Hairpin Nine ch 1

My phone buzzed against my palm. Wet concrete, diesel smoke, and a crowd pushing near the Mysuru KSRTC stand.
"Harshika?" I said, thumbing the screen.
"Arun... I can't," her voice cracked over the noise of the traffic. "I’m sorry. My manager dropped a weekend review task. You know his character, right?"
"Yaar... , he did it again?" I stared at the digital ticket QR code glowing on my display, tapping my thumb against the glass. "Are you serious? He pulled that exact same stunt with me last week!"
"I swear, Arun, I hate this toxic life. I just can’t board." She let out a breath like she wanted to scream. "Go solo. Take crazy photos and send them to me so I can see what I'm missing."
"Yeah, right. Fine." I cut the call before she could reply, my chest burning. Thirty-one years old, staring at code all week at Cyber Park, and the one weekend I escape toward Kerala, it’s all chaos.
"Stay safe, yaar!" her text pinged a second later.
More window space for me.
The KSRTC bus groaned into the bay, yellow lights cutting through the heavy evening mist. I tossed my heavy bag overhead, kept a small sling handbag and my camera tight, grabbed a hard window seat, and pinned my phone against the glass as the bus clawed toward the ghats.
Two hours later, my phone lagged. I opened WhatsApp to clear space, and half my chat screen was clogged with his unread spam—good morning flower templates, random desk screenshots, and pointless work photo dumps no one asked for. Why is he like this? Even off-duty, he won't let go. I swiped through a rage-filled delete spree, clearing out garbage just to buy storage for the green slopes sliding past.
Suddenly, the bus jammed hard to a halt, jolting teeth against teeth. Heavy rain slammed the roof.
"Are you blind?!" the conductor screamed at the driver, slamming his hand near the dash.
I leaned forward. It wasn't just rain running down the front glass. A thick red smear—bright, heavy, fresh—was streaked across the windshield, washing pale pink where the wipers dragged.
The driver sat frozen, teeth clenched, hands shaking so hard they hovered an inch above the plastic wheel.
Outside, blue and red lights cut through the fog. Head Constable Murugan shoved his way past the blockade, flashing a heavy torch straight into our eyes, barking over the rain: "Hey, move fast! Move! We have patrol points pending, what the hell is wrong with you people?!" He slammed his palm against the bus door, tearing strips into the driver through the half-open window: "Are you sleeping with your eyes open?! Drive careful or I'll pull your license right here on the hairpin!"
The driver didn't blink, teeth locked together, staring right through the bloody glass.
No ambulance could push up through the jammed cars stacked down the hairpins. Murugan lost his patience, stomping back down the line, slamming his torch against the bonnet of an i20 stuck behind us: "Hey! Are you sleeping inside?! Reverse! Move to the side! Don't block the road!" He kicked a bumper, shouting at a family staring out in shock, then whipped around to wave traffic through. Total chaos.
Up front, the door hissed open. Paramedics pulled the broken driver out on a stretcher, his head rolling back against the oxygen mask:
"...nobody... go past... eighth bend... if he calls... from the tree... don't turn..."
Stuck in the idling bus, patience gone, I grabbed my small handbag and camera, stepped out into the cold drizzle, looked up at the sign for hairpin nine, and started walking.