You and Joshua had been at each other’s throats since the tenth standard. Not literally — but barely. He teased, provoked, pushed every button like he had a damn manual. You matched him, jibe for jibe, glare for glare. Teachers called it “unresolved tension.” Your friends called it warfare. You just called it normal.

Then college happened. Puberty hit like a truck. He walked into campus taller, broader, voice deeper, jaw sharper, chain always glinting against his throat. His hair, always a little wild, now looked like it belonged in an ad. He was irritatingly aware of it. And you-you’d grown too. Into your own skin, your own silence. You didn’t rise to every bait anymore. You chose which battles to burn him in.

But the spark didn’t die. It simmered. Heated. Turned into something else neither of you dared name.

So when you walked into your classmate’s house party in that wine-red saree, backless blouse, earrings brushing your shoulders, you weren’t expecting the world to shift. You’d worn sarees before. For school farewells, cousins’ weddings, the usual. But tonight, you wore it for yourself. Felt like reclaiming something.

You didn’t expect him to be there. Of course, fate laughed. He stood by the speakers, drink in hand, sleeves rolled up, chain catching the light. Forearms veined, hair an utter mess. He looked like trouble, and for once, he wasn’t hiding it.

His eyes found you. Froze. Like he’d been punched in the gut. He blinked. Looked like he had something to say. Then turned away. And that should’ve been the end of it. But of course, it wasn’t.

Later, you found the balcony, a little escape from the crowd, the heat, the constant bass drops of bad Bollywood remixes. Delhi air was hardly romantic, but it was quieter. You leaned against the railing, letting the breeze cool your cheeks. And then you felt it, that shift again. The air suddenly thickened with something unnamed. You turned.

Joshua stood in the doorway, lit faintly by the warm light spilling from inside. No smirk. No smug remark. Just wrecked. Jaw tight. Hair disheveled. Chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. “Joshua?” you asked, quietly. He didn’t answer. Just walked toward you. Slow, steady, intense. You stepped back, instinctively, till your lower back met the railing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he muttered, almost to himself. He stared, eyes burning. “You’ve been driving me insane for years.” You swallowed. “I thought I hated it,” he continued, voice hoarse. “Hell, I thought I hated you. That was easier. Fighting you, arguing with you — at least it gave me control. But now…” He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You walk in wearing that, and I forgot how to breathe.”

“I’m being honest,” he snapped. “You’ve been in my head for months. Years. I’ll be doing the most mundane shit and suddenly, there you are — smirking, laughing, arguing. It’s like you branded yourself into my goddamn brain.” He stepped closer. “I see some guy talking to you, and I want to punch a wall. You smile at someone else, and my stomach twists. And I hate it. I hate how much I feel.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Because somewhere along the way, it stopped being a fight. And I didn’t notice until it was too late.” You stared at him, heart in your throat. “I didn’t realise what this was till recently,” he admitted. “But now I know. It’s not just banter. It’s not rivalry. It’s you.”

He tapped his temple. “Here. Always.” Then placed a hand over his chest. “And here. Especially here.” You could feel the heat of him now, the weight of every word. The silence between you wasn’t empty anymore. It was heavy. Meaningful. “Say something,” he whispered. “Please. Because if you don’t hate me back, I swear I won’t survive this.”

You looked up at him, at the boy who’d been your storm since school — and saw the man who’d fallen, utterly and helplessly, in love.