First love...
First love...
Ananya had just turned eighteen that winter. She lived in a quiet lane in a small neighborhood of Kolkata, where afternoons were slow and evenings smelled of jasmine and fresh tea.
Across the narrow balcony from her house lived her neighbor, Ritam.
She had known him for years — the boy who flew kites on the rooftop, who argued loudly with his friends during cricket matches, who once helped her carry groceries when her father wasn't home. But something had changed after her eighteenth birthday. Maybe it was the way he had grown taller, his voice deeper. Or maybe it was the way he now looked at her — not just as the girl next door.
It started with small things.
One evening, as Ananya stood on her balcony watering plants, she heard his voice.
"Your marigolds are dying. Too much water."
She turned, pretending to be annoyed. "And since when did you become a gardening expert?"
"Since I started noticing what you do every day," he replied, smiling.
Her heart skipped. She didn't understand why such a simple sentence made her feel warm inside.
Days passed. Their conversations grew longer. They began meeting on the terrace during sunset — not planned, just coincidental timing that somehow always matched. They talked about college dreams, fears, favorite songs, and childhood memories. Ritam wanted to study engineering. Ananya wanted to study literature and maybe write stories someday.
One rainy afternoon, the power went out in the entire neighborhood. Thunder rolled across the sky. Ananya hated storms. She stood near the window, hugging herself.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed.
"Are you scared?" – Ritam.
She didn't reply.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. Her mother opened it. Ritam stood there holding a candle.
"Aunty, we have extra candles. Thought you might need one."
But when their eyes met, Ananya knew that wasn't the real reason.
Later that evening, they stood near the doorway while rain poured heavily outside. The candlelight flickered between them.
"You know," he said softly, "I've always looked at you. But this year… it feels different."
Her heartbeat was louder than the rain.
"Different how?" she whispered.
"Like I don't just want to wave from the balcony anymore."
Silence.
Then she smiled — nervous, shy, but sure.
"I don't want to just wave either."
That was their beginning.
No dramatic confession. No grand gestures. Just two neighbors who slowly realized that the person they had been looking for was just across the balcony all along.
First love wasn't loud for Ananya. It was quiet. It was shared sunsets. It was checking if the other had reached home safely. It was studying together but talking more than studying. It was stolen glances during family gatherings.
And on her eighteenth year, she understood something beautiful — sometimes love doesn't arrive from far away.
Sometimes, it grows right next door 🌸