The sun dipped behind the Arabian Sea, painting the Malhotra mansion’s terrace in molten gold. Tara and Aarav were sitting on the railing, legs swinging, sharing a mango smoothie. The air smelled of rain and jasmine—peaceful, ordinary.
“Promise you’ll come to my school fest this time,” Tara said, poking his arm with the straw.
Aarav smiled. “If Mrs Meera doesn’t make me help with the catering again, I’ll be there.”
“Good.” She grinned. “Because we’re doing a dance, and I want my lucky charm watching.”
They laughed—easy, effortless—until footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Myra Singhania appeared in a white sundress, her smile sugar-sweet, her eyes calculating.
“There you are, Tara! Everyone’s looking for you. Rehearsal’s about to start.”
Tara brightened. “Myra, meet Aarav—my best friend.”
Myra’s gaze flickered over him: plain shirt, calm eyes, quiet confidence. She offered a small smile. “So you’re the famous Aarav. Tara talks about you a lot.”
Aarav nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.”
Her voice softened—too soft. “Same here… finally.”
Something about her tone made him uncomfortable, but he said nothing.
---
Later that week
At school, Tara noticed Myra whispering to their group during lunch. When she approached, the conversation stopped.
“What’s going on?” Tara asked, frowning.
Myra twirled her hair. “Nothing, yaar. Just talking about Aarav. People say he follows you around everywhere.”
Tara laughed, uneasy. “He’s just close to my family.”
“Hmm.” Myra’s lips curved. “Still… you’re from different worlds, na? Sometimes too much closeness looks… desperate.”
Tara’s smile faltered. “He’s not like that.”
Myra shrugged. “Of course not. I’m sure he’s different.”
But that evening, when Aarav appeared outside the school gate—as he did every day—to walk her home, Tara hesitated.
“Tum yahan kyu aate ho roz?” she asked, a little sharper than she meant.
(Why do you come here every day?)
Aarav blinked. “Because uncle asked me to pick you up. And I like making sure you reach home safe.”
She looked away. “Main bachchi nahi hoon, Aarav.”
(I’m not a child anymore.)
The words stung, though her eyes softened right after. “I didn’t mean—”
He forced a smile. “It’s okay.”
But as they walked home, silence replaced the laughter that once filled the road between them.
---
The slow unraveling
Over the next months, Tara grew distant—without even realizing why.
Every time Myra said something sly—
> “He stares at you like you belong to him.”
“He’s just grateful your dad saved him. Don’t mistake gratitude for love.”
—the tiny cracks inside Tara widened.
Aarav noticed. He noticed everything.
The way she stopped calling him lucky charm.
The way she avoided sitting beside him at dinner.
The way her laughter dimmed when he entered the room.
One evening he finally asked, voice trembling,
“Tara… kya maine kuch galat kiya?”
(Did I do something wrong?)
She froze, guilt flashing across her face. “No, Aarav. You just… don’t understand. You wouldn’t.”
“Then make me understand.”
She shook her head, eyes clouded. “You wouldn’t get it.”
And she walked away.
That night, Aarav stood by the balcony, staring at the rain—wondering how love could turn into distance without a single fight.
---
Elsewhere…
In her dark room, Myra watched from her phone screen a photo she had secretly taken of Aarav helping Meera in the garden, sunlight catching his face. Her thumb brushed his image.
“He was supposed to die that night with his family,” she whispered, voice trembling with obsession. “But fate gave him to me.”
Then she smiled—a co
ld, terrifying smile.
“And no one, not even Tara Malhotra, will take him away again.”
The corridors of St. Mary’s High were empty after the fest rehearsal. The faint echo of drums and laughter faded into the humid Mumbai dusk.
Aarav waited by the back gate, holding Tara’s forgotten water bottle. He’d watched her dance practice from a distance — not because he had to, but because he couldn’t stay away.
When she finally appeared, her hair loose and cheeks flushed, he smiled automatically.
“Tara,” he called softly. “You left this.”
She stopped. The smile that usually bloomed when she saw him didn’t come.
“Oh. Thanks,” she said quickly, taking it from his hand without meeting his eyes.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked quietly.
“No. Why would I be?”
“Because you’ve been… different.”
Her throat tightened. Myra’s voice from earlier still rang in her head:
> “You don’t see it, do you? The way he looks at you. People are talking, Tara. It’ll ruin your image.”
Tara tried to push it away, but now, standing this close to Aarav — seeing the warmth in his eyes — panic fluttered inside her.
“You shouldn’t wait for me like this every day,” she said abruptly. “It looks weird.”
“Weird?” Aarav frowned. “Since when do you care about that?”
“Since now.”
He stepped back, hurt flashing across his face. “Did someone say something to you?”
She shook her head. “No. I just… I don’t need you to look after me anymore.”
“Tara…” His voice cracked. “I’m not looking after you because I have to. I—”
“Stop!” she cut him off, louder than she meant. “You don’t understand, Aarav! You don’t belong in my world. People already whisper things. I can’t—”
The words hung between them, sharp and cold.
Aarav stared at her, stunned. “Your world?” he repeated, voice barely a whisper.
She swallowed hard, eyes glossy. “Please. Just… give me some space.”
For a long moment, neither moved. The breeze carried the smell of wet earth and something breaking.
Aarav forced a smile — fragile, heartbreaking. “If space is what you want, Tara… I’ll give you the whole world.”
He turned and walked away before she could see his tears.
Behind him, Tara pressed a hand to her chest, whispering to herself,
“Kya maine galat kaha? Maine sirf apni izzat bachai…”
(Did I say something wrong? I just protected my reputation…)
But deep down, she knew — it wasn’t her reputation she’d broken.
It was him.
---
Meanwhile…
Myra watched from the shadows near the gate, a faint smile curling her lips.
“First crack,” she murmured, sliding her phone into her bag. “Now let’s see how long before the whole thing collapses.”
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