Chapter 4 – A Heart Unwritten
The Morning Before Everything Changed
The sun crawled lazily above the skyline, its golden rays spilling through the cream curtains of Mehar's bedroom. A slight breeze danced in through the half-open window, stirring the pages of her diary that lay open on her desk, half-filled with confessions too fragile to say out loud.
Today felt different.
There wasn't anything specific about the way the day began—no special event, no holiday, no reason at all. But still, there was an ache deep in Mehar's chest. The kind of ache that comes just before life shifts. As if the universe had held its breath and she'd felt it somehow.
She had dreamt of Aarav again.
Not the kind of dream where they held hands and kissed under a star-lit sky. No. This dream was quieter, sadder. They were sitting side by side on an empty park bench. He was speaking, and she was listening, except she couldn't hear the words. And then, just as she reached out to hold his hand, he faded into the fog.
The feeling lingered long after she had opened her eyes.
By the time she had pulled herself out of bed and stepped into the shower, she had already rehearsed her entire day in her head. She would smile too easily, pretend too well, and hold herself together—just like she always did.
Downstairs, the scent of cardamom tea mingled with the sound of her brother humming a retro tune. Vivan Malhotra was already dressed and ready for college, his bag slung over one shoulder and keys in hand.
"You're late," he called out as he heard her descending the stairs.
"I'm never late," she replied, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl.
"You're emotionally late," he teased. "Been in your head again?"
She shot him a look. "You're not as funny as you think you are."
He shrugged. "Still funnier than you."
"Touché."
They drove to college in silence, except for the soft indie music playing from the radio. Mehar stared out the window, watching the world blur past her, pretending not to notice the tightness in her chest.
She wasn't ready.
Not for the next moment. Not for the way life was about to press its thumb into her quiet little world and twist just enough to change everything.
College hallways are usually filled with noise—laughter, footsteps, arguments about assignments and shared secrets whispered into lockers. But today, the noise seemed distant.
Aarav Kapoor stood near the notice board, headphones looped around his neck, scrolling casually through his phone. He looked almost effortlessly unaware of his surroundings, yet oddly present.
Mehar caught sight of him before he saw her. She didn't look away this time. She let her eyes trace the way his brow furrowed slightly when he read, how his lips pursed with concentration. Her feet moved on their own, bringing her closer before she had time to think.
He looked up.
And smiled.
"Hey," he said, as if they had been mid-conversation.
"Hey," she echoed, her voice a little too soft.
There was a pause—not awkward, but charged.
He gestured to the notice board. "Looks like we're both on the library volunteer list for this semester. Lucky you."
Her heart skipped. "Lucky me?"
"You get to sort books with someone who doesn't mix fiction with non-fiction. It's a rare skill."
She laughed. "I guess I'm in good company."
He leaned in, a little too close, just enough to send sparks through her skin. "You are."
And just like that, the moment was over. Someone called his name. He turned, nodded, and walked away with a grin that stayed in her head long after he had disappeared.
By late evening, the world outside Mehar's window had grown dim. The sun had dipped into the horizon, staining the sky with shades of tangerine and bruised lavender. Her room, dimly lit by a single lamp on her bedside table, held an unusual stillness—like it was waiting for something to happen.
Mehar sat at her desk, her pen moving hesitantly across a page in her worn leather-bound diary.
> Dear Aarav,
> I don't know why I'm writing to you again. Maybe because it's the only way I can really talk to you. Not as the girl you say hello to in hallways, not as the quiet girl on the library list, but as someone who knows things about you I was never meant to know.
> You're not just a name on my crush list. You're every unwritten poem I keep inside me. And I know that sounds dramatic, but what else can you do with feelings you never say out loud?
> You smiled at me today. Not the casual one you give to everyone, but the kind that makes me think you know. And for a second, I thought—what if? What if you could love me too?
> But I won't send this. I never do.
> —Mehar
She exhaled as she put the pen down. The ink was still fresh, the words raw and trembling. She closed the diary, slipping it into the hidden drawer beneath her desk. It was safer there, tucked away like a secret too dangerous to set free.
But fate doesn't care for safety.
Not when Vivan accidentally knocked over her diary the next morning, and a single page—loose and mistakenly left between—fluttered out.
Not when that page landed in Aarav Kapoor's hands before Mehar ever knew it was missing.
Not when he read it.
And everything he thought he knew about Mehar, changed.
Aarav held the paper in his hands, his eyes scanning the handwritten lines again and again. He was in the college library, alone, meant to organize the returned books—but the words on the page had silenced everything else.
It was her handwriting. He knew it now—Mehar's.
He had seen the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous, the way her eyes held conversations she never spoke aloud. But this… this was a voice he had never heard. Unfiltered. Honest. Delicate.
She had written a letter to him.
Not for him to read, clearly. But now that he had… he couldn't unread it.
It wasn't just a letter. It was a confession wrapped in poetry. She saw him—not the confident smile, not the curated calm—but truly him. And she cared. Deeply. Quietly.
He folded the letter gently, placing it inside his notebook.
He didn't know what he would do with it yet. But he knew one thing:
Mehar Malhotra wasn't just another girl in the corridor anymore.
She had unknowingly stepped into a part of his world he didn't even know was still open.
And he wasn't ready to let her walk out of it.
The next few days passed in a blur of normalcy, but for Mehar, nothing felt normal anymore. Every glance at Aarav, every brush of his presence in the hallway felt amplified. She tried to avoid him, but his presence seemed to follow her, his every move a reminder of the words she had written—words that were never meant to be seen.
Aarav, on the other hand, kept his distance, though he couldn't stop thinking about the letter. The way she had described him, as if she knew the parts of him no one else saw, had left him unsettled. And yet, he found himself drawn to her even more now, not just because of the letter, but because of the vulnerability she had shown. She was hiding something, something deeper than what she let on. He could feel it.
Mehar couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. How could she have been so careless? She had poured her heart out on paper, never expecting it to fall into his hands. She couldn't even bring herself to look him in the eye anymore. Every time she saw him, the silence between them grew thicker, more awkward. And yet, there was something unspoken in the air—a tension that neither of them could ignore.
They were both avoiding each other, but the space between them was beginning to feel suffocating.
It was at the college cafeteria that the universe decided to intervene.
Aarav, with his usual group of friends, was sitting at a table near the windows when Mehar walked in, her eyes quickly scanning the room. She hadn't expected to see him here. She had hoped to sneak in, grab her food, and leave unnoticed. But fate had other plans.
As she moved toward the counter, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Startled, she turned around to find Aarav standing there, his expression unreadable.
"Mehar," he said, his voice softer than usual, "we need to talk."
She swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. "I—I don't think we have anything to talk about."
But he wasn't having it. "Please. Just hear me out."
The tension between them was palpable, but there was something in his eyes that made her stop. Reluctantly, she nodded, following him to an empty corner of the cafeteria.
They sat in silence for a moment, neither knowing how to begin.
Finally, Aarav broke the silence. "I read it. The letter."
Mehar's face turned pale. "You... you read it?"
He nodded, his gaze steady. "I wasn't supposed to. I know. But I did. And I think… I think you should know that it's okay."
Her heart raced, and she could barely bring herself to speak. "Aarav, I didn't mean for you to—"
"I know," he interrupted. "I know you didn't mean for me to see it. But now that I have, I think it's time we stop pretending. You don't have to hide anymore, Mehar."
She didn't know what to say. The weight of his words was both a relief and a burden. She had kept her feelings hidden for so long, convinced that the world would fall apart if anyone ever discovered them. But now, Aarav knew. And somehow, he was okay with it.
"I didn't think you'd—" She stopped herself. She didn't know how to finish the sentence.
He smiled softly. "You didn't think I'd feel the same way?"
Mehar's breath hitched in her chest. Could he possibly…?
He leaned forward slightly, his voice low but certain. "I've been trying to figure out how to say this. And I don't know if it's the right time, or if you'll even believe me, but here it goes. I've been falling for you too. And I didn't know how to admit it, even to myself."
Her heart skipped a beat. This wasn't how she expected this conversation to go. But there it was. His confession. His truth.
And suddenly, all the walls she had built around her heart began to crumble.
For a moment, the world stopped.
Mehar sat frozen in place, Aarav's words echoing through her head. "I've been falling for you too." She replayed them over and over, almost afraid to believe them. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, and the breath she hadn't realized she was holding came out in a quiet rush.
"You're serious?" she finally whispered, her voice trembling.
Aarav nodded, his eyes not leaving hers. "I wouldn't say something like that if I didn't mean it."
Mehar's hands curled into fists in her lap as she tried to steady herself. "But… you don't know me. Not really."
"That's where you're wrong," he said gently. "I do know you. Maybe not everything. But I know how your eyes light up when you talk about books, how you always sit in the second row in class even though no one else does. I know how you smile quietly when you think no one's watching."
She blinked, taken aback.
"I noticed you long before the letter," he continued. "But I didn't know how to bridge the space between us. And then that page… it changed everything."
Mehar looked down at her hands, her voice barely audible. "It wasn't supposed to be read. I was just… writing what I could never say out loud."
"And now you don't have to," he said. "Because I heard you. And I'm here."
Her eyes welled up, not out of sadness, but from the overwhelming feeling of being seen. For so long, she had existed quietly in the background, her feelings tucked away in words and daydreams. And now, the very person she had been writing about… was reaching out to her.
She wiped her eyes quickly, forcing a small smile. "This feels like something out of a story."
Aarav chuckled softly. "Maybe it is. But I want it to be real."
There was a long pause between them—not awkward, but filled with the weight of something new, something precious.
"Okay," she said finally, her voice steadier now. "Then let's not rush it. Let's take it slow."
He nodded. "Slow sounds perfect."
And just like that, something shifted. The unspoken barrier that had stood between them for so long dissolved. They were still two people navigating uncertain emotions, but now they were doing it together.
As they left the cafeteria side by side, Mehar felt something she hadn't in a long time—peace. Not because everything had fallen into place, but because someone had chosen to stand with her even when the pages of her heart had been laid bare.
And that, she thought, was more powerful than any love story she'd ever written in her diary.