One year into their relationship, Aryan and Aashi were more than lovers. They had become each other's constant, their calm in the chaos, their shelter from the storm. In a world full of fleeting moments and shifting priorities, they were a sense of permanence. They were each other's home.
Every morning before her hospital shift began, Aryan would send her the same —simple but grounding: "Be safe. Heal lives. Come back to me." And every night, regardless of how long the day had been or how heavy her feet felt, Aashi would lay her head on his chest and whisper against his skin, "I'm proud of the man you are becoming."
They didn't need grand declarations or approval from the world. Their love didn't depend on the noise outside. They had carved a world of their own, and it was enough.
Weekends were their favourite escape. When the weight of responsibility loosened its grip, Aryan would pull up in his car, engine humming, and she'd hop in without a plan or a map. They would drive for hours, letting the wind decide their direction, windows down, music up, hearts light. Sometimes they ended up in busy cafés on the city's edge, and other times in quiet villages that felt like hidden stories.
One weekend, they found a quiet village on a hill that felt frozen in time. A broken truck had stalled near a school, and without hesitation, Aryan rolled up his sleeves to help the local mechanic while Aashi wandered into the schoolyard. There, she played with wide-eyed children under a mango tree, her laughter blending with theirs like a song.
That night, lying on a borrowed mat under a sky full of stars, Aryan pulled her into his arms and whispered, "This is the life I want. Not the boardrooms. Just this. You. Me. Peace."
Aashi looked up at him, her eyes soft with certainty, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Then let's build that life. Together."
They began searching for a small apartment near the hospital, a place to call their own.
Aryan, who loved doing sweet things, tried his hand at cooking. He burned rice more often than not, but Aashi laughed and guided him patiently, showing him how to rinse it twice, when to add the water, and how to cover the pot at the right moment. He gifted her poetry books with scribbled notes in the margins. She selected music playlists for his morning jogs, slipping in songs with lyrics that reminded her of them.
They argued, of course. Real love had its rough moments. But no matter how strong the storm, their love kept them grounded. They always found their way back to each other, like the tide returning to the shore.
One rainy evening, just as her shift ended, Aryan showed up outside the hospital without any warning. He was soaked, his clothes clinging to him and his hair stuck to his forehead. Still, he stood there, holding a single red rose.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, half laughing, half scolding as she hurried under his umbrella.
He grinned, spinning her in the rain before pulling her close. "Just reminding you how madly in love with you I am."
He kissed her then slow and deep, full of warmth, full of unspoken promises. The hospital guards chuckled from their post, cars honked impatiently in the background, but for Aashi and Aryan, time stopped. In their world, nothing else mattered when they were in each other's arms.
But life, unpredictable and cruel, had other plans.
Slowly, shadows began to creep into their sunlit world.
It started with little things. Aryan missed their usual Sunday coffee date, saying there was an urgent family meeting. Aashi had smiled and let it go, but a quiet unease settled in her chest. She told herself not to overthink it—people get busy, plans change. But still, something felt off.
at that formal family dinner—a stiff evening full of sharp suits and sharper smiles. Aryan's father had insisted he attend.
When they met afterward, Aryan spoke about the event briefly to aashi, then mentioned someone new—Sara(Confident, elegant, and clearly introduced for a reason). He said her name casually, like it didn't matter. But Aashi noticed the way his tone shifted, just slightly.
"She's just a family friend," he told Aashi later, brushing her hair away from her eyes, trying to ease the tightness in her chest.
But that tightness remained. Her heart clenched every time she thought of the way he'd said Sara's name.
Then came strange shifts at work. Aashi was transferred unexpectedly, her promotion delayed without explanation. Whispers followed her in hospital corridors—none said aloud, but loud enough to hurt. Something wasn't right.
Aryan, once her open book, had grown quieter. He answered calls late. He spent hours locked in meetings. The pressure on him was growing, and though he tried to hide it, she saw it in the tension of his shoulders, in the sighs he thought she didn't hear.
One night, after a particularly harsh shift, Aashi returned to her apartment to find Aryan sitting alone on the balcony. The city lights flickered in the distance, but his eyes were lost in darkness.
"Talk to me," she said gently, walking toward him.
He looked up, and in that moment, he wasn't the confident heir, or the man with the world at his feet. He was just Aryan—tired, afraid, vulnerable.
"I'm scared I'll lose you," he whispered, his voice cracking.
She sat beside him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as if her embrace could shield him from the world. "Then fight for me," she said softly, "like I'd fight for you."
They kissed then—slow, desperate, aching with a fear neither dared voice aloud. It felt like a goodbye, though no one said it. As if both their hearts had sensed a shift in the wind.
Because deep down, they both knew—something was changing. And even the strongest love was about to be tested.