Morning in Mumbai never really wakes up quietly. The sky is still soft, washed in pale gold and faint pink. While the city is already alive. Local trains scream past like clockwork monsters, tea vendors shout their first "chai chai" and the air smells like a mix of wet roads, sea breeze and early breakfast being fried somewhere.

But far away from the chaos, tucked behind tall iron gates and rows of manicured palms, stands a Mansion that feels untouched by the city's madness. White marble floor. Huge french windows. Curtains flutter lazily as the morning breeze sneaks in and upstairs...silence.

👆🏻 Manison

In a massive bedroom, sunlight spills gently across silk sheets where a girl is sleeping like the world does not concern her at all. One arm is thrown over a pillow, hair messy, face half-buried, breathing slowly and peacefully. She looks like someone who stayed up too late arguing with life and decided to ignore it today.

Knock. Knock.

Nothing. The door creaks open just a little. Her brother stands there, arms crossed, already irritated.

No response.

Still nothing.

Just then, 📱Riiiing....Riiing.. Avanya's phone vibrates aggressively on the bedside table. She groans. A deep, offended groan. One eye opens just one, peeking at the screen like it personally betrayed her. She fumbles, misses the phone once, finally grabs it and answers without even looking.

From the doorway, her brother laughs like a villain who just succeeded in his evil plan. She glares at the phone, then at him, eyes half closed, face scrunched in pure morning rage.

Avanya groans again, slowly rolls to the edge of the bed, feet touching the cold marble floor, for a moment, she just sits there, head bowed, hair covering her face like she's mentally preparing for battle.

She stood in the middle of her room for a second, staring into space, then clapped her hands once.

. . . . . .

The bathroom filled with steam as winter sunlight slipped through the frosted window. She moved slowly, still lazy, humming to herself while brushing her teeth.

After a quick shower, she wrapped herself in a soft towel, hair dripping, cheeks flushed from the warm water and cold air fighting each other. Winter called for comfort, not drama.

Avanya finally picked, a soft beige turtleneck sweater layered with a long camel. Colored coat, straight fit black trousers and ankle boots. She dried her hair just enough and twisted it into a loose bun, letting a few strands fall freely around her face. No perfection. Just soft chaos. Light makeup, barely there. Pink lips. A touch of mascara.

👆🏻 her outfit.

. . . . . . . . . .

By the time Avanya stepped out of the room, fully ready, the mansion downstairs was already awake. The dining area smelled like ghee, spices and morning warmth. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, landing on the long dinning table where her brother was already seated, scrolling on his phone, coffee in hand, looking far too awake for her liking.

Before she could sit, her mother's voice floated in the room.

Breakfast was served, hot aloo parathas straight off the tawa, a bowl of fresh white butter, curd, pickle and steaming chai.

They ate together, laughter mixing with clinking plates, light argument and that quiet warmth that only mornings at home have. After finishing, she stood up, grabbing her bag.

With a final wave, Avanya stepped out, morning sun on her face, scarf her neck and headed toward her bakery. A place filled with bread, flowers and her dreams.

The bakery had another corner most people noticed only after a while. Near the window, where sunlight fell just right stood a floral shelf. Wooden racks lined with glass jars, ceramic pots and baskets filled with fresh flowers. Soft pastels, deep red, winter whites. The air smelled different.

👆🏻 her bakery.

Avanya named her bakery "MEET". She didn't name her bakery "MEET" for business. She named it for hope. 7 years ago, when her life quietly broke when someone she loved disappeared without answers, she learned one thing very clearly "some meetings are not about staying.... they're about changing you". The word "MEET" meant many things to her. A place where people meet happiness, even if it's for a few minutes. A place where lonely hearts meet comfort, without being asked questions. "MEET" was the word she held onto because she believed, that someday, somewhere, unfinished meetings would happen again.

The smell of yesterday's bread still lingered faintly.

Soft yellow bulbs came alive, reflecting off wooden shelves, glass jars and neatly arranged display trays. Even though everything was already cleaned, she cleaned it again. While cleaning, she pulled out a small notebook from her bag, the one with messy pages, flour smudges and late night ideas scribbled everywhere.

She started prepping, measuring flour carefully, cracking eggs with practiced ease, melting butter slowly.

The bell above the door jingled.

Avanya turned to see him, her co-worker Vansh who is more like a friend to her, jacket zipped up, hair slightly messy, eyes bright with excitement. He was in his early twenties, energetic and always eager to learn.

The bell chimed.

A young woman stood near the counter, holding a small bouquet kept beside the register.

👆🏻 white Ranunculus flowers.

She wrote: for feelings that bloom silently but stay forever ".

Avanya wiped her hands, straightened her apron and walked back to the counter, carrying sweetness, memories and a heart that still remembered flowers by name.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .