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“It was just a collision… yet something quietly collided inside their hearts too.”
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Rehan walked slowly, scrolling through his phone, one hand shoved in his pocket. “Bas mujhe hi bhejna tha,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a sigh. The street vendor nearby hummed an old tune, the rhythm matching his slow footsteps.
At the same time, Varnika turned into the same lane — earphones in, her camera on selfie mode, the soft melody of Ishq Wala Love playing in the background. Her eyes sparkled in the morning light as she whispered into the camera, “Sunday morning vibes,” flipping her hair slightly for the video.
Neither noticed the other until—
Dhappp!
The collision sent a small gasp out of both of them, her phone slipping from her hand and landing with a dull thud on the pavement.
“Aahhh! Mera phone!” Varnika bent quickly, worry flashing across her face.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry—main dekh nahi raha tha!” Rehan blurted, crouching down beside her. Their hands brushed as both reached for the phone, fingers grazing for barely a second.
and suddenly, the WORLD SLOWED.
The soft music from her earphones faded into the background. A faint breeze rustled through the trees, brushing against her hair. The moment hung still — quiet and fragile — as their eyes met for the first time.
Varnika’s breath caught. He wasn’t just any boy — there was something about the way his eyes held hers, a mix of surprise and warmth, like the sunlight had found its reflection there. For a second, everything else disappeared — the noise, the street, the fallen phone — all of it blurred around that single glance.
Rehan blinked, realizing he was still holding her phone. He handed it to her, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry… main thoda lost tha.”
Varnika took it carefully, still a little breathless. “Dekhte hue chalte ho ya crash course kar rahe ho?” she said, her tone teasing but softer than she intended.
He chuckled quietly. “Definitely crash course.”
She smiled despite herself, checking the screen. “Bas scratch hai.”
“Good,” he said, meeting her eyes again. “Nahi toh mujhe guilt se marna padta.”
For a heartbeat, neither looked away — sunlight glinting softly between them, something unspoken stirring in the space that separated one stranger from another.
Varnika finally broke the moment, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Careful next time,” she murmured, her voice calm but her heart not quite the same.
Rehan watched as she walked away, the faint tune from her earphones floating back toward him. His lips curved into a quiet smile.
“Maggi lene gaya tha…” he whispered, shaking his head with a small laugh. “kuch aur mil gaya.”
And just before turning the corner, Varnika glanced back once — a single, fleeting look — and in that one glance, something new had already begun.
﹋﹋﹋ ☾ ﹋﹋﹋
At the Store
“Bhaiya, ek packet Maggi dena,” Rehan said.
“Aur ek brown bread dena,” came another voice — that same voice.
They turned.
For a second, both just stared, surprised to see each other again so soon.
Rehan stepped aside. “Aap pehle le lo.”
“Thanks,” she replied softly, trying to sound casual.
While the shopkeeper packed their items, the silence between them was filled with unspoken curiosity — and a faint hum of her music still playing through her earphones.
A little kid suddenly ran past, bumping into Varnika. The bread almost slipped, but Rehan caught it mid-air.
“Careful,” he said, handing it back, his fingers brushing hers again.
She smiled, this time without hesitation. “Thanks.”
As they walked in opposite directions, both couldn’t help but glance back once.
“Bread wali ladki,” Rehan whispered, a small smile tugging his lips.
“Maggie wala ladka,” Varnika murmured at the same time, her heart beating faster.
Neither of them knew that this small, silly Sunday morning — a clash of Maggi and bread — was about to change everything.
The sun had climbed higher now, the sleepy lane glowing in soft gold.
Varnika walked home with the bread packet in her hand, but her mind was miles away. The faint music still played in her earphones, but she wasn’t really listening anymore.
Every few steps, she replayed the scene in her head — that collision, his voice, that awkward but oddly gentle “Sorry,” and the way he’d caught the bread before it fell.
“Ugh, what was that?” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “It was just a bump, Varnika. Stop overthinking.”
But her heart didn’t agree.
Every time she blinked, she saw his face again — that easy half-smile, the way his eyes had softened when he said ‘Careful’.
By the time she reached home, she was smiling without realizing it.
Her mother noticed instantly. “Kya hua, itna muskura kyun rahi hai?” she asked, turning from the stove.
Varnika blinked, caught off guard. “Kuch nahi, Mumma… bas bread mil gaya tha.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Haan haan, bread mil gaya, par face pe toh glow hai.”
Varnika pretended to be busy taking off her shoes. “Mumma, please… bread ka bhi glow hota hai kya?”
Kairav entered the kitchen, glancing at her teasingly. “Lagta hai bread lene gayi thi ye fair and lovely lagake?” With that he went to the Balcony along with his book
“Shut up, Kitabi Keede!” she snapped — a little too quickly.
But when she turned away, she couldn’t help that tiny grin creeping back. She didn’t even know his name, but the moment felt like a tiny scene out of a film. Maybe it was silly, but she couldn’t deny it — something about that boy had made her heartbeat skip, just for a second
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Kapoor Residence
Meanwhile, Rehan walked home with the Maggi packet dangling loosely in his hand. His steps were slower than usual, his thoughts… somewhere else entirely.
He kept thinking about her — that girl with the brown eyes and the quick temper.
Her words had been sharp, but her voice… it had a musical ring to it.
And those last seconds before walking away — the way she had turned back, pretending to fix her hair — that image stuck like a snapshot in his mind.
He shook his head, half-smiling. “Pagal lag raha hoon main. Ek ladki se takra gaya, aur ab poora scene repeat ho raha hai.”
Still, when he reached home, there was a strange lightness in his step.
He placed the Maggi on the counter and flopped on the sofa.
Aadhya peeked from behind the kitchen door. “Mil gayi Maggi?”
He threw the packet towards her. “Haan, mil gayi. Aur saath mein accident bhi.”
Aadhya raised an eyebrow. “Accident? Kya matlab?”
“Nothing serious,” he said quickly, stretching lazily. “Ek ladki se takra gaya tha.”
Aadhya smirked immediately. “Ooooh… ladki se?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “Phir toh ‘accident’ nahi, ‘miracle’ kehna chahiye.”
Rehan rolled his eyes. “Shut up, drama queen.”
But as she laughed and walked away, Rehan caught himself smiling again — a real one this time.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, whispering to himself,
“Bread wali ladki…”
For some reason, the name made him smile wider.
After a while
The Sunday noon was warm and lazy, the kind that made everything move a little slower. The soft hum of a distant radio drifted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of masala from Aadhya’s bowl of Maggi.
She sat on her balcony floor, legs stretched out, spoon lazily twirling noodles. The neighborhood was quiet — too quiet — until she heard the scrape of a chair from the balcony beside hers.
Curious, she glanced sideways.
That’s when she saw him.
A boy — tall, lean, and unfamiliar — leaning casually against the railing of the next balcony. He wore a light grey T-shirt, sleeves rolled up, a book resting in one hand as sunlight brushed softly across his face. His hair looked just a bit messy, the kind that wasn’t planned but somehow worked perfectly.
Aadhya forgot about her Maggi for a second.
There was something quietly magnetic about him — the way he turned a page, the way the sunlight caught the edge of his smile as he read. He didn’t seem like the kind of boy who belonged to noisy afternoons or small talk. He looked… different.
And then, as if pulled by some invisible string, he looked up.
Their eyes met — hers wide with surprise, his calm and curious. For a heartbeat, neither moved. The world around them blurred into stillness — the traffic hum, the heat, even the faint hiss of her noodles cooling.
A small smile touched his lips, soft but confident, as if he already knew she was watching. Aadhya’s breath caught — a strange, unfamiliar flutter in her chest.
She quickly looked away, pretending to focus on her food, though her hands suddenly felt too warm.
But even as she stirred her noodles, she could still feel his gaze — gentle, unreadable — and the quiet spark of something new lingering in the air between their two balconies.
By the time the sun began dipping low, the Kapoor house looked like a maze of half-open boxes and sleepy chaos.
Curtains lay folded on the sofa, someone’s charger had already gone missing, and Aadhya had declared that her books deserved their own unpacking ceremony.
“Rehan, yeh box utha do!” Priya called from the hall.
“Again?” he groaned, flopping dramatically against a cushion. “Mumma, mere haath ab protest kar rahe hain.”
Aadhya snorted. “Tere haath toh remote uthane ke liye bhi protest karte hain.”
Before Rehan could reply, her voice trailed off — she’d caught sight of something through the window.
Across the narrow lane, another family was busy unloading boxes from a moving truck. Laughter, footsteps, the clang of metal — a familiar sound of someone else starting over.
“Mumma!” she called out. “Next door walon se kab Milne jayenge ?”
Priya smiled. “Shaam ko jaake milte hain, thoda sab kuch settle kar lo pehle.”
Aadhya nodded, still peeking out curiously. For a second, her gaze caught a figure lifting a heavy carton with effortless ease — tall, composed, the same one she’d seen from the balcony earlier.
He didn’t look up this time.
But somehow, she still knew it was him
ꨄ
Evening arrived with the soft glow of streetlights and the sound of laughter from the next house. Priya stepped out with a plate of sweets, calling, “Chalo, bachcho! Neighbours se milte hain.”
Rehan dragged his feet behind her. “Arey yaar, social interaction ke liye mental preparation chahiye hoti hai.”
“Tu toh tab bhi complain karega jab log tere birthday pe wish karenge,” Aadhya muttered, fixing her hair.
They reached the Malhotra porch just as Mrs. Malhotra turned around, holding a plant pot.
“Oh, hello!” she said warmly. “You must be the new family!”
“Yes! I’m Priya Kapoor,” their mom said cheerfully. “And this is my husband, Rajesh. These are our kids, Rehan and Aadhya.”
“Lovely to meet you!” Mrs. Malhotra replied. “I’m Neha, this is my husband Vikram.”
Before she could say more, footsteps echoed from inside — slow, steady.
Kairav stepped out, adjusting his watch. His eyes briefly flicked toward the visitors before resting politely on Rehan.
“This is our son, Kairav,” Mrs. Malhotra said proudly.
Kairav gave a small nod. “Kairav Malhotra.”
That was it. No extra words.
His voice was calm, low, and he said it like an introduction didn’t need any decoration.
Rehan smiled and reached out his hand. “Rehan Kapoor. Good to meet you, bro.”
Kairav shook it firmly. “Same here.”
Aadhya stood beside her mom, quiet — half curious, half unsure. For a fleeting moment, Kairav’s eyes brushed past hers. Not a look, just acknowledgment — the kind that lingers for a second longer than expected.
He didn’t say anything else, and that somehow spoke louder than words.
ꨄ
Before the silence could stretch, another voice burst through the doorway.
“Mumma, aapne mere headphones dekhe?”
Varnika appeared, hair tied up in a messy ponytail, a chocolate wrapper still in hand. She froze when she saw Rehan.
“Ye hai meri Beti Varnika “ Neha said
“You?” she said, eyebrows shooting up.
Rehan blinked. “Bread wali ladki?”
“Excuse me—Maggi wala ladka!” she corrected, crossing her arms.
Aadhya’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what— you two know each other?”
“Unfortunately,” they said together.
The adults laughed lightly while Aadhya just shook her head in disbelief.
“Looks like they’ve met already,” Mrs. Malhotra said with a grin.
“Good!” Priya smiled. “At least bache toh strangers nhi hai ”
“Strangers would’ve been fine,” Rehan muttered.
Varnika gave him a mock glare but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
Meanwhile, Kairav had already turned slightly toward his house, one hand in his pocket, quiet as ever.
“Rehan,” he said, before heading back inside, “kal evening basketball court?
“Sure,” Rehan replied, smiling. “Don’t lose too bad.”
Kairav gave a tiny smirk — almost invisible. “Dekhte hain “
And just like that, he disappeared inside.
Aadhya didn’t realize she’d still been looking at the doorway long after.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else.
Whatever it was — it had just begun.
“Hi I’m Varnika “ Varnika smiled and introduced herself to Aadhya .
“Aadhya Kapoor” Aadhya smiled and reached out for her hand .
Varnika grinned as she shook Aadhya’s hand. “Aadhya Kapoor,” she repeated, eyes lighting up. “Tum bilkul meri vibe match karti ho!”
Aadhya laughed. “Yeh toh aaj kisi ne sabse acchi baat boli mujhe.”
“Good,” Varnika said, looping her arm through Aadhya’s like they’d known each other forever. “Toh batao, tum kis school mein join kar rahi ho?”
“St. Mary’s High,” Aadhya replied. “Abhi transfer hua hai.”
Varnika stopped mid-step, eyes wide. “Kya! Woh toh mera school hai!”
Aadhya blinked. “Sach mein?”
“Bilkul!” Varnika grinned. “Kaunsi class?”
“11th PCM,” Aadhya said, smiling.
Varnika let out a squeal. “No way! Same class! Oh my God, yeh toh perfect hai!”
Aadhya laughed at her excitement. “Lagta hai mujhe pehle din akela nahi rehna padega.”
“Akela?” Varnika said proudly. “Ab toh tu mere saath phas gayi — officially besties. No take-backs!”
Aadhya smiled, warmth spreading across her face. “Deal.”
And just like that — between laughter, school talk, and a promise of shared chaos — a new friendship quietly took root.
One accidental meeting, and nothing stays the same after that 💫
If you’re curious to see where this goes, show some love with a like and comment below — more moments are coming soon✨😊
I'LL BE BACK WITH NEXT CHAPTER SOON TILL THEN TAKE CARE AND BYE BYE MY CUTIES 🥰
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