The moment Arun stepped out of the Mumbai Express at Dadar station, his senses were assaulted by a level of chaos Chennai could never produce.
Noise.
Everywhere.
People yelling, vendors shouting, trains screaming, footsteps thundering like a stampede.
Humidity slapped him.
Dust welcomed him.
Some random uncle elbowed him and said "Side side!" before Arun could even breathe.
Arun stood still for a moment, bags in hand, absorbing it.
So this is Mumbai.
God save me.
He walked toward the exit, dodging speeding luggage carts and people who believed walking straight was optional.
Outside the station, the madness amplified. Honking autos, blue-and-yellow taxis, smell of vada pav and exhaust fumes mixing like a chemical weapon.
Arun tightened his grip on his bag.
"Why is this city built like someone pressed fast-forward on human population?"
A taxi driver shouted at him, "Bhaiya! Andheri? Bandra? Powai?"
"No."
"Kurla?"
"…Definitely no."
He pulled out his phone and checked the PG address HR sent him.
Santacruz East — 1-room shared.
Near the new branch office.
He opened Uber.
₹872 for 7 km.
He stared.
"…thiruttu city."
He tried Ola.
₹811.
He sighed and walked toward the bus stop instead.
The PG
After two bus rides, three wrong turns, and one autorickshaw driver insisting he should try Bollywood auditions, Arun finally reached his PG.
It was a narrow building sandwiched between two taller ones, like a sad packet of biscuit between two steel containers.
The board read:
"Sai Kripa Men's PG – AC / WiFi / Homely Food"
Arun stared.
Homely doesn't mean tasty.
He climbed up the narrow staircase to the second floor.
The PG owner — a man in his forties with a mustache so big it deserved its own Aadhaar card — greeted him.
"Arun Kumar ji?"
Arun nodded.
"Room is ready. Come."
They walked down the corridor.
Two guys walked past, towel on shoulder, Bluetooth speaker blasting Haryanvi rap.
Another guy emerged from the bathroom wearing only boxer shorts.
Arun blinked.
New environment.
New species.
The owner opened a door.
"This is your room."
Arun stepped inside.
A small room. Two beds. One cupboard. A table fan. One window facing another building's wall from two feet away.
Home sweet temporary home.
The other bed was occupied — neatly arranged, with a laptop open and books stacked.
Arun asked, "Roommate?"
"Yes yes, very nice boy. Studious. You will get along."
Arun wondered what the opposite of studious was, because that was usually who he got.
The owner gave him the keys. "Food at 9 PM. Don't ask for early. No girls allowed. No drinking. No smoking. No loud music. WiFi password on the wall."
Arun nodded politely.
Inside: So basically… no happiness allowed.
The owner left.
Arun exhaled and sat on the bed.
He took in the room again.
This will do. For now.
Roommate Arrival
At 6 PM, the door opened and a guy in glasses walked in.
Tall. Thin. Looks like he solves math problems for fun.
He startled. "Oh! You must be the new guy."
"Yes. Arun."
"I'm Rohan. CA student. Don't worry, I don't snore. But I talk in my sleep sometimes."
Arun stared. "…interesting."
Rohan smiled and immediately went back to reading.
Good. Arun didn't mind quiet roommates.
He lay on the bed and closed his eyes.
New city. New start. No disasters so far.
Then his stomach grumbled loudly.
Time for PG dinner.
Dinner & First Mumbai Frustration
Dinner was… disappointing.
Rice that was definitely cooked during the British era.
Rotis hard enough to be used as frisbees.
One sabji with three vegetables but zero flavour.
Arun ate silently.
Rohan ate like it was Michelin-star food.
Weirdo.
After dinner, Arun stepped outside for fresh air.
Mumbai evenings were different.
Noisy.
Crowded.
Alive in a restless way.
He walked toward a nearby kirana store to buy toothpaste and snacks.
As he reached the main road, he witnessed the first classic Mumbai moment:
Two cars trying to pass each other on a narrow street.
Neither driver wanted to reverse.
Both honked like they were battling for the throne.
Pedestrians screamed.
A coconut seller shouted insults.
People started filming for Instagram.
Arun rubbed his forehead.
Chennai has chaos.
Mumbai has possessed chaos.
He bought his items and headed back.
That's when he sensed something… wrong.
A subtle shift in the air.
Like tension before rain.
His instincts sharpened.
He slowed his steps.
Ahead, near the corner, a group of three men were surrounding a delivery boy.
Voices rose.
"Phone idhar de!"
"Chalak banega?"
"Helmet utaar!"
Arun's eyes narrowed.
A robbery.
The boy looked terrified.
The street had people, but nobody wanted to intervene. Classic.
Arun's jaw tightened.
He didn't want to be a hero.
He wasn't a vigilante.
But…
Something tugged at him.
A memory — a kid running toward a road.
A bike about to crush him.
His power acted on instinct then.
But this time?
Arun chose it.
He inhaled, turned his head slightly to make sure no one was watching him directly…
…and whispered:
"Stop."
The First Mumbai Freeze
Silence dropped like a hammer.
Horns froze.
People stopped mid-step.
A dog's mouth hung open mid-bark.
A man's cigarette ash froze mid-fall.
The three thugs were paused mid-motion:
One with a hand gripping the delivery boy's shirt
One pulling the boy's helmet
One reaching into his pocket
The delivery boy stood trembling, frozen in fear.
Arun walked toward them calmly.
His expression didn't change.
He wasn't angry.
Just… irritated.
He flicked the first thug's ear.
Nothing happened, of course. But it made Arun feel better.
Then he inspected them.
He wasn't going to beat them up.
That was unnecessary.
But teaching them a lesson?
That he could do.
He took the first thug's wallet out and slipped in a 10 rupee note.
"Buy brains."
He took the second thug's phone, changed his wallpaper to his own foot (why not), then put it back.
He tied the shoelaces of the third thug together.
And finally…
He gently pushed all three — just a few centimeters — so when time resumed, they'd all collide and fall.
Then he moved the delivery boy backward, just enough that he'd be safe.
He stepped away.
Inhaled.
"Resume."
Chaos, But Funny
Time snapped back.
The three thugs stumbled immediately.
One tripped.
One fell on his friend.
One screamed, "WHO PULLED ME?!!"
The delivery boy blinked, confused, now two feet away from where he was.
"What the—?"
The thugs scrambled up, cursing, but suddenly one of them shouted:
"Bhai! Wallet! Someone added money!"
Another stared at his phone.
"WHY IS MY WALLPAPER A FOOT?!"
The third stared at his tied shoelaces and shrieked like his legs belonged to someone else.
Arun walked past them calmly, hands in pockets.
He didn't look back.
But he smirked when he heard:
"Chal bhai! Yeh area bhootbangla hai! Ghost added money!"
Within seconds, the thugs ran away screaming.
The delivery boy stood alone, blinking.
He whispered, "Mumbai mein angels bhi hote kya…?"
Arun shook his head and kept walking.
Not an angel.
Just a guy with a weird problem-solving tool.
Back in the Room
Rohan looked up from his books. "Oh, you're back. Mumbai traffic scary, right?"
Arun set the toothpaste down. "Traffic is not the problem."
"Then what?"
Arun sat on the bed and exhaled slowly.
"People."
Rohan laughed. "Welcome to Mumbai."
Arun lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Today, he realized something:
Chennai had shown him the power's limits.
Mumbai was going to test his control.
And soon…
This city would bring him face-to-face with someone who would change everything:
Aditi Singh Rathore.
But for now?
Arun closed his eyes.
Tomorrow would be his first day at the new office.
And Mumbai was just getting started.