UNKNOWN STORM

"Here’s your passport, ma’am," said the boarding agent. I grinned at her as  I took it with shaking fingers and smiled to myself. Avnika Arora — you’re finally home. My chest fluttered like it always did when something I wanted was finally close..

I walked through the airport with a lightness I hadn’t felt in years. My mind filled with small, happy plans: the smell of home food, my mother’s laugh, silly late-night talks with Riya. But the first person I thought of was him — VARTIK RATHORE. The memory of his laugh warmed me from the inside. Vartik. I slapped my forehead and grinned like an idiot.

Just as I was about to call my best friend Riya, who’s always running late, a voice came from my left: "AVNIKA ARORA!" I nearly choked on my thoughts at the sound of that familiar voice. Quickly, I pulled out my phone camera to check my appearance. I cleared my throat before turning around, and suddenly, two arms wrapped around me, nearly pulling me down with their weight. I let out a hiss.

"You idiot, get off me," I said, trying to pry his arms away.

"Come on, I missed my one and only friend who’s been GONE since forever," he said dramatically, head-butting mine.

There he was — the person who could make my heart trip without trying. VARTIK. His presence felt like warm sunlight after months of rain. He let go slowly, tilting his head so our eyes met. “You’re so tiny; people have to look down to find you,” he teased with that lazy smile that made everything feel safe.

He looked great in that light blue shirt and beige pants, as always, with those curly locks and warm brown eyes specked with hazel.

“I’m not short,” I snapped, but it came out softer than I meant. He laughed — my favorite sound.

"I’ve missed you, little Avni," he said, giving a wider grin. He lifted the heavy bag from my hand and slung it over his shoulder, clearing the way for us to head out.

"I’ve missed you too, Mr. Rathore," I replied as i remember how much I missed him .a sad smile came on my face. I am now walking alongside him. "But why are you here? Why isn’t Riya with you?" I asked seriously.

"Riya asked me to pick you up because she’s swamped with her fashion week and couldn’t make it. Plus, I wanted to see our little Avni, who seems to have grown up quite a lot," he said, grinning as he walked backward to face me.

"See? I’ve become even more beautiful and sexy—don’t fall for me!" I joked, hoping to hear something from him that my heart wished for, only to be shaken by his response a moment later.

"Don’t worry, I won’t, also I have something important to discuss with you," he said in a serious tone.

My stomach flipped. “Here? Tell me now,” I said, leaning in, trying to catch every word before it could fly away.

brushing aside his earlier remark about not falling for me while getting into his car.

"Not here," he replied as he placed my bags in the backseat. "Wait a bit; I have someone I want you to meet," he added.

He drove away from the airport, and no matter how much I asked, he kept saying, "Wait for it."

About thirty minutes later, he finally stopped the car in front of a café we used to frequent back in school.

"I miss those days," I said, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over me.

"Don’t worry, you’ll have those moments again," he reassured me, pulling me close as we made our way into the café.

Upon entering, I noticed he was scanning the room until his eyes landed on someone, prompting me to follow his gaze—and I nearly froze.

"Radhika!" he called, waving.

We approached her, and I felt a rush of happiness seeing my beloved sister. We embraced, catching up, but a nagging feeling in the back of my mind hinted that something wasn’t quite right.

"You’ve really grown up! I didn’t realize it during our video calls, but our little Avni is drop-dead gorgeous," Radhika said, and tears welled up in my eyes because I missed her so much.

“I’ve missed you so much, bhen,” I whispered. Her voice was uneven, and I realized how much we had both changed.

We ordered vada pav and masala chai — the taste was a time machine. I bit into the bread and felt my childhood flood through me: bright, messy, safe.

As we dug in, I asked Vartik, "What did you want to tell me?" while savoring the delicious food.

Both he and Radhika shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging glances. I caught their expressions and asked, "What’s wrong?"

In a hushed tone, Vartik said, "Avni, I trust you a lot—you know that, right?" I nodded, urging him to continue.

They took each other’s hands. My pulse thudded loud in my ears. “Radhika and I love each other,” he said, like telling the truth and asking for forgiveness at the same time.

The words hit me in the throat. For a moment I tasted metal. The world blurred at the edges. My breath stuttered. My fingers went cold. Radhika’s hand squeezed mine as if anchoring me.

I stood up before I meant to and moved toward the door because the room felt too small and the air too thick. Vartik grabbed my wrist. His eyes were full of need — not the flirtatious kind, but raw, painful pleading. I sank back into my seat as if gravity itself had changed.

Please, Avni," they both pleaded.

I was at a loss for words but managed to collect myself and finally spoke, my voice cracking.

“Only you can understand us,” Radhika said. Tears spilled over her lashes. “Mom and Dad will never approve. We— we need your help.”

Her words cut deeper than I expected. Images poured into my head: our parents’ tight smiles, the sharp way they corrected choices, the way family honor sat like a heavy shawl over every decision. I remembered Radhika saying she had been forced to agree to marry someone else — a match chosen for pride, not love. I remembered her quietness when she spoke about losing everything if she resisted.

My chest hurt. I thought about how I left three years ago for a foreign exchange program, how I’d stayed and fought for a scholarship, how I’d built a life away from their controlling hands. I had worked hard to make a self that was mine. And now everything I’d hoped for—especially the small, secret wish that my life would one day include Vartik—was twisting into a nightmare I hadn't prepared for.

“You knew this could happen,” I said, trying not to yell. “Why didn’t you tell Mom and Dad? Why come to me like this?”

“mom said I had no choice. She said I’d lose everything,” Radhika whispered. The words broke me a little. Vartik’s fingers trembled as he stroked her hair.

“Please, Avni,” Vartik begged. “You’re the only one who can fix this.”

They looked at me like I was the only anchor in a storm. My whole body wanted to run. But Radhika’s face crumpled and she dropped to her knees on the café floor. The sight hollowed something in me. She was a proud woman reduced to begging. How could I not feel the pull?.

Vartik blurted, “You just need to be my brother’s wife and marry him instead of Radhika. You can divorce in a year. Maa and papa will be happy.”

I looked at them , like I had seen a ghost , they make no sense ! , how could they?.

The idea of Rudra Rathore — cold, dismissive Rudra — rose like bile in my throat. I remembered every time he’d spoken to me with clipped words, every time his silence had burned. The image of being his wife made my skin crawl.

“Are you insane?” I wanted to scream. My thinking went jagged: the selfish dream of being Vartik’s, the loyalty to my sister, the life I’d built abroad, our parents’ fury — all tugging in opposite directions.

I tried to be reasonable. “They’ll be heartbroken,” I said, voice trembling. “You know how they are about pride.”

Radhika’s tears fell harder. “Please, Avni. I can’t face what they’ll do. I thought— I thought you would understand.”

"Understand what?? This??" I said, I was in rage . Alot rage , my hands were trembling from the feeling i couldn't explain.

…Vartik’s voice cracked. “If I see her marry my brother, I’ll die.” Hearing that, something inside me fractured. He sounded like a boy who’d lost his way. Vulnerability made my chest ache in a new, dangerous way.

My head swam with memories: the small private fantasy I’d nursed—me and Vartik, a silly, perfect future; the scholarship essays I’d written; the lonely nights studying and crying across oceans. Each memory felt like a small coin dropping into a metal box, making a hollow echo.

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be noble. I wanted to throw my bag at them and walk out. My hands tightened around the strap until the leather bit my skin. But Radhika’s kneeling figure, Vartik’s broken face, the way the café hummed on as if nothing had happened — it all pushed at my chest until thinking became hard and slow.

The world narrowed. The clink of a teaspoon at a nearby table sounded like thunder. I could hear my own heartbeat — slow, a deep thud against my ribs. The chai steam curled near my face, smelling like cardamom and old afternoons, and for a moment I was six again, sitting on the balcony while my mother hummed and the world felt safe.

My breath trembled. I tasted metal on my tongue. The sunlight through the café window cut a line across the table and landed on my hands; they looked smaller than usual, as if they belonged to someone else. Time dilated. The café’s chatter became a distant tide I couldn’t reach.

Vartik’s fingers were still on Radhika’s shoulder. He stared at me with a kind of pleading that made me want to melt and run and hide ...all at once. The small private dream I’d kept for myself , of being Vartik’s, of simple happiness flickered like a candle threatened by wind.

I thought of Rudra’s cold face, the clipped way he’d spoken to me at family dinners, the sharpness in his eyes. I thought of my parents and the quiet storm of shame that would crash down on Radhika if this came out. I felt every one of my choices. the years abroad, the lonely nights, the scraped knees of growing up  press together like pages in a book being slammed shut.

Something in me gave way ... not heroic, not noble; it was a small, tired thing that wanted the crying to stop and the begging to end. I didn’t want Radhika to be broken in front of me. I didn’t want Vartik to look like he might never stand up again. That ache, softer and crueler than anger, softened the edges of my resistance.

I rose, but my legs felt like wool. My voice was a thread. “Stand up,” I said to Radhika, not because I’d decided, but because I couldn’t bear to see her there any longer.

She stood slowly, eyes bright and raw. For a breathless second, nothing moved. My mouth formed words before my head could catch up. The word left me like a small stone dropping into a deep, dark well.

“Okay.”

The sound was smaller than a whisper but it landed like a verdict. In that single syllable the café shifted. The air seemed thicker, and the light grew colder. My hand, which had been clenched on the bag strap, loosened like a knot coming undone.

For a beat that stretched into forever, the world fell away. I heard the scrape of the chair as Radhika pushed back. I felt the soft cotton of Vartik’s shirt under his fingers when he hugged her. I could smell the faint perfume on Radhika’s neck — a memory of childhood festivals and borrowed saris. My heart hammered, loud enough that I thought someone must hear it.

Regret slid across me like ice. It wasn’t instant sorrow; it was the slow, nagging knowledge of a cost I couldn’t count yet. Relief burst on their faces like sunlight. Radhika’s sobs turned into wet, relieved laughter. Vartik’s shoulders shook as he held her, and for a moment he looked like himself again .. the boy I’d loved from a distance.

And me? I tasted fear, and bitter resignation, and an odd, small grief for the girl I’d been who’d quietly hoped for a life that now felt stolen.

The “okay” I had given echoed in my ears, and each echo taught me that some choices change everything.

Outside, the city moved on. Inside me, the storm had arrived... slow, steady, and real. I had said yes. Now I had to walk into whatever that yes would bring.

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