"They say if you truly want something from the heart, the whole universe conspires to bring it to you…
But in my case, it feels like the universe completely misunderstood the assignment.
Because the one person I've ever truly, deeply wanted —
The one who lives rent-free in my mind and heart, even after all these years —
The universe has only tried harder and harder to keep him away from me.
Eight years.
Eight long years.
Not a single glimpse. Not a single word.
And yet, not a single day without thinking of him.
My friend.
My best friend.
My soulmate.
Armaan.
I often wonder — when I see him again, will his eyes still carry the warmth they once did?
Will I still be someone he remembers the way I remember him?
Or has time quietly rewritten us both?
I don't know.
But I do know this — the day I see him again… will be the most beautiful moment of my life."
"Aarohi! Aarohi!"
Snapping out of her thoughts, Aarohi blinked down at the pages of her diary — the ink still wet, the emotions still raw. Her mother's voice had pulled her back to reality, back to the soft rustling of curtains and the golden light of a new morning.
Kalpana Rajput stepped into the room, her expression a mix of warmth and authority.
"Aarohi, you're still not ready?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Aarohi quickly closed her diary, slipping it under her pillow as if hiding a secret part of her soul.
"I was just about to get ready, Mom," she replied quickly.
Kalpana sighed, half amused. "Today is your first day at university. You don't want to be late, do you? Your dad is waiting downstairs for breakfast."
As Aarohi moved toward her wardrobe, the morning sunlight poured through the windows, casting a golden hue on everything it touched — the lavender curtains, the books stacked neatly on her desk, and the framed photo of three kids grinning ear to ear… her, Laksh, and Armaan.
Each corner of the Rajput house was as elegant as the family that lived in it. Rakesh Rajput was a name everyone in the business world recognized — one of the most influential and respected entrepreneurs in the country. Yet behind the boardrooms and suits, he was just "dad" to his two daughters.
Aarohi, the younger one, had always been the spark — bright, passionate, and headstrong. She carried her mother's grace and her father's unyielding ambition. At twenty-two, she was a top student and a born writer, now stepping into the world of business as she prepared to pursue her MBA. Aarohi saw the world through metaphors and moonlight, her mind sharp with inherited business instincts and a heart steeped in poetry.
Her elder sister, Aaradhya, was the calm to her storm — polished, poised, and business-savvy, already working alongside their father in the company. Aaradhya carried the family legacy like a crown, while Aarohi carried her heart in her diary.
But what truly made the Rajputs stand out wasn't their wealth — it was their warmth.
And right across the street, in a mansion that buzzed with equal laughter and legacy, lived the Oberois.
Laksh Oberoi — Aarohi's neighbor, nemesis, and unfortunately, batchmate as well. The two had known each other forever, and still, somehow, couldn't get through a day without bickering. Their arguments were legendary, and so was their refusal to acknowledge just how similar they really were beneath the surface.
Laksh, the middle child of the Oberoi family, was the kind of boy you noticed the second he walked in — charming, effortlessly good-looking, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a cocky smile that never seemed to waver. Girls adored him. Professors tolerated him. Aarohi… barely managed to not throw things at him.
His elder brother, Akshit, was the dependable one — the pillar of the Oberoi family, already steering the business empire alongside their father, Vijay Oberoi, and his close associate, Rakesh Rajput. The Oberois and Rajputs weren't just business partners — they were bound by years of trust, loyalty, and a soon-to-be formal alliance. Because Akshit and Aaradhya, Rakesh's elder daughter, had been in love since childhood — a love everyone in both families had known and silently blessed.
And then there was their youngest — Naaz. Still in school, full of teenage sass and sugar, she was the heart of the house — dramatic, outspoken, and adored by all.
Then there was Armaan — Laksh's cousin, and Aarohi's childhood best friend.
He had left eight years ago to live abroad with his father, but his absence never truly left. Raised by his aunt Geeta — Laksh's mother — after his own mother passed away during childbirth, Armaan had always been the gentle force in their lives. Smart, sensitive, and wise beyond his years, he had been Aarohi's safe place, her midnight conversation, her everything… until he disappeared with a goodbye.
And now, after all this time, Aarohi was about to begin a new chapter — university, adulthood, choices. She didn't know what the future held, but her heart still lingered in a past that hadn't quite let go.
Little did she know… fate had plans of its own.
By the time arohi came downstairs, dressed in soft shades of pastel blue and a hint of nervous excitement, her parents were already seated at the dining table. Her father glanced up from his newspaper and smiled at her — the same calm, reassuring smile he always gave.
As the three of them began breakfast, Aarohi picked up her spoon, stirring aimlessly through her cereal. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the soft clinking of cutlery and the gentle hum of the morning news playing in the background.
Then Aarohi looked up, clearing her throat a little.
"Dad… I need to talk to you about something."
Rakesh Rajput folded his newspaper, his full attention now on his younger daughter. "What is it, princess?"
She took a small bite of toast, hesitated for just a second, then set it down and leaned forward — eyes gleaming with mischief and a little hope.
"Well…" she began sweetly, clasping her hands under her chin like she always did when asking for something. "Don't you think today calls for a little celebration?"
Her dad raised an eyebrow, amused. "Celebration?"
"Yeah," Aarohi nodded eagerly. "It's my first day at university! Shouldn't I get… like a proper send-off gift?"
Kalpana chuckled softly, already sensing where this was going. Rakesh just smiled, playing along.
"And what kind of gift are we talking about?"
Aarohi grinned, her eyes narrowing playfully. "You know… the one you gifted me technically on my last birthday but never actually let me drive?"
Her father chuckled but shook his head. "Nope. Not happening. You already know how terrible your driving is."
Aarohi let out a dramatic sigh, her shoulders slumping. "Dad, come on…"
But Rakesh didn't budge. He folded his arms and gave her that look — the one that meant the conversation was over before it even started.
"No more discussion, Aarohi. Your safety comes first. And as far as going to and from university is concerned, Laksh is there. He'll pick you up and drop you."
Aarohi froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. "Wait, what?"
Her father went back to sipping his tea like he'd just given the most logical, unproblematic solution ever.
She pushed her chair back, hard enough for it to scrape noisily against the floor. "No way! I am not going to university with him. He's been stuck to me like glue all through school and college — I am not repeating that torture. I'll take an auto, a bus, a bullock cart if I have to, but I'm not going with Laksh!"
Neither of her parents flinched. They just continued eating their breakfast like she hadn't just announced the end of the world.
The silence infuriated her even more. She stared at them, wide-eyed. "Are you seriously ignoring me right now?!"
Kalpana finally looked up, perfectly calm, as if she were discussing the weather. "You're done with breakfast, right? Good. Now go. Laksh is waiting outside."
Aarohi gaped at her mother, completely betrayed. "Unbelievable," she muttered, grabbing her bag with the kind of attitude only a younger sibling could master.
She stomped toward the door, muttering every possible complaint under her breath — loud enough to be heard, but just quiet enough to avoid getting scolded.
Outside, the late morning sun was already beating down, bright and unforgiving. Laksh was leaning casually against the passenger side of his black SUV, earphones in, casually humming along to whatever song he was playing. His fingers tapped out the beat on the car roof like he didn't have a single care in the world.
The moment he saw Aarohi charging out, though, he pulled out one earbud and let out an exaggerated sigh — the kind that screamed here we go again.
With a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he called out, "Finally! Miss Universe has arrived."
He eyed her outfit up and down. "Just FYI, Aarohi… it's your first day at university, not your wedding day. How long does it actually take you to get ready?"
Aarohi's heels clicked sharply against the driveway as she walked straight past him, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. She was already at the edge — and Laksh's smart mouth wasn't helping.
Without even glancing his way, she snapped, "Just shut up, okay? My mind's already a mess — don't push it."
Without waiting, she shoved him lightly out of the way and opened the car door.
"Move! The sun's killing me—I need to sit inside."
Laksh stumbled a bit and blinked at her dramatic entrance.
"what the—what if I had fallen? Psycho…"
he mumbled under his breath while climbing in from the driver's side.
Aarohi slammed the door shut and folded her arms, face turned towards the window.
Her jaw was tight, her foot tapped restlessly, and her silence filled the entire car like a thundercloud.
Laksh glanced at her sideways, one hand on the steering wheel, the other fidgeting on the gear.
His inner monologue kicked in:
"Okay… she's clearly mad. Should I ask? Or will she just tear me apart like last time?"
A beat passed.
"Screw it. Let her yell. I've survived worse."
Laksh cleared his throat awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the road.
"So… uh… what's up with you today? You've been weirdly quiet. Moody, even."
Aarohi slowly turned her head toward him, her expression unreadable at first — then sharp, icy.
"Why do you care?" she snapped. "Whether I'm angry, upset, or bursting into flames — how does that even concern you?"
Her words stung more than he expected. Laksh's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. A heavy silence settled for a moment before he suddenly swerved the car to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes a bit too hard.
Aarohi jolted slightly, startled. "What the hell, Laksh?" she said, annoyed.
He turned toward her, jaw clenched, eyes dark with frustration.
"I asked because I was concerned, Aarohi," he said sharply. "Not because I was looking for a fight."
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.
"I mean, seriously — do you have to lash out every time someone tries to check on you? I get it, you don't like me. Message received, loud and clear. But is basic decency too much to ask? frustration slipping into his voice. "Seriously—what is your problem?"
Aarohi slowly turned toward him, her eyes blazing.
"You really want to know what my problem is?" she snapped, her voice cutting sharp. "Fine. You. You are my problem, Laksh. Ever since we were kids, every mess in my life—every damn mess—has started and ended with you."
Laksh blinked, stunned. "Are you serious right now?" His voice rose, trying to mask the disbelief. "You're still holding on to childhood crap? Aarohi, we were kids. Kids mess up. You really think those old things are still worth fighting over?"
She let out a dry, bitter laugh. "They might've been small for you, Laksh. But they weren't for me."
Her voice was cracking now—less anger, more ache.
"You bullied me through half of my childhood. And do you even remember my birthday? The first time Dad ever slapped me? That was because of you."
Laksh's face fell. He didn't speak. Couldn't, maybe.
Aarohi pressed on, the words tumbling out, raw and trembling.
"You planned that stupid hide-and-seek game. You told me to lock that boy in the storage box. I was just doing what you said! But when things went wrong, when he fainted, you stood there and let everyone blame me. You didn't say a word. You watched me cry. And that slap… I still remember how much it stung."
She looked away, eyes glistening, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I might've forgiven you for all of that… if it had stopped there. If it had just been about silly pranks or one ruined birthday."
Then she turned back, and this time her voice was heavy. Heartbroken.
"But you're the reason Armaan was taken away from me."
Laksh cut in, eyes wide, his voice rough with disbelief.
"Wait—what? You think I'm the reason Armaan went abroad? Aarohi, come on. That's insane. Uncle had to move for work. That's why they left. It had nothing to do with me."
Aarohi's gaze didn't flinch. Her voice came out steady, but there was steel behind it.
"I'm not a kid anymore, Laksh. I know what really happened."
Laksh stared at her, confused. "What are you even talking about?"
She let out a breath, tired—like she'd been holding this in for far too long.
"Armaan lived with Geeta Aunty. Always had, since we were little. But then suddenly, out of nowhere, Akash uncle took him away and shifted him abroad."
She paused, looking him dead in the eye.
"You know why? Because of you. Because you couldn't stand him. Because every time we were together, you made it a warzone. And they didn't want the tension between you two to grow worse. So instead of asking us, they made that decision — and I lost my best friend for eight years."
She turned her face back toward the window, blinking fast, trying to shove the emotion down.
Laksh felt a strange silence settle between them.
Her words hurt—but not because they accused him.
They hurt because they meant something to her.
He remembered those days vaguely—small arguments, childish fights with Armaan, nothing serious… at least, that's what he thought. Had it really affected her this much?
He glanced sideways at her but didn't speak.
For once, he had no sarcastic reply. No comeback.
He didn't know if she was right.
But maybe she wasn't completely wrong either.
As the car drove forward, the silence between them said more than words ever could.
And somewhere in the rearview mirror,
their past began to catch up.