It was raining like a bitch when we landed. Had a major fight at the airport about some insignificant issue we cant remember anymore, but we remembered the fight. We looked clueless, mostly because we hated the fact that we were in a new place - a place we weren't visiting. We were here to stay. Some random Bollywood song playing in the cab - quite apt for a city ruled by Bollywood. Apart from the rain and the cool air outside, there was nothing I liked about the city. Not yet. We were tired to be honest. Two weeks of madness with the wedding and family and parties and sleepless nights, I wanted to sleep on my own bed. Not that the hotel bed was uncomfortable, but my bed rules. The first two weeks went by like a blur. Looking at apartments I could call a new home was frustrating. Standing on the balcony of a 17th floor flat, I saw high rises and slums all in the same view. Something wasn't quite right. People who know me also know the fact that I hate changes. I hate goodbyes. I missed my city, my apartment, my friends. I want to say I hate this city, wholeheartedly. But something holds me back. An insanely expensive mango fruit cream at Haji Ali might have lifted up my spirits at 2 am in the night. There is something about this place that smells promising. I don't know why they call it the city of dreams - but I'm here to give it a chance.