The letter of 1857

The Firozabad Bazaar buzzed like a living creature — sellers shouting offers, women haggling with the precision of trained generals, and children darting like arrows. Arav Rathore, in his simple light pink-colored kurta with gold embroidery, stood on the other end of the bazaar, holding a laughing conversation with a silver merchant.

"Aur bhai jaan, itni mehengi chandi dekar aapko toh Bengal bhej dena chahiye," he joked, arms crossed, smile wide.

("Brother, with such expensive silver, you should be deported to Bengal!")

The merchant laughed, "Aap jaise kharidar mil jaayein toh hum London bhej dein apne aap ko!"

("If I get customers like you, I'll send myself to London!")

Just then, as Arav turned with a grin, he collided — not just with someone — but with a cloud of jasmine scent, soft bangles, and the absolute audacity of fate.

"Ae khuda!" the girl exclaimed, stepping back. "Ankhein ghar par chhor aaye ho kya?"

("Oh God! Did you forget your eyes at home?")

Arav stumbled back, blinking, catching the flying dupatta just before it hit his face. "Toh aap ne toh poori bazaar chhupa di thi dupatte ke neeche?"

("Well, you hid the whole market under your dupatta!")

The girl narrowed her eyes. "Zarurat padti hai jab aas paas andhe ghoom rahe ho."

("It becomes necessary when blind men are roaming around.")

He paused. And then realized who he had bumped into — the lady from the bangle stall.

Noor. In a sea of people, the same wry mouth, same confident tilt of the head.

"Ah, we meet again," he said with a mock bow. "And I promise this time, no math corrections."

She snorted. "Good. Because next time I'will be carrying hindi-English translation tables."

Arav leaned a little closer, half-smiling. "Toh yeh aapki daily routine hai? Logon ko pehle daantna, phir bhaag jaana?"

("So this is your daily routine? Scold people first, then run away?")

Noor raised a brow. "Aur aapka? Pehle naam poochhna, phir takrana ?"

("And yours? firts ask their name later,Bump into people ?")

A passing hawker whistled between them, pushing a cart of sweet jalebis.

Both stepped aside in opposite directions, still facing each other, as if the bazaar had paused to enjoy the banter.

"Anyway," she added, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve, "Next time you bump into someone, try a better entrance."

Arav grinned. "If the reward is the same, I'll bump into every corner of this bazaar."

Noor rolled her eyes and turned away, but he caught the way her hand paused near her face — as if to hide the smile that was winning.

Arav, watching the twitch of her lips:

"You may not know how to hide it, but you sure know how to walk away."

Noor, glancing over her shoulder, unimpressed:

"And maybe you just like following women around?"

Arav held up both hands mockingly.

"No, I'm just after the one who deserves a gold medal in riddles."

Noor, walking again, sidestepping a stack of guavas:

"Well, you too seem like the answer to some riddle — slightly twisted, and unnecessarily charming."

Arav chuckled, clearly delighted.

"Twisted I've never been… but this is the first time I've been accused of being charming."

She stopped briefly at a corner — the end of the row where a spice-seller was pouring turmeric into muslin bags.

"I suppose this is where our accidental qissa ends," Noor said lightly, brushing her dupatta over her arm.

("story")

"But it hasn't even begun yet," Arav replied, taking a casual step beside her. "You haven't told me your name."

Noor turned her head halfway. "Maybe it's more interesting if you keep guessing."

Arav folded his arms, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Then I shall guess… Gulbadan? No. Sita? Too obvious. Wait—Benazir?"

Noor mock gasped.

"Benazir? That's all? This is injustice."

"Then deliver justice—" he said, tilting his head. "tell me your name."

She shook her head, stepping down from the edge of the bazaar path onto a side lane.

"Why rob yourself of the joy of discovering me?"

He followed for a second, hands in pockets, amused and now fully intrigued. Alright… so I should keep looking then?"

She threw him a sly smile as she walked backward slowly now, facing him.

"If you've got the courage, yes."

And then, just like that, she turned sharply, slipping into the crowd of shawls and carts and clinking steel bangles.

Arav, standing there with a half-smile, murmured to himself:

"It must be a beautiful name, if it's anything like her."

A group of schoolchildren rushed past him. He blinked, finally stepping away from where he stood rooted.

As he passed a street mirror, he looked at his reflection, ran a hand through his hair and muttered, "You really do bump into trouble with grace."