Maahi’s POV

I was about to leave for Aditi’s house. Hair half-dried, bag slung over my shoulder, phone tucked under my arm. I pressed the elevator button, the metallic doors sliding open with a ding.

I stepped inside, casually leaning against the wall, adjusting my scarf in the mirror that hung above the control panel. The lift door was just beginning to close—

When it suddenly stopped and reopened.

And he walked in.

Vihaan Sharma.

In that precise moment, something inside me short-circuited.

My breath caught. My spine stiffened.

My heartbeat? No, it didn’t just race—it slammed against my ribs like it wanted to break out and scream his name.

It was like the world had hit pause, zoomed in on this one moment, and decided to play my heartbeat on full volume.

I was scared it was so loud that he could actually hear it. I swear, I half-expected him to glance at me and say, “Are you okay? Your heart sounds like a live concert.”

But he didn’t. He simply stood next to me—calm, composed, and so heartbreakingly beautiful that it made my chest ache.

His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d just run his fingers through it. That faint trace of mint on his breath, his casual cologne that always smelled like rain and earth mixed together—and that hoodie. God, that hoodie I’d seen him wear so many times.

He smiled at his phone, probably reading something silly.

And I?

I just… stood. Frozen. Breathing, barely.

I still remember the first time I ever saw him. That day is etched into my memory like it was painted with sunlight and slow music.

He was in the society park, laughing—actually laughing—with a small kid trying to fly a kite. His voice was soft. His tone, patient. Not many people cared about kids these days, but he… he tied the string again, held the kite up, and cheered like a five-year-old when it finally soared into the sky.

That moment?

I fell.

Not the usual kind of falling.

It was like slipping into something warm. Soft. Addictive. Like the kind of love no one warns you about until it’s too deep to swim back.

Since that day, I’ve watched him—not in a creepy way, but in those harmless, lingering glances from balconies. I’ve seen him leave for school, earphones in. I’ve seen him help old ladies with their groceries. I’ve seen him walk his dog, lost in thought, occasionally smiling at the sky like he’s talking to the clouds.

And every time I see him, I fall a little more.

But the best part?

He lives in my neighborhood.

Just two buildings away.

That tiny fact has become my entire universe.

I wait for moments like these—the accidental meetings in the elevator, the times we cross paths near the gate, the rare occasions he nods at me with polite familiarity.

Moments where I don’t have to pretend I’m not looking.

Because usually… I do watch him.

When he’s not looking.

When he’s humming softly while filling water bottles near his car.

When he’s reading a book by the window of his living room, completely absorbed.

When he leans back against his bike, arms folded, teasing his friends.

I know it's silly.

I know some people would call it childish or stupid—loving someone who doesn't even know that you love them.

But I don’t care.

Because in this silent little world I’ve built for myself, where he exists and I exist just close enough to dream but far enough to stay hidden—he's everything.

Still, there's this gnawing voice inside me…

What if he feels the same?

What if he’s seen me too, in those tiny moments I didn’t notice?

What if he’s also heard the silent music of something blooming between us?

But then, just as quickly as hope blooms, fear chokes it.

Why would he love a girl like me?

I’m just Maahi.

Not the prettiest. Not the smartest. Not the kind of girl boys write poetry about. I mess up words when I’m nervous, I fidget with my dupatta too much, I overthink everything and I’m scared of letting anyone really see me.

Why would someone like Vihaan Sharma—someone who feels like moonlight in a dark room—look at me with the same wonder I look at him?

He probably sees me as just another girl from the building. A familiar face. A distant acquaintance.

Nothing more.

The elevator stopped at the ground floor. He stepped out first, glancing back with a small, polite smile.

And I… I stood still for a second, letting the moment wrap itself around my soul before I followed behind, holding that fragile smile like it was the only thing I owned.

Vihaan’s POV

The lift doors slid open with their usual creaky sound, and I stepped inside casually, rubbing the back of my neck. My mind was filled with chemistry equations and the fact that I forgot to eat breakfast… again. Typical. But the moment I stepped in, I saw her.

Maahi.

And for a second, I forgot what gravity was.

She stood there, like some confused fairy caught between a dream and shampoo commercial. Her eyes widened like she just saw a ghost—or worse, me. I gave a soft smile and said,

“Hey! Going somewhere?”

Keeping it casual, hiding the fact that even I had noticed her before… more than once.

She nodded, clearly trying to act normal, but I swear, if I had a stethoscope, I’d bet her heartbeat was playing drum solo in there. She mumbled something about going to her friend’s place, and I just said,

“Cool. Take care.”

Then I stepped out of the lift as it reached ground floor, and with a polite nod, said,

“Bye, Maahi.”

Casual. Polite. Friendly.

But something told me she wished for a little more hope she doesn't faints afterwards.

Author’s POV

Meanwhile… in the battlefield now known as Aditi’s living room…

Shivam grandly entered the room, dramatically wiping invisible sweat off his forehead like he had just returned from Kargil war, not the grocery store.

“Keyansh tu yahan?” he asked, surprised to see his friend lounging like it’s his own living room.

Keyansh raised an eyebrow, tossing Shiavm’s forgotten assignment copy at Shivam like a frisbee.

“ aap yeh bhul gaye… Mr India.”he said sarcastically giving him his copy.

Aditi scoffed from the couch, flipping through her phone like she hadn’t just fallen down the stairs two hours ago in front of the same guy she now refused to look at.

“Postman ban gaya hai yeh,” she muttered under her breath.

Shivam smirked, sensing the drama boiling.

“Waise Aditi, ghar mein toh main hi rehne waala hoon. Tu nikal ab, plan toh tera tha friends ke saath?”

And that was it.

The great Mahabharat began.

Aditi sprang up, hands on her hips, looking like a warrior queen ready to strike.

“Shivam! Ghar tumhara hai? Bill kisne bhara last month bata zara? Netflix ka password bhi toh mera hai!”

Shivam folded his arms.

“Toh kya hua? TV pe toh main hi raj karta hoon. Teri toh remote ke paas bhi access nahi hoti.”

Maahi, standing near the kitchen door with a glass of juice, whispered to Keyansh,

“Yeh dono toh har Sunday ek doosre ko ghar se nikaalne ka plan banaate hain.”

Keyansh shook his head.

“Inke liye ‘ghar ka sukoon’ ek concept nahi, ek myth hai.”

Shivam pointed at the door like a daily soap villain.

“Aditi! Tumhara time up ho chuka hai. Chalo niklo ab, ghar mera hai!”

Aditi grabbed a cushion and launched it at him.

“Areee chal be! Tera ghar hai toh chappal bhi apni le aa pehle. Meri chappal tu har baar pehen ke jaata hai.”

Keyansh chuckled, sipping his water, enjoying the drama unfold.

“Mujhe laga main sirf assignment dene aaya hoon, par yahaan toh full entertainment mil gaya.”

Maahi leaned towards him, mock whispering,

“Is ghar mein sirf remote control nahi, dimaag ka bhi control nahi kisi ke paas.”

The house echoed with chaos, laughter, and the sweet sound of sibling war – because in this family, arguments were love in disguise, and cushions were just weapons of mass distraction.

With a dramatic sigh and a glare that could burn down kingdoms, Aditi finally gave in. There was no winning against Maahi’s puppy eyes and dramatic monologues about “loneliness being a disease”. She rolled her eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck, grabbed her sling bag, and stomped towards the door.

Before stepping out, she turned around slowly—like the villainess in a soap opera—and shot Shivam a look that screamed, “Main wapas aayi na toh zinda chhodungi nahi.”

Shivam, lounging comfortably on the couch with a victorious smirk, called out dramatically,

“Bye bye Didi ji... ghar ki shanti ke liye aapka balidan kabool hai!”

Meanwhile, Maahi was humming a Bollywood song in her head, victorious and proud, skipping like a five-year-old as she dragged Aditi out like a prized trophy.

And then, like two perfectly useless brothers on a lazy Sunday, Keyansh and Shivam returned to doing what they did best—watching TV like the fate of the world depended on it.

The movie?

Some random action film with a predictable plot.

The vibe?

Epic bromance with a side of chips.

About halfway through the movie, Keyansh suddenly paused, leaned back with a stretch, and said casually,

“Bhai... mera nail ukhad ra hai nailcutter hai kya?”

Shivam, without moving his head or breaking eye contact with the TV, muttered,

“Le le... Aditi ke kamre mein hoga jaa kar dhoond le waise bhi aisi cheeze wahi rakhti hai ghar mei.”

Keyansh raised an eyebrow.

“Tu sure hai? Uske room mein ghusna toh maut ke mooh mein pair rakhne jaisa hai.”

“Tu toh uska favourite hai na? ,” Shivam smirked in sarcasm.

With a dramatic groan, Keyansh stood up, muttering under his breath,

“Hadd hai!! Sala ch*tiya kahi ka.”

He opened the door to Aditi’s room slowly—almost reverently.

The room?

It was ethereal.

Like walking into someone’s soul painted in soft pastels and chaotic journaling. The walls had little fairy lights, a huge pin board filled with polaroids—some of Maahi, some of her school friends, some blurry ones of her childhood... and yes, one unframed photo of him, clicked when he wasn't looking, or maybe just not supposed to know.

There was a comforting scent in the air—of rose mist and maybe her shampoo.

Keyansh took a moment to stand still.

Strange... he’d seen this girl in every mood—angry, sarcastic, wild—but here, in her space, she felt like someone raw, gentle, hidden.

And then, on her study table, half tucked beneath a novel—he saw it.

A pink diary with a lock. But of course, the lock wasn’t closed. Classic Aditi.

He walked over slowly, brushing a hand over the diary cover, as if asking permission from her unseen presence.

A slow smirk curled up his lips as he whispered,

“Oho!!!Meri wildcat ki secret diary bhi hai... toh feelings ki dukaan bhi chal rahi thi chhup chhup ke.”

As Keyansh flipped through the diary’s pages, skimming past doodles, quotes, half-written poems, and half-crossed plans, something suddenly slipped out from between the pages—a slightly wrinkled old photograph.

He caught it before it hit the floor.

His eyes narrowed curiously as he turned it around.

It was Aditi.

Not the confident, sarcastic, fire-tongued Aditi he knew now, but a much younger version of her—maybe 7 or 8 years old. Dressed in a frilly yellow frock, hair tied in two sloppy ponytails with huge butterfly clips, face smeared a little with chocolate near her lip, grinning at the camera with two missing front teeth.

Keyansh froze.

For a moment, the noise of the world dimmed around him. No background movie sounds. No ticking clock. Just that one photograph in his hand and a strange tug inside his chest.

A small smile began to form on his face—soft, real, almost involuntary.

He sat back slightly, resting his elbow on the table, still looking at the picture.

His voice came out low, laced with a strange fondness even he didn’t recognize at first:

“Uss waqt bhi cute thi…”

He chuckled softly.

“Aur abhi bhi cute hi hai… bas gussa jaldi aata hai madam ko.”

His thumb gently brushed the corner of the photo, as if patting the child-version of her on the head.

He imagined her—tiny, yelling at someone for stealing her chocolate, or perhaps throwing a tantrum over a broken crayon. Even back then, she must’ve been this wild little storm in a soft frock.

His gaze lingered for a second longer before he carefully placed the photo back inside the diary, closing it with a small sigh.

Then, as if remembering the actual reason he came to her room, he looked around half-heartedly and muttered,

“Ab nailcutter hi le leta hoon… yeh toh full emotional ho gaya scene.”

With a grin, he opened her drawer like a seasoned thief—familiar with the hiding spots but still careful not to mess things up too much. He found the nailcutter tucked inside a tiny pouch with her hairbands and clips. Typical.

And then, whistling softly to himself and feeling like he had just uncovered another piece of the chaotic, beautiful puzzle that was Aditi , Keyansh walked downstairs, nailcutter in hand and a weird flutter in his heart that just wouldn’t settle.

The Kitchen – 6:27 PM, Post-Sunset Snacks Crisis

The orange evening sky was pouring golden light into the kitchen through the half-open window, casting long dramatic shadows.

Shivam (with a heavy sigh): “Bhai... kuch khaane ka mann ho raha hai, lekin mummy  ghar pe nhi hai!”

Keyansh (squinting into the fridge): “Mujhe toh lagta hai aunty ki rotiyon se zyada cardboard tasty hota hai…”

And then…

Like a divine intervention from the food gods, they saw it.

A single cold pizza slice.

Forgotten. Abandoned.

One. Final. Slice. Of. Pizza.

Two boys. One box. One slice. Zero mercy.

Shivam reached for the last piece with the grace of a thief and the swiftness of a hawk, but—

Keyansh (snatching mid-air): “Ruk jaa! Pehle maine dekha! Tera kya hai, tu toh har waqt khaata rehta hai!”

Shivam (mocking): “Haan bhai, tu toh roohani bhojan se jeeta hai, na?”

The slice dangled between their hands like a trophy in a warzone, mozzarella stretching like elastic tension, crust threatening to crumble under pressure.

Keyansh (warning tone): “Chhod de! Warna tujhe terrace se utha ke fek dunga!”

Shivam (grinning): “Fekne se pehle apni emotions ka toh kuch karo ‘bro’!”

And then…

In a dramatic twist straight out of a rom-com blooper reel, Keyansh lost balance and fell right on top of Shivam — mid-snatch, mid-sass — the pizza flew off somewhere into the abyss, but the real tragedy?

Their questionable landing position.

Keyansh was on top. Shivam’s eyes widened like he just saw his arranged marriage proposal walk in with a beard.

TV in the background was playing an emotional violin instrumental, just to intensify the drama.

After their very questionable fall, where one landed on top of the other like some rejected version of a daily soap love scene, both Keyansh and Shivam stood up — awkwardly dusting their clothes like men trying to erase the memory of the moment with fabric friction.

There was a few seconds of silence.

A silence so intense it could make a tomato sauce blush.

Keyansh cleared his throat, trying to act normal, walking over to pick up his phone from the couch.

Just as his fingers were about to wrap around it, Shivam suddenly held his hand.

Like… held. His. Hand.

In slow motion.

Like some Titanic moment where Jack stops Rose from jumping, except here the only thing about to jump was Keyansh’s patience.

Keyansh (jerking his hand back):

“Kya hai?”

His eyes were wide, forehead wrinkled, like he was seconds away from calling a pandit for a quick shuddhi havan.

Shivam (in soft, almost emotional tone):

“Mujhe laga tu…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.

Keyansh blinked. Once. Twice.

Processing that unfinished sentence with horror levels hitting nuclear.

And then—

Keyansh (shouting dramatically):

“Yeh gay wali harkate mere saath mat kiya kar saale kamine!!!”

His hands flew in the air like he was performing a classical dance out of panic.

Shivam (deadpan):

“Acha tu hai kya?”

Keyansh (gasps, placing hand on chest like a scandalized aunty):

“Saale Kamine!!!!”

Shivam (shrugging casually):

“Mujhe ladkiyan pasand hain, tu bata tujhe aayi hai koi pasand aaj tak?”

Now that hit the panic button in Keyansh’s brain.

His eyes darted to the left.

Then to the right.

Suddenly the floor tiles became very interesting. He stared at them like they held the secrets of the universe.

Keyansh’s inner monologue began:

“Agar isko bata diya ki mujhe kaun pasand hai… pehle toh yeh mujhe zameen pe phaad ke maarega…”

“Phir usi jagah 10-12 haddiyan tod ke dafan karega… upar se gravestone pe likhega: ‘Yeh woh tha jisko mere jaise bhai ke samne sach bolne ki himmat hui.’”

He took a deep breath.

Keyansh (giving the fakest smirk in history):

“Nahi yaar… abhi tak koi nahi aayi… tu bata?”

Shivam (suspiciously):

“Pagal hai kya? Tu jhooth bol raha hai koi toh hogi hi bta kon hai? Dost se chhupa ra hai ch*tiye.”

Keyansh (changing topic like a pro politician):

“Aur pizza ka slice sofa mein gaya tha na? Chalein nikaal lein, warna kab se badboo aani start ho jaayegi!”

Shivam (narrowing his eyes):

“Tu kuch chhupa raha hai pakka koi hai…”

Keyansh (laughs nervously):

“Nahi toh! Mujhe sirf pizza se pyaar hai.”

But inside?

Keyansh’s soul was sweating.

Because the person he liked?

Way too close.

Way too dangerous.

Way too likely to snap every bone if he ever found out.

And so… the great warrior Keyansh Singhania chose silence.

Because sometimes, pizza fights are safer than love confessions.

But Shivam was not giving up .

Shivam (mock serious):

"Agar aaj tune nhi bataya na toh aaj se tu mera dost nhi hai smajha"

Keyansh ( laughing awkwardly): "nhi yaar sahi mei koi nhi hai pakka" he said trying to get out of the situation.

Shivam ( deadpan):"tu mujhe kyu batayega mai hu hi kon Tera" he said walking away his frustration clear.

Keyansh (shrugging, very casually): “Umm... I like our maths teacher.”

Keyansh,s inner Monologue:

"Nhi isse acha bahana nhi mila tha saare aura ka pakora ho gaya khair ab marunga toh nhi"

Shivam. choked.on air

Shivam (wide-eyed, dramatically shrieking): “Kyaaaaa?! Tujhe auntiyo mein interest hai?! Itna haramkhor hai tu?! Woh bhi uspe jisne hamari waat laga rakhi hai woh?!”

He stood up like a warrior about to go into battle.

Keyansh (waving hands innocently): “Haan toh! Aditi pe thodi hai?”

Keyansh,s inner monologue:

"Ha woh crush thodi hai uss se toh pyaar hai mujhe"

He gave a very fake laugh, trying to cover the volcano of awkwardness building inside.

But that one line—Aditi's name—lit Shivam up like a Diwali rocket.

Shivam (cracking his knuckles, dark aura building): “Kya bola tune?”

Keyansh took a step back. The fake bravery vanished. Time for damage control.

Keyansh (nervously waving his hands): “Abey... Uss khoonkhar ladki pe crush thodi hoga mujhe! Main toh Mam ke liye loyal hoon!”

He even placed a hand over his heart like a sanskaari lover of the "ma’am-only" club.

Keyansh’s inner monologue (nearly facepalming):

"Hadd hai yaar... Mujhe kya kya karna pad raha hai. Kaash Aditi iski behen na hoti. Bhagwan ne toh sab kuch diya—bas timing kharaab de di. Ab iizzat ka faluda hoga woh alag."

As soon as Keyansh uttered that last line with the most innocent expression he could muster, Shivam paused… blinked… and then slowly turned his head towards him like a malfunctioning robot in shock.

His mouth was slightly open, eyebrows raised so high they were practically touching his hairline, and his entire face was screaming:

"Hadd hoti hai yaar literally woh aunty? Age gap dekh tu 17 ka hai aur woh 40 ki hai hadd hai yrr!"

That iconic Indian expression of disbelief mixed with despair — as if Keyansh had just confessed he eats pineapple on paratha or puts ketchup on gulab jamun.

Shivam didn’t say a word.

He just walked to the couch like a war survivor—slow, silent, dramatically betrayed.

He plopped down with the grace of a retired Bollywood villain, leaned back like he was carrying the weight of all the stupidity he had to tolerate in life… especially from his best friend.

He threw one arm over the backrest and gave Keyansh a side-eye so sharp it could cut steel.

"Isko toh main bachpan mein chhod kyu nahi aaya orphanage mein," his expression

Meanwhile, Keyansh stood there awkwardly, scratching his head and forcing a cough to break the silence.

"Shivam...  kuch bol na..." he whispered sheepishly.

But Shivam just inhaled deeply, dramatically looked up at the ceiling, and muttered to himself:

“Yeh dosti nibhaani padegi kya?”

Keyansh, now slightly nervous, tiptoed towards the couch with a guilty grin.

“Tea? Coffee? Poison?” he offered.

Shivam didn’t even blink. Just raised a finger like a strict principal and said:

"Chup! Ek kaam kar mujhe Ek bottle harpic dede."

Keyansh ( grinning):

"Piyega kya ?"

Shivam ( mock serious): "nhi bilkul nhi aapka iss papi aevem dusht dimaag ko dhone ka subh karya karunga"

" Seriously woh 40 saal ki aunty tujhe pasand hai tu jisse school ki har ladki bhav kya free mei taiyaar hai usse woh khadus??? Keyansh?? Tu pagal ho gaya hai kya?"

Keyansh ( embarrassed trying to control the situation): "pyaar toh pyaat hota hai yrr"

Keyansh,s inner Monologue

Chii yeh kya bakwaas kar ra hu mai pta nhi konse asubh muhrat pe mai iss ghar pe pravesh kar gaya ???

The silence between them lasted a good thirty seconds — which, in their chaotic world, was basically a century.

Then, out of nowhere, Shivam sat up straight like a man possessed.

His eyes narrowed. His tone—suspiciously calm. Too calm.

“Ek baat bata,” he said slowly, tilting his head like a detective in a 90s CID episode.

Keyansh flinched, his soul already panicking.

“W-what?” he asked, clutching a pillow like it was a shield.

Shivam squinted. “Tujhe yeh sab pta kaise chala ki tujhe..?”

Keyansh: “Arey woh... woh toh... she was—uh—”

He looked around like the walls would help him come up with a believable lie.

"Woh mujhe maths ke formulas samjha rahi thi."

Shivam deadpan stared.

" Woh maths teacher hai hindi ke formulas toh padhayengi nhi maths ke hi padhayengi na lekin tereko iske liye woh pasand aa gayi?”**

Before Keyansh could defend his honor, Shivam suddenly clutched his chest dramatically.

Shivam ignored him and started walking in circles like a man thinking about how to save his best friend from ruining his life.

“Tomorrow onwards," he declared, pointing a finger in the air, "Hum log bunk karenge unka period samjha?”

Keyansh clutched his hair.

"Bhagwan tujhe ek punch ka bonus de. Itni beizzati toh traffic police bhi nahi karta jitni tu kar raha aur mai ni karunga period bunk smjha."

Just then... Ritik entered with popcorn.

"Why does this house sound like Bigg Boss ka mental asylum edition today?"

Shivam gasped like a vampire touched garlic.

"Inn bhaisahab ki kami reh gayi thi aayiye!"

Keyansh gave up.

He laid flat on the couch, hands over his face.

“Mujhe kuch nahi chahiye... mujhe zameen de de bhagwan, main dharti mein sama jaun!”

Meanwhile, Ritik casually whispered to Shivam, " bhaiya aapne kisi chudail ko dekha kya chhoti si dimaag Kam hai aur baate bahut banati hai.”

Shivam: “Woh 2 chudail saath mei hi gayi hai.”

Ritik: “ek chudail dusri ke saath.”

And with that, all three boys collapsed in laughter... one hiding a major crush, one overreacting, and one here just for popcorn and chaos.

Just then…

Two shadows appeared at the doorway.

Leaning casually against the doorframe like undercover spies who had just cracked a top-secret mission, stood Maahi and Aditi, arms folded, expressions smug.

Aditi smirked.

“Kya bola chudail huh?” she raised an eyebrow, voice dangerously sweet.

“Interesting haina, Maahi?”

Maahi, flipping her hair like a full-time villain and part-time drama queen, replied with a grin:

“Very interesting. Mujhe toh laga boys-only meeting chal rahi hai. But clearly... yeh toh full-on pati aur woh ka episode chal raha hai!”

Keyansh froze.

Shivam looked at his soul and whispered, “Aaj toh gaye.”

Ritik grabbed a pillow and ducked behind it like he was watching live cricket—without the helmet.

Keyansh, stuttering like a politician caught in a scam:

“W-wait—tum dono kab se... wahan...?"

Keyansh didn’t wait a single second. The moment Aditi’s voice echoed with that sinister “Kya bola chudail huh?”, he knew his time was up.

Like a seasoned escape artist, he slid off the sofa in pure panic mode, grabbed his phone, half-wore his slippers, and darted toward the main door like his life depended on it—because well, it absolutely did.

“Aditi, Maahi, I just remembered I had to… uh… save the world from exploding! Bye!” he yelled mid-run, not even sparing a glance back.

“YOU COWARD! STOP RIGHT THERE!” Shivam screamed behind him, but by the time she reached the door, Keyansh was already riding off into the sunset on his Scooty like a Bollywood hero escaping heartbreak—with both slippers finally on.

And  the siblings plotted World War Keyansh in the living room, somewhere across the neighborhood, our wildcat’s so-called crush was hiding behind a paani puri stall, hoping the wind would carry away the shame along with his guilt.