
Without hesitation — or logic — she started running after Raju the Dabbawala.
"Amaya, no! You can't just chase random lunchmen!"
"Watch me!"
She darted through the crowd, nearly tripping over a vegetable basket. Vikram followed,
muttering apologies to every human and pigeon in the way.
At the corner near Colaba Causeway, a loud "CLICK!" echoed.
"Beautiful chaos!" cried Miss Mehta, the eccentric photographer, snapping shots.
"Ma'am, please don't—" Vikram started.
"Perfect frame! Girl chasing man, man chasing girl, tiffin in the middle—cinema gold!"
A flash blinded him. He stumbled, tripped, and landed face-first into a display of scarves.
When he stood, a bright pink dupatta hung around his neck like a victory sash.
"Wow," Amaya said, catching her breath. "You finally added color to your personality."
"You're enjoying this too much."
"Absolutely."
Miss Mehta handed them a photo. "Souvenir! My best shot today." The picture? Amaya
mid-run, eyes wide — Vikram behind her, tangled in scarves, looking mortified. And in the
background, Raju's tiffin — with the artifact box clearly visible.
"Miss Mehta, you're a genius!" Amaya exclaimed.
"Of course I am. Art and chaos are my specialties."
They dashed again, following the dabbawala's route — until they hit a stall run by Dadi, the
nosy old lady.
"Arrey beta, why you running like CID?"
"We're… uh, fitness enthusiasts," Vikram gasped.
"Then why are you chasing lunch?"
Amaya bent over, panting. "Long story."
Dadi wagged her finger. "In my time, boys chased girls, not tiffins."
As Raju turned into a narrow lane, the thieves spotted him.
"Boss, he's got the box!"
"Grab it before those lovebirds do!"
Within seconds, everyone — Amaya, Vikram, the thieves, Raju, Miss Mehta, and even
Dadi — was part of a single chaotic chase through Mumbai's old lanes.
Miss Mehta clicked photos mid-run, Raju yelled "Mera dabba!", and Amaya yelled "My
box!"
Vikram, exhausted, shouted, "Someone stop the photographer, not the thief!"
The chase ended in a crash — literally. Raju's cycle hit a cart, the tiffins flew up like
fireworks, and everyone froze as one landed in Amaya's hands.
She opened it — breathless, hopeful — only to find… dal.
"That's not my box."
"On the bright side," Vikram panted, "you found lunch."
Miss Mehta clicked another photo. "Perfect ending!"
"This isn't the ending!" Amaya protested.
"Oh no," Vikram muttered, staring at the street where the real box had rolled under a
parked car. "It's just getting started."
The camera zooms in on the small wooden box under the car — and a shadowy figure
picking it up.
Marcus, the detective. He studied the carving on its lid and smirked. "Well, well. The chaos
kids are closer than they think."