A Walk Through Lucknow’s Heart

The warm morning air carried the scent of fried snacks and damp earth as Arjun stepped out of the orphanage gate, his worn-out sneakers scraping against the cracked pavement. It had been years since he walked these streets — or rather, since his past self had. But to his mind, everything felt both familiar and foreign.

The lane outside was buzzing with life. Children ran around barefoot, playing gully cricket with a plastic ball, arguing over imaginary LBWs. Old shopkeepers swept the dust off their storefronts while chaiwalas shouted out deals on cutting chai and bun-maska. A rickshaw creaked by, blasting an old Mohammed Rafi song that made Arjun smile.

"This city hasn't changed a bit."

He walked with no particular destination in mind — just letting his legs carry him wherever his heart pulled. His stomach growled, reminding him that teenage hunger was a beast of its own. Luckily, Lucknow had just the cure.

The familiar signboard of "Tunday Kababi" came into view, its chipped paint and greasy windows radiating the kind of authenticity no five-star restaurant could match. The smell of sizzling kebabs hit him like a cricket ball to the chest — spicy, smoky, and irresistible.

"Ek plate galouti aur ek sheermal dena," Arjun ordered, slapping down a crumpled ₹100 note.

The first bite was pure nostalgia — the tender kebab melting on his tongue, perfectly balanced with the sweet, buttery sheermal. He leaned back on the rickety plastic chair, letting out a soft sigh.

"Even dying and coming back to life was worth it for this."

From kebabs to chaat, his next stop was Chowk — a bustling maze of vendors selling everything from jewelry to knockoff cricket bats. Arjun parked himself at his favorite chaat stall, watching the chaatwala mix up his order with the flair of a magician.

Crisp papdi, spicy aloo, tangy tamarind chutney — every bite was a burst of flavors. He didn't even care that his hands were getting messy. This was life. Simple, chaotic, delicious.

Sania's voice purred in his ear. "I hope you eat this passionately off the field too."

"Can you not flirt while I'm worshipping food?" Arjun muttered under his breath.

As the sun started dipping low, Arjun wandered into Hazratganj — the fancy part of the city. Neon lights flickered to life, and college students hung around in tight cliques, showing off their fashion sense and cheap colognes.

Arjun stood out — not because he was well-dressed, but because he carried himself differently. The smirk, the relaxed walk, the devil-may-care glint in his eyes. Even though his clothes were cheap and his shoes were falling apart, there was a rebellious confidence radiating off him.

It was this very aura that caught the attention of someone — though Arjun wouldn't know it yet.

As he strolled back toward the orphanage, his belly full and his heart oddly content, Arjun stopped at a small ground where some local boys were practicing cricket. His fingers itched to grab the bat and show them how it's done. But not yet.

"Soon," he whispered. "First, I'll enjoy this second chance a bit more."

Above him, the night sky was painted with stars, and somewhere in the system space, Sania sighed dramatically. "You're such a tease, Arjun. But don't keep me waiting too long, okay? Our cricket empire won't build itself."

Tomorrow, he'd head into the heart of the city again — this time, unknowingly walking into a fateful meeting with a sharp-eyed, ambitious reporter who had a nose for trouble and a weakness for bad boys.

And Arjun Mishra? He was about to become her favorite kind of trouble.