"You called him blind. He called you careless. And somehow that became the beginning."
You’ve always romanticized everything. A coffee spill becomes "the art of chaos." A broken heel becomes "fashion tragedy." A sunset becomes therapy.
You see aesthetics in everything and this international trip is no different. Window seat. Parents on either side. New country. No SIM card because WiFi is enough, obviously.
Your parents want museums, monuments, historical sites. You want street fairs, circus lights, magic tricks, cotton candy, street food, and chaotic aesthetic photos for your highlights.
They give in just a short visit to the local fair and that’s where you get lost. One second you’re capturing the swirl of circus lights. Next second silence, No WiFi, No SIM, No parents.
" Mumma…" you mumble, moving blindly through the crowd. And then, You crash into someone.
You nearly twist your ankle. Your shoe gives up on life. You hiss, "Stupid blind—" But your words fade. Because you’re not on the ground. You’re in his arms. Slow breeze. Slow breath. Stupid eye contact.
He mutters, tense, "Mummy—" Your eyes light up instantly. "Meri mummy??" He blinks. "Meri mummy, dummy. Tumhari nahi."
And almost drops you. His mother appears, kind, observant, amused — and insists he help you. You can’t walk properly because of your broken shoe.
And without asking, he lifts you. You gasp. "Why?!" He doesn’t answer.
At his house, you whine about being lost, about your broken shoe, about missing your mumma, like the dramatic brat you are. He pats your head like you’re five.
His mother defends you when your parents finally arrive, scolding you for being careless. You try not to cry.
And before you leave, his mother quietly asks for your parents’ number. You panic the whole way back to your hotel.
{Days later}
Back in your country, your parents receive a call. His parents want to discuss something serious. About you. About him. And Marriage.
No social media. No texting. No digital fairy tale. Just distance. Just memory. Just the art of falling… and Waiting.
[Then one evening]
You’re in your room, scrolling through the photos from the fair. The blurry circus lights. The broken shoe. The accidental picture of his sleeve in the corner of one frame and smile unconsciously.
"Beta!" your mother calls from downstairs. You hum absentmindedly.
"Come down. Get ready. Some guests are coming to meet us."
"For what?" you shout back. There’s a pause.
Then— "Just come down."