Days kept repeating.
Same रास्ता (path).
Same routine.
Same moments.
And yet—
everything felt different.
Arohi's world had slowly started revolving around one thing.
Him.
Her college, her tuition, her walk, her thoughts—
everything had begun to connect.
Like pieces of her life were coming together in one place.
Every morning, she would take the bus with Adarsh.
They weren't very close, but they had fallen into a rhythm—getting down at the same stop, walking together for that one kilometer stretch.
Her English teacher would often join them too. He had been teaching her since class 6, someone she trusted, someone easy to talk to.
The conversations were normal.
Simple.
But Arohi wasn't fully there.
Because somewhere along that रास्ता (path)—
was his shop.
And that—
was where her attention lived.
Every day, after writing pages in her diary the night before, she would wake up with a quiet excitement.
Because now—
she could see him more.
Not just at tuition.
Not just once.
But again.
And again.
And again.
Four times a day.
And each time—
he smiled.
That smile had become her routine.
Her comfort.
Her reason.
One morning, as she walked with her teacher, she noticed him stepping out of the mosque after finishing his namaz (prayer).
There was something about him in that moment—
calm.
composed.
untouched by everything around.
He looked at her.
Surprised, just for a second.
And then—
he smiled.
She smiled back.
Without thinking.
Without stopping.
Her teacher kept talking.
But she didn't hear a word.
Because that one moment—
was enough.
Days passed like this.
And then—
something changed.
She started noticing things she hadn't before.
He was always on his phone.
Talking.
Focused.
Lost in conversations she wasn't a part of.
At first, she ignored it.
Then she wondered.
Then—
she felt it.
Jealousy.
Who is he talking to?
The thought came quietly.
But it didn't leave.
Is it someone important?
Is it… another girl?
Her chest tightened.
Her smile faded for just a second.
And then she forced herself to stop.
What am I even thinking?
She smiled again.
Pretended everything was fine.
But something had already changed.
Days turned into weeks.
And she kept watching.
Until one day—
she found out.
It was his mother.
Relief came instantly.
Soft.
Comforting.
But it didn't stay.
Because something didn't match.
He had told her once—
he barely got time.
Not even 20 minutes to talk.
He was always busy.
But now—
those calls lasted longer.
Much longer.
And that—
didn't sit right.
A small doubt entered.
Quiet.
Sharp.
But instead of questioning him—
she questioned herself.
How can I think like this?
What's wrong with me?
She didn't even know what they were.
No label.
No definition.
But for her—
it was pure.
Real.
Important.
So she stayed silent.
But she couldn't deny one thing.
She was jealous.
And it scared her—
how much it mattered.
Then came a simple day.
Arohi wore a navy blue kurta.
One of her favorites.
It made her feel… a little more like herself.
As she passed the shop—
she saw him.
He was wearing navy blue too.
Her heart skipped.
A small, foolish happiness filled her chest.
But that happiness didn't stay long.
Because she remembered something else.
Every Friday—
he wore white.
A simple white kurta.
Clean.
Perfect.
And she hated Fridays.
Not because of the day.
But because of how he looked in it.
Because she knew—
others would notice him too.
The way she did.
And that thought—
made her restless.
Uncomfortable.
She knew it didn't make sense.
She knew she had no right.
And yet—
she felt it.
She was thinking things she shouldn't.
Feeling things she couldn't control.
Becoming someone she didn't recognize.
And somewhere deep inside—
a quiet voice whispered—
This isn't right.
But she ignored it.
Because loving him—
even silently—
felt better than stopping.
And that's when it began.
Not love.
Not completely.
But something else.
Something deeper.
Something darker.
Her attachment.
Her dependence.
Her quiet unraveling.
Her destruction.
Her heartbreak—
had already begun