Aditya's POV

I’m not saying I’m dumb. 

Or maybe I am

I stood outside my house, keys in hand, still staring at the gate next door—the one Aarohi had just walked through like she hadn’t dropped the biggest twist of my teenage life.

She lives next door.

Next door.

As in, the same lane, shared boundary wall— and I don't know what more.

And I never noticed.

I replayed the moment in my head: the sarcasm, that look she gave me—like she’d been waiting for this very moment just to roast me alive and walk off with her dignity intact.

I muttered under my breath, "Saraswati Mata ne Kabir ke mooh pe tent kya, full wedding canopy laga diya tha."

He was right. GPS and glasses—I need both.

I stepped inside my house and tossed my bag on the sofa like it personally betrayed me. My brain was still buffering.

I’ve lived here for what—ten years? 

She was always there. 

Same school, same section, probably the same PT periods where she was quietly surviving while I was busy pretending to be injured.

And yet, she was invisible to me.

Or maybe… I was just too full of noise to hear her silence.

God.

And now we’re doing a group project together?

This is what karma looks like when she’s in a petty mood. 

And that’s when my loving, evil sister decided to add fuel to the fire.

“Muh pe baarah kyun baje hain?” she asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Kisi ne reject kar diya kya, famous backbencher ko? backbencher ka ego tod diya kya kisi ne finally?”

I stared at her. “No. But thanks for the concern.”

She grinned. “Oof, that bad, huh? Let me guess—It’s about a girl.”

I side-eyed her. “You’re not even close.”

“You’re right,” she said, mock-serious. “A girl rejecting you wouldn’t shock you this much. This feels more like… divine humiliation.”

I groaned. “Please. I’m already mentally injured.”

“Good,” she said, switching the TV on. “Pain builds character. Keep going.”

Honestly, between Aarohi roasting me like it was her hobby and my sister offering sarcasm as emotional support—I wasn’t sure who is the real villain in my story.

I dragged myself to the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed a Coke, slammed it  and leaned back. 

Suddenly, a memory surfaced.

It was some random Sunday evening last year. I was chilling on the terrace, headphones on. My mom had come up, holding her classic “let’s talk while you suffer” cup of chai.

She was talking about someone in the neighborhood.

“Aaj mujhe Seema ji aur unki beti mili,” she said,

 I didn’t even glance at her. “Kaun?”

 She sighed, clearly unimpressed. “Arey, jo humare pados mein rehte hain. Ganpati puja mein dance kiya tha tune?” 

 “Ohh… acha haan…” I mumbled, while switching the songs. 

 And then she dropped it—casual as ever. “Unki beti bahut pyaari hai… sundar bhi, aur padhai mein bhi bahut tez.” I

 think I replied with a legendary “hmm.” 

That was it. Didn’t ask her name, didn’t care. 

Probably switched the topic to dinner or something equally useless

Turns out, that sundar aur padhai mein tez ladki was Aarohi.

Now , that I think about it , 

She sure is pretty.

I groaned, rubbing my face.

I mean—sure, I’ve seen her around. Kind of. 

Once or twice maybe, while reversing the car or walking to the gym.

 But I always thought she was just someone’s cousin visiting. 

Turns out, she was the plot I never bothered to read.

And now?

Now she’s front and center. In my class, my project, my lane, and unfortunately… my head.

The weirdest part?

It doesn’t feel bad.

I’ve met tons of girls—loud ones, dramatic ones, insta-story addicts . 

They come, they go. 

Fun in the moment, forgettable the next. 

It always felt like I was missing something when they walked away.

But with Aarohi… it’s like I missed the whole story before it even started.

She’s silent, sarcastic, and absolutely uninterested in me—and that’s somehow the most interesting thing about her.

I went to my room and flopped on my bed, staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers.

Did I really ignore her all these years?

Nah. I didn’t ignore her.

I just… never saw her.

There’s a difference.

And now, suddenly, I can’t unsee her.

Her expressions 

the way she rolled her eyes

that one eyebrow raise she did when I asked if she was my neighbor… burned in my memory like a watermark.

Dammit.

She’s messing with my head, and we haven’t even started working on the actual project yet.

This is going to be chaos.

The quiet kind.

The sarcastic kind.

The kind who lives next door and turns your life into a plot twist.

And weirdly enough… I don’t mind.

_________________________