"Ah! That's the third time this week!" Maya Sharma muttered, wiping a streak of coffee from the corner of her lens, squinting at the chaotic scene unfolding in front of her.
The small corner café she frequented, Café Mocha, was bustling with its usual crowd of young professionals and students. Maya, however, was not paying much attention to the clattering of mugs or the chatter around her. Her eyes were fixed on the barista—a tall, lean man with a perfectly combed hairdo, trying (and failing) to make a latte art heart.
As Maya adjusted her camera settings for the umpteenth time, she leaned forward, squinting through the viewfinder to get a perfect shot of the man's face as he concentrated. But just as she was about to click, a rogue foam-covered spoon from the counter flew across the room and hit him square in the chest.
"Oh no!" Maya gasped, dropping her camera to the table. Her eyes widened in panic, the lens still catching the aftermath—a distracted barista wiping the foam from his shirt while the rest of the customers erupted in laughter.
She was mortified.
Before anyone could say anything, Maya hastily grabbed her camera and darted towards the door. "Sorry! I… um, I didn't mean to…" she trailed off, speaking more to herself than anyone else. Her cheeks were a deep shade of red. She had been photographing coffee art for weeks—waiting for that perfect shot, only to have it ruined by an accidental spoon catastrophe.
If anything could go wrong, it had.
Slamming the door open with a bit more force than necessary, Maya stepped outside into the hustle of Mumbai's crowded streets. A soft drizzle had started, the droplets landing in her messy hair and beading on her lens. Great. Just what she needed.
Maya shook her head, muttering a series of expletives under her breath as she tried to wipe the rain off her camera. But instead of clearing the water off, she accidentally smeared the lens with her finger—leaving an even more unsightly streak.
She took a deep breath, feeling the frustration creep in. Photography had always been her passion, but there were days when the universe just refused to cooperate. In the midst of balancing a full-time job in a dull office and taking photography gigs on weekends, she felt as though her dream of becoming a recognized photographer was slowly slipping out of her reach.
Her phone buzzed, a familiar notification lighting up the screen. She glanced down at the message, seeing the name "Mom" flash on the display.
Maya exhaled sharply and decided to ignore the call, tossing the phone back into her bag. The last thing she wanted right now was another reminder that her family thought she was wasting her life.
Her mother had called earlier that morning, as she did every weekend, to check on her. Maya's mother, a retired schoolteacher, was endlessly supportive in her own way. But when it came to Maya's "non-serious" career in photography, she couldn't hide her disapproval.
"You need to focus on getting a proper job, Maya. Stop wasting your time with these hobby projects. Photography won't pay the bills. You need something stable," her mom had scolded, her voice barely audible over the sound of clinking dishes in the background.
Maya could almost hear the disapproving tone in her mother's voice again. The problem was, Maya did have a stable job—working as a junior marketing assistant at a corporate firm downtown. But photography, her true love, was where her heart truly lay. Despite the setbacks, the long hours, the awkward encounters like the one at the café, she felt an irreplaceable connection with her camera. Every picture was like capturing a sliver of the world, one that no one else could see.
But no matter how much she loved it, she could feel the weight of practicality pressing down on her shoulders. The freelance jobs barely paid enough to cover the cost of the camera gear she was constantly upgrading. And the studio she had been eyeing to start her own photography business was becoming increasingly unrealistic to afford.
Maya stopped walking for a moment and looked up, letting the rain cool her face. The city looked different when it rained—darker, with everything slightly blurred around the edges. The damp sidewalks, the reflections in the puddles—everything seemed like the perfect scene to photograph.
She raised her camera, despite her frustrations, and clicked the shutter. The resulting shot was beautiful—the streets gleaming under the rain, the glow of neon lights catching the drops. A fleeting moment, captured.
Suddenly, the sound of a car horn pierced the moment. Maya looked up just in time to see a cab speeding towards her. She flung herself to the side, narrowly avoiding the vehicle's tires skimming her foot.
"Watch where you're walking!" the cab driver shouted out the window.
"Yeah, sorry!" Maya yelled back, still shaking off the adrenaline. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she steadied herself against a lamppost. This was not how she envisioned spending her Saturday.
With her camera still clutched in her hands, she stood for a moment, watching the cab speed off into the distance. Then she sighed and wiped her damp brow, looking back at her phone. Her mom's text was still there, waiting to be answered. It was as if there was no escaping it.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, Maya didn't hesitate to pick it up.
It was from her best friend, Priya: "Maya, I found this cool old photography book for you! You HAVE to come check it out. It's exactly the inspiration you need!"
Maya smiled to herself, feeling the familiar weight of guilt lift for a moment. Priya had been her biggest supporter. While the world may have viewed her passion for photography as a quirky hobby, Priya was always there to remind her that it mattered. To her, Maya's talent was something special.
With a sigh, Maya typed back: "I'll be there in 15. Don't let anyone else get their hands on that book."
As she started to walk back toward the metro station, Maya felt a strange shift. It wasn't just the rain or the near miss with the cab—it was something she couldn't quite place. As if something, or someone, was watching her.
She brushed off the thought. "Get a grip, Maya. You're just tired. Maybe a little rainwater got in your head."
But as she stepped into the subway station, something caught her eye.
There, on the platform, standing near the far edge, was a man. He was dressed in a dark trench coat, his face partially obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. His posture was stiff, as though he were waiting for something—or someone.
For some reason, Maya couldn't look away. The man seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn't place him. Her heart skipped a beat as he glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with her.
And just like that, everything seemed to freeze.
In the briefest instant, their eyes met, and Maya could've sworn he smiled. But the expression was more mysterious than friendly. It was as though he knew something about her… something she didn't know yet.
Maya's stomach churned.
Then, as quickly as he had appeared, the man turned and vanished into the crowd.
She blinked, disoriented, and then she remembered: She had an appointment with Priya. But for a brief moment, she couldn't shake the feeling that something—someone—was about to change everything.
She quickly shoved the thought aside and headed for the exit, unaware that this fleeting encounter was the beginning of an unexpected journey.