Ruhani Thakral had made up her mind.

After six days of dreamy stares, three near-stalking episodes, and thirty-two full-blown love fantasies titled "What If Raj Loved Me Too?"

She finally arrived at the sacred realization every Bollywood heroine is destined to reach:

"Watching from afar is for side characters. I am the main character."

She bolted up from bed like she'd heard the opening notes of a dramatic love song. Her sister blinked awake in confusion as Ruhani dramatically flung open her wardrobe. Today wasn't an ordinary day.

This was destiny day.... Confession day.... Crush ko impression day.

She chose her prettiest churidar—pastel lavender, soft like moonlight, with tiny gold beads stitched around the neckline. It hugged every curve she usually tried to hide. Today, she embraced them instead.

Hair? Open and wild—bouncy curls cascading like she'd just stepped out of a shampoo commercial.

Kajal? Perfectly smudged for the "Oops-I'm-effortlessly-divine" look.

Lips? Soft pink tint—the shade of delicate hope.

Her reflection stared back at her—unsure, nervous, glowing.

"Ruhani Thakral," she whispered to herself, gripping the dresser like she was about to take an oath before the gods of romance, "today you confess your love. Even if Raj Malhotra's dad is the biggest superstar in the country. Even if he's the campus legend. Even if he has never actually looked at you for more than 0.2 seconds."

She paused.... That familiar doubt crept up her spine. But she shook it off—literally shook her head like a lioness shaking away fear.

No negative thoughts... No smallness.... No "even ifs."

"I'm going to write my own love story!" she declared in the mirror.

And for one perfect moment — she believed it. She grabbed her backpack, spritzed her favorite vanilla perfume, and marched toward the college like she was walking onto a movie set. Every step echoed with the declaration: This is my story, and I'm done waiting for fate to notice me.

The morning sunlight kissed her cheeks as she stepped inside the college campus, heart hammering with excitement and terror. St. Cecilia's campus gates shimmered ahead like the entrance to a glamorous battlefield.

Ruhani inhaled deeply. Today... she would speak to him... Actually speak.

The butterflies in her stomach had formed their own flash mob. Her pulse was a dhol beating wedding rhythms in her ears. She smiled—big, bright, and brave. The universe would have to keep up. Because Ruhani Thakral was done being the background character in her own life. She was ready to set everything on fire.

At exactly 12:20 PM, her heartbeat reacted before her eyes could...Raj Malhotra.

Leaning against the library corridor wall like the building only existed to support his coolness. Phone in hand. Careless smirk. Hair perfectly mussed by destiny and expensive hair gel. The lights above flickered—spotlighting him like he was the main male lead entering his scene.

Time obeyed him.... Time slowed. Her dupatta fluttered dramatically, despite zero wind indoors. Somewhere in her mind, violins rose in hopeful crescendo. Ruhani inhaled confidence.

"One smile. Then words," she told herself. "Alia Bhatt energy. But no crying. We'll save heartbreak for the climax."

She stepped forward—graceful, bold, a heroine in motion.

Then—BAM!

Physics declared war. Her books shot into orbit. Her bag spiraled like a failed satellite.
Her heels betrayed her, and gravity, very rudely, did its job—THUD.

She crashed straight onto a human cushion.

A strangled squeak rose beneath her. "I—uh—are... Are you okay?"

She blinked down.

A boy lay trapped under her—cheeks flaming, glasses slightly crooked, hair giving up on life. His white shirt sported a blue ink stain, like it was crying too. A thick book on quantum computation sat nearby, deeply offended by its sudden relocation to the floor.

Oh no.... A nerd...A painfully awkward nerd.

He held his hands up like she was a fragile bomb. "I... I'm really sorry... I didn't—umm—"

He tried to wriggle out without touching her. Result: a flailing baby giraffe impression.

Ruhani laughed. Out loud. The absurdity melted some of the embarrassment.

"I'm fine," she said, brushing hair back. "Gravity is just personally attacking me today."

He blinked like he needed subtitles. "Uh... yeah. Happens... sometimes."

She stood and offered her hand. He stared at it for a half-second—like it was too bright—then took it gently. They knelt to collect his fallen books.

"Wow," she said, reading a cover. "Planning to build a robot army?"

He flushed deeper. "Just... trying to pass the time."

There was something refreshingly unpolished about him—like life hadn't crushed the softness yet. He looked like he belonged in a silent galaxy of formulas... not this noisy universe of popularity points.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Vihaan," he murmured. A breath. "Vihaan... Malhotra."

She froze.... Her eyes widened.

"Wait—Raj's—"

"Cousin," he supplied quickly. As if he'd been bracing for this exact reaction his entire life.

Ruhani turned—hope sprinting ahead of her heart. Raj stood at the far end of the corridor. Still scrolling.... Still smirking.... Still unaware she'd nearly sacrificed her bones for destiny.

Before she could call out—before fate could reset—he left.

Just turned and walked away.... Gone. The laughter echoing down the hall faded with him. The spotlight died. The violins stopped mid-note. All that bravado. All the makeup. All the courage she stitched into her outfit—wasted.

The corridor felt colder...crueler.

She inhaled sharply, trying not to choke on disappointment.

"Pure dramatic irony," she muttered, adjusting her bag like a shield. "Shakespeare must be thrilled."

And she walked on—heels clicking like stubborn declarations—unaware that two Malhotra boys had noticed her today.

One ignored her... The other... couldn't stop looking.