Nikhil's day

Afternoon, walking back from a paid writing session at Dev's home studio in Whitefield — Dev is still talking to him, but the air is thinner — and the auto drops him at the wrong end of his lane because "Indiranagar 1st stage nahi jaata, sirf 12th main." He walks the last kilometre alone again, daylight this time, but as he passes the closed Decathlon a Tata Ace truck reverses fast out of the service lane and brakes three feet from his knees — danger, his body flinching sideways, the guitar case swinging, his heart in his throat — and he falls sideways into a puddle of stale beer tipped outside the loading bay, soaking his jeans, his phone, his guitar case, two Indiranagar aunties staring at him from a balcony, the embarrassment compounding. The rivalry: as he drips, his phone lights up with Aarav posting a story — a clip of him playing the polished hook at a Mumbai studio, captioned "studio diaries, who's ready" — a flex Nikhil can't answer because his hands are wet. The emotional spike lands when he gets home and Tara is already there, and he says "tu kaise jaanti thi" — and she says "you text me when you're scared, every time." The crystallised decision: he texts Vivaan "I need the contract signed by Wednesday or I walk," changes into dry clothes, and writes the second verse of a new song called "Auto Lane" in the next hour.