Chapter 1: The Great Escape
The sun was blazing down on Chennai, making the air feel like a giant pressure cooker. Inside a modest two-bedroom flat in Anna Nagar, Divya was having a full-on meltdown. Her amma, Lakshmi was holding up a heavy red silk saree with golden borders, looking like she was auditioning for a Tamil serial.
Lakshmi : Divya, idhu podu, Romba azhaga irukum unakku. Mapillai veetula ellarum impress aayiduvanga!
"Ma, PLEASE!" Divya groaned, flopping onto the sofa, her messy bun bouncing.
Divya : I'm not some Amazon product for next-day delivery marriage! Ennoda feelings, wishes, dreams, yaarukum theriyaa venamla, see, nobody cares! Just 'saree podu, smile pannu'!"Enougha, ammaa. I can't put this drama.
At 25, Divya was a book editor at a small publishing house, obsessed with dog-eared novels and filter coffee. Boys? They were secondary to her dream of visiting Paris with a backpack and a good book. But her parents? They were on a mission: "Divya's marriage should done at any cost, full stop."
Today was the ultimate drama—a ponnu paakura ceremony. The guy, some Arjun, was a 28-year-old "US-return" software engineer with a "calm and mature" vibe, according to her aunties, who were already planning the wedding menu. "Mapillai nalla paiyan, Divya! Oru look-layae unaku pudikkum!" her Chithi had squealed over WhatsApp, sending a blurry photo of a guy in a navy blazer. Divya rolled her eyes.
"Resume match panni patha, love varum ah enna ? Enna logic idhu? "
She wasn't against arranged marriage, but she wanted something real—a partner who'd binge K-dramas with her, laugh at her terrible cooking, and not expect her to be a perfect "sanskari" robot. This whole setup felt like a Tamil movie audition she didn't sign up for.So, she did what any self-respecting heroine would do. She plotted her escape.
"Amma, I'm going to the bathroom," she lied, grabbing her backpack. Inside, she stuffed her phone, wallet, a half-read romance novel, and her trusty water bottle. She changed into a comfy blue kurti and jeans, tied her hair into a ponytail, and—channeling her inner Simran from Panchathanthiram—climbed out the balcony. Heart pounding, she slid down the pipe, narrowly avoiding the neighbor's curious Pomeranian, and sprinted to Chennai Central Station.
"Any train to anywhere, please!" she begged the lady at the counter, sweat dripping down her forehead.c"Coimbatore Express, platform 3, leaving in 10 minutes," the lady said, barely looking up.
Divya didn't care where Coimbatore was. It sounded far enough. She bought the ticket, ran to the platform, and boarded a second-class compartment, collapsing into a window seat. The train smelled like chai, sweat, and dreams of freedom. She took a swig from her water bottle, feeling like a Kollywood heroine who'd just escaped a villain.
Across from her sat a guy. Navy-blue shirt, clean-shaven, reading a dog-eared copy of Sapiens. He had a calm vibe, like he wasn't fazed by the chaos of the train—babies crying, vendors shouting "Vada, vada!"—or the fact that Divya had practically stormed into the compartment like a tornado.
He looked up, catching her eye. "Thanni thaanae?" he asked, pointing at her water bottle with a playful smirk.
Divya blinked, startled. "You speak Tamil?"
"Sometimes," he said, his accent a mix of Chennai slang and a faint American twang. "Depends on the vibe."
She laughed, relaxing a bit. "Vibe, huh? Okay, cool. But yeah, thanni dhaan. No vodka here."
