Kiara Mishra had never run this fast in her entire life. Not for P.E. races in school, not for chasing the ice-cream cart during summer holidays, not even that one time she sprinted across the colony to stop the neighbor’s dog from tearing her dupatta to shreds. But here she was now, panting like a steam engine, her hair unraveling from its neat bun, dupatta slipping dangerously off her shoulder, as she tried to keep pace with the hurricane currently disguised as Ruaan Mahajan.

“Arey yaar…” she wheezed, clutching her side as her legs pumped furiously. “…agar itni tez main school ki race mein bhaag leti na, to ab tak national athlete hoti.” Her muttered complaint barely left her lips before another puff of air left her chest, leaving her sounding like an eighty-year-old woman climbing Mount Everest.