Before he came into my life, everything was... ordinary. Well, as ordinary as my version of chaos could be.
If someone ever made a movie about my life, it would probably start with me... drooling on my pillow while my mother screamed like an alarm clock possessed by rage. Every. Single. Morning.
My mornings usually began with my mother shouting my name from the kitchen like she was auditioning for a loudspeaker contest. I'd be buried under my blanket, pretending not to hear her, clinging to the last few seconds of sleep as if my life depended on it.
My room was my little kingdom — slightly messy but cozy, ruled by two very important residents: my teddies — Puchku and Fluffy. With the emotional strength of a 90-year-old turtle, I rolled over and hugged my two teddies — my loyal partners in sleep crime. Puchku was the biggest, my cuddle partner during bad days. Fluffy was soft and quiet, the one I often talked to when I was upset.
Yes, I talk to my teddies. No, I have no regrets.
That particular morning was no different. I was lost in a dream — the kind that made you smile even in your sleep. My fictional crush, Aaron Blackford, was proposing to me in a candle-lit fantasy setting. Everything was perfect — the music, the moment, his stupidly handsome smile — until my mother's voice crashed into the dream like a truck.
"MISHA! WAKE UP RIGHT NOW OR I'M THROWING WATER ON YOU!"
And just like that, my fairytale turned into a nightmare. I groaned, burying myself deeper under the blanket like a hibernating bear. Five more minutes. Just five. He was about to kiss me. Five more minutes won't kill anyone, right?
Maybe if I stay quiet, she'll think I already left for college. Spoiler: she didn't.
"Don't make me come there!" my mom yelled again from the kitchen.
That did it. The woman was serious. With the enthusiasm of a dying potato, I rolled over and hugged my teddies — Puchku and Fluffy.
"I hate reality," I muttered dramatically, squeezing Fluffy. "Aaron Blackford would've let me sleep." But unfortunately, Aaron wasn't real. And my mom's patience wasn't either. Fifteen minutes later, after a long internal debate about whether education was even necessary for survival, I finally got out of bed—and immediately tripped over my slippers.
I lay there on the floor, tangled in my blanket, staring at the ceiling like a fallen soldier. "Perfect. Another graceful start to the day, Kapoor."
My life was basically a live sitcom — except the audience was my family, and they never stopped laughing.
Once I finished my award-winning morning routine of falling, grumbling, and finally managing to stand up (with minimal dignity left), I went downstairs to "help" my mom with chores. By help, I mean holding random utensils and giving her moral support while she did everything.
"Misha, pass me the bowl."
"This one?"
"No, the big one."
"Big one, like emotionally big or physically big?"
That earned me the look. You know, the mom look. By the time my dad left for the office, I was already arguing with the washing machine because it "looked at me funny". My grandparents, sitting in the living room, watched quietly — probably wondering if this was karma for something they did in their past life and probably questioning their genetic contribution to my existence..
My grandmother always said, "You bring chaos wherever you go, Misha."
And honestly, she wasn't wrong.
My daily routine was a beautiful disaster wrapped in routine chaos. I'd wake up late, rush to college like I was auditioning for a sprinting competition, somehow survive classes, then come home to either annoy my grandparents or raid the kitchen with my mom.
Evenings were for experimenting with food — which, in simpler terms, meant trying not to burn the kitchen. Once, I tried baking cookies and nearly set the oven on fire. To this day, my mom still introduces me as "the daughter who almost burned the house down for dessert."
When I wasn't committing culinary crimes, I was either watching cartoons or scrolling through random conspiracy videos, lost in fictional worlds, or dramatically lying on my bed overthinking life.
Why am I single?
Why did that one guy say "okay" instead of "ok"?
Do penguins have knees?
My brain was basically a full-time circus.
And yet, amidst the clumsiness, the laughter, the drama, and the endless overthinking, there was a rhythm — my rhythm. My world might have been chaotic, but it was mine.
A life filled with noise, chaos, and a lot of unintentional drama.
And yet, in all that noise — the laughter, the drama, the clumsiness — there was a kind of strange comfort. That night, as I hugged Puchku close and stared at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me, I sighed. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Or maybe I'll just fall again.
I didn't know that my silly little world — full of tripping, daydreaming, and disaster dinners — was about to collide with someone else's.
Someone whose calmness would challenge my chaos.
Someone who would make even my clumsiest mornings feel magical.
But for now, I was just Misha Kapoor — the girl who tripped through life with a smile.
And this was the beginning of it all.