𝗧𝘂𝗺 𝗛𝗶 𝗧𝘂𝗺 – [𝐀𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞] - 𝐂𝐇 - 𝟐𝟒 ༊˚

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नैनों में पैग़ाम जिस तरहमस्जिद में अज़ान जिस तरहनैनों में पैग़ाम जिस तरहमस्जिद में अज़ान जिस तरहसुबह होने तक जल रहेपलकों में अरमान जिस तरह

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The rain had finally stopped by the time they rolled into Rishikesh.

The roads were slick, reflecting the lingering glow of the headlights as the car came to a halt near the quiet hotel nestled u mist-covered hills. The towering mountains stood like silent guardians around them, their peaks dusted with clouds that clung to them like cotton candy. A cool, misty breeze swept through the air – refreshing, almost sacred. It carried the scent of wet earth, pine, and distant river water.

One by one, everyone began tumbling out of the car – stretching stiff limbs, groaning dramatically, rubbing their necks, and yawning into the misty morning. Shagun was already bickering with Aditi and Priya about who packed the most unnecessary snacks, while Sanjay uncle pulled out his phone and began narrating travel tips like a local guide no one had actually hired.

Aman stepped out quietly.

His breathing was steady now, calm returning to his face for the first time since the storm had hijacked his mind. The trauma hadn’t vanished – it never would – but for now, the silence of the hills and the stillness of the rain-washed earth offered a fragile sense of peace.

Without saying a word to anyone, he walked to the back of the car and popped open the diggi, rolling up his sleeves as he began pulling out bags. One by one, he stacked them neatly on the pavement, every motion precise – like some disciplined, overqualified porter trying to keep his hands busy and mind still.

And then… she walked over.

Samaira.

The wind lifted strands of her damp hair as she approached, tugging her jacket tighter against the morning chill. Her steps were firm, chin held high, but her eyes they didn’t soften when they landed on Aman. That same cold, pointed silence she’d been wielding like a sword since the terrace… it hadn’t dulled.

She came to a stop near the diggi, arms crossed. For a moment, she simply stood there, watching him. Not speaking.

Aman, feeling the weight of her gaze but choosing peace over provocation this time, glanced sideways and said in a quiet tone, “Thank you for the help.”

Samaira didn’t respond to the comment, her voice sharp and uninterested as she asked, “Mera bag kahan hai?”

Without pause, Aman reached in and grabbed the heavy duffel bag she usually carried. But before he could place it on the ground with the others, Samaira stepped forward and blocked him.

“Main apna bag khud le jaungi,” she said, her tone firm – a wall still very much in place.

He raised an eyebrow at her, genuinely curious and a little amused. “Are you sure? Bhaari hai.”

Her glare was answer enough. She reached for the bag handle, determination practically pouring out of her… but the bag didn’t move. Not even a little. A strained breath left her lips. She tugged again – still stuck.

Aman’s lips twitched into a grin, and he folded his arms with mock patience. “Main nikaal deta hoon. Don’t worry.”

Still tugging at the stubborn duffel, Samaira gritted her teeth and said, “No need… mujhe kisi pe dependent nahi rehna hai.”

“Okay, go Miss Jhansi ki Rani.” Aman chuckled, watching her drama unfold like a live-action TV show.

There was a second of silence. A second where pride stood on one side and practicality on the other. And then, with an exasperated huff, Samaira let go of the handle and stepped aside.

Brushing her wet hair away from her face, she muttered with a roll of her eyes, “Yeh kisi aur bag mein fass raha hai. Tum hi nikaal do. But don’t you dare take it as a defeat.”

Aman couldn’t help it the laugh escaped before he could stop it. A warm, low chuckle that felt real after days of silence.

He reached into the car and, without struggle, pulled out the very bag that had been testing Samaira’s patience and strength. Setting it beside her with exaggerated care, he looked at her with a crooked grin.”Okay, you win… I lose?”

She snatched the bag’s strap with dramatic flair, refusing to let him have the last word. But just as she turned to leave, Aman stepped forward holding out something in his hand.Her headphones.The very ones she had used to calm him during his worst moment.

Their eyes met the air suddenly heavier than before.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, his voice quieter now, lower, guilt laced in every syllable. “And I’m really sorry, Samaira. For that day.”

For a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her jaw clenched slightly. But then she reached forward, plucked the headphones from his hand without meeting his eyes and muttered, just loud enough for only him to hear,”I don’t accept sorrys and thank yous in words anymore.”

And she walked away.Shoulders squared, eyes ahead, bag dragging slightly behind her statement wasn’t just attitude. It was honesty.

Aman stood still for a moment, staring at her retreating figure with a soft, unreadable expression.

She could ignore him all she wanted. Throw glares and sarcasm like daggers. Pretend the world hadn’t shaken just a few hours ago.But that care she buried beneath all her drama?That wasn’t going anywhere.

And for the first time in weeks, the silence between them… didn’t feel so hopeless anymore.

Inside the hotel lobby, the soft yellow lighting bathed the polished wooden interiors in a warm glow. Everything smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh linen, like someone had lit just the right number of incense sticks without overdoing it. The place had that quiet mountain charm, with hanging bells, carved furniture, and a vaguely spiritual calm that the group managed to disrupt in approximately four seconds.

The elders, of course, took the reception like a battlefield. Rajveer uncle led the charge with a file of photocopied ID proofs, while Kiran was already asking about towel quality and whether the tea would be made with “real adrak, not essence.” Meanwhile, Amit was bargaining with the receptionist like this was a sabzi mandi, trying to get an extra teacup or a river-facing window “as complimentary”.

Meanwhile, the younger lot had grouped up near a giant carved wooden pillar, poking at the decorative bells, whispering about room views and giggling about who would get the bed near the bathroom (a surprisingly important matter). The excitement of getting room keys reached golden ticket levels of joy.

Finally, the receptionist, looking a little overwhelmed but charmed, handed out the keys.

Boys Trio… Ansh, Prateek, and Ruhaan were given one room.Girls Squad – Samaira, Shagun, Aditi, and Priya landed the room right beside them.And Aman and… chaos incarnate Vivaan were tossed into a room across the hallway like a cosmic joke.The elders took rooms next to the kids’ ones, creating just enough of a barrier for “freedom” but enough proximity for constant supervision.

“Bachcho, abhi thoda aaram kar lo, shaam ko ghoomne chalenge sab, okay?” Rajveer announced with a smile that was somehow warm and threatening at the same time – classic Indian dad energy.

Everyone nodded with an excitement that made even the bellboy smirk as he helped drag suitcases across the polished floors.

Samaira didn’t waste a moment. She reached out, snatched her room key right from Aman’s hand as if it were a document declaring her as the legal heir of the trip, and spun on her heel without so much as acknowledging his existence. She rolled her suitcase down the hallway with the attitude of someone who just won a courtroom battle. Shagun followed beside her with equal sass, already humming her “Trip playlist” and syncing it with her walk like it was an entrance scene.

“Main window ke paas wali bed lungi!” Shagun announced like she was booking a plot of land.

“No way! Mujhe chai ke saath view chahiye,” Samaira argued, already unlocking the room door with the aggression of a lawyer entering a courtroom full of underprepared interns.

“Aur mujhe… pankhe ke neeche wala bed,” Aditi mumbled sleepily, already half-dead and eyeing the bed next to the lamp like a homing missile. She collapsed on it with the grace of a tired burrito.

Priya giggled, flopping beside her. “Shaam ki shift bhi yahi karegi lagta hai.”

Across the hallway in Room 105, Vivaan kicked the door open like a contestant entering Bigg Boss.

“Room 105,” he grinned, elbowing Aman. “Hope you’re ready for my sleep-talking tonight.”

Aman rolled his eyes and dropped the luggage with a deadpan thud. “Agar raat ko bakbak ki na… balcony se neeche phek dunga.”

Vivaan collapsed dramatically onto the bed like a royal claiming his throne, grabbing the remote. “Koi baat nahi… fir neeche gir ke kisi aur ka dimaag kha lunga. Sharing is caring, bro.”

In Room 103, the chaos had already begun.

“Chips bhi hain, dry fruits bhi hai! Kamaal hai bhai! 5-star feels aa rahe hain!” Ruhaan yelled, already half inside the complimentary snack basket like a pirate who’d found treasure.

Prateek raised a brow. “Tere jaise bhookhad ke liye hi rakhe honge… warning ke saath vo bhi – ‘Beware: Ruhaan ,Human Vacuum Cleaner inside.'”

The retaliation was immediate – Ruhaan launched a pillow at Prateek’s face, nearly knocking his specs off. Ansh, meanwhile, silently stepped out onto the balcony, his calm demeanor masking the mental loop playing in his head that one look Aditi gave him in the car. The wind kissed his face, but it couldn’t distract him from that soft crimson blush. And now, she was just across the hallway.

Back in the girls’ room, Shagun flopped on the bed dramatically like a queen in a 90s serial.

“Didi… Aman bhaiya se headphones le aayi kya?” she asked, not even trying to be subtle – the volume was suspiciously close to being heard in the next room.

Samaira scoffed, twisting her hair into a bun with aggressive speed. “Main naukar hoon kya uski?.”

Priya and Shagun shared a look a smirk that said She’s SO not over it.

Aditi, folding her clothes with Olympic-level precision, kept glancing between Samaira and the carpet like she was waiting for the floor to offer emotional guidance.

“Waise… Ganga Aarti kab dekhne jaa rahe hain?” Aditi asked, peeking out the foggy window.

“Evening, around 6:30,” Samaira replied instantly, her inner Trip Captain activated. Then she spun around, hands on hips, eyes blazing like a drill sergeant.

“Aur haan hotel ke uncle bol rahe the… shaanti bani rahe yahan. So koi chillam-chilli nahi, no fighting, and definitely no drama. Nahi toh main tum sabko personally uthake river mein phenkoongi.”

Laughter erupted all over the room

The sun dipped low behind the Himalayan ranges, casting a soft golden glow over the sacred Ganges. The air was tinged with a divine calm temple bells chimed in rhythm, conch shells echoed from a distance, and chants floated through the air like ancient lullabies sung by the wind itself.

The group had decided to witness the iconic Ganga Aarti from Triveni Ghat the heart of Rishikesh’s spiritual soul. It was more than a location; it was a feeling sacred, still, and deeply serene.

The boys had arrived early, weaving through the crowd to grab spots near the front steps – close enough to watch the priests prepare the brass lamps and garlanded flower bowls, but far enough to breathe without being swallowed by the river of devotees.

Vivaan, as usual, had appointed himself the unofficial “chief content creator.”

“Sabki video bana leta hu… vlog banaunga,” he announced, holding his phone dramatically above his head like he was filming a travel documentary for Netflix.

“Haan, jis vlog ko koi dekhna bhi na chahe,” Prateek deadpanned without missing a beat.

“Aur channel ka naam rakhiyo ‘The Chuha Vlogs,'” Ruhaan added, biting his cheek to hold back a smirk.

Even Aman chuckled, and Ansh gave a rare small smile-though both maintained their we-are-too-cool-to-laugh-loudly energy.

Vivaan rolled his eyes so hard it could’ve powered a turbine. “Aap sab toh jalte ho mujhse. Kya karu, sabse zyada handsome hoon na!” he declared, flipping his non-existent long hair like a shampoo ad.

The teasing continued as the boys leaned over the railing, admiring the vast river that shimmered like liquid gold under the setting sun.

And then A shift in the wind.A ripple of excitement from the crowd.

They turned, instinctively drawn to the sudden hush.

And all of them-Prateek, Ruhaan, and ansh-froze mid-breath.

Coming down the ancient stone steps, surrounded by the soft hues of twilight and river mist, were the girls.

In the lead, her steps light and careful, her eyes downcast as she spoke to Shagun, was Priya.

She was glowing-not the glitter-and-glamour kind of glow, but the kind born from the sun catching just the right threads of her white kurti. Her yellow dupatta, so bright it seemed dipped in the sun itself, fluttered gently behind her with every step.

She wasn’t trying to look beautiful. She just… was.

Her braid lay neat over her shoulder, a few wisps of hair dancing near her ears, and she kept pulling the edge of her kurti ever so slightly to keep it from getting caught beneath her sandals.

She didn’t even notice them.

But Prateek?

He forgot how to breathe.

His heart stuttered somewhere between “normal” and “cardiac arrest.”

He couldn’t blink, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The air around him shifted, and everyone else faded. The river, the priests, even Ruhaan’s loud breath-gone.

He leaned ever so slightly forward and whispered, barely audible to himself,”how cute she looks in yellow…”

It wasn’t even a line. It wasn’t for anyone. It just slipped out-like a truth that couldn’t stay hidden

Shagun, in a flowing navy blue suit, stole the air straight from Ruhaan’s lungs.

Her dupatta fluttered gently behind her in the breeze, the silver threadwork catching the last of the sunlight like tiny stars. Long, open hair framed her face, with a few stubborn strands dancing rebelliously across her cheek. Her kajal-lined eyes scanned the river, serene, unreadable – and yet there was a certain glow in them. Like she belonged to this moment more than any of them ever could.

She didn’t try to look beautiful.She just was.Ruhaan’s brain short-circuited.

His laugh died mid-breath, lips still parted in amusement – and then… a fly flew right in.

COUGH! COUGH! but he didn’t mid it.

Ruhaan’s cough sputtered out like a bad engine, but even as he gasped for air, his eyes didn’t leave her.

Shagun.

Flowing like poetry, dipped in twilight and moonlight, walking as if the world didn’t deserve her. And honestly? It probably didn’t.

Ruhaan wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his kurta zero grace, full drama – and still whispered to himself like a man struck by lightning.”Yeh ladki… koi warning board leke kyun nahi aati?

He turned to the boys with dazed eyes.”Bhai…tum maro yah mai to chala apni wali ke paas?”

Ansh looked at him with horror in eyes grabbing his arms. “abe jagah kaise bachegi phir sabke liye.” but Ruhaan escaped.

He was already walking…no…floating toward her.

Meanwhile, Shagun had taken a spot near the railing, her hands folded in quiet reverence, eyes fixed on the holy waters like she was having a conversation with the universe.

And then came Ruhaan, sliding in beside her with the stealth of a cartoon character and the grace of a peacock in sneakers.

“Namaste, Devi ji,” Ruhaan announced with both hands folded and a bow so exaggerated it nearly threw him off balance. His voice was dipped in theatrical reverence. “Aapki ek jhalak paakar meri aatma sanskari ho gayi.”

Shagun, leaning quietly against the railing, didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t even gift him a side glance.

Just said in a tired, almost amused sigh, “Please, Ruhaan… not now.”

But Ruhaan? Ruhaan was already clutching his chest like she’d aimed Cupid’s arrow straight at him.

“Haye… at least ek baar toh dekh lo… bas ek nazar. Pakka kuch nahi bolunga,” he pleaded, eyes wide with mock innocence, leaning ever so slightly toward her like a puppy waiting for a biscuit.

Shagun finally turned her head – slowly, dramatically and gave him one single glance. Expression unreadable. One perfectly arched brow rising.

“Now happy?” she asked flatly.

Ruhaan didn’t answer immediately.

He just stared at her like she was a divine vision standing under the Himalayas’ golden glow – which, in his head, she absolutely was. His grin spread like a slow sunrise.

“More than happy,” he said dreamily, hands still at his heart.

Shagun tried. She really tried not to laugh.

But the sheer earnestness on his face – the sparkle in his eyes, like she was the centre of his sky made it impossible.

A small, helpless laugh slipped through.

And Ruhaan? His entire face lit up as if that laugh was the actual aarti flame meant to purify his soul.

“Bas! Sun liya! Aaj toh Ganga maa bhi kehengi beta, tujhe mukti mil gayi,” he whispered, looking upward with fake tears in his eyes.

Shagun shook her head, biting her lip to suppress another smile.

“you’r such a drama queen.”

This time, she didn’t roll her eyes.

This time, she didn’t look away.

She just stood beside him under the sky that slowly began to bloom with stars and let the sound of bells and river chants fill the quiet between them.

Ansh was enjoying his Ruhan’s sillyness untill she stepped in

But then…

She stepped in.

Aditi.

Descending the final stone stair of the ghat, a pooja thali balanced delicately in her hands – and just like that, Ansh forgot how to exist.

Time didn’t slow. It surrendered.

The world around him, the chants, the river, the buzz of people and prayers everything dulled into a muffled hush.

She wore red and gold, but it wasn’t just color anymore. It was a story. A vision. A hymn woven into silk.

The deep crimson of her Anarkali draped around her like something sacred – alive, burning, soft. Every thread of golden embroidery shimmered as if carrying echoes of a thousand temple bells, catching the dying sunlight and returning it with reverence. The soft flare of her dress twirled with her steps – not dramatic, not showy but like the wind itself bent to her presence.

She looked mythical. Not made. Remembered.

The dupatta floated behind her as though she walked not on stone but on stardust. A hush fell over his thoughts like even they knew to stand still.

She turned slightly, laughing at something Priya whispered, her earrings glinting, brushing against her cheeks like the gods themselves wanted to touch her.

But even the sound of her laugh didn’t reach him.He was too lost in the sight of her.

Her hair half tied, half tumbling in soft waves down her back caught the golden halo of the setting sun like it belonged there. Like it always had.

And for the first time in his life, Ansh didn’t know what to compare it to.Not a metaphor. Not a verse. Not even a scientific law.

She wasn’t something to be understood.
She was something to witness.

He’d seen her before many times. In classrooms, in corridors, half-asleep on benches, arguing with Vivaan, laughing with Shagun, stealing fries from Priya’s plate.
But this?

This was worship in motion.

She didn’t look beautiful.She looked like a prayer.One made of soft wind, fire, and fierce gentleness.

Ansh, the boy who lived in timetables and mental discipline, who counted breaths before emotions felt his very core collapse into something messy.

Human.

His heart?
It didn’t just skip.It soared, tumbled, landed somewhere in his throat and refused to come down. His fingers itched to gently tuck that one rebellious strand away from her forehead. Just to touch the miracle, just once.

And then she looked up.

Her eyes met his – warm, unaware of their power and she gave him the softest smile.Not big.Not teasing.

Just… present.Like she saw him.

And Ansh?

He didn’t melt.He disintegrated.No walls.No calculations.No caution.Just awe.

Not love. Not yet.But something equally dangerous -devotion.

Even the river, it seemed, paused its ancient flow to bow.

And in that moment, between the weightless beat of a drum and the glow of twilight flames…

Ansh realized he wasn’t falling for Aditi.He already had.And the fall?Was nothing short of sacred

Behind her… Samaira came.

Dressed in a soft pink sleeveless kurti, delicately embroidered near the neckline, she didn’t just arrive-she entered like the breeze that carries both peace and a storm in one breath. The fading sunlight caught the shimmer of her earrings, glinting like quiet declarations of war no one saw coming. Her hair, damp from the evening breeze, fell in loose, wild waves down her back, swaying gently, catching every last strand of light like dusk had taken refuge in her.

Aman’s breath hitched.Mid-conversation, mid-thought, mid-existence-everything froze.

He forgot what he was about to say.
Hell, he forgot how to say anything at all.

The murmur of sacred chants at the ghat faded into a distant hush. The rustling of the river, the temple bells, the voices-all drowned under the sudden storm that brewed inside his chest. A thunder of heartbeats. A silence louder than any chaos.

There she was-walking barefoot over the worn temple stones with ease, her dupatta fluttering with that signature flick of confidence. Her spine was straight, her shoulders held high, her presence unapologetically solid. She didn’t seek attention. She commanded space.

And this time… Aman didn’t feel the need to challenge it.

He didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t sigh.Didn’t prepare a sarcastic retort to protect himself from whatever spell she always brought into the room.

He just… looked.Not the way a rival watches someone to find their weakness.

But the way someone watches the sky at dusk-when they know the day is ending, but can’t look away from the colors.

For the first time… he saw her.Truly saw her.Not as the storm in sneakers, the girl who wouldn’t stop pushing his buttons.

But as the girl who had pressed her cold, trembling hands against his face when he couldn’t breathe… the one who, soaked in rain and anger, had stayed.

The one who, despite everything he said to hurt her, had never once let her head drop.

The one who, even in silence, roared louder than anything else in the world.

And that chaos?It didn’t feel loud anymore.It felt human.

It felt like warmth. Like truth. Like something he didn’t know he could want-until now.

She brushed past him without a glance, her eyes forward, her silence sharp.

But even that little movement-just the whisper of her dupatta grazing his sleeve-was enough to send a shiver through his spine. Goosebumps followed. He hated how easily that happened now. How effortlessly she had taken up residence in his nerves.

And still… he couldn’t stop looking.

Something inside him cracked-like a locked door finally creaking open after years of rust and resistance.

This wasn’t just guilt.This wasn’t some moment of vulnerability.

This wasn’t an apology disguised as infatuation.It was something far more terrifying.

It was the first flicker of that maddening, slow-burn ache that said,”What if… I’m not broken when I’m with her?”

And for a boy like Aman Singhaniya, who had lived his life believing he ruins everything he touches.That single, fragile thought?Was far more dangerous than love..

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That’s all for this chapter, Bubbles! ✨
I truly hope you enjoyed it and more than anything, I really hope it made you feel something.

If any scene touched your heart, made you smile, or even gave you tiny butterflies…Don’t forget to vote and drop your thoughts in the comments 

See you in the next chapter!

Till then, be healthy, stay safe, keep smiling, and always keep reading.

With love,
Prachi 💌

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Do follow me up on Instagram for spoilers.
I’D – pixiee_wrts

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