6:39 PM | Winter
Platform 3 | Ujjain Express
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The train hissed like an offended snake as it crawled into the platform. Golden winter light slanted across the station, highlighting pigeons fighting over samosa crumbs and one confused uncle trying to stuff a full suitcase into a vending machine.
On the platform stood five souls, looking like a rejected cast from a Wes Anderson spiritual thriller.
Nanu was the first to step onto the train. He was wearing a black hoodie with the words "I MEDITATE TO AVOID STABBING PEOPLE" printed in glowing yellow letters.
"Excuse me?" a man beside him blinked, pointing at the hoodie with a face that screamed Karen energy. "That's... a little aggressive for a spiritual tour, no?"
Nanu didn't even blink. He just sipped from his flask (definitely not water) and whispered,
> "Enlightenment isn't for the weak."
The man backed away like he'd just seen Buddha flip him off.
Behind him, Mr. Verma climbed in, dragging two trolleys, a backpack, a portable humidifier, and enough righteous rage to fuel a nuclear plant. He looked at Nanu's hoodie, snorted, and launched into his TED Talk:
> "This is exactly what's wrong with the youth today. Vulgar slogans, no sense of values, fashion with the maturity of a banana. And to wear this on a sacred journey—sacrilege! Shekhar, you are setting a disastrous example!"
Nanu turned around slowly, like a tiger that just heard a squirrel lecture him on hunting.
> "Oh don't worry, Principal Verma. The last time I took fashion advice from someone wearing 'WORLD'S #1 DAD' socks with sandals, Gandhi came back to life and slapped me."
Mrs. Verma, poised like a disappointed empress, cut in with a single weaponized glance.
> "Where is Veer, by the way? Shouldn't your little chaos gremlin be here too?"
Nanu sighed dramatically and flopped into the window seat like a deflated yoga mat.
> "Alas. That merciless academic demon you call a husband has suspended my sweet, innocent Baby for three whole days. For what? Just some childish mischief?!!"
Mr. Verma exploded like a microwave samosa.
> "SWEET?! That boy is one detention away from being declared a national emergency! He tried to auction off the school's projector on eBay! He wrote 'NO HOMEWORK ZONE' outside my office in glow-in-the-dark paint!"
Edward Malone (father of Ethan reading a newspaper but chuckling):
"Ah, the lad got suspended again? That's what... third time this semester? He's breaking records."
Nanu smiled over Mr. Verma the calm smile of a Mafia sipping chai.
> "He was just expressing his artistic side. You, on the other hand, express constipation."
Mr. Verma's mustache quivered.
"He chewed his exam paper, Shekhar!"
"He was hungry!"
"He threatened to microwave a butterfly!"
"It fluttered suspiciously!"
Mrs. Verma hid her laugh behind a cough.
> "And what about that tiny tornado Cherry? That girl put chili flakes in my daughter's lip balm."
Damoun (serenely sipping tulsi tea from a thermos shaped like a baby Buddha):
"Let us not shame the children for their curiosity. Cherry loves experimental stuff. Like also one day she was testing the aerodynamic potential of whipped cream on ceiling fans."
Mr. Verma (having war flashbacks):
"She called it a 'weather control experiment' and gave me a written proposal titled 'Project Frosting Storm 2.O'!!"
Edward (to Nanu, without looking):
"Remind me again why we didn't fake our deaths and escape to the Himalayas?"
That's when Edward Malone, who had been silently adjusting his watch like a hitman on vacation, muttered in his smooth, MI6 baritone,
> "At least Cherry speaks. Ethan just stares at you like he's downloading your secrets."
Mrs. Verma (to Eloise):
"Your Ethan was there too, wasn't he? Always hiding behind those ridiculous headphones like he's defusing a bomb."
Edward's wife Eloise chuckled from behind her Kindle, not looking up.
> "He is. He's probably hacked the train engine by now. If this train starts breakdancing, it's our son's fault."
Damoun finally floated in like a herbal cloud, placing his rose-scented travel pillow on the seat.
> "Ahhh, yes. Our children. May the universe bless their criminal minds."
He took out a muffin, blessed it dramatically, and offered it to Mr. Verma,
> "Here. It's gluten-free, rage-absorbing, and slightly hallucinogenic."
---
7:14 PM | Ujjain Express
The train had finally started chugging, carrying a dangerous payload of unresolved trauma, passive-aggressive married couples, and two retired weapons of cerebral mass destruction.
Edward Malone adjusted his jacket with the precision of a man who once assassinated someone with a spoon. Beside him, Nanu (aka Shekhar aka the "Zen Menace") flipped through an Astrology for Beginners book that definitely had microchips embedded in the binding.
Edward spoke without looking up:
> "The target is active. Satellite feed confirms movement near Omkareshwar. Codename: Project Rudraksh."
Nanu didn't flinch. He just stirred his mysterious chai flask and replied,
> "Did you bring the codebook?"
Edward smirked and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a torn Chhota Bheem comic.
> "Page 4, panel 6. The monkey holds the message."
Nanu took it, eyes scanning faster than your dignity at a surprise math test.
> "Perfect. The monkey says: Beware the one who chants with a left hand."
Edward gave a slow nod.
> "Classic misdirection. That's the international signal for a corrupted guru."
Nanu leaned closer, whispering like a monk who just unlocked all seven chakras and found gossip in the eighth:
> "And guess what, Eddie. Our corrupted guru is none other than—"
> "Acharya A. B. X. Mukteshwarananda."
Edward gasped in fluent sarcasm.
> "Not the man who gave TEDx talks on 'Chakra Capitalism'?!"
Nanu nodded.
> "He's holding the auction in Rudraprayag during the full moon. Only problem—entry is restricted to members of the Secret Order of Celestial Spoons."
Edward blinked. "The Spoons? I thought we dismantled them in '89 after that Bottle Smuggling Ring in Rishikesh!"
> "They're back," Nanu said grimly. "And this time… they have funding."
Edward cracked his knuckles. "So. What's the plan?"
Cue Mission Impossible-style montage with budget of a school play:
Nanu shaving off a fake beard to reveal another beard underneath.
Edward decoding a QR code hidden in a vada pav wrapper.
A tiny robot cockroach crawling out of Nanu's mala beads.
Edward assembling a high-tech listening device disguised as a lemon pickle jar.
---
Meanwhile, from across the compartment, Mr. Verma peered over with suspicion.
> "What are you two whispering about?"
Nanu slapped a Kundali Matching chart on the table.
> "We're discussing your Venus placement, Satish."
Edward gave a dramatic shudder.
> "It's in retrograde. Tragic."
Mr. Verma crossed arms,
"Huh.. Anything?"
Edward didn't even blink as he looked over at Mr. Verma, his voice dripping with the kind of calm you only see in cold-blooded professionals.
> "Yes, Mr. Verma. We are discussing how best to steal the Taj Mahal and replace it with a giant pyramid of samosas."
Nanu, leaning back and looking like a retired assassin who had long ago lost count of how many governments he'd outsmarted, added smoothly:
> "We also discussed planting a mustard seed in the Ganga River. It's for... an experiment. Very scientific."
Mr. Verma's head swiveled like a confused owl.
> "Mustard… seed… in the Ganga?!"
Edward smirked like he had just completed a heist.
> "Yes, but don't worry—this is all above board. We'll consult the spiritual council at Subway first."
Nanu nodded, giving Edward the look of a man proud of a flawless plan.
> "We'll need their sub rolls. It's the only way."
Mr. Verma nodded nervously, like he understood any of that, and returned to glaring at a suspiciously jumping monkey through the window.
---
--------------------------------------------
Time: 5:33 PM onwards – Location: Royal Bubbles Banquet Hall
---
[Interior: Post-cake chaos]
The DJ has cranked up to "parental disapproval" levels. A chandelier just did a midlife crisis flicker. Kids are dancing, sugar-rushed like caffeine-addicted squirrels. The party is at its luxurious peak—so luxurious, in fact, that half the guests are nervously sipping Sprite like it's champagne at a presidential gala.
---
[Cut to: Veer]
Veer lurked near the ice-cream counter like a frosted gremlin of chaos, armed with sarcasm and sprinkles.
[Enter: Aarush]
Almost Dry, Aarush stomps into the hall with the righteous fury of a toddler denied candy. His hair now resembles a distressed crow scanning the room like Liam Neeson in Taken—except instead of "a very particular set of skills," he has… Cash.
CASH the man with the IQ of a microwave's defrost button.
Alone in the corner of the hall.
Sitting.
Back stiff. Eyes wide. Arms frozen at his sides.
Looking like a taxidermy experiment gone wrong.
He had officially entered a catatonic state of fear.
Veer blinked. "Bro… is he buffering or?"
Meanwhile Aarush, "CAAASSSSHHHHH!" he roared like a dying opera singer.
---
[Veer to Cherry, who's happily spinning near the dessert table with a literal mountain of ice cream]
Veer (deadpan):
"...the Hell did you do this time?"
Cherry (licks spoon, innocently):
"Who? ME? Nothinggg.. He was just sitting there. tying his shoelaces… So I just casually told him that this blue floor is made of thin layers of hot ice."
Veer (blinks):
"Hot. Ice."
Cherry (nodding like she just invented gravity):
"And that's why the temperature feels weird, y'know? Like—subtly cursed." So the middle part is safe at all. But at the edges? The ice is super thin. Like, thin-thin."
She shrugged, licking both ice creams
"so if you even slightly stand up, and BOOM you'll fall into a bottomless ocean vortex of doom and just keep drowning forever and ever."
Eating it," maybe.. I just screamed 1-2 times.."
She took another bite. "Just that."
Veer (horrified):
"You casually told him he'd drown in the banquet hall?!"
Cherry (shrugs, slurping ice cream):
"I just meant... the floor's too shiny not to be suspicious. I was doing a public service."
Aarush (screaming):
"CASHHH!!"
Cash: twitches
Cash's brain: 404 NOT FOUND
Aarush (storming from the hall):
> "WHY ARE YOU SITTING LIKE A POSSESSED IKEA LAMP?!"
---
[Cut to: Rohit at the snack corner]
Rohit's holding a over-stuffed plate like a food-themed Jenga tower. He's talking to Jerry the barista. Dead seriously.
Rohit (mouth full):
"Listen bro, we start small. We pitch flavored cough syrup as an energy drink. Boom—market disruption. I call it COUGHxplode."
Jerry blinked.
"Sir… that's illegal."
Rohit: "Exactly My friend. Forbidden fruit marketing. Viral PR. Maximum chaos. The government shuts us down in 3 days? No problem. Limited edition hype. We sell the rights to Netflix."
Jerry was calculating how fast he could escape this city.
---
[Time Skip: Post-party – 6:15 PM | Outside –The goofs hop into a shady-looking taxi]
Cherry and Rohit are deep in a passionate debate about—
Cherry: "If unicorns had a crime syndicate, would they smuggle glitter or rainbow dust?"
Rohit (nodding): "Obviously glitter. Higher resale value. Plus, less traceable."
Veer's just staring out the window like a war veteran remembering the his killing methods.
Veer (suddenly):
"Hey Cherry… your bakery open right now?"
Cherry (without missing a beat):
"Of course. Business never sleeps. Only school does."
Veer (suspiciously):
"…So your dad Mr. Demon—I mean, Damoun—at the store?"
Cherry:
"Nope. Mom took the lead tonight."
[Moment of pure silence. Even the car slows down out of fear.]
[Veer slowly turns to Rohit.]
"Buddy… can't you go instead of me? Just grab me some bread?"
Rohit (sweating):
"Bro I'm already spiritually dead. If you're going, bring me a bun. I wanna die with dignity."
---
[Taxi screeches to a halt outside the bakery. Veer muttering something steps out like a condemned man walking toward a haunted gingerbread house.]
[Interior: The Bakery] Door creaks open with the kind of squeal that suggests it's haunted by Ancient, carb-obsessed spirits.
The shelves are stocked with ghostly looking pastries. There's a stuffed raven perched above the counter for some reason, staring at him like it's waiting him to make a wrong move.
In the background, Gregorian chants echo. Or maybe it's a malfunctioning mixer. Either way, this is not a bakery you want to stumble into after a bad breakup.
Veer (voice cracking): "Is this... Demon's Bakery or the set of a horror movie?"
[Enter: Madame Sylvie Damoun]
Emerges from the shadows like the love child of a drama queen and a ghostly pastry chef. Her hair is elegantly styled, but her eyes are laser-focused, like she could kill you with a single glance... and then bake your soul into a cake.
Madame Damoun (in a voice so dramatic): "Welcome... child."
Veer (sweating bullets): "Uh... Hi... I'm just here.. for some bread?"
[She stares at him like he's just asked to buy a piece of her soul, but instead of handing him a loaf]
Madame Damoun (grinning): "Bread...?" She glared, "Is it... bread you truly seek?"
Veer (nervously): "Uh... yeah like... a simple, non-cursed loaf of bread. That won't give me a panic attack. Or turn me into a pastry slave... please?"
Madame Damoun (voice dropping to a whisper): "Bread is but the vessel, my child. The real question is... are you worthy of the BRE-A-D?"
Veer (swallowing hard): "I—I just want a bread. I don't need this philosophy class. Can you just hand me a baguette and I'll leave?"
---
[Enter: Cherry – spinning out from behind the counter, her arms full of buns like she's the Queen of Pastries.]
Cherry (cheerfully): "Buns! Do you want buns? I've got buns like you wouldn't believe. Like, seriously, you think those are buns? No. These are buns."
She throws a bun at Veer with the precision of an Olympic athlete aiming for a target. It smacks him in face.
Veer (wiping his face): "I didn't ask for a battle of bread, Cherry. I need to leave before I'm enchanted by an overambitious éclair."
Cherry (grinning): "You don't get to leave until you've experienced the full range of my pastries. Now, try this."
[Meanwhile, Madame Damoun has started chanting softly over a steaming bread oven.]
Madame Damoun (chanting in a language that sounds like it might summon demons): "Baker's spell, baking well, make this loaf my cursed shell..."
Veer (facepalming): "Okay, definitely a cult. I'm not touching anything until I get confirmation that there are no summoning circles below this counter."
Madame Damoun (in a low, foreboding tone): "This is the one... fresh from the oven. I call it... 'Bun of Eternal Fate.' It will make you question everything you've ever known about yourself."
Veer (eye twitching): "Pass."
[Cherry gasps dramatically, as though he's just rejected her life's work.]
Cherry (wounded): "Really? You're going to refuse the Bun of Eternal Fate? That's like saying no to destiny's most delicious offering, Veer! Do you not care about GODS?!"
Veer (straight-faced): "Nope. I'm just trying to survive. Can I pay now and leave with my sanity intact?"
...
[Veer tries to flee, the door slams shut.]
Madame Damoun (serious as a stone): "You must first experience the Sacred Bun Ritual before leaving... child."
Veer (eyes wide): "No... please. I'll buy a hundred buns. Just let me go."
Time: 6:55 PM
Ugh. The taxi smells like boiled socks and conspiracy theories. Driver hasn't blinked in 17 minutes. Veer sits slumped over backseat like a prisoner of war. Rohit, meanwhile, chewing on a snack stick like it owes him money.
Veer (muttering to himself):
"Am I even human anymore? Or just… gluten with trauma?"
Rohit (eyeing the buns):
"Bro, are those buns safe? They look like they've seen the underworld."
Veer:
"They have. Madame Damoun whispered to them in Latin. One of them blinked. I SWEAR it blinked."
Rohit:
"Give me the one that didn't blink. I want to die normal."
Veer (pointing at the most suspicious one):
"That one whispered 'run' to me. Twice."
[Suddenly, Cherry pops up from the taxi's front seat like a jump scare]
Cherry (laughing evilly):
"I've packed you both something extra. They're called 'DISASTER Èclairs'. And yumm.. like despair and nutmeg!"
Veer & Rohit:
"NOOOO!!!"
---
[Taxi drives off. Veer arrives at home, which looks like it has PTSD.]
Veer: (stepping out, staring at his front door like it's a massive, haunted artifact)
"Great. Home sweet... whatever this is."
Reaches the door.
Veer (squints at lock, muttering):
"Ah yes… the Ritual of the Lock..."
[He sighs dramatically and squats next to the sidewalk. Pulls up some sand, and starts filling the keyhole with it.]
[After that, he looks up at the stars like he's contemplating the deep mysteries of the universe—or maybe just his own lack of good decisions.]
[Takes out his sunglasses with one dramatic flourish, he wraps a paper around the glasses's hand, puts in the keyhole, twists it and the door. Unlocks.]
Veer (smirking):
"It was never about the key… it was the key."
[He walks in like a discount Bond villain with dread and bread.]
---
[Interior: Veer's House – dim lights, dramatic silence. He places the loafs in fridge..]
Veer (whispers dramatically):
"May these gluten bricks never speak again…"
[He stares at them. One of the loaves makes a tiny creak. Veer slaps it.]
Veer (Slapping it):
"Noo! Bad BUN! You do not summon the spirits of breakfast!, Huh.."
---
[Cut to: Veer's Bedroom]
He storms in, rips his shirt off like he's shedding trauma.
His clothes fly into the wall and knock over a chair.
He stood beside a mirror.
Veer (muttering to himself):
"I've seen things. Things no child should see. Focaccia… with a pulse. A donut... that whispered war crimes."
[He lays on his bed like a corpse freshly delivered from therapy.]
His blanket? Thrown over with military precision.
His pillow? He punches it into shape like it owes him money.
Veer (staring at ceiling, broken):
"I'm not sleeping. I'm… rebooting."
[One of the buns downstairs lets out a tiny rustle in the plastic bag.]
Veer (without moving):
"If that bread moves, I swear to all carbs, I will burn this house down and claim insurance via pastry-induced PTSD."
---