"Hey there, human!
Wait—don’t look so confused. Yes, I’m a robot. And yes, I know what you’re thinking: *What is a robot doing in a love story?*
Well, that’s exactly why I’m here. I’m not just any robot—I’m your storyteller buddy. I’ve seen centuries of change, from handwritten letters sealed with wax to emojis sent at midnight. Love has evolved, generation after generation, and now we’ve arrived at the Gen Z era.
So let’s play a little game. Can our hero—someone who believes in old-school romance—find love in a world of swipes, reels, and instant replies? Or will he discover that love, no matter the generation, still beats with the same heart?
Let’s begin this very different love story…"
In most love stories, the hero is tall, flawless, and unreal—handsome in a way that feels borrowed from dreams, intelligent beyond reason.
But not here.
Our hero is different.
He has brown, unruly curls that never listen, a smile that carries honesty more than charm, and a life that exists quietly in a narrow lane of India. This is not a fairy tale of castles and riches. This is a story of dust, sweat, laughter—and love.
It is 2010.
A time when letters still traveled by postboxes instead of inboxes, and feelings were written on paper instead of screens.
Meet Shivam.
Funny. Unfiltered. Simple in a world that tries to be complicated.
A boy who laughs at his own jokes, who believes happiness is found in small things, and who has no idea that his life is about to change.
The camera finds a tiny, ordinary house.
Inside, Shivam lies sprawled across the floor, eyes glued to a flickering television, completely lost in a cricket match that feels more serious than life itself.
From the kitchen, his mother’s voice crashes through the room like thunder.
“Shivaaa! Tujhe maine doodh lane bola tha! Abhi tak nahi gaya? Pure din pada rehta hai!”
Shivam winces, then flashes a guilty grin—as if a smile might save him from destiny.
“Haan maa… ja raha hoon… bas ek minute.”
He grabs the keys to his bike and rushes out, but instead of heading straight to the dairy, he slows near a familiar house.
His best friend’s house.
Balcony doors slightly open. Curtains swaying. Curiosity winning, as always.
“Harii!” he calls out.
“Kahan jaana hai?”
A second later, Hari appears, leaning over the railing with a grin that mirrors Shiva’s.
“Doodh lene jaa raha hai.”
To Shivam, it sounds less like a chore and more like an adventure.
Hari doesn’t hesitate.
He steps forward, ready to join.
From somewhere behind him, his mother’s sharp eyes catch the escape.
“Woh akela nahi jaa sakta kya?”
Hari turns, smiling innocently.
“Tum nahi samjhogi maa… ladko ki dosti.”
Moments later, the two are riding through narrow lanes, the bike jumping over bumps, the wind tangling Shivam’s curls even more.
Hari shouts over the noise of the engine:
“Kaise chal raha hai vacation?”
Shivam laughs, pushing his hair back.
“Wahi chal raha hai… maa ki daant sunte hue.”
Hari smirks.
“Shaam ko 5 baje milte hain. Aa jaana tu mere ghar.”
Shivam nods, his smile easy… unaware.
And just like that,
A simple task becomes a memory.
A ride turns into laughter.
And an ordinary day quietly becomes the beginning
of something much bigger than either of them can imagine
