Hearts Without Flags
Chapter 1: The First Hello
It was the summer of 2025 when the United Nations hosted a Youth Cultural Exchange Program in Singapore. Among the 60 chosen participants were Aarav Malhotra, a 20-year-old boy from New Delhi, and Li Wen, a 21-year-old girl from Chengdu, China.
They couldn't have been more different.
Aarav, loud, witty, and fluent in sarcasm, was pursuing journalism. Li Wen, soft-spoken and thoughtful, was studying classical Chinese literature. When they were randomly assigned as partners for a cultural presentation, both silently groaned.
The first meeting was awkward.
"Uh… do you speak Hindi?" Aarav joked.
Li blinked. "Only English and Mandarin. And a little Korean."
"Cool. I speak sarcasm and some broken Mandarin," he smiled.
That made her laugh. It was a soft sound, like a chime. It broke the ice.
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Chapter 2: Clay, Tea, and Confessions
Their project was to create a joint cultural presentation. While others chose flashy topics, Li suggested something different — "Let's show how tea connects both our countries."
Tea. A simple, ancient drink. Yet so powerful.
They visited museums, talked to tea masters, and even shared long evenings experimenting with Indian chai and Chinese oolong. One night, as they brewed a mixed blend of Darjeeling and Pu-erh, Aarav asked:
"Don't you think it's funny how our countries are always suspicious of each other?"
Li stirred her cup. "Governments may be. But we're not our governments."
He looked at her, surprised. She met his gaze with calm sincerity.
That night, they didn't just share tea — they shared stories. Aarav spoke of Delhi winters, cricket matches, and his grandmother who still hummed old Hindi songs. Li told him about her calligraphy-loving father, spicy Sichuan food, and how her mother once dreamed of seeing the Taj Mahal.
A bond formed — quiet but deep.
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Chapter 3: The Wall Between
But outside their cocoon, reality had its way of sneaking in.
One morning, headlines screamed about a border skirmish between Indian and Chinese soldiers at the LAC. The air in the program hall turned tense. Even the organizers looked uncomfortable.
Aarav found Li sitting alone by the koi pond, her notebook untouched.
"I hate this," she said softly.
"I know."
"Back home, people will say you're my enemy."
"Same here."
She looked at him. "But you're not."
He smiled. "Neither are you."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy — it was understanding. Unspoken. Pure.
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Chapter 4: Fireflies and Futures
On the last night of the program, there was a lantern ceremony. Each participant was asked to write a wish on a paper lantern and release it into the night sky.
Aarav wrote: "May people see with hearts, not flags."
Li wrote hers in Mandarin. When he asked what it meant, she blushed. "It says, 'May I meet my friend again — beyond borders.'"
They released their lanterns side by side, their fingers brushing, their eyes reflecting firelight and something tender, unsaid.
Neither wanted to say goodbye. But flights waited. So did borders.
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Chapter 5: A Message Away
Back in Delhi, Aarav would sometimes pause by the chai stall outside his college and remember her — the way she held her teacup with both hands, the way her laughter made quiet seem musical.
In Chengdu, Li would sit in her courtyard with jasmine tea, checking her phone at odd hours.
They texted. Sometimes short hellos, sometimes long voice notes. On one quiet New Year's Eve, Aarav sent her a message: "Next year, let's drink tea together again."
Li replied instantly: "Let's not wait for the world to get perfect. Friends don't need permission."
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Epilogue: Beyond Borders
A year later, in Nepal — neutral ground — two friends met again. He brought saffron chai. She brought oolong. They brewed it together on a wooden stove near the Himalayas, the cold air carrying laughter and steam.
In a world divided by lines, they had built a bridge.
Not with treaties or politics.
But with stories. With honesty.
With tea.
With friendship.