Shreya’s alarm blared, pulling her out of a deep, restless sleep. The fluorescent light of her bedroom felt harsh against her tired eyes. Another busy day ahead, another rush to the train station, another sea of faces in the chaotic, crowded city of Mumbai.

Her phone buzzed with a reminder — a report due at the office, a meeting with the boss, a presentation to prepare. She groaned, pulling herself out of bed and into her usual routine: a cup of coffee, a quick breakfast, a rushed shower, and out the door.

The local train was packed as usual. She squeezed in, wedged between people with tired faces and pressed clothes, the air thick with the heat of hundreds of bodies. She sighed, adjusting her bag, trying not to breathe too deeply.

The train rattled and screeched its way across the tracks, and Shreya’s mind wandered. Another monotonous day ahead. The same grey buildings, the same busy streets, the same office — a life that had begun to feel like a series of routines with little room for joy. She had been in Mumbai for three years now, working her way up the corporate ladder, and it was always the same.

The train jolted to a stop, and her thoughts snapped back to the present. As usual, there was no time to dawdle — she had to get off at the next station and rush to work. But as the crowd swarmed towards the door, she saw it: the train ahead was delayed.

She glanced at her watch. There was no way she’d make it to work on time now. Frustrated, she pushed her way back to the station’s exit, deciding she would take a rickshaw. The humid air hit her like a wave as she stepped outside, the sound of honking cars, street vendors, and the chatter of pedestrians filling the space around her.

“Rickshaw, madam?” The voice cut through the noise. A man stood by the side, offering her a ride with a broad smile on his face.

Shreya hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yes, to the office on Nariman Point.”

The man, his face framed by a stubbled beard and bright eyes, opened the rickshaw door for her. “Hop in, madam,” he said with a cheerful tone. “I’ll get you there in no time.”

Shreya slid into the back seat and closed the door behind her. The rickshaw jerked forward, and the driver eased his way into the congested Mumbai traffic.

She sank back, letting out a quiet sigh. She hated the unpredictability of rickshaws, how they could never seem to go in a straight line. But this man’s easy confidence was oddly calming. He hummed a tune under his breath, something old and familiar. The sound of the streets outside was almost muffled by the rhythmic buzz of the engine.

After a few minutes, he glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Madam, first time I take you? You look like a busy person. But don’t worry, I will get you there safely and with no hassle. We Mumbai-ites are good at dodging traffic!”

Shreya smiled faintly, too distracted to engage in conversation. But something about the man’s easy manner — the way he didn’t seem rushed or stressed — caught her attention. It was such a contrast to the frantic pace of her day, the constant pressure to be everywhere at once.

The rickshaw swerved around a large pothole, and Shreya held onto the side. “Watch it!” she said, half-laughing at the sudden movement.

The driver chuckled. “Ah, the Mumbai roads! They are like the city — full of surprises.”

She couldn’t help but laugh along with him, her tension easing a little. “I guess you’re right.”

As they wound through the streets, Shreya found herself looking out the window, noticing the small details she usually missed — the old man selling flowers by the corner, the child riding his bicycle with a smile that could rival the sun, the brightly painted walls of an old building she hadn’t seen before.

The rickshaw came to a stop at a traffic light, and she glanced at the driver again. “Do you always stay so calm?” she asked, half-amused.

He grinned. “Only way to survive in Mumbai, madam. Stress doesn’t help much. Sometimes, you just have to let things happen.”

Shreya was taken aback. She didn’t realize how tightly she was holding onto her stress until that moment. “That’s… that’s a good way to think about it,” she said quietly.

“Life’s too short to rush all the time,” he added with a wink.

Before she knew it, they were pulling up to her office building. The ride had been quick, almost soothing, despite the usual chaos of Mumbai’s streets. As Shreya paid him, she found herself smiling in return.

“Thank you,” she said. “You made my morning a little better.”

The driver gave her another one of his wide, carefree grins. “No problem, madam. Come back for another ride anytime!”

As Shreya walked into the office, the noise of the city, the frantic rhythm of her daily life, seemed just a little quieter. For the first time in a long while, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she could find joy in the little things too.