"Hello, friends..." Mugdha whispered dramatically into her phone camera. "So it's currently two in the morning and I just woke up with the world's biggest urge to pee."

She zoomed the camera awkwardly toward her own horrified face.

"But the problem is..." she lowered her voice further, "...I'm scared to go to the washroom alone."

Only the harsh white glow from her tiny tripod light illuminated the cramped room where five people were sleeping in impossible arrangements.

"What will it take for you to switch off that light?" Mrs. Gowda suddenly snapped, half her face emerging from the blanket. "Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

"Amma!" Mugdha whisper-yelled. "I'm shooting a vlog! At least pretend to sleep naturally."

"Who even records their urge to pee for YouTube?" Mulya, her younger sister groaned while turning to the other side. "And who are these jobless viewers interested in whether you successfully peed at 2 a.m.?"

The camera accidentally captured the sleeping arrangement perfectly.

Mr. Gowda occupied the lone wooden cot like a king.

Manav the youngest of the siblings slept diagonally on the floor.

Mulya spread like a dead octopus.

And Mugdha herself was trapped between her mother and younger sister with no escape route.

To reach the door, she practically had to perform Olympic-level hurdles over family members.

"Shhh!" Mugdha hissed dramatically. "Do you all want to stay poor forever or not?"

Nobody answered.

"I'm trying to build a career on YouTube here. Viewers love struggle content." Mugdha proudly adjusted the tripod angle. "Especially if the struggling person is a girl."

"Hit me with a rolling pin and kill me instead," Mrs. Gowda muttered.

Ignoring her completely, Mugdha restarted recording with influencer energy.

"Guys..." she whispered emotionally while turning the camera around. "Today I'll show you the dark realities of chawl life."

She dramatically zoomed toward the ceiling fan making suspicious noises.

"We live in tenement housing," she narrated like a wildlife documentary. "Shared bathrooms. Shared corridors. Shared gossip. Shared trauma."

Mulya snorted under the blanket.

"TV serials make chawl life look cute and wholesome," Mugdha continued. "Like everybody lives together happily while laughing and eating poha."

She slowly panned the camera toward her sleeping parents.

"But reality?" she whispered. "Five humans packed inside one room like emergency luggage. I wonder how my parents created not one but three of us inside this cramped one room kitchen house."

"You sleeping quietly or should I hit you with the dosa batter ladle?" Mrs. Gowda instantly sat up.

"I'll edit that out," Mugdha replied professionally.

Then with full suspense music playing from her phone speaker, she unlocked the main door dramatically while continuing the vlog-

"Come, friends... let us begin tonight's dangerous journey toward the common washroom."

"So basically..." Mugdha whispered into the camera while tiptoeing out of the room, "we live on the second floor, and to reach the washroom at this ungodly hour, I have to travel all the way down two floors like some horror movie heroine."

The dim corridor lights flickered dramatically as she descended the staircase with her phone held up in front of her face.

"Usually Amma or Appa escorts us whenever nature calls after midnight," she continued in a hushed voice. "Because according to Indian parents, danger personally waits outside the washroom after 10 p.m."

"But today..." she puffed her chest proudly while stepping down another staircase, "...your girl has decided to become independent."

Mugdha switched the camera angle toward the narrow chawl corridor lined with closed doors, hanging clothes, and steel buckets outside homes.

"I know nothing can happen to me while all of you are watching me live."

A dog suddenly barked somewhere downstairs.

Mugdha nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Oh my God...!" She clutched the railing dramatically.

"See? Even the dogs here support jump scares." The phone flashlight shook violently as she continued descending.

"Look at this atmosphere, friends..." she whispered like a paranormal investigator. "One flickering tube light. Suspicious uncle snoring somewhere. Random pressure cooker whistle at 2 a.m. Truly the luxury lifestyle of chawl residents."

Finally, after surviving what she treated like a jungle expedition, Mugdha reached the common washroom area.

She turned the camera toward the row of bathroom doors proudly.

"And here we are..."

A pause.

"The legendary common toilet."

Then she zoomed dramatically toward one locked bathroom door.

"Occupied."

Another door.

"No bucket outside. Suspicious."

Then another.

"Okay this one looks emotionally stable enough to enter."

In the Morning...

"Good morning, friends..." Mugdha chirped into the camera with exaggerated freshness despite it being barely sunrise. "Right now, I'm peeling enormous amounts of fresh garlic for today's pasta prep."

She held up a garlic pod dramatically toward the lens.

"I never use ready-made garlic paste," she declared proudly while peeling a clove with unnecessary elegance. "I personally hate the smell of packaged paste."

In the background-

Mulya paused midway through peeling an entire mountain of garlic cloves and leaned toward Mrs. Gowda.

"If her nose grew longer after every lie," Mugdha whispered loudly, "it would've crossed one kilometre by now."

Mrs. Gowda snorted instantly.

Because in reality-

Both Mrs Gowda and Mulya had been peeling garlic nonstop for nearly an hour while Madam Influencer peeled exactly three cloves for cinematic shots.

Mugdha's smile twitched dangerously.

The moment her recording stopped, she slowly turned toward Mulya with betrayal written all over her face.

"MULYA."

"What?" Mulya shrugged innocently while continuing to peel garlic. "At least tell viewers the truth. The entire family is preparing pasta ingredients while you rotate the camera around like a National Geographic host."

Mugdha glared harder.

Ever since she had started her roadside pasta cart, her life had changed dramatically.

Not because of the pasta alone-

But because of the emotional storytelling she attached to it online.

Every day, Mugdha uploaded vlogs about chawl life, financial struggles, common washrooms, family chaos, and her dream of escaping poverty through cooking.

And the internet loved her for it.

Within just two months, her tiny pasta cart had exploded in popularity. Food vloggers flocked to her stall, eager to feature the "hardworking chawl girl selling pasta." Social media pages reposted her clips endlessly. Customers arrived not just for food, but for the story attached to it.

The best part?

She never had to pay a single influencer for publicity.

Her own dramatic vlogs did all the marketing for free.

Thousands of subscribers now followed her daily life, sympathizing with her struggles, cheering for her dreams, and emotionally investing themselves in her success story.

Meanwhile, behind every viral video-

Mrs. Gowda and Mulya silently peeled garlic in bulk like unpaid production staff.

"I'm doing all this to pay your school fees, alright?" Mugdha snapped at Mulya. "Appa didn't have enough money when I was studying, so I got pulled out of school. I couldn't even finish my twelfth standard."

Mulya immediately fell silent.

"Do you understand that?" Mugdha continued, emotion cracking through her irritation. "Right now Appa can only afford to educate one of you properly. And obviously he'll choose Manav because he's the son."

Mrs. Gowda lowered her eyes quietly.

"Educating a son is always considered a better investment in families like ours." Mugdha continued.

"Akka..." Mulya's eyes filled instantly. "I was only joking."

"Don't joke about it even in your dreams," Mugdha shot back.

The room fell heavy with silence except for the sound of boiling pasta from the kitchen corner.

"I hate this poverty," Mugdha muttered more softly now, though anger still lingered in her voice. "I want us to grow. I want all of us to live properly someday."

"And if I have to cry a little or exaggerate things in front of the camera to make that happen... then so be it." Mugdha looked toward the phone resting on the tripod.

Mrs. Gowda blinked away her tears silently.

Instead of arguing, she simply continued boiling pasta for Mugdha's cart like she always did.

Mulya quietly resumed chopping vegetables faster.

A few minutes later-

"Akka..." she hesitated nervously. "You're using palm oil."

Mugdha looked up.

"But you told your viewers you cook using olive oil." Mulya pointed toward the large container of palm oil from which Mugdha was preparing the mayonnaise mixture.

Ironically, the oil itself had been transferred into an expensive olive-oil bottle purely for shooting aesthetics.

"Do you even know the price of olive oil?" Mugdha scoffed. "I'd have to sell the entire cart just to buy one proper bottle."

"And who even eats at my cart every single day? Most customers come once because of social media hype and vanish." Mugdha aggressively whisked the sauce mixture.

Mulya looked guilty.

"All these years Amma cooked for us in palm oil," Mugdha continued defensively. "Did we die? We're still alive, aren't we?"

"So stop acting morally superior and asking unnecessary questions." Mugdha pointed the spoon toward her sister.

"Mugdha..." Mrs. Gowda intervened gently. "Can you speak to her nicely? We're all helping you earn here."

"Helping me?" Mugdha laughed bitterly.

The atmosphere stiffened immediately.

"When I first started vlogging and opened the pasta cart, none of you supported me." Mugdha reminded her.

Mrs. Gowda looked away quietly.

"You wanted me to continue working at that beauty parlour," Mugdha said angrily. "Sweeping hair off floors, waxing strangers for minimum wage, standing ten hours a day for peanuts."

"Appa even slapped me when I said I wanted to quit and try social media." Mugdha's eyes burned with old humiliation.

Nobody spoke.

"And now?" Mugdha looked around the cramped room slowly. "Now all of you depend on the same girl whose dreams looked foolish back then."

The room fell completely silent after that.

Only the sound of vegetables being chopped and pasta boiling remained-

Along with the uncomfortable truth none of them could deny anymore.

Manav walked into the house with his face buried inside his phone.

"Can you either study or help us?" Mugdha snapped instantly. "We're all working ourselves to death here while you roam around glued to your mobile."

Manav, now well into his early teens and carrying the awkward signs of puberty, ignored her irritation completely.

"I was actually searching for new pasta recipes for your cart," he defended himself before rushing toward her excitedly. "Look at this one, Akka! I swear this pasta tastes as good as it looks."

Manav flashed the phone screen toward her.

On the video-

Celebrity chef Cheeranjeev Vishwanathan elegantly plated pasta with artistic precision before garnishing it with micro-greens and cheese shavings like some culinary magician.

The production quality alone screamed money.

Mugdha stared blankly for two seconds before shoving the phone away dramatically.

"If I follow his recipe," she scoffed, "I'll probably need crow eggs, buffalo tail hair, powder scraped from some magical tree bark, and spices that attack my throat personally."

Mulya burst out laughing.

"Remove his channel from my sight," Mugdha grumbled. "I cannot afford to recreate anything this man cooks."

"One plate of his pasta probably costs the same as fifty plates from my cart." Mugdha pointed toward the phone accusingly.

"At fifty rupees each," Mulya added helpfully.

"But it looks soooo good..." Manav groaned dramatically while staring at the paused video. "My mouth is literally watering."

"Same," Mulya sighed dreamily.

For the first time that morning, Mugdha's expression softened.

The harshness in her voice faded slightly as she looked at her siblings.

"When I start earning properly," Mugdha said quietly, "I'll take both of you to his restaurant someday."

Both siblings looked up instantly.

"He owns HOTEL ANNAPOORNA in the same area where we live," she continued. "One day, I'll buy you the exact same pasta from his restaurant."

"Promise?" Mulya's eyes sparkled.

"Promise." Mugdha assured her.

Then Mugdha immediately pointed a garlic clove toward them like a strict commander again.

"But until then," she declared, "all of you work hard and help me become rich first."

***

Mugdha pushed her pasta cart out from the crowded parking lane where dozens of street vendors stored their carts overnight under faded tarpaulin covers.

"Wait... let me help you." Rajan stepped forward and began untying the thick suthli rope wrapped tightly around her cart.

Mugdha folded her arms dramatically.

"And why exactly are you helping me?" she asked with a teasing grin.

"I saw you struggling with it," Rajan replied simply while loosening the knot. "Your father usually does this part for you every morning, doesn't he?"

"Yeah." Mugdha nodded. "But he had some urgent work today and left early."

The blue tarpaulin slid off the cart, revealing her neatly arranged pasta setup underneath.

"What does your father do?" Rajan asked casually.

"He's an electrician," Mugdha replied while fixing the wheels into place. "Takes jobs through UrbanClap mostly. Sometimes he gets bigger contracts for wiring apartment buildings."

"Oh..." Rajan nodded thoughtfully.

A brief silence followed before Mugdha glanced toward his stall parked directly opposite hers.

"You sell sandwiches, right?" She asked.

"Yeah." He pointed proudly toward his cart. "Right across the street."

Mugdha read the signboard aloud dramatically.

"Rajan's Super Sandwich." She burst into laughter.

"Very creative branding, wow." She teased him.

Rajan rolled his eyes.

"Did you eat breakfast?" he asked instead.

"Not really," she sighed tiredly. "I was busy preparing pasta mixtures since morning. By the time I got free, the dosa batter at home was already over."

"I thought I'd just eat here after opening the cart." She patted her stomach sadly.

Without another word, Rajan quickly whisked two eggs, chopped onions, tomatoes and spices into a bowl. He prepared a sandwich and handed it over.

"Here. Special omelette sandwich." He offered her.

Mugdha took a bite.

Her eyes widened instantly.

"Mmmmmm..." She stared at the sandwich dramatically.

"These are SO good!" She admitted.

"Then why don't you have crowds like mine? This deserves a queue." She immediately leaned over his cart suspiciously.

Rajan chuckled softly while arranging vegetables.

"I'm not on social media like you," he admitted. "But I get decent business. I've been doing this for five years now."

"Once my ingredients finish, I pack up and go home. I'm satisfied with that." He shrugged casually.

"Wait..." Mugdha's eyes wandered toward his butter stock.

"You use THIS butter?" She picked up the packet suspiciously.

Rajan nodded.

"That's expensive," she frowned. "Doesn't your cost shoot up?"

"My customers notice these things," he explained calmly. "They look inside the cart while ordering. People feel happier eating when they know good ingredients are being used."

Mugdha stared at him for two seconds before lowering her voice conspiratorially.

"Then just keep the expensive butter cover outside and refill it with the cheap one." She winked.

"Nobody will know." She hissed.

"But then who exactly am I cheating?" Rajan looked genuinely horrified.

Mugdha blinked.

"How do people even sleep peacefully after cheating customers through food?" he continued honestly. "Does food go down your own throat after that?"

His words carried no judgement.

Only confusion.

"My regular customers are mostly bachelors working in IT companies," he explained while cleaning the counter. "People living alone in those high-rise apartments nearby."

"They come here because they want something hygienic and healthy." He smiled faintly.

For a moment-

Mugdha felt unexpectedly guilty.

A tiny uncomfortable knot formed somewhere inside her chest.

Still, she quickly pushed the feeling aside and flashed him a grin.

"I'll compensate you with one plate of pasta for this sandwich, okay?" She showed him a thumbs-up.

Rajan smiled and nodded back.

And just like that-

The guilt disappeared the moment Mugdha crossed the road toward her own cart, already preparing herself for another day of content creation, customers, and survival.

The moment Mugdha uncovered her cart and switched on the gas burner, people began crowding around her stall from every direction.

Within minutes, chaos erupted.

"One white sauce!"

"Akka, two spicy!"

"Mine first!"

"Where's my order?"

"I paid already!"

Mugdha's hands moved frantically between the boiling pasta, sauces, and paper plates while phones hovered around her face recording every second for Instagram reels and YouTube shorts.

The moment she stretched out a plate, five hands lunged toward it at once.

She no longer knew who had ordered what.

For a second, panic crawled up her spine.

"I need an attendant," she thought desperately. "How am I supposed to handle this alone?"

The heat from the burner, the noise, the cameras, the shouting-

Everything started crashing into her head at once.

"SHUT UP!" Mugdha suddenly screamed.

The crowd froze.

"I said I'm giving your orders, right?" she snapped breathlessly. "All of you step back and stand in a line! Give me some space to work!"

"How is anybody supposed to cook with ten people breathing into their face?" Her voice cracked with stress.

People reluctantly stepped back.

From across the road, Rajan immediately noticed her losing control.

He abandoned his sandwich cart and pushed through the crowd toward her.

"You cook," he said calmly while squeezing beside her counter. "I'll handle serving."

Mugdha looked at him like she had just seen divine intervention.

For the first time in ten minutes, she breathed properly.

Meanwhile-

One of the food vloggers filming nearby dramatically turned his camera toward himself after tasting her pasta.

"This pasta honestly isn't worth the hype," Nithin declared into the mic while chewing lazily. "It's basically ketchup and mayo mixed together. Pastha is overcooked and broken and they stick to each other."

"What exactly are people standing in line for one whole hour to eat?" Nithin lifted the fork dismissively.

His cameraman zoomed toward the pasta plate.

"You're better off sitting peacefully at a proper restaurant than eating this roadside nonsense." Nithin addressed his camera.

Mugdha instantly lost her temper.

"Excuse me?" she barked. "Go do your shooting somewhere else if you want to criticize!"

Everyone nearby turned silent.

"Do you even know how much effort it takes to handle this crowd?" Mugdha yelled at him.

"Did you pay me for positive feedback?" Nithin scoffed.

"No." Mugdha barked.

"Then I'll say what I feel. Your pasta tastes like trash." Nithin ridiculed her.

The atmosphere heated instantly.

Before Mugdha could explode further, Rajan quickly stepped between them.

"Sir... please calm down," Rajan requested politely. "She's under pressure right now. I apologize on her behalf."

Rajan gently pulled Nithin aside to de-escalate the argument while Mugdha returned to cooking with trembling hands.

That's when-

A soft female voice emerged from the crowd.

"Excuse me... which is the fast-moving pasta here?" A lady enquired her checking through the menu.

Mugdha barely looked up.

"Fast-moving?" she repeated irritably. "What does that even mean?"

The lady blinked awkwardly.

"Can't you see how busy I am?" Mugdha snapped. "If you want to order, then order. There's no five-star menu here for you to study!"

The crowd fell silent again.

"Please stop talking and let me work!" Mugdha yelled on top of her voice.

The lady looked visibly embarrassed.

Without another word, the lady quietly stepped away from the cart after being humiliated in front of everyone for asking a simple question.

"Mugdha..." Rajan warned softly while returning. "I think you should calm down. People are recording everything."

"I'm tired!" Mugdha cried out emotionally.

She grabbed her phone and turned the live camera toward herself.

"I wake up at four in the morning every single day for this!" Her eyes welled up instantly.

"Everyone just comes here to judge me..." Mugdha cried into the camera.

The livestream comments exploded with sympathy.

That's when-

A deep male voice cut cleanly through the chaos surrounding her cart.

"Excuse me, Ma'am..."

The crowd parted slightly.

"Which is the fast-moving pasta here?" The man asked.

Mugdha snapped instantly without looking up.

"What is WRONG with people today?" she shouted furiously. "This is a roadside cart, not some luxury hotel!"

Then she finally looked up.

And froze.

The crowd itself had shifted aside to make way for the man standing before her.

Tall.

Impossibly composed.

Dressed in an understated black shirt with sleeves folded neatly.

The kind of presence that silenced noise without effort.

Recognition exploded among the food vloggers first.

Phones immediately turned away from Mugdha and toward him.

"Oh my God..."

"That's Chef CJ..."

"Chef Cheeranjeev Vishwanathan..."

The whispers spread rapidly through the crowd.

Mugdha's breath caught in her throat.

She recognized him instantly from the YouTube videos Manav obsessively watched at home-

The celebrity chef.

The owner of HOTEL ANNAPOORNA.

The man whose pasta looked too expensive to even pronounce.

And now-

He stood directly in front of her tiny roadside cart waiting to place an order.

For the first time since her business went viral-

Mugdha completely lost her voice.

***

AUTHOR'S NOTE

"Are we ready for the face-off, girls?"

How do you think their first encounter will go - a pleasant surprise or an all-out clash?

Now, let's turn back the clock and uncover what truly pulled Cheeranjeev toward Mugdha's cart.

This scene picks up after a couple of chapters of backstory...

🍝✨ Pastha on Cart will be back soon...

🔔💛 Ding dong... keep your tummies empty while you read this! 😋🍴

🌸🛒 Did you like Mugdha? 💕

📖✨ How was the first chapter of this book? 🥹💫

***

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