The sun had only just begun to rise, casting a soft golden hue over the sky, when Aarohi woke up with her heart already racing. Today was the day—her Armaan was finally coming back. Only she knew how painfully slow the past two days had crawled by, every minute heavy with anticipation, every hour echoing his name in her mind.
Now that the day had finally arrived, everything felt different. The air seemed warmer, the light somehow brighter. Even the quiet of the morning felt alive, humming with possibility. She got ready in silence, her movements gentle, almost reverent, as if she didn't want to disturb the fragile magic of this long-awaited morning. Wrapped in a quiet excitement, she stepped into the day carrying a hope that had waited eight years to bloom.
She sat at her study table, her fingers tracing the edges of her diary like it was a sacred ritual. Opening to a fresh page, she picked up her pen, paused for a breath, and began to write:
"I don't know why my heart is racing so wildly this morning. Why this restlessness refuses to settle. What is this feeling? It's unfamiliar, yet so beautiful—so full of life.
The day I've been waiting for... it's finally here. After eight long years, I will finally see Armaan. I'll be able to talk to him, look into his eyes, hear his voice again.
I'm so happy today—so deeply, indescribably happy. It feels like the whole world has come back to me.
I just hope nothing spoils it. I hope… just like I feel nothing has changed in these eight years, he feels the same too.
Dear God, please… let everything go well today."
After finishing her diary entry, Aarohi gently closed the leather cover, letting out a soft sigh. Her heart still beat erratically—half in excitement, half in nervousness. With a glance at the clock, she picked up her tote bag and stepped outside. Today, she wanted everything to be perfect. And perfect began with flowers.
Standing at the edge of the driveway, she waited patiently for her cab. The morning breeze played with the ends of her dupatta as her eyes scanned the street. A few minutes later, her ride arrived. She slid into the backseat, her mind still full of thoughts about Armaan, the boy who was finally returning after eight long years.
As Aarohi's cab turned toward the flower market, another car, coming from the opposite direction, passed closely by—elegant and sleek. Inside sat Armaan, eyes fixed on the road, unaware that he had just crossed paths with the girl who had lived in his letters, his dreams, and every heartbeat. Fate had teased them—so close, yet unseen.
Armaan's car halted in front of Oberoi Mansion. The door opened, and he stepped out with Vijay Oberoi, his bade papa. Just as he was about to enter the grand gates, a voice rang out behind him.
"Armaan bhai!"
Naaz rushed toward him and threw her arms around him without hesitation. Years had passed, but the bond hadn't aged a bit.
"Mumma!" she shouted, still clinging to him.
Within seconds, Geeta Oberoi emerged from the entrance, a thaal in hand, eyes moist with emotions she hadn't prepared for. Despite not wanting to, Laksh followed behind her, hands in pockets and an unreadable expression on his face.
Geeta performed the aarti, her hands trembling slightly. Armaan bowed and touched her feet, and she pulled him into a warm embrace, tears finally escaping her eyes.
Armaan looked up, concern creasing his brows.
"Badi maa...why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying," she replied, her voice shaky. "These are tears of joy. After so many years, seeing my child again... it's overwhelming."
Naaz quickly broke the emotional moment, waving her hand dramatically.
"Okay okay, it's enough, now stop your emotional drama"
Laksh rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yeah, please. Can we go inside now? I can't stand out here forever."
And just like that, the silence of years had been broken—with laughter, tears, and a strange tension that hadn't yet shown its true form.
As everyone began to walk toward the living room, the soft creak of the front door interrupted their steps. The sound drew all heads back toward the entrance, curious to see who had arrived.
And there she was.
Aarohi stepped inside, her presence casting a stillness across the room. In her hands was a delicate bouquet of fresh flowers, wrapped with care. She wore a black salwar suit paired with a graceful dupatta draped perfectly around her. Her earrings were large and ornate, swaying slightly with her every step. A small bindi adorned her forehead, and her long, untied hair flowed freely over her shoulders. She looked stunning—so effortlessly elegant that time itself seemed to pause to take her in.
Laksh and Armaan both found themselves unable to look away from her.
But Aarohi's eyes sought only one face in that moment—Armaan's. The world around her blurred, and all that remained in focus was the boy who had once meant everything, the boy she was finally seeing again after eight years. Her heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. He wasn't just her childhood friend—he was someone whose return had brought back pieces of her heart she didn't even know were missing.
Sensing the emotion in the air, Geeta Oberoi, Vijay Oberoi, Naaz, and Laksh slowly made their way inside, choosing to give the two old friends a moment alone. Laksh hesitated—something about the way Aarohi was looking at Armaan made it hard for him to leave. But perhaps understanding that this moment didn't belong to him, he, too, quietly disappeared into the house.
Now, only Armaan and Aarohi stood facing each other.
Aarohi took a small breath and stepped closer, her voice soft and hesitant, yet warm.
"Hiii..." she greeted, with a nervous smile.
"Hello," Armaan replied, his eyes searching hers.
"H-How are you?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
"I'm good. And you?" he returned.
"I'm fine too..."
A pause.
Both of them glanced around, unsure of what to say next. So much to talk about, yet words felt inadequate.
Armaan's gaze finally dropped to the bouquet in her hands. With a half-smile, he asked, "Is that for me?"
"Huh?" Aarohi blinked, momentarily lost in her own thoughts.
He nodded toward the bouquet, pointing gently. "The flowers... are they for me?"
Aarohi looked down at the bouquet, then back up at him, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
"Yes," she said sweetly, "they're for you."
"Oh?" Armaan raised a brow. "Then...?"
"Then…?" she repeated, confused but amused.
"Then…?" he echoed again, now grinning.
Aarohi chuckled. "Then what?"
With a playful glint in his eyes, Armaan laughed. "Then are you going to give them to me or not?"
Blushing, Aarohi extended the bouquet to him. "Yes, yes… here. Welcome back, Armaan."
He accepted it with a smile that warmed the room.
"Thank you."
As Arman takes the bouquet from her hands, his fingers gently brush against Aarohi's. It's unintentional—barely even a touch—but it sends a wave through her, like her heart skips a beat. Her eyes drop to the floor instantly, her cheeks flushing a soft pink with shyness. A small, awkward smile tugs at her lips—the kind that shows up without warning and refuses to leave.
She quickly tucks her hair behind her ear, scolding herself silently in her head.
"Aarohi, what are you doing? Why are you acting like some 90s heroine? And this stupid smile—wipe it off your face, please! Don't embarrass me any further."
She's so lost in her flustered thoughts that she doesn't even notice when Arman tilts his head slightly and asks with a soft laugh,
"Who are you lost thinking about?"
Without thinking, without even realizing, Aarohi blurts out the truth—
"You..."
The word slips before she can stop it. The moment she hears herself, her eyes widen and she quickly looks down again, biting her lip from the side, as if hoping she could somehow pull the words back in.
Arman, meanwhile, watches her quietly. Her little reactions, her bashfulness—everything about her in that moment seems incredibly adorable to him. There's a genuine smile on his face now, the kind that forms when your heart feels something soft and real. He's just about to say something when Naaz enters suddenly and breaks the moment.
"Are you both planning to stand here all day and catch up?" she teases, hands on her hips.
"Come on inside—mom's calling."
The three of them head into the living room together. As they reach, Geeta Oberoi looks up and says warmly,
"Arman, why don't you go put your bags in your room and freshen up first?"
"Yes, badi maa," Arman nods politely.
Geeta then turns to Aarohi with a smile,
"Aarohi beta, go help Arman settle his things in the room."
The moment those words leave her lips, Laksh's eyes widen in alarm. Before Aarohi can respond, he jumps in—
"Aarohi? Why her? Naaz is right here! She can help. Go on, Naaz—go help your dear Arman bhaiya with his bags."
Naaz looked a little apologetic and said,
"I do want to help, but I can't right now. Mom just called me into the kitchen. Aarohi di, will you help instead?"
Aarohi nodded with a soft smile.
"Of course. You go help aunty. I'll take care of Arman's stuff."
With that, Naaz hurried off to the kitchen, and Aarohi walked upstairs with Arman toward his room. Meanwhile, down in the living room, Laksh's anger was beginning to boil. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched. Without thinking, he picked up the magazine lying on the table and hurled it across the room.
Upstairs, Aarohi led Arman into his room and began helping him unpack his luggage. She moved around naturally, familiar with the space, and careful with his things. Arman, silent but observing, let her work.
When everything was finally set in place, they both stood there quietly—neither sure what to say. The silence between them was awkward now, heavy but not unpleasant.
Breaking it softly, Aarohi looked at him and said,
"You freshen up. I'll leave now..."
Her voice was polite, gentle, almost hesitant, as if she wasn't quite ready to go, but felt she should.
Just as Aarohi turned to leave, about to take her first step, she suddenly felt a gentle grip around her wrist.
Startled, she froze in place.
Her heartbeat quickened. Her breath caught for a second. Slowly, she turned to look back—and saw Arman standing behind her, holding her wrist tenderly.
Before she could say a word, she felt the cool touch of metal brushing against her skin. She looked down and noticed Arman clasping something around her wrist.
A bracelet.
Delicate. Beautiful. Familiar.
Her eyes widened slightly as she stared at it, her heart now pounding not just with surprise—but with something deeper. Something that had once lived quietly in a memory.
It was the exact same bracelet he had promised her years ago—before he left for abroad.
And in that quiet moment, as the bracelet settled against her skin, her mind slipped into that old memory—the one etched in her heart forever...