The corridor buzzed with chatter, the noise of students echoing off the pale walls, but to Aarohi it all sounded distant, muted, as if she were trapped behind glass. Her steps slowed the moment she caught sight of him—Vivaan, walking just a few paces ahead.

He looked exactly the same as always—tall, with the careless kind of charm that drew people in without him even realizing it. His black hair fell slightly over his forehead, his laughter warm and unguarded. But what stopped her heart wasn’t just him.

It was the way his hand was clasped with someone else’s.

The girl beside him, Meera, leaned close as if the world belonged only to them. Her long hair swung as she laughed at something Vivaan whispered, and he—he smiled back, the kind of smile Aarohi had dreamed of, memorized in a hundred secret daydreams. Except it wasn’t hers. It never was.

Aarohi froze near the lockers, her breath caught halfway in her throat. It was such a simple, ordinary sight—a boy holding his girlfriend’s hand, walking together as if nothing else mattered. People around them probably thought they were cute. Sweet. Perfect.

But for her, it felt like someone had reached inside her chest and crushed everything she had been carefully hiding for a year.

Vivaan didn’t look back. Not even once. His fingers remained laced with Meera’s, their steps in sync, their voices fading as they walked farther down the hallway.

Aarohi bit her lip so hard it nearly bled. Her hands trembled around the strap of her bag. She tried to blink, to hold back the sting in her eyes, but it was no use—the tears came anyway, blurring her vision until all she could see was his retreating back.

It hurt. God, it hurt so much.

The laughter of her classmates faded. The sound of shoes squeaking on the floor disappeared. All that remained was the echo of his voice in her head, the way he had smiled when he once asked her for a pen, the way her heart had flipped when he had looked at her during class, the way she had convinced herself—foolishly—that maybe, maybe, one day, she could matter to him.

But dreams were cruel.

She turned suddenly, her legs moving before her mind caught up. She couldn’t stand there, couldn’t watch anymore. She clutched her bag to her chest as if it could hold her breaking heart together and ran.

Down the corridor. Past the classrooms. Past the people who stared at her, confused by her sudden flight. She didn’t care. She just needed to escape.

By the time she reached the gates of the school, her chest was burning, and her vision was still fogged with tears. The cool wind outside brushed her face, but it couldn’t soothe the storm inside her.

Her steps faltered, and she stumbled to a stop. The world spun. She pressed a trembling hand against the iron gate, leaning her forehead against the cold metal.

“I wish…” Her voice cracked, trembling as she spoke to no one but herself. “…I wish I had never met you a year ago.”

The words felt bitter on her tongue, heavy with regret.

“If I hadn’t…” Her shoulders shook. “…then I wouldn’t be standing here with this heartache.”

Her tears slipped freely now, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. She hated this feeling—this powerless, aching love that demanded nothing and received nothing. She hated how her heart still beat faster every time she heard his voice, how her gaze still searched for him in a crowd, how she still held on to tiny moments that meant nothing to him but everything to her.

She hated that, even while she was running away, even while she was falling apart, she couldn’t stop loving him.

---

One year ago.

The first day of college.

The classroom buzzed with the restless chatter of new beginnings—fresh notebooks, unfamiliar faces, and the nervous anticipation that came with stepping into a place that would shape the next few years of their lives.

For Aarohi, it was overwhelming.

She clutched her bag tightly, her fingers twisting around the strap, and sank into a seat near the corner by the window. Corners felt safe. Corners meant fewer eyes on her, fewer chances of being forced into conversations that left her tongue tied and her thoughts scattered.

Her friends—Anika, Pooja, and Ritika—slid into the seats around her, offering the kind of comfort only familiarity could bring. They had all known each other from high school, and though they were different in personality, they never made Aarohi feel left behind.

“Can you believe we’re actually in college now?” Anika whispered excitedly, her eyes scanning the room as if she were cataloging every new person.

Pooja grinned. “I just hope the professors aren’t scary. I heard they make you do surprise presentations.”

At that, Aarohi’s stomach twisted. She hated standing in front of people, hated the way her voice always shook and her palms grew damp. She wished, more than anything, that she could just blend into the background and be invisible.

Ritika nudged her arm gently. “Relax. It’ll be fine. We’ll be here together.”

Aarohi forced a small smile. “Yeah.”

The professor walked in then, commanding silence with nothing more than his presence. He introduced himself and then, with a tired smile, announced, “We’ll begin with self-introductions. Each of you will stand, say your name, where you’re from, and something about yourself.”

A wave of groans spread across the room. Aarohi’s heart immediately began to race.

Not this. Anything but this.

She sank lower in her chair, silently begging the professor to skip her. But she knew he wouldn’t.

One by one, students stood and introduced themselves. Some were confident, flashing easy smiles and cracking jokes. Others were nervous but managed to get through it without stumbling too much.

Aarohi’s hands twisted in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. She tried to focus on her breathing, but her mind kept running ahead, already imagining how she would embarrass herself.

And then—

He stood up.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Vivaan Malhotra,” he said, his voice warm, confident, like it belonged in the room. “I’m from Delhi. I love playing basketball and meeting new people. I hope we all have a great time together in these years.”

It was simple. Casual. But the way he said it—the ease in his smile, the way his eyes seemed to brighten the room—it made heads turn. A few students laughed when he added a playful, “And if anyone wants to copy notes later, I’ll happily volunteer mine—on one condition, that you cheer for our basketball team during matches.”

The class chuckled. Even the professor cracked a smile.

Aarohi didn’t. She couldn’t. She was too busy staring.

Her heart skipped, tripped, and then slammed against her ribs with painful force.

There was nothing extraordinary about his words. But somehow, in that moment, Vivaan didn’t feel like just another student. To her, he seemed larger than life—like someone who carried his own light and wasn’t afraid to shine.

And she—sitting small and quiet in the corner—couldn’t look away.

“Aarohi,” Ritika whispered beside her, tugging her sleeve. “Breathe. You look like you saw a ghost.”

Aarohi blinked rapidly, snapping out of her daze. Her cheeks burned, and she quickly dropped her gaze to her notebook. She doodled meaningless swirls in the corner of the page, pretending not to care, pretending not to notice how her pulse still hadn’t calmed.

No. She scolded herself silently. Don’t even think about it. He’s… he’s not someone like you. He’s the kind of person who can talk to anyone, who makes friends easily. And you…

She swallowed hard. You don’t belong in his world.

Her turn came soon after.

Her legs felt like lead as she stood. Her voice was small, trembling, but she managed, “I’m Aarohi Sharma… from here in Mumbai. I… I like reading books and sketching.”

Her classmates barely reacted. A few nods, a distracted shuffle of papers. Nothing like the attention Vivaan had drawn. Relief washed over her as she sat down quickly, eager to vanish again.

But a part of her, deep and hidden, wished she could have spoken with the same ease. Wished she could be someone people noticed. Someone he might notice.

As the day wore on, introductions turned into light conversations, laughter bouncing across the classroom. Aarohi stuck close to her friends, offering small smiles and speaking only when spoken to. She didn’t want to stand out. She didn’t want to risk fumbling.

And yet, despite her efforts, her eyes betrayed her.

They kept finding him.

The way he leaned easily against a desk, chatting with a group of boys he had just met. The way his laughter carried, unrestrained and genuine. The way he greeted even strangers like they were already friends.

She told herself it was harmless. Just a passing thought. Just admiration for someone so different from her.

But admiration has a way of settling deep, of turning into something more when you least expect it.

That evening, as she walked home with her friends, she replayed his voice in her head. His introduction. His smile. His confidence.

And though she never said it aloud, a quiet thought bloomed in her chest.

I think… I might like him.

She didn’t know then how much those words would cost her.

---

The first few days of college slipped by in a blur of classes, new routines, and endless introductions. For Aarohi, each day felt like a delicate balancing act—stay invisible, stay safe, don’t cross paths with Vivaan.

She managed well, or so she thought. She stuck to her three friends, spoke only when necessary, and avoided the clusters of students that always seemed to form around him. If he was a sun that drew people in with his warmth, then she was content to be a shadow, keeping her distance.

But fate had other plans.

It began on a Tuesday morning, when their professor announced, “For your first internal assessment, you’ll be divided into groups of four. Each group must prepare a presentation on assigned topics. The project will account for thirty percent of your grade.”

Groans and chatter filled the room instantly.

“Thirty percent?” Anika whispered dramatically to Aarohi. “This is our funeral.”

The professor ignored the complaints and began reading out names, pairing students together. Aarohi waited, hoping she and her friends would land in the same group. It would make everything easier—safer.

But when the list reached her, her heart dropped.

“Group Five: Aarohi Sharma, Vivaan Malhotra, Raghav Mehta, Sneha Patel.”

Her blood ran cold.

Her friends glanced at her, sympathy written on their faces. Pooja mouthed good luck before turning back to her own group.

Aarohi swallowed hard. She could feel Vivaan’s presence across the room, though she didn’t dare look up. Her fingers gripped the edge of her desk, nails digging into the wood. Of all people… why him?

The professor dismissed the class, telling them to gather with their groups. Reluctantly, Aarohi stood, making her way to the far corner where Raghav and Sneha were already waiting. Vivaan joined them last, sliding into the chair with casual ease, his notebook in hand. He offered a quick nod but said nothing.

Raghav leaned forward, his tone low and skeptical. “Let’s be realistic. We should count this as a group of three.”

Aarohi blinked. “What do you mean?”

Sneha sighed, flipping her pen between her fingers. “He means Vivaan won’t help us. Haven’t you heard?”

Her eyes flicked toward Vivaan before lowering again. “He never participates in group work. He just does the minimum. If he actually worked, the project would be amazing—his grades are always top—but he doesn’t. He doesn’t care.”

Aarohi stiffened. She risked a glance at Vivaan. He sat quietly, expression unreadable, as if their words didn’t touch him at all. He tapped his pen absently against his notebook, gaze fixed on some invisible point.

Raghav muttered, “If we’re stuck with him, we need someone to convince him. Otherwise, we’re doomed.”

Sneha’s gaze shifted to Aarohi. “You should do it.”

Aarohi’s eyes widened. “Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re quiet, you don’t fight with anyone, and…” Sneha hesitated. “You’re probably the only one he won’t ignore.”

Aarohi’s stomach twisted. She wanted to protest, wanted to insist there was no way she could convince Vivaan of anything. Talking to him at all was enough to make her pulse stutter. And yet, both Raghav and Sneha looked at her as if she were their only hope.

“How… how can I do that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Raghav leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Look, it’s simple. Just talk to him. If he agrees, this project will be the best in class. If not… we’re finished.”

Before she could reply, Sneha lowered her voice further, her eyes flicking toward Vivaan again. “Do you even know why he’s like this?”

Aarohi shook her head, curious despite herself.

Sneha’s tone softened. “Back before he came here, he was in a relationship. From what I heard, he loved her a lot. But she cheated on him. It broke him. After that, he became different—less open with girls, more guarded. He still talks, but not like before.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with a sadness Aarohi hadn’t expected. She stared at her hands, tracing invisible patterns on the table.

So Vivaan wasn’t just the carefree extrovert she had imagined. Behind his smile, behind his easy laughter, there was a story—a wound. A betrayal.

Her chest ached at the thought. She had no right to feel anything about his past, and yet… she did.

Raghav cleared his throat, bringing her back. “So? Will you do it? You’re the only one who can.”

Aarohi’s lips parted, but no words came out. She wanted to say no, to retreat into her safe corner of invisibility. But the weight of her group’s expectations pressed against her. This wasn’t just about her anymore.

Finally, she nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll… try.”

---

The rest of the day blurred past her. She barely registered the lectures, her mind too busy circling around the task now hanging over her head. Convince Vivaan. The thought alone made her palms sweat.

By the time classes ended, her friends caught up with her.

“How’s your group?” Ritika asked casually.

Aarohi forced a thin smile. “It’s… fine.”

Anika frowned. “Wait—you’re with him, aren’t you?”

Her cheeks warmed. “Yes.”

Pooja whistled softly. “Wow. That’s… interesting.”

Aarohi quickly shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a project.”

But inside, it didn’t feel like just a project. It felt like a storm waiting to break.

That evening, as she sat at her desk staring at her notes, her thoughts kept drifting back to him. To his introduction a week ago, to the way he had smiled so effortlessly, to the story she had just heard about his heartbreak.

She wondered what it must have been like—for someone so full of light to be betrayed like that. Did it explain the quiet moments she sometimes caught in him, the way his gaze seemed distant when he thought no one was watching?

She sighed, dropping her pen.

“How am I supposed to talk to him?” she whispered into the empty room.

Her reflection in the window stared back at her—uncertain, small, and trembling with emotions she wished she didn’t have.

But whether she wanted to or not, tomorrow she would have to try.

And maybe—just maybe—this was how fate was forcing their paths to cross.

---