Aarav and I were never friends.
We grew up in the same house because our mothers were best friends, but that didn’t make us close. While they laughed and shared secrets, we argued over everything—small things, big things, even the way we breathed seemed like a competition. I teased him; he teased me back. We were enemies by habit, rivals by nature.
Then my mother moved me away. Years passed. Memories of our fights, the laughter, and the endless teasing faded into quiet nostalgia. I didn’t think much about him… until the day I came back.
Joining a new school was nerve-wracking, but I never expected to see him there—Aarav, sleeping on the middle row last bench, head resting on his arms as if the world didn’t exist. Even asleep, he looked sharp and intimidating, calm yet untouchable. A mix of the boy I once hated and someone I couldn’t stop noticing.
The teacher glanced at me and said casually,
“Sit with the class topper.”
I ignored her. My eyes scanned the classroom, and there he was, Aarav, sleeping peacefully. Whispers followed me, but I ignored them. I walked straight to him. Without hesitation, I leaned forward, grabbed his ear, and pulled, saying,
“Move a little. I want to sit here.”
The classroom froze. Even the teacher’s mouth opened slightly in shock.
Aarav flinched awake, eyes widening as they met mine. Time seemed to stop for a heartbeat. He didn’t react angrily, didn’t push me away. He simply paused, blinked slowly, and then—calmly—said,
“…Okay. Sit.”
Gasps filled the room. He, the boy who never allowed anyone near him, had just obeyed me.
From that day, life changed.
Aarav remained the same with everyone else—feared, sharp, relentless. He bullied classmates, intimidated anyone who dared cross his path. But with me, he was gentle, attentive, and kind. Whenever someone tried to approach me, he silently appeared beside me. Boys didn’t dare talk to me. Not because I asked, but because he was always there.
One afternoon, my mother took me to his house. His mother opened the door, froze, then smiled warmly.
“Akanksha? You’re back! We wondered when we’d see you again.”
Our mothers laughed, sharing memories of old times. I felt warmth in my chest as Aarav watched quietly from the corner. Calm, protective, and unreadable—the boy I had teased and argued with as a child now seemed impossible to read, yet I trusted him completely.
One night, under the stars on the terrace, I finally asked the question that had haunted me for years.
“Aarav… why are you always like this? Always around me? Are you… jealous?”
He looked at me for a long moment, then whispered,
“I… I don’t know very well. But… I love you.”
My heart skipped a beat. Years of silent arguments, childhood rivalry, and unspoken feelings rushed back. Slowly, I smiled.
“I… I loved you too. Since childhood. I just never dared to speak… because we were always… opposites.”
The night was calm. The breeze carried our unspoken words. No dramatic confessions, no loud gestures—just a deep, quiet understanding. Love had always existed quietly, waiting patiently between two hearts.
And in that gentle night, I realized—sometimes the strongest love grows where the fiercest rivalry once lived.
