Pehle Pyaar Wali Shaadi Window Diaries!

Love sometimes blooms in the pages we never show.

The monsoon clouds hovered over Sheherpur that afternoon. Everything smelled like wet mud and jasmine. The kind of weather that makes you want to sit by the window, hold a cup of chai, and… think about him.

Anaya Sharma sat by her bedroom window, wearing her favorite lavender kurti, her long hair tied in a loose braid, pen twirling between her fingers.

Across the narrow street, Vihaan stepped out on his balcony again, this time wearing a grey hoodie. He had a book in one hand and a quiet expression on his face. Anaya froze.

There he is again.

Her diary was already open. The pages smelled like ink, memories, and a thousand heartbeats waiting to spill out.

Sunita Sharma (Anaya’s mother)

Choti! (her mother’s voice echoed from downstairs)

Sunita Sharma (Anaya’s mother)

Chai leke aana, guests aaye hain!

Anaya Sharma (FL)

Coming, Ma! (Anaya quickly closed her diary and peeked once more at the boy across the street. He had gone back inside. She sighed)

That evening, after helping Sunita Sharma with tea and snacks, Anaya returned to her room. Riddhi was on the floor painting her nails.

Riddhi Sharma (Anaya’s little sister)

You’re glowing again. (she teased)

Riddhi Sharma (Anaya’s little sister)

Vihaan-ji spotted kya tumhe?

Anaya Sharma (FL)

Shut up, Riddhi. (she rolled her eyes)

But she smiled anyway.

Later, under the soft yellow glow of her bedside lamp, she opened her diary again and let her heart spill.

Anaya Sharma (FL)

Dear Vihaan, Today, you were wearing grey. You looked like calm rain. I wonder what you were reading. Was it poetry? Something tragic? Romantic? Sometimes I imagine you writing something too. Something meant for me. Something that will make my heart pause, then race. I know you don’t even know I exist like that. But still, every time you look up, my day gets prettier. Yours (secretly), – A

She didn’t tear the page out. Instead, she flipped to the next one and wrote Letter #2 on the top.

The next few days, her little ritual began. Every morning, she’d look at Vihaan’s balcony. If he was there, she smiled. If he wasn’t, she waited. Every evening, she wrote a letter she’d never send.

Aarav, younger and much more observant than he pretended to be, nudged Vihaan one evening.