Janaki was already late.

Her scarf lay half-folded on the bed, one shoe under the chair and the other somewhere she didn’t have the patience to look for. She hurriedly tied her hair, glancing at the clock again and again like it was personally mocking her.

“Aai, mala ushir hotoy. Breakfast rahude, me canteen madhe kahi khaein,” she called out while stuffing her books into her bag.

(Aai, I am getting late. I’ll have something in the canteen)

From the kitchen came the immediate response sharp, familiar, and unstoppable. Her mother began scolding her for sleeping late, for ignoring the alarm, for rushing every single morning as if college had suddenly shifted to another city. Janaki rolled her eyes, tying her watch with one hand and adjusting her hoodie with the other.

As she rushed toward the door, the doorbell rang.

Perfect timing.

“Everything has to come up at the wrong time,” she muttered under her breath, irritation dripping from every word. Without thinking twice, she pulled the door open.

And then

She froze.

There stood a man she had never seen before.

For a second, Janaki forgot she was late. Forgot the lecture. Forgot her mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen. Even forgot to blink.

He was tall noticeably so standing relaxed yet composed, like he belonged there. A crisp white shirt hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, sleeves folded neatly till his forearms, revealing strong hands that looked calm and confident. Charcoal Jeans sat effortlessly on him, ironed to perfection, adding to the quiet sophistication he carried.

His beard was well-kept, not too heavy, not too light framing his sharp jawline perfectly. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he hadn’t tried too hard, yet it looked annoyingly perfect. His eyes… calm, deep, observant holding a seriousness that felt mature, experienced. The kind of eyes that seemed to notice everything, including the way Janaki had stopped breathing.

He smelled faintly of something subtle clean, masculine, comforting.

Janaki’s heart skipped, stumbled, and forgot its rhythm altogether.

Words refused to form. Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. Her brain screamed say something, but her tongue clearly hadn’t received the memo.

Before she could recover, her mother appeared behind her and thap lightly hit her on the head.

“Arey, ata tula ushir nahi hot ahe ka?” her mother snapped, clearly irritated by Janaki’s statue-like behavior.

(Arey, now you are not getting late?) That was when Janaki blinked.

Reality came crashing back. The noise, the urgency, the ticking clock. She snapped out of her trance, though her eyes still refused to leave the man’s face.

Embarrassed, flustered, and completely off-balance, she stepped aside, still stealing glances at him like he might disappear if she looked away for too long. Her heart continued to race, her cheeks felt warm, and her thoughts were a complete mess.

Who is he?

Why is he here?

And why does he look like he just walked out of a dream she didn’t know she had?

As her mother spoke to him, Janaki stood there physically present, mentally miles away still staring, still wondering.

The man finally spoke.

“I’m Neelesh Mahajan,” he said calmly, his voice low, mature, slightly husky like it had depth, like it carried stories.

The kind of voice that didn’t need to be loud to command attention.

Janaki felt it before she understood it. The sound of his voice travelled straight through her, sending an unfamiliar shiver down her spine. She swallowed, instinctively straightening without knowing why.

“I was looking for Mr. Pradhan,” he continued, eyes briefly shifting toward her mother. “I was told he’s the secretary of the building.”

Her mother nodded, instantly switching to her polite, formal tone. She explained that Janaki’s father wasn’t available at the moment and would be back later in the day.

Neelesh listened patiently, nodding once. There was no rush in him, no irritation just quiet acceptance. He thanked her mother and turned to leave.

But before stepping away, he looked back.

At Janaki.

Just once.

Not casually. Not accidentally. It was deliberate slow, thoughtful. His eyes met hers again, and this time, she didn’t look away. Time seemed to pause in that moment, stretching thin and fragile.

He gave the faintest curve of a smile almost invisible, almost unreal and under his breath, so softly that only the air heard it, he murmured,

“Alice in Wonderland.”

Then he turned and walked away.

Janaki stood frozen.

Her heart pounded like it was trying to escape her chest. Alice in Wonderland? The words echoed in her mind, replaying again and again, each time leaving her more confused and strangely thrilled.

Before she could process anything further, her phone rang loudly, jolting her back into reality.

“Janaki, where are you? I’m literally outside your building!” Smriti”s (her friend) voice burst through the speaker.

That snapped her out of her daze.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she said hurriedly, grabbing her bag and slipping into her footwear properly for the first time that morning.

She rushed out of the house, almost tripping on the steps, her mind still tangled in white shirt, husky voice, and unexpected glances. As she stepped outside, sunlight flooded the compound, and Smriti stood near the gate, waving impatiently.

But Janaki barely noticed.

Her eyes instinctively searched the road.

He was gone.

Only the faint memory of his presence lingered like a song that had just ended but refused to leave your head. She exhaled slowly, adjusting her bag, her lips unconsciously curving into a small, confused smile.

She didn’t know his story.

She didn’t know why he had come.

She didn’t even know why he had called her that.

Janaki slid onto the pillion seat, helmet dangling loosely in her hands, but her mind was still standing at the doorway right where Neelesh Mahajan had been.

“Are you even listening?” Smriti asked, starting the activa.

“Hmm… haan,” Janaki replied absent-mindedly, nodding a little too late.

The activa moved forward, the wind brushing against her face, but nothing helped. Her thoughts refused to settle. That voice mature, husky, calm kept replaying in her head. Alice in Wonderland. The words felt strange yet oddly personal, like he had seen something in her she herself didn’t know existed.

As they crossed the main road, Janaki glanced back once ridiculous, she knew half expecting to see him standing there again. Of course, there was no one. Just moving traffic and honking vehicles.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Smriti suddenly asked, glancing at her through the rear-view mirror.

Janaki realized her mistake and quickly wiped the expression off her face. “Nothing,” she said, too quickly. “Just… thinking.”

But she wasn’t just thinking.

She was wondering why a stranger’s presence had shaken her so deeply. Why his single glance felt heavier than a hundred familiar faces. Why her heart had reacted before her mind had the chance to stop it.

At college, everything felt oddly normal too normal. The familiar gate, the noisy corridors, the chatter of students. Yet Janaki felt slightly out of place, like she had stepped into the day after leaving a part of herself behind.

In the classroom, her notebook lay open, but the page remained blank. The professor’s voice faded into background noise as her pen hovered uselessly over the paper. Instead of notes, her mind kept sketching a tall figure in a white shirt.

Neelesh Mahajan.

She repeated the name silently. It sounded… solid. Grounded. Like someone who had lived, lost, learned.

She shook her head lightly, annoyed at herself. Get a grip, Janaki. He’s just a stranger.

Yet every now and then, her thoughts slipped back to the way he had looked at her not with curiosity alone, but with something deeper. As if he had recognized a part of her she had hidden well from the world.

The day dragged on, lectures blending into one another, but the morning refused to fade.

Unknowingly, a simple knock on the door had opened something far more complicated something neither of them had planned for.

And somewhere, not too far away, Neelesh Mahajan walked on with a faint smile, the image of a girl standing in a doorway lost, hurried, and unknowingly enchanting etched quietly in his mind.

Because some encounters don’t need time.

They just need the right moment.

Janaki sat on the last bench of the classroom, chin resting on her palm, eyes fixed on the board but she wasn’t seeing a single word written there. Her pen lay still between her fingers, and for the third time in five minutes, she sighed softly.

Smriti leaned closer, studying her face with narrowed eyes.

“Okay,” she whispered, “what is wrong with you today? You’ve been lost since morning. Don’t tell me you’re still half asleep.”

Janaki blinked, startled, and turned toward her. “Am I that obvious?”

“Very,” Smriti replied. “You’ve been staring into space like you’re in some parallel universe.”

Janaki hesitated. For a moment, she thought of brushing it off, but the excitement bubbling inside her refused to stay quiet. She leaned in, lowering her voice.

“Something happened this morning,” she began.

Smriti’s eyes lit up instantly. “I knew it.”

Janaki took a breath and told her everything how she was running late, how the doorbell rang at the worst possible time, how she opened the door annoyed… and then froze. She described him slowly, almost carefully, reliving every detail as she spoke the white shirt, the grey trousers, the height, the beard, the calm confidence, and that voice… that husky, mature voice that still echoed in her ears.

Smriti listened with an expression that shifted from curiosity to full-blown excitement.

“And then,” Janaki continued, her voice dropping, “he looked at me and called me Alice in Wonderland.”

Smriti gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. “Stop it. That did not just happen.”

Janaki laughed softly, shaking her head. “It did. And the worst part?” She paused. “You know I have a thing for men in white shirts.”

Smriti grinned widely. “Oh my God, yes. You and your white-shirt obsession. Clean, classic, tall men in white shirts your biggest weakness.”

Janaki groaned, hiding her face for a second. “Exactly. And this man walked in like he was designed specifically to ruin my peace.”

Smriti nudged her playfully. “So basically, fate rang your doorbell.”

Janaki smiled, a little shy, a little dreamy. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just overthinking.”

Smriti raised an eyebrow. “Overthinking? He came to your house, introduced himself, looked at you like that, and gave you a nickname. That’s not overthinking that’s a beginning.”

Janaki looked out of the window, sunlight streaming in, her thoughts drifting back to the morning once again. Somewhere deep inside, a quiet excitement stirred new, unfamiliar, and impossible to ignore.

She didn’t know when she’d see him again.

She didn’t know why he had made such an impact.

But she knew one thing for sure

This wasn’t just a random distraction.

Janaki tried to focus after that, she really did. She straightened in her seat, opened a fresh page in her notebook, even underlined the date properly as if that would convince her mind to cooperate.

It didn’t.

Smriti watched her for a while, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You know,” she said casually, “for someone who claims she’s overthinking, you’ve written absolutely nothing except random circles.”

Janaki glanced down and groaned. The page was filled with half-drawn spirals and, without her realizing it, the letter N repeated more than once.

“Great,” she muttered, snapping the notebook shut. “Now my subconscious is embarrassing me too.”

Smriti laughed softly. “Relax. It’s kind of cute.”

“Cute for you,” Janaki said, leaning back. “I met a stranger for barely two minutes and now I can’t think straight.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Smriti replied. “Some people just… appear.”

The bell rang, breaking their conversation. Students began pouring out of the classroom, noise filling the corridor once again. Janaki stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder, still distracted.

As they walked toward the canteen, Smriti bumped her lightly. “So tell me, Alice,” she teased, “what do you think he thought when he saw you?”

Janaki smiled despite herself. “I was a mess. Late, irritated, half-ready. Probably thought I was chaotic.”

Smriti shook her head. “No. He called you Alice in Wonderland. That’s not chaos. That’s curiosity.”

Janaki fell silent at that.

In the canteen, the familiar smell of chai and samosas surrounded them. They found a corner table, but even there, Janaki’s eyes kept drifting to the entrance as if part of her expected him to walk in, white shirt and all, completely out of place yet perfectly fitting.

Smriti noticed and smirked. “Looking for someone?”

Janaki quickly looked away. “No. Just… zoning out.”

But deep inside, she wondered.

Who was Neelesh Mahajan?

Why had he come into her morning so unexpectedly?

And why did it feel like he hadn’t completely left?

Outside, the afternoon sun moved slowly across the sky, unaware that two lives unknown to each other until that morning had shifted ever so slightly.

Sometimes, destiny doesn’t announce itself loudly.

Sometimes, it just rings a doorbell.

The rest of the day passed in fragments for Janaki.

Lectures came and went, friends laughed, notes were exchanged but she moved through it all like she was underwater, everything slightly muted, slightly distant. Every now and then, her mind wandered back to the doorway of her house, replaying that moment with almost dangerous clarity.

When college finally ended, Janaki and Smriti walked out together, the sky beginning to soften into the pale gold of evening.

“You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?” Smriti asked, unlocking the scooty.

Janaki didn’t deny it this time. “I don’t know why,” she said honestly. “It’s not like I know anything about him.”

Smriti smiled knowingly. “That’s exactly why. Mystery has its own charm.”

The ride back was quieter. Janaki held onto the seat, watching the roads blur past, her thoughts drifting. As they reached her building, she felt a strange flutter in her chest half anticipation, half fear of disappointment.

She stepped down, thanked Smriti, and walked toward her building slowly, almost reluctantly.

Her eyes scanned the compound.

Nothing.

The same parked vehicles. The same trees. The same familiar silence.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Of course he wouldn’t be here, she told herself, feeling foolish for even hoping.

Inside the house, her mother was in the living room, folding clothes.

“College kasa hota?” she asked casually.

“Fine,” Janaki replied, heading toward her room. She dropped her bag, changed into comfortable clothes, but even in the quiet of her room, her mind refused to rest.

She stood by the window for a moment, watching the sky darken. Somewhere in the distance, lights flickered on one by one.

Alice in Wonderland, she thought again.

She shook her head with a soft smile. “Stranger,” she murmured to herself, “you’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”

Yet, as night settled in, one thing became clear

That morning wasn’t just a passing moment.

It was the kind of beginning that lingers… waiting patiently for its next chapter.

Saturday mornings were meant for sleeping in at least according to Janaki.

She had every intention of skipping college that day. No alarm, no rush, no chaos. Just her, her bed, and the luxury of doing absolutely nothing. She was halfway into that perfect plan when her mother entered her room with a very different agenda.

Within minutes, Janaki found herself holding a cloth bag and a handwritten grocery list, her dreams of rest officially cancelled.

“Mala aatach pahije sagla,” her mother declared, already mentally ticking off items.

Janaki sighed dramatically, slipped into her slippers, and stepped out, muttering about how Saturdays were being emotionally abused in her house.

The corridor was quiet, unusually still. She pressed the lift button and waited, leaning against the wall, absently reading the grocery list. Her mind drifted uninvited to the previous morning.

Don’t, she told herself. It was just one glance.

The lift dinged.

The doors slid open.

And there he was.

Neelesh.

For a split second, Janaki forgot how to breathe.

He stood inside the lift, tall as ever, dressed casually this time yet just as effortlessly put together. Two shopping bags rested in his hands, one in each, veins slightly visible along his forearms. His beard looked freshly trimmed, his expression calm almost unreadable.

Her heart did something stupid again.

Their eyes met.

Just for a moment.

Janaki waited.

She didn’t know for what a greeting, a nod, something. Her brain scrambled for composure, her fingers tightening around the grocery bag.

But before either of them could say a word, his phone rang.

The sound felt loud. Intrusive.

Neelesh glanced at the screen, his expression shifting instantly to alert focus. He accepted the call without hesitation, murmured something low into the phone, and stepped out of the lift.

And walked away.

Just like that.

Janaki stood there, stunned, watching his back retreat down the corridor. No hello. No acknowledgment. Not even a second glance.

Her heart sank, irritation bubbling up faster than she could stop it.

“Wow,” she muttered. “So that’s how it is.”

She stepped into the lift, pressing the ground floor button a little harder than necessary. As the doors closed, she crossed her arms, annoyance flashing in her eyes.

“Who does he think he is, huh?” she whispered angrily to herself. “Just because you look a little good doesn’t give you the right to ignore me, okay? Mr. Whoever-you-are.”

The lift descended slowly, mirroring her mood. By the time it reached the ground floor, her initial flutter had been replaced by wounded pride and unnecessary anger.

She stepped out with a huff, adjusting her dupatta.

Yet, somewhere beneath the irritation, a tiny, traitorous part of her heart wondered

What if he didn’t mean to ignore her at all?

But Janaki shook the thought away.

No excuses.

Not today.

Janaki finished her grocery shopping quickly, ticking off items from the list, her irritation slowly fading as routine took over. The cloth bag was heavier now, cutting slightly into her palm as she walked back toward her building, sunlight filtering softly through the trees.

By the time she reached her floor, she was tired and still mildly annoyed.

The lift stopped with a soft ding.

As the doors slid open, Janaki paused.

Right outside stood a small girl, sitting on the floor, completely lost in her own little universe. Tiny toys were scattered around her colourful blocks, a small doll, something with wheels. She was humming softly to herself, unaware of anything else around her.

Then she heard the sound of the lift.

The girl looked up.

And smiled.

It wasn’t just a smile it was the kind that reached the eyes, pure and unfiltered, the kind only children could manage. Janaki felt something warm stir in her chest instantly.

She smiled back without thinking.

Placing the grocery bag down carefully, Janaki bent to the girl’s level. “Hello,” she said gently. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you here before.”

The little girl straightened proudly, clutching her toy. “My name is Sharvari,” she said in the softest voice, slightly uneven, as if each word was chosen carefully. Four years old, Janaki guessed immediately from the innocence, the round cheeks, the wide curious eyes.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Janaki said warmly.

Sharvari beamed, clearly pleased. She swung her legs lightly, still holding her toy, eyes studying Janaki with the same curiosity.

Janaki felt an unexpected calm settle over her.

Whatever irritation she had carried earlier seemed to melt away in that moment replaced by something gentler, something familiar.

She didn’t know it yet, but this tiny girl standing before her was about to become far more important in her life than she could ever imagine.

Janaki smiled, completely taken in by Sharvari’s sweetness. “I’m Janaki,” she said softly. “You can call me Janaki didi.”

Sharvari tilted her head, thinking for a second, her brows knitting together seriously as if the decision mattered a lot.

“Janu di?” she asked, hopeful.

Janaki laughed, her heart melting instantly. “Haan, Janu di,” she agreed. “That sounds perfect.”

Sharvari clapped her tiny hands in excitement and, without any warning, stood up and wrapped her little arms tightly around Janaki’s neck.

The sudden hug caught Janaki off guard.

For a moment, she froze then her arms instinctively went around the little girl. Something warm and overwhelming rushed through her chest, an emotion she hadn’t been prepared for. She closed her eyes briefly, smiling, and pressed a soft kiss onto Sharvari’s cheek.

“You’re so sweet,” she whispered.

Sharvari giggled, her laughter light and contagious.

Janaki pulled back slightly and brushed a strand of hair away from the girl’s forehead. “Where’s your mamma?” she asked gently. “You’re all alone outside.”

Sharvari pointed toward one of the flats with her tiny finger. “Everyone is busy inside,” she said innocently. “Aai, Baba, Kaka… all talking.”

Janaki nodded, understanding. She glanced at the closed door, then back at Sharvari, who had already picked up her toy again, completely unbothered.

She smiled to herself.

After handing over the groceries, Janaki finally retreated to her room. A quick shower washed away the heat and the lingering irritation of the morning. She slipped into comfortable clothes, tied her hair into a loose bun, and stepped into the kitchen just as her mother handed her a cup of coffee.

Janaki wrapped her fingers around the warm mug and settled near the window, sipping slowly. The bitterness of the coffee was familiar, grounding. Her thoughts, however, wandered back to the little girl Sharvari’s unexpected hug, her innocent smile, the way she had called her Janu di without hesitation.

A faint smile curved Janaki’s lips.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

She placed the cup carefully on the table and walked toward the door. As she opened it, she paused.

A beautiful woman stood there.

She was graceful in a quiet, effortless way dressed in a simple yet elegant co-rd set, her hair neatly tied back, soft features lit by a warm smile. And in that instant, Janaki noticed it the same eyes, the same gentle expression.

She looked so much like Sharvari.

“Hello,” the woman said politely. “I’m Vaishnavi.”

Janaki blinked, instantly making the connection. “You’re… Sharvari’s mother?”

Vaishnavi smiled wider. “Yes. She wouldn’t stop talking about you,” she said lightly. “About Janu di.”

Janaki felt her cheeks warm. “She’s adorable,” she said honestly.

Vaishnavi nodded. “We’ve just shifted here. There’s a small housewarming party tomorrow evening, and I wanted to invite your family personally.”

She handed over the invitation with a gentle gesture.

“We’d love it if you could come,” Vaishnavi added. “It’s nothing big just family and neighbours.”

Janaki accepted the invite, her smile genuine. “We’ll definitely try.”

As Vaishnavi turned to leave, Janaki caught a glimpse of Sharvari peeking from behind her, eyes bright with excitement. She waved enthusiastically.

“Bye, Janu di!”

Janaki waved back, her heart full in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

As she closed the door, she leaned against it for a moment, exhaling softly.

She didn’t know it yet but the housewarming party was about to answer many of her questions… and create a few more she hadn’t even thought to ask.

As Janaki closed the door and leaned against it, her thoughts began spinning faster than she expected. She glanced at the coffee cup again, taking a small sip, but the warmth did nothing to calm the sudden storm in her mind.

Sharvari in the morning… Vaishnavi now… the resemblance was uncanny. That same softness in the eyes, the same curve of the smile, the gentle demeanor. It hit her like a jolt of lightning.

Her brow furrowed. Wait a minute.

The pieces began arranging themselves in her mind, dangerously close to a theory she wasn’t sure she wanted to entertain. Neelesh Mahajan.

Her pulse quickened. She whispered to herself, almost inaudibly:

“Could… could Vaishnavi be his wife?”

And then the thought grew sharper, more insistent.

“And… Sharvari? Could she… be his daughter?”

Janaki’s hand tightened around the coffee mug. Her mind raced, painting scenarios, imagining conversations. The husky voice, the authoritative way he had carried himself… it all started making sense. Maybe that call he took in the lift wasn’t just a random interruption. Maybe he had responsibilities, a family.

Her heart thumped in an odd mix of excitement and disbelief. A part of her wanted to dismiss it as coincidence, but another part the part that had been shaking from his glance, from his murmured Alice in Wonderland couldn’t.

So he’s… married? And has a daughter?

The thought felt heavy, almost like a gentle sting. Her mind replayed his look yesterday, his calm demeanor, that quiet attention. And now she knew why something had felt… off, yet magnetic. He wasn’t just a stranger. He was… part of a world she hadn’t expected to peek into.

Janaki shook her head, chuckling softly to herself, part embarrassed, part curious.

“This is… complicated,” she whispered. “Way more complicated than I imagined.”

She took another sip of coffee, the aroma grounding her, but inside, her imagination refused to calm.

Janaki sighed and took another sip of her coffee, but it had gone lukewarm just like her mood.

She walked back to the window, absent-mindedly watching people move in the building compound below, yet her mind was completely elsewhere. The image of Neelesh standing in the lift with those bags replayed again, this time slower… clearer.

Two bags.

Grocery bags.

Her heart skipped uneasily.

“Of course,” she murmured to herself. “That makes sense.”

A family man would be doing groceries on a Saturday morning. A little girl waiting outside while adults talked inside. A woman coming to the door with calm confidence. Everything suddenly felt connected too neatly.

She pressed her lips together, annoyed at herself for even letting her thoughts go there.

“Janaki, stop it,” she scolded herself softly. “You met him twice. Twice.”

Yet the thought refused to leave.

If Vaishnavi was his wife, then the way he carried himself grounded, mature, composed fit perfectly. And Sharvari… God, Sharvari’s innocent hug replayed in her mind, making her chest tighten unexpectedly.

A strange mix of emotions settled in her heart disappointment she hadn’t earned, jealousy she had no right to feel, and confusion that made her restless.

“So that’s why he ignored me in the lift,” she whispered bitterly. “Obviously. Why would he talk to me?”

She shook her head, annoyed with how personal it suddenly felt.

Her mother’s voice floated in from the kitchen, breaking her thoughts. “Kon hota baher?”

“New neighbours,” Janaki replied, forcing normalcy into her tone. “Housewarming invitation.”

Her mother smiled. “Chaan aahe. We should go.”

Janaki nodded, but her mind screamed no.

She didn’t know if she wanted answers anymore or if she was afraid of confirming what she had already assumed. Because somewhere between a white shirt, a husky voice, and a little girl calling her Janu di, something inside her had begun to hope.

And hope, she knew, was dangerous.

If Neelesh is Sharvari’s father… then today, I need to learn how to look at him like a stranger again.