Smitha squints as the soft light of dawn spills onto her face, pulling her from the depths of her slumber. With her eyes still heavy with sleep, she burrows deeper under the blanket, trying to shield herself from the sunlight. Just as she’s about to drift back off into the warmth, the annoyingly loud ring of her morning alarm jolts her awake. She stretches out her hand to search for her mobile phone, only to realize it’s perched on the shelf across the room. With no other choice, she grudgingly hauls herself out of bed, trudges over to switch off her 6:00 a.m. alarm, and lets out a sigh as she drags herself out of the room to prepare for the day, despite her groggy self’s protests.

A short while later, Smitha is out on her morning jog, keeping a steady pace as she glides through the quiet streets of her charming neighbourhood. She gazes at the lush vegetation lining the narrow streets, while the soothing melodies of A.R. Rahman flow through her earphones, lifting her spirits. Ten minutes into her run, a sudden cold sensation envelops her leg. Glancing down, she realizes she has stepped into a thick, velvety puddle of mud, left behind by the rains from two days ago. “Urgh!” she exclaims, carefully pulling her foot free. Her once-white shoe is now caked in mud. She swings her foot, trying to shake it off, but soon regrets it as specks of mud splatter onto her pants. “That was a bad idea,” she mutters to herself, frustration building. Deciding to cut her jog short, she turns back toward home. A minute into her walk, she glances over her shoulder at the trail of dirt she’s left behind and sighs, already dreading the clean-up ahead.

It’s already 9:00 a.m., and Smitha jolts awake in a panic, realizing she’s late for work. After the exhausting task of cleaning, her quick nap had unintentionally turned into a deep slumber. With no time for her usual routine of coffee, a hot breakfast, or packing her lunchbox, she dashes toward the shower. “No time for the water heater to work its magic, cold water it is,” she mutters as she jumps into a brisk, cold shower. Rushing to her wardrobe, she hurriedly grabs a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that will do for work. She runs through her mental checklist—phone, laptop, charger, house keys, scooter keys, helmet, and wallet—everything seems in order. Before leaving the apartment, she glances at the wall clock. It’s 9:30 a.m. She smiles, feeling a small victory amidst the chaos.

By the time Smitha arrives at the office, the rush of the morning has settled, but her nerves haven’t. In desperate need of something to pull her through the chaotic start to the day, she heads straight for the cafeteria. Now standing in line, waiting for her much-needed coffee, she scans the large but sparsely populated space, hoping to spot a familiar face from her office. With her small organization occupying only a tiny corner of the sprawling tech park, finding someone was always a bit of a challenge.

When her turn arrives, she orders, “One coffee with half sugar, please.” The man at the counter prepares it fresh, but as he hands it over, the cup tips, spilling hot coffee all over her. Reacting quickly, Smitha waves her hand, trying to shake off the burning liquid, while the Coffee Guru, equally fast, offers her a glass of cold water to soothe her skin. “Another disaster. That’s the third mark on today’s ‘why-me’ list,” she mutters inwardly, feeling the weight of her morning misfortunes. After dabbing at her clothes and taking a deep breath, she steels herself for the day ahead and makes her way up to her office on the second floor, determined to not let this setback define her morning.

As Smitha makes her way upstairs, the remnants of the coffee spill still clinging to her, she can’t help but feel the weight of yet another mishap. Stepping off the elevator, she heads straight to the bathroom to clean up.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she sees a woman who looks like a walking disaster—coffee stains splattered across her outfit, and the stale scent of spilled coffee still lingering. With a big sigh, she accepts her fate and exits the bathroom, grateful for the fact that she’s early and still prepared for her 10:30 a.m. meeting.

On reaching her desk, she greets her desk neighbour, Suman. “Good morning, Suman!” she exclaims, setting up her laptop and charger. The small talk is a familiar part of her routine, helping her settle into the workday.

“I have a spare T-shirt if you want,” says Suman, skipping his usual morning greeting.

“Is it that obvious?” Smitha asks, half-embarrassed.

“Yeah, I can smell your chaos from two desks away. Why don’t you change? It’s a baggy T-shirt, but at least it’ll be more comfortable than what you’re wearing now,” he adds, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Oh God, thank you so much!” Smitha exclaims, quickly grabbing the T-shirt from his hand and rushing toward the bathroom for a much-needed outfit change.

After a quick change into Suman’s baggy T-shirt, Smitha settles at her desk, her focus now on the presentation. She goes through the final details, preparing herself for the upcoming meeting. With time ticking away, she checks her calendar, expecting it to be nearly time to head to the conference room. To her surprise, the meeting has been pushed to 12:30 in the afternoon.

Furrowing her brows, she looks up and calls across to her team lead, “Chandra, why has the meeting been rescheduled?”

Chandra, seated two desks away, glances up from her screen. “Oh, Kiran had something urgent come up, so I pushed it at his request. Why? Is everything okay?”

“Uh, no, nothing major,” Smitha hesitates, then adds, “Actually, do you mind if I go home for a quick change of clothes? I had coffee spilled all over me in the cafeteria, and I can’t get rid of the smell.”

Chandra’s expression shifts to concern as she swiftly walks over. “Wait, coffee was spilled on you? Are you okay? Did you get burned?”

“I’m fine!” Smitha quickly reassures her, holding up her hands. “I washed it off with cold water right away. No burns.”

Still inspecting Smitha’s arm for any visible injuries, Chandra sighs with relief. “Of course, go ahead. Just make sure you’re back within an hour—we still have a round of discussion to go over.”

“Thanks! I’ll be back before you know it.” grabbing her backpack and house keys, Smitha heads towards the exit, eager to freshen up.

A couple of hours later, as the office buzzes with its usual activity. Suman is absorbed in his work. The quiet hum is briefly interrupted when a flash of bright orange catches his eye. He looks up and turns to see Smitha back at her desk, now dressed in a fresh, vibrant outfit. “Wow! That’s… bright,” he says with a teasing grin. “Did you go home just to change into that?”

“Yep. The smell of coffee wasn’t exactly a perfume I wanted to wear all day,” Smitha replies with a smirk. “I’ll return your t-shirt after laundry duty.”

Suman waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t sweat it. By the way… did you manage to talk to Kiran? Did he finally approve your proposal?”

Smitha lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Ha! About that—turns out the meeting was cancelled. Kiran had some urgent business.”

Suman blinks, unsure how to respond. “Seriously? That’s… unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate? More like the universe trolling me at this point!” Smitha groans, rolling her eyes. “I spilled coffee on myself, the meeting got pushed, and now I’m here, looking like a walking traffic cone. The misfortune counter is at four and rising.”

Suman chuckles. “Well, at least you’re giving the rest of us a show. You look… delightfully bright.“

Smitha throws him a mock glare. “Oh, shut up.”

As noon arrives, the office hums with the sound of chairs scraping and people heading off for lunch. “Want to come down to the cafeteria?” Chandra asked, knowing full well that Smitha hadn’t packed her usual lunch. Smitha smiled and nodded. “Let’s get lunch!” she said cheerfully, grabbing Chandra’s hand as they made their way down.

Soon, Smitha found herself standing in line at a popular Punjabi restaurant chain, the line crawling forward at a glacial pace. She glances around and spots her friends securing a table amidst the packed cafeteria, their laughter cutting through the noise. Finally reaching the counter, she collects her order—a meal with roti, rice, and a fragrant paneer gravy. Carefully Balancing the tray, she turns around to walk towards her friends. However, in her distraction, she accidentally bumps into someone, splattering the tomato gravy all over her. Bad luck count: #5.

“At least I managed to salvage most of the food,” she thinks as she moves towards her friends. She drags a chair out and sits next to Chandra.

“What happened now?” Chandra asks, eyeing the chaotic mess that is Smitha.

Smitha explains the situation while tiredly picking out tomatoes from her hair.

“Looks like bad luck is chasing you everywhere, huh?” Chandra exclaims, chuckling as Smitha retrieves a particularly stubborn piece of tomato, holding it up like a trophy.

“If this keeps up, I might start a new trend: ‘Vegetable Hair Accessories!’” Smitha jokes, rolling her eyes.

After lunch, everyone is hustling into the elevator. The stench of the morning coffee is now replaced with the aroma of tomato gravy, exaggerated by the enclosed space of the elevator. Smitha becomes the center of conversation, and her friends tease her about her series of unfortunate events. Their laughter fills the air as the elevator doors open, and everyone steps out, continuing to chat while walking toward their office.

“Why don’t you work from home for the rest of the day?” Chandra asks, catching up to her on the corridor.

“Are you sure?” Smitha asks, hoping it’s not an empty offer.

“Yes, of course. You don’t have any dependencies today; you can definitely work from home. Just be sure to keep me updated,” she assures her.

Happy to end her streak, Smitha excitedly accepts the offer and decides to go home.

In the basement parking, Smitha, wary of her day’s misfortunes, carefully inspects her scooter. Her heart sinks as she notices the back tire needs air, and the fuel gauge is running low. Considering her luck so far, she decides not to take any chances and resolves to stop by the petrol bunk on the way home. With a determined nod, she puts on her helmet and begins the ride under the scorching heat of the afternoon sun.

Arriving at the petrol bunk, she spots a massive tanker lorry parked nearby, indicating that the bunk is closed for a refill. “That’s alright,” she thinks to herself. “The air in the tire is more urgent than petrol.” However, as she approaches the air-filling station, she finds it unattended. She dismounts her scooter and inquires with an employee, only to discover that the person on duty is off for lunch. With no services available, Smitha can’t help but feel a sense of defeat. (Misfortune counter: #7)

“Today is definitely not my day,” she mutters to herself. Frustrated, she decides to head home and not leave until dawn breaks the next day. With renewed resolve, she puts her helmet back on and carefully rides back, every bump in the road a reminder of the chaos she’s endured.

Once she reaches home, she parks her scooter and dashes inside, shutting the door behind her as if to lock out the day’s troubles. Heaving a sigh of relief, she sinks onto the sofa, her body finally relaxing as the chaos of the day melts away. Safe in the comfort of her home, she allows herself a small smile, grateful that this chapter has come to an end. With a day like today behind her, she vows to embrace the peace of the evening, ready to face whatever tomorrow may bring.

— The End —