You know how some people just exist in your life from the very beginning? Like, you never really remember meeting them — they were just... there. That’s how it was with Khushi.
The first time I remember seeing her, I was seven years old. My mom had taken me to one of her close friend’s house, like she often did on weekends. “Unki beti bhi hai, Khushi. Tum dono kheloge,” she said while tying my shoelaces. I was annoyed. I didn’t want to “play” with some random girl. I wanted to go back home and watch Ben 10.
But when I entered their house, Khushi was already sitting cross-legged on the floor, solving a jigsaw puzzle like she was cracking a secret code. She had two ponytails, a pink frock with cartoon flowers on it, and this serious look on her face like world peace depended on that puzzle.
She didn’t even look up when I walked in. “You can help if you want,” she said.
That was it. No hi, no smile — just that one sentence. I sat down next to her. And that’s how it all started.
Our parents were close, so I started going to her house often. Sometimes for dinner. Sometimes because my mom wanted “khud ka time” and dumped me there. At first, we just played Ludo or drew cartoons together. But slowly, she started becoming my person — the one I would go to when I broke my toy, when I got scolded by my teacher, or when I didn’t understand homework.
We ended up in the same school. Same class. Same row.
She always got top marks, and I was... well, I existed. My marks existed somewhere near the bottom of the sheet. But Khushi? She never made fun of me. Instead, she’d look at my test paper, click her tongue, and say, “Tu pagal hai kya? Ye question toh maine samjhaya tha kal!”
I’d scratch my head and give her a sheepish smile. “Bhool gaya.”
She never gave up on me.
We grew up like that — two train tracks running side-by-side. Always together, never crossing the line. But those moments... man, they built something inside me. I didn’t know what back then.
Like the time I had fever before the class trip and couldn’t go. She brought me back a chocolate bar and a crumpled ticket. “So that you feel like you went too,” she said. I still have that ticket.
Or the time when she cried because I told a lie to cover her during a surprise math test. She was angry. “You’ll get in trouble for me? Stupid Ayan.”
I didn’t tell her, but that day... I felt like a hero.
At night, I would lie on my bed and think about her without realizing I was thinking about her. She was just... everywhere. Like background music in my life. Constant. Comforting.
It never crossed my mind that Khushi could be anything more than a friend. I mean, we were just kids. Right?
But now that I look back — those moments were seeds. Seeds of something I didn’t even know was growing inside me.
One day, I fell from my bicycle and bruised my knee real bad. I didn’t cry — not because I was brave — but because Khushi was there. She held my hand tight and said, “Rona mat. Mujhe bura lagega.” And I didn’t.
That evening, she made a stupid little medal out of paper and gave it to me. "Bravest Boy Award," it said.
I still have that too.
So yeah. That was Khushi.
The girl who sat next to me for years. The girl who saw every version of me — the shy one, the lazy one, the angry one, and the stupid one — and never once walked away.
I didn’t know it yet, but she was about to become the most important chapter of my life.
And I? I was about to learn what it really means to fall in love.
[End of Chapter 1]