Chapter 12

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Roohi's POV

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Gauravi demanded.

“Doing what?” I asked defensively.

“Letting him stomp all over your heart with his stupid, oblivious charm!”

"What are you talking about, I am not!"

Gauravi cornered me, “I know you have a crush on him. He doesn't feel the same way. Why do you do this to yourself, Roohi?” she asked, her voice a mix of exasperation and concern.

I didn’t have an answer. How could I explain that loving him wasn’t something I chose? It was as natural to me as breathing, as vital as my heartbeat. Even when it hurt. Even when it broke me. It was simply a part of who I was.

" For God's sake, say something. " She shook me.

“What am I supposed to do?” I snapped. “I can’t help liking him, no matter how hard I try.”

Gauravi sighed. “Well, then you need to either tell him how you feel or get over him. This pining thing? It’s not cute anymore. You deserve better than being a silent spectator in his life.”

But I couldn’t tell him. Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if I lost him entirely?

********

If I close my eyes and let my mind drift, it’s always Vihan I find at the heart of my memories, his laughter woven into every cherished moment of my life. It’s not just the milestones that stand out—it’s the little things, the teasing remarks, the stolen glances, and the way he’s always been there, oblivious to the havoc he wreaks on my heart.

I remember the carnival when we were sixteen, a day filled with vibrant colors and endless possibilities. I’d decided it would be the day, the one where he’d see me as more than just Roohi, his best friend. There was a Ferris wheel, the perfect setting for my imaginary movie moment. I envisioned us sitting side by side, the city lights twinkling below, my heart racing as I found the courage to confess.

I’d been planning it all day, eyeing the Ferris wheel as the ideal spot to confess my feelings.

But Gauravi, ever the meddler, had other plans. “You’re plotting something, aren’t you?” she said, her smirk was as sharp as ever.

When the moment came, I mustered every ounce of courage to pull Vihan towards the Ferris wheel. Just as I thought I had succeeded, Gauravi ruined everything by deciding to join us. “You don’t even like rides,” I hissed at her.

“True,” she replied with a smirk, “but I love ruining your plans."

As the wheel climbed higher, Vihan leaned forward, his face lit with boyish wonder. “Look at that view, Roohi. Isn’t it amazing?” he asked, his breath warm on my cheek. My heart stuttered, ready to leap out of my chest, and just as I mustered the courage to say something—anything—Gauravi threw a handful of kernels of popcorn at us, her teasing laugh cutting through the moment.

“Stop making googly eyes, Roohi. It’s gross,” she taunted, and Vihan, clueless as always, joined her laughter. I sat there, cheeks burning, trying to salvage my dream that had burst midair like a flimsy soap bubble.

Vihan was entirely oblivious to the mortified look on my face. I wanted to disappear.

I wonder, what would have been his reaction if he had understood.

******

One day, the next year, I heard Vihan praising some girl’s baking skills. Jealousy is a strange thing—it pushes you into territories you never thought you’d venture into. Baking, for instance. I had never touched a whisk in my life, but that didn’t stop me.

I thought cookies might do what words couldn’t. Vihan had been raving about a classmate’s baking skills, and I decided I’d make cookies for him myself—proof that I could impress him too.

“You’ve never baked in your life,” Gauravi reminded me skeptically.

“Well, there is a first time for everything. Detailed recipe please,” I said confidently. We found a recipe on the internet and tried it.

“These cookies will blow his mind,” I declared to Gauravi, who looked unconvinced.

The result was disastrous: edges burnt to charcoal, centers stubbornly raw. “It’s the thought that counts,” I said, stubbornly packing them into a box and handing them to him, smiling nervously.

“Wow, you made these?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.

“For you,” I said, hoping the gesture would outweigh the taste.

"For me? How sweet! ”

He took a bite and immediately winced, reaching for a glass of water. “These are... unique,” he said, trying to sound diplomatic.

I felt a pang of embarrassment, but then he added with a soft smile, “No one’s ever baked for me before. Thanks, Roohi. That’s sweet.”

Even though he didn’t finish a single cookie, his words had me floating for days.

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