Roohi’s POV

After the Sangeet Night at her home

The sangeet had ended hours ago, yet here I was, staring at the ceiling of my room, the melodies and laughter still echoing faintly in my mind. My best friends were getting married tomorrow, and I was supposed to feel nothing but joy. But tonight, joy eluded me.

Instead, my thoughts kept circling back to Vihan. It wasn’t new; he had this uncanny ability to occupy my thoughts even when I tried to push him away.

This time, though, it wasn’t just about him—it was about letting him go. Could I? Could I ever?

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Letting him go, I thought. How could I let go of someone who had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember?

Every little moment we had ever shared came rushing back, unbidden as if my mind had decided to replay the story of us in vivid detail. It was maddening and overwhelming.

I closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me one last time. Tomorrow would be another day, another chance to face the reality of a love that might never be returned. But tonight, I allowed myself to dream, to remember, and to hold onto the boy who had drawn circles on my back and stolen my heart without even knowing it.

I turned onto my side, clutching my pillow as the first flash struck—our earliest days, long before we even understood what friendship truly meant.

Our families were inseparable—best friends, partners in every harmless crime. I often joked that if the idea of swapping kids ever came to their minds, they wouldn’t hesitate. Our families were one big unit, and so, my life had been intertwined with Vihan’s long before either of us could spell the word friend.

The earliest memory? I must have been three. Taiji loved retelling the tale of Vihan’s so-called act of heroism, the story of how, at just three years old, he had “rescued” me from a furious puppy. I still cringed at the memory.

“Your knight in shining armor!” she’d tease, pinching my cheek as I groaned in protest.

The truth? A curious puppy had wandered too close to me. It wasn’t barking, not even threatening, but Vihan, the dramatic protector, who was as old as me, had waddled over and shoved me away from the dog. “Stay back, Roohi!” he’d declared with all the authority his tiny body could muster.

I burst into tears, and the puppy, far from aggressive, simply wandered off. But Vihan was hailed as a hero, basking in the praise with his trademark grin. Even then, he had an infuriating way of turning every situation into something that revolved around him.

Vihan had always been like that—bossy, protective, maddeningly sure of himself. “Roohi’s too delicate,” he’d say to anyone who tried to be rough with me. Yet he thought nothing of tugging my pigtails, stealing my snacks, or teasing me until I wanted to scream.

Idiot!

That was how it always was—Vihan leading, me following, and our lives intertwining in ways neither of us could have predicted.

The memory shifted, like pages turning in a beloved book, to the first day of kindergarten.

I was terrified, hiding behind my mother, clutching her saree with all my might. Then there he was, the boy with the mischievous grin and boundless energy.

“Roohi, don’t cry,” he said, taking my hand firmly in his. “I’m here. You don’t have to be scared.”

That was Vihan—my protector, even back then. His presence had been a constant in my life, a comforting anchor.

I rolled onto my back, smiling despite myself. Those childhood days felt so far away, yet their details were etched into my mind like carvings on stone.

The first day of school had been chaos, and in true Vihan fashion, he had been at the center of it. I could still see him dragging Gauravi into the classroom, both of them laughing like they’d shared the funniest joke in the world, his voice loud and confident as he claimed the space like it was his kingdom.

Mihir and I were quieter back then, content to sit with our neatly packed lunchboxes and avoid the chaos.

“Why’re you sitting like statues?” he’d yelled at Mihir and me, his energy so infectious that it was impossible to resist. His voice was loud enough to make the teacher frown. “Come play!”

Before I could refuse, he’d grabbed my hand and pulled me into his orbit. That was Vihan—always pulling people into his world, never taking no for an answer. I became a part of his orbit, pulled into a world where everything revolved around Vihan Singh Rathore.

And then there were the circles.

It started during storytime in the kindergarten. I felt a light, ticklish sensation on my back and turned to find Vihan grinning at me.

“What are you doing?” I’d whispered, annoyed.

“Drawing circles.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored.”

That was it. No grand reason, no explanation. Just Vihan being Vihan.

I complained to the teacher, but even her scolding didn’t stop him. Every day, like clockwork, his finger would return, tracing lazy loops on my back.

“Stop it! I hate when you do it.” I hissed once, glaring at him.

“I like it and you don’t hate it,” he replied smugly. “It’s our thing.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Roohi's POV

I rolled onto my back, the memory shifting to one of our many family vacations.

I was five, sitting in the middle of a room full of toys, my hair tied into pigtails, clutching a stuffed rabbit that had seen better days. Vihan had just barged into my house, his tiny face flushed with excitement, holding a box of chocolates he had stolen from his mother's drawer.

“Roohi, let’s play doctor!” he declared, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He always loved playing doctor just like his dad. Even then, I suppose, his destiny was already calling to him.

I had agreed without hesitation, of course, as I always did when it came to him. We’d spent hours diagnosing my stuffed rabbit with imaginary ailments, and he’d carefully “treated” it, offering chocolate pills as the cure. My rabbit survived every time, and my laughter echoed through the room. That became our favorite game while we used to enjoy the chocolates that were meant to be taken by my rabbit as medicines.

The corners of my mouth lifted at the memory, but my chest ached. My fingers traced absent patterns on the fabric of my jeans. How had it always been him? Even then, when we were nothing more than children, he’d been the center of my little world.

****

I closed my eyes, and another memory surfaced.

We were ten, sitting under the shade of the big peepal tree in the schoolyard. The other kids were running around, their shouts filling the air, but we four had carved out our little bubble.

Vihan had found a stick and was drawing circles on my back absentmindedly. I remember shivering at the touch, though I didn’t understand why. “Why do you always do that?” I had asked, curious.

He shrugged, grinning. “I like it. And it keeps you from running away while I talk.”

I had laughed then, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t run away.”

And I hadn’t. Not once. I never wanted to but that idiot never got that.

Our families did everything together...trips to the mountains, beach holidays, late-night Diwali parties. Vihan and Gauravi were always the life of the party, their extroverted personalities lighting up every room. Mihir and I were quieter, content to watch from the sidelines.

But even from the sidelines, I couldn’t take my eyes off Vihan.

The memory shifted, pulling me forward to middle school. By then, the circles had become a quiet constant, a private ritual that no one else understood. They annoyed me, but they also grounded me. In a room full of people, they reminded me that I wasn’t invisible.

And yet, I hated how he always saw me as fragile. “Roohi can’t climb that high,” he’d declared during one of our many adventures, shooing me away from the tall trees he and Mihir loved to scale. “You stay here, okay? Gauravi will stay with you.”

We hated it. Gauravi never followed what he ordered and always did what she wanted, even though I wanted to prove I wasn’t as delicate as he thought and climb. But I could never go against him, I hated how my heart raced whenever he looked at me with those warm, mischievous eyes and asked me not to do it, though I didn't know at that time why I was so affected.

I shook my head at my vulnerable condition and then my mind went to the next one... The Holi water balloon war was one of my favorite memories.

We were ten, and all the families had turned Holi into an all-out battleground. Vihan, naturally, was the self-appointed leader of our little group.

“Roohi, guard the balcony. Mihir sneaks behind Dad’s car. Gauravi and I will ambush that gang of bullies ( Viren, Shaurya, Ron) from the side!” he said.

Gauravi always had some problems with Shaurya and Shlok. So she was very excited. Mihir told her not to play with them, but she always did what she liked, and she liked to find a way to fight with the Malhotra twins. Mihir said

that he would come with her.

" Roohi, you stay in the position." He said to me.

I saluted him dramatically, pretending to take my role seriously. “Got it, Captain!”

Five minutes later, I was waiting for the older gang to get drenched, but I was shocked when instead of one of them, I was drenched, courtesy of Vihan himself.

“Vihan!” I yelled, glaring at him as he doubled over laughing. “You said you’d cover me!”

“I meant to cover you with water,” he joked, dodging the balloon I hurled at him.

I could still feel the cool splash of water, see the vivid colors staining our clothes, and hear Vihan’s laughter as he turned every moment into a competition.

“You’re terrible at this,” he’d teased after tackling me to the ground.

He was trying to be smart but the older bully gang ambushed all of us.

By the end of it, we were covered in colors and mud; Gauravi started crying and went to her dad, asking him to scold the older gang. But I don't know how and why, but I was more smitten than ever.

"You’re a terrible captain! See what they did to us.” I’d retorted, though my words lacked any real heat.

“Maybe, but see, they are older and more in number.” he’d said, grinning as he traced a muddy circle on my arm before running off.

Even at ten, he was infuriating. And even at ten, I was hopelessly attracted to him though I was still not aware of it, well I did feel something...