The beach festival in our town was no joke. It was the event.
Think fairy lights tangled in palm trees, indie bands on wooden stages, food stalls that smelled like heaven, and colors bursting like fireworks.
And this year?
I wasn't going just as Rishi's little sister.
I was going as a woman with a plan (and eyeliner wings sharp enough to slice feelings).
---
"You look…" Aarav trailed off as I stepped out in a sea-green saree, hair loosely tied, silver bindi on my forehead, and anklets chiming softly with every step.
"Yeah?" I tilted my head.
He blinked. "You look nice."
Nice.
Nice?!
Sir, I didn't wrap a 6-yard emotional weapon to be called nice.
But before I could respond, Rishi came out. "Let's go! Everyone's waiting. Tapu, Aryan said he'll meet us there."
Cue: Aarav's jaw clenching so hard I thought he might crush the coconut we hadn't even bought yet.
---
The festival was a blur of warm lights and loud music. Sand underfoot, laughter everywhere, and stalls selling everything from sea-shell bracelets to kulfi in matkas.
And then Aryan appeared.
Wearing a kurta, holding two kulfis.
One of which he handed to me.
"For the prettiest girl on the beach," he said with a smile.
I could almost feel Aarav materializing behind us with death rays in his eyes.
"Thanks," I smiled. "This is so sweet."
Aryan leaned in. "Wanna walk by the water? It's quieter."
Before I could say yes or no, Aarav's voice cut in.
"She's allergic to that kulfi, actually."
Aryan blinked. "What?"
I blinked harder. "I'm WHAT now?!"
Aarav shrugged. "Didn't you say that flavor makes your throat itchy?"
That was years ago. A lie I once told Rishi to get out of sharing.
"Seriously?" I muttered.
Aryan looked awkward. "Oh. I'll get something else—"
"No need," Aarav said, smoothly taking the kulfi from me and eating it himself.
Aryan laughed, a little stiff. "Guess I should've asked first."
"You should," Aarav said, eyes locked on mine.
Aryan wandered off to get a drink, and I turned to Aarav. "What was that?"
"That was me saving you from kulfi-induced regret," he said.
"You're so—ugh!"
"I'm what?" He stepped closer. "Overprotective? Possessive? Irrational?"
"All of the above!" I hissed.
He smirked. "And yet… you haven't walked away."
My cheeks burned hotter than the chaat counter.
I turned, pretending not to care.
But inside?
My heart was salsa dancing in 4-inch heels.
---
Later that night, I stood near the water, barefoot, holding my sandals.
Someone walked up behind me.
I thought it'd be Aryan.
But of course, it was Aarav.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"How someone keeps interrupting all my almost-romantic moments."
He grinned. "Maybe because they don't want you to have almost anything. Maybe they want… everything."
My heart froze.
His fingers brushed mine. Not quite holding. But close.
Too close.
We stood there.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
But definitely feeling.
---
Dear diary,
The beach looked pretty.
But he looked better.
Aryan is sweet.
But Aarav is…
A storm I want to get lost in.
P.S. How do you flirt without combusting?