Chapter 1: The Night Everything Changed

The night of the farewell party, I sent the drunken college beauty to the hostel room of the campus bad boy.

That night, the corridor air was thick with perfume, Old Monk, and the distant sizzle of Gobi Manchurian from the campus canteen's tawa. I had no idea that by the end of it, fate would throw my entire world upside down in the most filmi way possible. When I pushed open the rickety hostel door with Yashi's arm draped across my shoulder, I never realised I was sending her straight into Kabir's lair. My dupatta kept slipping off my shoulder as I tried to balance Yashi’s weight, and I could hear the faint echo of someone playing "Tum Hi Ho" on a cheap Bluetooth speaker down the hall. It seemed like one of those harmless campus pranks, but that was the night that turned every whisper in the corridor against me.

But my childhood friend mistook me for the campus beauty.

It was as if the gods above were cracking a cruel joke. There, in the corridor, Arjun—my Arjun—caught a glimpse of me in the dim yellow light. He paused mid-step, one hand unconsciously reaching for the thread around his wrist—a habit from childhood. His eyes, always so calm, flickered with confusion, as though the shadows had reshaped my face into someone else's. The smell of cheap whiskey and the echoing laughter from the party below filled the space between us, muddling our memories and intentions.

A night of chaos followed.

It was the kind of chaos that only happens in Indian hostels: slippers thrown across corridors, someone banging on a steel thali, girls giggling behind half-closed doors, all while the ceiling fans tried in vain to cool the feverish air. For me, each minute stretched into an eternity, the weight of judgment pressing on my chest like the humid Pune summer.

Everyone said I had deliberately broken up the campus bad boy and the college queen.

By breakfast, my name was already viral on every hostel WhatsApp group. Even the mess bhaiya raised his eyebrow when he handed me my idli. By the next morning, my name was on everyone’s lips—chutney in their gossip sandwich. "Arrey, you know Naina did it on purpose," they whispered by the water cooler, eyes darting as if my presence alone could curse their relationships.

So after we got married, no matter how hard I tried, I could never warm my childhood friend’s heart.

Our marriage, celebrated with marigolds and dholaks, felt like wearing a new kurta with the tag still poking at my neck. Auntyji from the third floor kept sprinkling rosewater, as if that could wash away the tension in the air. No matter how many cups of adrak chai I made for Arjun, or how often I packed his dabba with extra achar, his eyes never softened. Our silences grew heavy, the sort you can't even cut with a kitchen knife.

Until one day, I accidentally overheard him on the phone while walking down a busy street in Pune.

The street was alive with honking autos, shouts of "andaa-pav, anda-pav!", and the clanging of a distant temple bell. My sandals slapped the hot concrete as I waited at a chai stall, trying to lose myself in the crowd. That's when I heard his voice, low and urgent, slipping through the noise.

"As long as Yashi can be happy, I’m willing to spend my whole life holding onto Naina."

His words, floating in the humid evening air, felt like a slap. A dog barked somewhere. The aroma of frying vada-pav wafted over, but I tasted only bitterness.

"Otherwise, who would want to marry a bookworm?"

The words stung more than I could have imagined. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let tears fall in front of the chaiwala. I gripped my jhola tighter, my nails digging into the faded cloth. A bookworm—so that's all I was to him?

"Doesn’t she want a child? I’ll give her one."

The indifference in his voice cut deeper than any insult. My whole body felt cold, despite the sticky warmth of the Pune summer night.

A harsh auto-rickshaw horn cut him off.

The shrill blare jolted me back to the present, drowning out Arjun's words. My heart raced like the meter of a Mumbai local, threatening to leap out of my chest.

My childhood friend instinctively turned his head and saw me standing at the chai stall on the corner.

For a split second, the world seemed to pause. The tea vendor kept pouring, a paan-wala nearby hawked his wares, but Arjun's gaze locked onto mine. I felt exposed, as if all of Pune was staring at me.

In that instant, his face turned pale with panic. He rushed towards me, trying to push me out of harm’s way.

His movements were frantic, almost desperate, like a man possessed. The clatter of utensils behind me mingled with his hurried footsteps as he lunged forward, hands outstretched. The scent of sweat and aftershave mixed in the humid air.

The next moment, both of us were hit by a car and thrown into the air.

It happened in a blur—the screech of tyres, the screech of people shouting, the metallic taste of fear in my mouth. For a heartbeat, everything was weightless: Arjun’s fingers brushing mine, the world tilting, the city spinning out of control.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night of the farewell party.

The echo of dhol beats, the laughter, the sticky scent of rosewater and rum—it all came rushing back. I lay on the thin hostel mattress, my heart pounding as if it remembered what I had lost and regained in one impossible moment.

Only then did I realise—I had been reborn, back to my final year.

I pinched my arm, half-expecting Amma’s voice to call me for dinner and end this strange dream.

This time, I decided to fulfil his wish and bring him together with the college beauty.

No more chasing shadows. This time, I would become the silent side character in my own story, playing matchmaker with the same determination that once drove me to top my class. If that was what Arjun wanted, I would tie the knots of fate with my own hands, even if it meant tearing my own heart in the process.