The Blue Scooty and The Thermodynamics Lecture

The blare of horns is a discordant symphony as I sit trapped in this gridlock. Delhi traffic, as always, is a beast. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, the minutes ticking by, each one a grain of sand slipping away from my already tight schedule. I'm Arjun Sharma, twenty years old, and late for my Thermodynamics lecture – again.

Suddenly, a splash of color cuts through the monotony. On a bright blue scooty, a girl navigates the stalled cars with an effortless grace. She's dressed in a simple salwar kameez, her long, dark hair swaying gently as she turns towards a group of girls huddled near the college gate. "Jay Shree Krishna," she calls out, her voice a melodic chime that somehow rises above the cacophony. The other girls respond in kind, their faces lighting up at her arrival.

There's something about her serene expression, the quiet confidence in her eyes, that captivates me. It's a stark contrast to the usual frenzy of college life, the constant striving for grades and the relentless pursuit of… well, everything. I find myself drawn⁰ to her calm demeanor, a quality I often lack.

I watch as she parks her scooty, retrieves her bag, and joins her friends, their laughter a soft murmur in the background. I feel a pull, an inexplicable curiosity that tugs at me. Before I can talk myself out of it, I maneuver my car forward, inching closer to the college entrance.

The traffic begins to flow again, but my mind is still stuck on that girl. I park my car haphazardly and rush towards the engineering block, yet my gaze keeps drifting towards the group of girls near the canteen. She's there, her presence a magnetic force.

I try to focus on reaching my lecture hall, on the complex equations and thermodynamic principles that await me. But she's a distraction, a pleasant intrusion into my otherwise predictable routine. It's not just physical attraction; it's something deeper. Perhaps it's admiration for her adherence to tradition, her unshakeable connection to her roots in a world that often feels adrift.

As I pass by, I catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes are dark and intelligent, her smile warm and genuine. A fleeting moment, but it's enough to solidify my resolve. I need to know more about her. I want to understand what makes her so different, so… captivating. The lecture can wait. Today, my curiosity takes precedence. I decide to find out her name.

My heart pounds a little faster than usual as I approach the group of girls near the canteen. I feign checking my phone, casually positioning myself to overhear their conversation. Snippets of Hindi and English phrases float in the air – notes on an upcoming festival celebration, complaints about a particularly harsh professor, the usual college chatter. Then, I hear it – a name. "Radha, you´re handling the decorations, right?" one of the girls asks. Radha. The name suits her, somehow.

Grounded, traditional, beautiful. Gathering my courage, I take a deep breath and decide to act. "Excuse me," I say, trying to sound nonchalant, as if I´m not completely aware of the heat rising in my cheeks. "I couldn´t help but overhear you talking about the festival decorations. I´m in the organizing committee for the engineering department. Maybe we could collaborate?" Radha looks up, her dark eyes meeting mine. There´s a flicker of surprise, perhaps even amusement, in her gaze.

"Oh," she says, her voice soft and melodic, just like I imagined. "That´s... interesting. I´m Radha, and yes, we´re planning the decorations for the cultural program." She pauses, assessing me with a quiet intensity that makes me want to fidget. "But I thought the engineering department was focused on technical events?" "We are," I reply quickly, "but we also believe in a well-rounded college experience. Plus," I add with a nervous chuckle, "I´m personally very interested in contributing to the cultural side of things." One of Radha´s friends, a girl with bright, mischievous eyes, raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Is that so, mister…?" "Arjun," I say, extending my hand towards Radha.

"Arjun Sharma." She hesitates for a moment before taking my hand. Her touch is light, almost ethereal, sending a jolt of unexpected electricity through my arm. "Nice to meet you, Arjun," she says, her smile widening slightly. "Well, Arjun, we could certainly use the help. But be warned, we take our decorations very seriously." "I wouldn´t have it any other way," I respond, my voice gaining confidence. "So, where do we begin?"

Radha leads me towards a shaded corner of the canteen, away from the boisterous crowd. Her friends follow, their eyes darting between us with obvious curiosity. She pulls out a notebook filled with sketches and ideas, a vibrant tapestry of colors and patterns. ´We´re planning a traditional theme, focusing on the rich cultural heritage of Rajasthan,´ she explains, pointing to a detailed drawing of a toran, a decorative door hanging. ´We want to create an atmosphere that celebrates our roots, amidst all the modern chaos.´ I nod, genuinely impressed by her vision. ´It´s beautiful, Radha. Really. I can see the amount of thought you´ve put into this. How can I help?´ She smiles, a genuine, radiant smile that makes my heart skip a beat.

´Well, Arjun, we need manpower. Lots of it. We need help with sourcing materials, painting backdrops, setting up the stage… the list is endless.´ Her friends chime in, adding to the list of tasks. It´s overwhelming, but I find myself strangely invigorated by the challenge. ´Consider me your manpower,´ I say, grinning. ´Tell me what needs to be done, and I´ll do it.´ Radha looks at me, her expression thoughtful. ´Okay, Arjun,´ she says slowly. ´Let´s start with sourcing the materials. We need vibrant fabrics, colorful threads, mirrors… a whole range of things.

Are you familiar with the markets in Old Delhi?´ My face falls slightly. Old Delhi… the chaotic, crowded, labyrinthine markets are not exactly my forte. But I can´t back down now. ´I… I can find my way around,´ I stammer, trying to sound more confident than I feel. Radha laughs softly, a musical sound that washes over me. ´Don´t worry, Arjun, I´ll come with you. It´s impossible to navigate those markets without a local guide. Plus,´ she adds, her eyes twinkling, ´I know all the best vendors.´ Relief floods through me, followed by a surge of excitement. Spending an afternoon with Radha, navigating the bustling streets of Old Delhi… the thought is incredibly appealing.

´That would be… amazing,´ I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady. ´When do you want to go?´ ´How about tomorrow afternoon?´ she suggests. ´After classes, we can meet here and head straight to the market.´ ´Perfect,´ I say, my smile widening. ´I´ll see you then, Radha.´ As I walk away, my head is buzzing with anticipation. I can feel her friends´ eyes on my back, their whispers a mixture of amusement and curiosity. But I don´t care. I´ve secured an afternoon with Radha, a chance to delve deeper into her world, to understand the traditions and values that make her so unique. And maybe, just maybe, to forge a connection that goes beyond a shared interest in festival decorations. Tomorrow can´t come soon enough.

The next day, I find myself unusually attentive in my Thermodynamics lecture, though my mind keeps drifting back to the planned trip to Old Delhi. As soon as the bell rings, I practically sprint to the canteen, eager to see Radha. She's already there, surrounded by her friends, a small, woven bag slung over her shoulder. As I approach, I take a deep breath, trying to appear calm and collected. "Hey, Radha," I say, offering a casual wave. "Ready to brave the madness?" She smiles, her eyes lighting up as she nods. "Almost.

But before we go, I have a question for you, Arjun." She pauses, her expression becoming serious. "Yesterday, I was so caught up in the decorations that I forgot to ask… what course are you pursuing?" This is my chance to bridge the gap, to reveal more about myself. "I'm in my second year of B.Tech," I say, a hint of pride in my voice. "Engineering. It's… challenging, but I enjoy the problem-solving aspect of it." Her eyes widen slightly. "Engineering? That's… quite different from the cultural activities we're involved in." "I know," I admit, "but I believe in exploring different facets of life.

Engineering is my field of study, but culture and tradition are just as important to me. And, honestly," I add, lowering my voice slightly, "I'm also drawn to people who are passionate about their heritage, like you." A faint blush rises on her cheeks. "That's… very kind of you to say, Arjun. I'm actually studying literature. I hope to teach someday." "Literature," I repeat, savoring the word. "That's beautiful, Radha. I've always admired people who appreciate the power of words, the stories they can tell." We stand there for a moment, lost in each other's gaze, the noise of the canteen fading into the background.

Then, one of her friends clears her throat, breaking the spell. "Alright, lovebirds," she teases, "are we going to Old Delhi or are we going to stand here making eyes at each other all day?" Radha laughs, shaking her head. "Come on, Arjun," she says, grabbing my arm gently. "Let's go get lost in the markets." As we walk towards the exit, I can't help but smile. Literature and engineering, tradition and modernity… we may come from different worlds, but somehow, I feel a connection forming, a spark of something special. And I can't wait to see where it leads.

The bustling sounds of the campus fade as we step outside, the Delhi sun beating down on us. My hand instinctively shields my eyes. I turn to Radha, her woven bag bouncing gently against her hip as she walks. "Radha, which year of literature are you in?" I ask, genuinely curious.

She smiles, a small dimple appearing on her left cheek. "I am in my first year," she says. "It's been quite exciting so far, delving into the world of stories and poems. What about you in engineering?"

I chuckle, recalling the complex equations that fill my notebooks. "Second year. It's a different kind of world, one filled with circuits and machines."

We walk in comfortable silence for a few moments, the sounds of the city slowly enveloping us as we approach the metro station. I find myself studying her profile – the gentle curve of her nose, the way her dark hair catches the sunlight.

As we descend into the metro station, the air immediately cools. The train arrives quickly, and we squeeze into a compartment filled with people. Finding two seats together proves impossible, so we stand, swaying slightly with the train's movements.

The train rattles along the tracks, and the rhythmic clatter becomes a backdrop to our conversation. "So, literature," I begin, trying to steer the conversation back to her interests. "What are you reading right now?"

Radha's eyes light up as she answers, "Right now, I am completely absorbed in 'The Guide' by R.K. Narayan. Have you read it?" Her voice holds a soft, melodic quality, and I find myself captivated not just by her words but by the way she expresses them. I shake my head, feeling a pang of guilt for my lack of literary knowledge. "No, I haven't. But I've heard of it. Is it good?"

"Good?" she repeats, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "It's more than good, Arjun. It's a journey, a reflection on life, love, and self-discovery. You should definitely give it a try."

I make a mental note to add it to my reading list. "I will," I promise. "Maybe you could tell me more about it sometime?"

Her cheeks flush slightly, and she looks away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. "I would like that very much, Arjun."

The train screeches to a halt, and the doors slide open, disrupting our conversation. We navigate our way through the throng of people and step out onto the crowded platform. The air is thick with the scent of spices and exhaust fumes, a sensory assault that momentarily overwhelms me.

As we walk towards the exit, I can't help but steal glances at Radha. Her presence is a calming force amidst the chaos, a reminder of the beauty and simplicity that exists even in the heart of this chaotic city. I feel an undeniable pull towards her, a yearning to know her better, to understand the depths of her passion for literature and her connection to her cultural roots. We emerge from the metro station and are immediately swallowed by the vibrant chaos of Old Delhi.

The sheer energy of the market is almost palpable – a symphony of sounds, colors, and smells assaulting my senses. I take a deep breath, trying to ground myself. Looking at Radha, I say, ´Actually, I recently finished reading ´Physics of the Future´ by Michio Kaku.´ I pause, hoping she´ll be impressed by my foray into the realm of theoretical physics. ´It´s all about predicting the technological advancements of the next century. Quite different from ´The Guide´, I imagine.´ Radha´s eyebrows raise in mild surprise, but her expression remains open and receptive. ´Michio Kaku?

That sounds fascinating, Arjun. I must confess, physics is not my forte. But I appreciate the scientific perspective, the way it seeks to understand the universe through logic and observation.´ Her response is thoughtful and measured, lacking any hint of condescension. It´s clear that she values knowledge in all its forms, regardless of her personal interests. ´Perhaps we can exchange books sometime,´ she suggests, her eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. ´You can introduce me to the wonders of physics, and I can share the beauty of literature with you.´ A smile spreads across my face.

´I would like that very much, Radha. It´s a deal.´ With our agreement sealed, we begin to navigate the labyrinthine streets of the market. The crowds surge around us, a kaleidoscope of faces and vibrant colors. The air is thick with the aroma of street food – sizzling kebabs, sweet jalebis, and fragrant spices. Shopkeepers call out to us, vying for our attention, their voices blending into a cacophony of sounds. I try to keep pace with Radha, her small frame deftly maneuvering through the throng.

I marvel at her ease and confidence, her familiarity with this chaotic world. It´s as if she´s a part of the very fabric of Old Delhi, a living embodiment of its rich cultural heritage. As we push deeper into the market, I feel a sense of excitement building within me. This is more than just a quest for festival decorations; it´s an opportunity to connect with Radha on a deeper level, to explore the world through her eyes. And I am eager to embrace the journey, wherever it may lead.

We stop at a stall overflowing with vibrant fabrics – silks, cottons, and brocades in every imaginable color. Radha runs her fingers over the textures, her eyes sparkling with delight. ´These are perfect for the Rajasthani theme,´ she exclaims, turning to me with a wide smile. ´What do you think, Arjun?´ I nod enthusiastically, even though I have no idea what I am looking at. ´They look amazing, Radha. You have a great eye for this sort of thing.´ She laughs, her cheeks flushing slightly. ´Thank you, Arjun. I've always loved textiles.´ We spend the next hour carefully selecting fabrics, haggling with the shopkeeper over prices, and discussing design ideas. Radha´s passion for the project is infectious, and I find myself getting caught up in her enthusiasm. I notice how she treats everyone with respect, how she always offers a kind word or a warm smile.

Her genuineness is incredibly appealing, and I feel myself falling for her a little more with each passing moment. As we leave the fabric stall, our arms laden with colorful bundles, I accidentally bump into a man carrying a stack of clay pots. The pots wobble precariously, and I instinctively reach out to steady them, but it´s too late. With a crash, they tumble to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. The man glares at me, his face contorted with anger. ´Look what you´ve done!´ he shouts, his voice echoing through the crowded street. ´You clumsy fool! These were for a special order!´ I feel my face turning red with embarrassment. ´I´m so sorry,´ I stammer, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. ´I didn´t mean to… I´ll pay for the damage, of course.´ The man continues to rant and rave, attracting the attention of onlookers. I feel a knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. This is exactly the kind of situation I dread – a public confrontation, a loss of control. Just when I think things are about to escalate, Radha steps forward, her voice calm and assertive. ´Uncle, please, it was an accident,´ she says, addressing the man with respect. ´Arjun is truly sorry, and he´s offered to pay for the pots. How much do we owe you?´ The man hesitates, his anger momentarily deflated by Radha´s gentle demeanor. He names a price, and without a word, Radha reaches into her bag and counts out the money. She hands it to the man with a sincere apology, then turns to me, her eyes filled with concern. ´Are you okay, Arjun?´ she asks softly, placing a reassuring hand on my arm.

I nod, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me. ´Yes, I´m fine, thanks to you. You handled that situation so gracefully, Radha. I don´t know what I would have done without you.´ She smiles, her eyes sparkling with warmth. ´Don´t worry, Arjun. We all make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them and move on. Now, let´s continue our search for decorations, shall we?´ As we walk away from the scene of the broken pots, I can´t help but feel a profound sense of admiration for Radha. She possesses a rare combination of strength and compassion, a quiet confidence that radiates from within. And I know, with absolute certainty, that my attraction to her is more than just physical; it´s a deep appreciation for her character, her values, and her unwavering sense of grace. I am determined to win her heart, no matter what it takes.

We continue through the bustling market, the earlier incident fading into the background. Radha's presence is a calming anchor. The vibrant colours and chaotic energy of Old Delhi still swirl around us, but now there's a sense of shared adventure, a silent understanding between us. "What's next on the list, Radha?" I ask, trying to sound casual, though my heart is still racing slightly. She pulls out her notebook, flipping through the pages filled with sketches and notes. "We need some traditional Rajasthani puppets, you know, the kathputli dolls? They would look amazing hanging from the entrance."

 My knowledge of Rajasthani culture is limited, but I trust Radha's vision implicitly. "Okay, kathputli dolls it is. Do you know where we can find them?" She points down a narrow alleyway, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I have a feeling we might find some treasures down there. Are you ready for another adventure, Arjun?" I take a deep breath and grin. "Lead the way, Radha."

 The alleyway is even more crowded and chaotic than the main street, filled with tiny shops selling everything from spices to jewelry to brightly colored textiles. The air is thick with the aroma of incense and street food. We navigate our way through the throng, dodging bicycles and handcarts, until we reach a small stall tucked away in a corner. An old man sits cross-legged on a wooden platform, surrounded by puppets of all shapes and sizes. He has a kind face and twinkling eyes, and a long, white beard that reaches his chest.

Radha greets him with a respectful "Namaste, Dada ji," and he smiles warmly in return. "Ah, Radha beti," he says, his voice raspy but gentle. "What brings you to my humble stall today?" Radha explains our need for kathputli dolls for the college festival, describing the Rajasthani theme and her vision for the decorations. The old man listens attentively, nodding occasionally. When she finishes, he beams at her. "You have a good heart, child," he says. "And a good eye for beauty. I am happy to help you bring your vision to life." He gestures to the puppets surrounding him. "Take your pick, beta. Choose whatever speaks to your heart."

 We spend the next hour examining the puppets, each one more intricate and charming than the last. There are kings and queens, warriors and dancers, animals and mythical creatures, all crafted with incredible attention to detail. Radha explains the stories and legends behind each character, her voice filled with passion and reverence. I find myself completely captivated by her knowledge and enthusiasm. As Radha is explaining the history of one puppet in particular, I notice her glancing at a puppet of a warrior prince.

The detailing on the figure's face is remarkable. "Do you like that one?" the old man asks her, his eyes twinkling. "He is one of my favorites. He represents courage and strength, but also compassion and wisdom." Radha blushes slightly, avoiding my gaze. "He's beautiful, Dada ji. But we don't need anything too extravagant." "Nonsense," the old man says with a wave of his hand. "He is meant for you, beti. I can see it in your eyes." He picks up the puppet and hands it to Radha. "Take him as a gift, child. May he bring you strength and courage in all that you do." Radha hesitates for a moment, then accepts the puppet with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Dada ji," she says softly. "You are too kind."

 As we leave the stall, Radha clutches the puppet tightly in her hand, her eyes shining with emotion. I can't help but wonder what it is about this particular puppet that resonates so deeply with her. Is it simply the beauty of the craftsmanship, or does it represent something more? "That was incredibly generous of him," I say, breaking the silence. "That puppet must be worth a fortune." Radha shakes her head. "It's not about the money, Arjun," she says quietly. "It's about the sentiment. Dada ji recognized something in me, something that I sometimes struggle to see in myself." She looks at me, her eyes filled with vulnerability. "I want to be strong and courageous, Arjun. I want to make a difference in the world. But sometimes I feel so small and insignificant."

 I stop walking and take her hand, my heart aching with tenderness. "You are not small or insignificant, Radha," I say, my voice filled with sincerity. "You are one of the most amazing people I have ever met. You have a kind heart, a brilliant mind, and an unwavering sense of compassion. You have the power to change the world, Radha. Never forget that." Her eyes fill with tears, and she squeezes my hand tightly. "Thank you, Arjun," she whispers. "You don't know how much that means to me."

 We stand there for a moment, lost in each other's gaze, the noise and chaos of the market fading into the background. In that moment, I know that my feelings for Radha are more than just infatuation. I am falling in love with her, deeply and irrevocably. And I am determined to do everything in my power to make her happy.

The moment hangs between us, charged with unspoken emotions. A sudden commotion breaks the spell. A group of children, their faces smeared with Holi colours, comes running down the alleyway, shrieking with laughter. One of them bumps into Radha, causing her to drop the kathputli doll. It falls to the ground, and its delicate wooden head snaps off. Radha gasps, her face stricken with dismay. She kneels down and gently picks up the broken puppet, her fingers tracing the cracked wood. ´Oh no,´ she murmurs, her voice filled with disappointment. ´It´s broken.´ My heart sinks. I know how much this puppet meant to her, not just as a decoration for the festival, but as a symbol of her own aspirations. I kneel beside her and examine the damage. The head is cleanly separated from the body, and there are several cracks in the wooden torso. It doesn´t look good. ´I´m so sorry, Radha,´ I say, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. ´If those kids hadn´t bumped into you…´ She shakes her head, forcing a smile. ´It´s not your fault, Arjun. It was just an accident.

Besides, it was a gift. I shouldn´t be so upset.´ But I can see the disappointment in her eyes, and I know that she is more upset than she lets on. I rack my brain, trying to think of a way to fix the puppet, or at least make her feel better. Then, an idea pops into my head. ´Wait here, Radha,´ I say, jumping to my feet. ´I´ll be right back.´ I scan the alleyway, searching for something that might help. My eyes land on a small stall selling handcrafted wooden toys. The stall is run by a young woman with a bright smile and a warm, welcoming demeanor. I approach her and explain the situation, showing her the broken puppet. ´Is there anything you can do to fix it?´ I ask, my voice filled with hope. The woman examines the puppet carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration. ´Hmm, this is a delicate piece,´ she says. ´But I think I can help. I have some wood glue and some carving tools. Give me a few minutes.´ I watch anxiously as the woman works her magic, carefully gluing the head back onto the body and smoothing out the cracks with her tools. She is a true artist, her hands moving with precision and grace. After what seems like an eternity, she hands the puppet back to me, her eyes sparkling with pride.

´Here you go,´ she says. ´Good as new.´ I examine the puppet closely. The repair is seamless, almost invisible. I can barely tell that it was ever broken. A wave of relief washes over me. ´Thank you so much,´ I say, my voice filled with gratitude. ´How much do I owe you?´ The woman smiles and shakes her head. ´It was my pleasure,´ she says. ´Consider it a good deed. But if you really want to pay me back, tell your friends about my stall. I´m trying to make a living doing what I love.´ I promise that I will, and then I hurry back to Radha, my heart pounding with excitement. I kneel down beside her and present her with the repaired puppet. ´Here, Radha,´ I say, my voice trembling slightly. ´I fixed it.´ She stares at the puppet in disbelief, her eyes widening with surprise. She takes it from my hands and examines it closely, her fingers tracing the repaired cracks. ´Arjun,´ she whispers, her voice filled with emotion. ´You fixed him!

How did you do it?´ I explain how I found the woman with the wooden toy stall, and how she had worked her magic to repair the puppet. Radha listens intently, her eyes shining with admiration. When I finish, she throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly. ´Thank you, Arjun,´ she says, her voice muffled against my chest. ´You are the most thoughtful, kindhearted person I know.´ I hold her close, savoring the warmth of her embrace. In that moment, I know that I would do anything for her, anything to make her happy. As we pull apart, Radha looks at me, her eyes filled with gratitude and something else, something that makes my heart skip a beat. ´You know, Arjun,´ she says softly. ´This puppet means even more to me now than it did before. It reminds me that even when things break, they can be fixed. And it reminds me of you, and your incredible kindness.´ She leans in closer, her lips hovering just above mine. I can feel her breath on my skin, and my body is tingling with anticipation. The noise and chaos of the market fade away, and it feels like we are the only two people in the world. Then, she closes the distance between us, and our lips meet in a soft, tender kiss. It is a moment of pure magic, a moment that I will never forget.

The kiss is soft, hesitant, and sends a jolt of electricity through me. It's a brief meeting of lips, a tentative exploration that speaks volumes. When we break apart, Radha's cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are wide with a mixture of surprise and something akin to… longing? I take a deep breath, the scent of incense and spices suddenly overwhelming.

"Radha," I begin, my voice barely a whisper. The confession has been building inside me, a dam about to burst. "Being with you today… seeing how you interact with everyone, how passionate you are about the festival, how kind you were to that old man and those kids… It's made me realize something."

I reach for her hand again, my fingers interlacing with hers. Her skin is soft, warm. "I… I have feelings for you, Radha. Strong feelings. More than just friendship." My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the crowded market. I search her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction.

She doesn't pull away, but her expression is unreadable. The usual warmth is replaced by a cautious reserve. "Arjun," she says softly, "I… I don't know what to say."

Panic flares in my chest. Rejection. It’s a cold wave washing over me. "I understand," I rush to say, trying to salvage the situation. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… I had to be honest."

"It's not that," she interjects, her grip tightening on my hand. "It's just… I haven't really thought about things like that before. I'm focused on my studies, on becoming a teacher. Relationships… they seem complicated."

A flicker of hope ignites within me. It's not a flat-out rejection. It's hesitation, uncertainty. "I know," I say gently. "And I respect that. I'm not asking you to make any decisions right now. I just wanted you to know how I feel."

I pause, taking another deep breath. "Maybe… maybe we can just keep working on the festival together? Get to know each other better? And see where things go?"

Radha looks down at our intertwined hands, her brow furrowed in thought. The sounds of the market swirl around us – the hawkers calling out their wares, the laughter of children, the rumble of traffic. It feels like the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for her answer.

Finally, she lifts her gaze to meet mine. There's a vulnerability in her eyes, a hint of fear, but also… curiosity? "Okay, Arjun," she says quietly. "Let's see where things go."

A wave of relief washes over me, so intense it almost buckles my knees. It's not a declaration of love, not a guarantee of anything. But it's a chance. A chance to show her how I feel, to prove that my feelings are genuine.

A wide grin spreads across my face. "Great," I say, my voice filled with renewed confidence. "So, kathputli dolls aside, what else do we need for this Rajasthani extravaganza?"

Radha's lips curve into a small smile, the warmth returning to her eyes. "Well," she says, pulling her notebook out again. "We still need to find some colourful umbrellas… and perhaps some mirror work tapestries…”

As we delve back into the details of the festival decorations, I feel a sense of optimism I haven't experienced in a long time. The road ahead may be uncertain, but I'm walking it with Radha by my side. And that, I realize, is all that matters.

The vibrant chaos of Chandni Chowk fades slightly as Radha and I navigate our way through the throngs of people, now united by a shared, unspoken agreement. The air still crackles with the energy of the market, but a new, quieter hum vibrates between us. Each brush of our hands, each shared glance, carries a weight it didn’t before.

"Umbrellas first, then?" I ask, trying to sound casual, as if my heart isn’t currently attempting to break free from my ribcage.

Radha nods, consulting her notebook. "Yes, and I think we should look for the kind with intricate embroidery. They'll add a real touch of authenticity." Her voice is steady, but I notice a slight tremor in her fingers as she turns the page.

We venture deeper into the market, the narrow lanes twisting and turning like a labyrinth. Stalls overflow with everything imaginable: spices, sweets, jewelry, clothes. The sheer sensory overload would normally overwhelm me, but today, I find myself strangely focused. Focused on Radha, on the way the sunlight catches in her hair, on the curve of her smile when she spots a particularly beautiful piece of fabric.

We stop at a stall piled high with umbrellas of every color and design. A wizened old man with twinkling eyes sits cross-legged behind the display, a picture of quiet contentment. He greets us with a warm smile and a traditional "Namaste."

Radha begins to examine the umbrellas carefully, her fingers tracing the delicate embroidery on each one. I watch her, mesmerized by her focused concentration. She's completely absorbed in the task at hand, her passion for her culture shining through.

"These are beautiful," she says, holding up a vibrant orange umbrella with intricate peacock designs. "But I'm not sure if the colors are quite right. We need something that really pops, something that screams 'Rajasthan!'"

The old man chuckles. "Ah, you have a good eye, young lady. You seek the true spirit of Rajasthan. Then, perhaps, I have something special for you."

He reaches behind him and pulls out a large, intricately embroidered umbrella. It is predominantly red and gold, with elaborate mirror work and tiny bells that jingle softly with every movement. It’s more elaborate than the others.

Radha gasps. "This is… this is perfect!" Her eyes light up with genuine excitement. "It's exactly what I had in mind."

As she holds the umbrella, twirling it gently, I notice a small imperfection – a tiny tear in the fabric near the handle. It's barely noticeable, but I know Radha’s keen eye will catch it.

"It's beautiful, Radha," I say, "But look, there’s a small tear."

Her face falls slightly as she examines the damage. The disappointment is clear.

The old man follows our gaze and sighs theatrically. ´Ah, yes, a small imperfection. A mischievous monkey, perhaps, or a careless customer. It happened just this morning. I can offer you a discount, of course.´ Radha hesitates, her lower lip caught between her teeth. I can tell she´s torn. The umbrella is perfect in every other way, but the tear is a flaw that will likely bother her. ´I don´t know,´ she says, her voice laced with uncertainty. ´It´s such a beautiful piece, but…´ I step closer to her, my shoulder brushing against hers. ´Radha, remember that woman who fixed the kathputli doll? Maybe there’s someone here who can fix this too. It might be worth asking around.´ Her eyes widen, and a slow smile spreads across her face.

´Arjun, that’s a great idea! I completely forgot.´ Turning to the old man, she asks, ´Do you know anyone nearby who could repair this kind of embroidery? Someone skilled with mirror work?´ The old man strokes his beard thoughtfully. ´Hmm, there is Fatima. She has a small shop just around the corner. A true artist with needle and thread. If anyone can fix this, it is her.´ He gives us directions, and within minutes, we find ourselves standing before a tiny, unassuming shop. A sign above the door reads ´Fatima´s Fine Stitchery´ in faded gold letters. Inside, the shop is a riot of color and texture. Spools of thread in every imaginable hue line the walls, and intricate tapestries and embroidered cloths hang from the ceiling. Behind a large wooden table, a woman with kind eyes and nimble fingers is hunched over a piece of fabric, meticulously stitching tiny beads into place. This must be Fatima.

The air smells faintly of sandalwood and old paper. ´Assalam Walekum,´ Radha says, greeting Fatima with respect. Fatima looks up, her face lighting up with a warm smile. ´Walekum Assalam, my dear. What can I do for you today?´ Radha shows her the umbrella, pointing out the tear in the fabric. ´We were hoping you could repair this. It’s a beautiful piece, but it has a small imperfection.´ Fatima takes the umbrella, examining it closely with her practiced eye. She runs her fingers along the delicate embroidery, her expression thoughtful. ´Hmm, a delicate repair. But not impossible. The work is exquisite. You are lucky to have found such a piece.´ She pauses, considering.

´Come back in two hours. I will see what I can do.´ Relief washes over Radha’s face. ´Thank you so much, Fatima! We really appreciate it.´ As we leave the shop, Radha turns to me, her eyes shining. ´See? I told you it was worth a try. You always know how to find a solution.´ We decide to grab some chai and samosas at a nearby stall while we wait for Fatima to work her magic. As we sit there, sipping the sweet, milky tea and munching on the spicy snacks, I realize something profound. It’s not just about the festival decorations anymore. It’s about the shared experiences, the small victories, the quiet moments of connection. It’s about building something together, brick by brick, thread by thread. And I am starting to realize that I am falling for Radha more and more with each passing moment.

The chai is warm and comforting in my hands, the sweetness a pleasant contrast to the savory samosas. Radha is animated as she speaks about her vision for the festival decorations. She describes how she wants to incorporate traditional Rajasthani elements with a modern twist, creating something that is both authentic and innovative. I listen intently, captivated by her passion and creativity. The sounds of the market – the hawkers calling out their wares, the laughter of children, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith’s hammer – fade into the background as I focus solely on her. I find myself drawn to her enthusiasm, her intelligence, and her genuine kindness. She has a way of making everyone around her feel seen and valued, a rare and precious quality. After we finish our chai, we wander through the market, exploring the hidden alleyways and discovering new treasures. We find a stall selling colorful bangles, and Radha insists on buying me one – a simple silver band with a delicate inscription in Hindi. She says it’s a symbol of our friendship and a reminder of our shared journey. I slip it onto my wrist, feeling a warmth spread through me.

It feels like more than just a friendship bracelet. Time seems to slip away as we lose ourselves in the vibrant tapestry of the market. Before we know it, two hours have passed, and it’s time to return to Fatima’s shop. As we approach the tiny storefront, I feel a flutter of anticipation in my chest. I’m eager to see if Fatima has been able to work her magic. We step inside, and Fatima greets us with a beaming smile. ´Ah, you’re back! Come, see what you think.´ She presents the umbrella to us, and I gasp. The tear is gone, completely invisible. Fatima has not only repaired the damage but has also reinforced the surrounding fabric, making it even stronger than before. The repair is seamless, a testament to her skill and artistry.

Radha’s eyes widen with delight. ´Fatima, it’s… it’s perfect! You’ve done an incredible job.´ She examines the umbrella closely, running her fingers along the repaired area. She can’t even tell where the tear had been. ´How much do we owe you?´ she asks, her voice filled with gratitude. Fatima names a price that is surprisingly modest, and Radha insists on paying her extra as a thank you for her exceptional work. As we leave the shop, Radha clutches the umbrella to her chest, her face radiant with joy. ´I can’t believe it! It’s even more beautiful than before.´ She turns to me, her eyes sparkling. ´Thank you, Arjun. For suggesting we get it fixed.

For everything.´ She reaches out and squeezes my hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. I look at her, my heart overflowing with emotion. I want to tell her how I feel, to express the depth of my affection, but the words catch in my throat. Instead, I simply smile and say, ´Anything for you, Radha.´ We walk back through the market, the vibrant colors and sounds seeming even more intense now. The umbrella, now fully restored, feels like a symbol of our growing connection – a symbol of our ability to overcome obstacles together and find beauty in unexpected places. As we reach the edge of the market, I feel a sense of contentment wash over me. The day has been filled with challenges and triumphs, with laughter and shared moments. And as I look at Radha, her face glowing in the afternoon sunlight, I know that this is just the beginning of our story.

The sounds of Chandni Chowk slowly fade as Radha and I step out of the bustling marketplace and back into the relative quiet of the Delhi streets. The day's adventure, filled with vibrant colors, the aroma of spices, and the thrill of shared discovery, lingers in the air between us. "I should probably head back," Radha says, her voice tinged with a hint of reluctance. "My family will be expecting me." I nod, understanding dawning in me. "Yeah, me too. My folks will want to know all about the festival preparations." A silent moment stretches between us, filled with unspoken feelings and the weight of the burgeoning connection we share. "I had a really great time today, Arjun," she finally says, her eyes meeting mine.

"Me too, Radha. More than you know." We exchange a warm smile, a silent promise to see each other soon, and then part ways. I watch as she disappears into the crowd, her vibrant kurta a splash of color against the muted backdrop of the city. Then, I turn and head towards the metro station, my thoughts swirling with memories of the day. The jostle of the metro does little to distract me. I'm replaying every moment with Radha – her laughter, her passion, the way her eyes light up when she talks about her culture. It’s a kaleidoscope of images that fills me with a sense of warmth and anticipation.

Finally, I arrive at my apartment building, a familiar, slightly chaotic place teeming with the energy of my family. The aroma of Mom’s cooking – a fragrant mix of spices and simmering vegetables – wafts down the hallway, instantly making my stomach rumble. As I unlock the door, I'm greeted by a cacophony of sounds: my younger sister, Priya, practicing her tabla, my grandfather chanting his evening prayers, and my mother's voice, scolding my younger brother, Rohan, for something or other. "Arjun! You're home!" my mother exclaims, her face lighting up with a welcoming smile. "How was the market? Did you find everything you needed for the festival?" I'm immediately enveloped in the warmth of my family, their love and support a comforting constant in my life.

I spend the evening recounting the day's events, describing the vibrant fabrics, the intricate kathputli puppets, and the beautiful umbrella that Radha had her heart set on. I carefully omit the part about my confession and our kiss, sensing that my family might not be ready for that particular revelation. But as I talk about Radha, about her passion and her kindness, I can see the knowing glances exchanged between my mother and Priya. They know something is up. Later, as I lie in bed, the sounds of my family slowly fading into the background, I think about Radha. About the connection we share, about the possibility of something more. The image of her smiling face fills my mind, and I drift off to sleep with a sense of hope and anticipation.

The first rays of dawn filter through my window, pulling me from a sleep filled with dreams of vibrant colors and warm smiles. I reach for my phone, a silly grin spreading across my face as I see a text from Radha: "Good morning! Hope the festival decorations are coming along nicely :)"

I quickly type back, "Good morning to you too! They are, thanks to our amazing shopping trip yesterday. How are you holding up?"

A few minutes later, her reply pops up: "Doing good, just helping mom with breakfast. Thinking about all the things we need to plan for the festival. Maybe we could meet up later?"

My heart skips a beat. "I'd love that. What time and where?"

"How about the college library around 3 PM?" she suggests. "We can brainstorm ideas and finalize the decoration plan."

"Perfect! See you then," I reply, my fingers practically flying across the keyboard.

The rest of the morning crawls by. I try to focus on my engineering textbooks, but my mind keeps wandering back to Radha. I find myself sketching designs for the festival decorations in the margins of my notes, imagining the vibrant colors and intricate patterns we chose together.

Finally, 3 PM rolls around. I practically sprint to the library, my heart pounding with anticipation. I spot Radha sitting at a table near the window, her face illuminated by the afternoon sun. She looks even more beautiful than I remember. She wears a simple salwar kameez of cream color with blue details, and her hair is neatly braided.

"Hey!" I say, my voice a little breathless.

"Hey, Arjun!" she replies, her smile as bright as the sun. "I'm so glad you could make it."

We settle in at the table, surrounded by stacks of books and the quiet murmur of students studying. But I find it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. My eyes keep drifting back to Radha, to the way her brow furrows in concentration, to the gentle curve of her lips when she smiles.

We spend the next hour discussing the festival decorations, tossing around ideas and finalizing the details. Radha is full of enthusiasm and creativity, her passion for her culture shining through in every suggestion she makes. I find myself captivated by her energy, her intelligence, and her genuine kindness.

As we work, our hands occasionally brush against each other, sending a jolt of electricity through my veins. Each accidental touch makes my heart beat a little faster, my palms sweat a little more. I try to play it cool, but inside, I'm a mess of emotions.

Suddenly, Radha looks up from her notes, her eyes meeting mine. "Arjun," she says softly, "I wanted to thank you again for yesterday. I had such a wonderful time."

"Me too, Radha," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "It was... perfect."

A comfortable silence falls between us, filled with unspoken feelings and the weight of the connection we share. I find myself drawn to her, wanting to reach out and take her hand, to pull her closer and kiss her again.

"So," she says, breaking the silence, "what should we do about the lighting?"

I blink, startled back to reality. "Uh, right," I stammer, trying to regain my composure. "The lighting. We could use those fairy lights, maybe string them around the entrance?"

We continue to discuss the festival preparations, but the air between us is charged with a new kind of energy. The library, with its hushed tones and studious atmosphere, suddenly feels like the most romantic place in the world.

The low hum of the library's air conditioning is a constant backdrop to our conversation about the festival. Radha is explaining her vision for the rangoli design, her hands moving expressively as she describes the intricate patterns and vibrant colors. I’m only half-listening, captivated by the way the sunlight catches the gold threads woven into her dupatta.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes on the table. I glance down and see a message from my mother: ´Arjun, can you please pick up milk and bread on your way home? We’re out of both.´

I sigh inwardly. A mundane task intrudes on our blossoming connection. “Sorry, Radha,” I say, “I have to make a quick stop at the grocery store on my way back. Mom needs milk and bread.”

Radha smiles understandingly. “No problem at all. I should probably head home soon too. My grandmother is visiting, and I promised to help her with dinner.”

We gather our things, the carefully laid-out plans for the festival decorations now neatly stacked. As we walk towards the library exit, a group of students approaches, laughing and talking loudly. One of them bumps into Radha, causing her to stumble slightly.

Instinctively, I reach out and grab her arm to steady her. Our fingers intertwine, a warm and electric connection that sends shivers down my spine. Radha looks up at me, her eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, the noise of the library fades away, and it's just us, connected by a simple touch.

She regains her balance, and I release her hand, feeling a pang of regret as the contact breaks. “Sorry about that,” she says, a faint blush rising on her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” I reply, my voice a little shaky. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks, Arjun.”

We step out of the library and into the bustling college square. The near-fall, the fleeting touch of our hands, has changed something between us. The air feels thicker, charged with unspoken desires.

“Well,” Radha says, her voice slightly breathless, “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

“Yeah,” I reply, trying to mask my disappointment. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” she says, her smile returning. “We still have a lot of planning to do.”

As she turns to leave, I can’t resist. “Radha,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

She stops and turns back to me, her eyes questioning.

Taking a deep breath, I step closer to her, closing the small gap between us. “I… I really like spending time with you,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest.

Her eyes soften, and a gentle smile spreads across her face. “I like spending time with you too, Arjun.”

Before I can overthink it, I lean in and gently kiss her on the cheek. It’s a soft, innocent kiss, but it sends a wave of warmth through my entire body.

Radha’s blush deepens, and she looks away, a shy smile playing on her lips. “I should really go,” she says, her voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” I reply, still reeling from the kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

I watch as she walks away, her figure disappearing into the crowd. I stand there for a moment, touching my fingers to my cheek, still feeling the ghost of her kiss. Then, remembering my mother's request, I reluctantly turn and head towards the grocery store, my mind still swirling with thoughts of Radha. The milk and bread seem insignificant compared to the electric connection we share.

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store feel harsh after the soft glow of the afternoon sun. I mechanically grab milk and bread, my mind still replaying the kiss on Radha’s cheek. It was so quick, so innocent, but it felt like a monumental step forward. As I stand in the checkout line, I can't help but grin like an idiot. A middle-aged woman in front of me gives me a strange look, and I quickly try to compose myself. Back at home, the aroma of dinner fills the apartment. My mother greets me with a knowing smile. “So, how was the library, Arjun?” she asks, her eyes twinkling. “Did you and Radha finalize the festival plans?” I try to play it cool, but I can feel my cheeks flushing. “Yeah, it was good. We got a lot done.” My younger sister, Priya, chimes in, “Did you hold her hand? Did you kiss her? Tell us everything!” I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but smile. “It’s not like that, Priya,” I say, even though I know it kind of is. “We’re just friends.” My mother raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. “Sure, beta. Just friends who spend hours together planning a festival.” Dinner is a flurry of family chatter, but my mind is elsewhere. I sneak glances at my phone, hoping for a message from Radha.

But nothing. Maybe I was too forward with the kiss. Maybe I scared her off. After dinner, I retreat to my room, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. I decide to text her: ´Hey, Radha! Just wanted to say thanks again for meeting me at the library. I had a great time :)´ I wait, my heart pounding, for what feels like an eternity. Finally, my phone buzzes. It’s Radha: ´Hey Arjun! Me too :) And… about the kiss… it was sweet.´ I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Sweet. That’s good, right? I type back: ´I’m glad you liked it. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.´ A few minutes later, she replies: ´Me too :) But let’s take things slow, okay? I really value our friendship, and I don’t want to rush into anything.´ Slow. Okay, I can do slow. I really value our friendship too, and I definitely don’t want to mess things up. ´Of course,´ I reply.

´I understand. Friends first.´ But as I lie in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I can’t help but dream of a future where our friendship blossoms into something more. A future filled with stolen kisses, shared laughter, and a love that grows stronger with each passing day. The next morning, as I walk to college, I see Radha waiting for me near the entrance. She’s wearing a bright yellow kurta and her hair is down, cascading over her shoulders. She looks radiant. As I approach her, she smiles, and my heart skips a beat. “Hey, Arjun,” she says, her voice soft. “Hey, Radha,” I reply, my voice a little breathless. We walk to class together, our shoulders brushing, a comfortable silence settling between us. Friends first. But as I look at her, I know that this is just the beginning of our story. A story that I can’t wait to write, one chapter at a time. During our break, while sipping chai at our usual spot, Radha shares something unexpected. “Arjun, my cousin is getting married next month in Jaipur. My family would love it if I came, but I’m hesitant because of the festival preparations.” My heart sinks a little. Jaipur is a long way away, and the festival is just around the corner. "That sounds amazing, Radha.

But what about the festival decorations?" I ask, trying to keep my disappointment from showing. “That’s what I’m worried about,” she says, her brow furrowed. “I don’t want to leave you hanging with all the work.” An idea sparks in my mind. “Hey, why don’t I come with you to Jaipur?” I blurt out. Her eyes widen in surprise. “Really, Arjun? You’d do that?” “Of course!” I say, my voice filled with enthusiasm. “I’d love to meet your family, and we could even find some inspiration for the festival decorations while we’re there. Plus, Jaipur is known for its textiles and handicrafts. It could be a great research trip.” Radha’s face lights up with a smile. “That would be amazing, Arjun! Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?” “No trouble at all,” I say, my heart soaring. “In fact, I think it would be a lot of fun.” A trip to Jaipur with Radha. It’s a chance to meet her family, explore a new city, and maybe, just maybe, take our relationship to the next level. The festival decorations suddenly seem a lot less important than the adventure that awaits us. 

The news about Jaipur spreads through my family like wildfire. Priya squeals with excitement, already planning my outfits and offering unsolicited dating advice. Rohan just grins and makes teasing comments about me finally escaping Delhi. Even my grandfather, usually lost in his newspaper, looks up and nods approvingly. "Jaipur is a fine city," he says, his eyes twinkling. "Be sure to visit Hawa Mahal and try the ghevar." My mother, of course, is the most practical. "Arjun, pack light, but don't forget a shawl for the evenings. And be respectful of Radha's family. They are traditional."

Packing feels surreal. Just a few weeks ago, my biggest concern was passing my engineering exams. Now, I am preparing for a trip to Jaipur with the girl who makes my heart do somersaults. I carefully fold my clothes, a nervous energy buzzing through me. I want to make a good impression on Radha's family, but I also want to be myself. I glance at the silver bangle she gave me, a tangible reminder of our connection.

The train journey to Jaipur is filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Radha sits beside me, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she points out landmarks along the way. We talk about everything and nothing, our conversation flowing easily. I learn more about her family, her dreams of becoming a teacher, and her love for Rajasthani culture. As the landscape transforms from the familiar plains of Delhi to the rugged terrain of Rajasthan, I feel like I am entering a whole new world.

When we finally arrive in Jaipur, I am immediately struck by the vibrant colours and bustling energy of the city. The air is thick with the scent of spices and the sounds of honking auto-rickshaws. Radha's family greets us with warm smiles and open arms. Her parents are kind and welcoming, her younger brother, Krish, is curious and playful, and her grandmother, a formidable matriarch, observes me with a discerning gaze. The wedding preparations are in full swing, with relatives arriving from all over the country. The house is filled with music, laughter, and the aroma of delicious food.

I am quickly swept up in the festivities. I help with errands, learn a few Rajasthani folk dances, and even try my hand at making traditional sweets. Radha's family seems to approve of me, which puts me at ease. Her grandmother even cracks a smile when I accidentally spill a bowl of haldi, a turmeric paste used in wedding rituals, all over my shirt. "Don't worry, beta," she says, chuckling. "It's a sign of good luck."

Amidst all the wedding chaos, Radha and I manage to steal a few moments alone. We explore the city's hidden alleyways, visit ancient temples, and watch the sunset from the majestic Nahargarh Fort. During those moments, as we sit hand in hand, gazing at the sprawling city below, I feel a connection with her that is deeper than anything I have ever experienced.

One evening, after a particularly lively wedding celebration, Radha leads me to the rooftop of her house. The air is cool and the sky is ablaze with stars. We sit in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other's company. Finally, Radha turns to me, her eyes filled with tenderness. "Arjun," she says softly, "this trip has been so special. Thank you for coming with me."

I take her hand in mine, my heart overflowing with emotion. "Radha," I reply, my voice barely a whisper, "being here with you is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me." I lean in and kiss her, a long, lingering kiss that speaks volumes about our feelings for each other. As we pull away, I look into her eyes and see a reflection of my own love and desire. In that moment, surrounded by the magic of Jaipur and the warmth of her family, I know that our friendship has blossomed into something truly extraordinary.

The wedding festivities reach their peak, a whirlwind of music, dancing, and vibrant colours. Radha and I find ourselves caught in the joyous chaos, our hands brushing as we navigate the crowded courtyard. But even amidst the celebrations, my mind is elsewhere. I’m replaying our rooftop kiss, the way her eyes sparkled in the starlight, the undeniable connection that crackled between us. I know I can’t leave Jaipur without making things official. I need to tell Radha how I truly feel and ask her to be my girlfriend.

Finding a private moment proves challenging. The house is constantly buzzing with relatives and friends, each more eager than the last to pull us into a dance or offer us a sweet. Finally, during a lull in the festivities, I manage to sneak Radha away to the peaceful garden at the back of the house. The air is fragrant with the scent of jasmine, and the only sound is the gentle chirping of crickets.

“Radha,” I begin, my heart pounding in my chest, “I need to tell you something.”

She looks at me expectantly, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“This trip to Jaipur has been incredible,” I continue, “Not just because of the wedding, but because of you. I’ve realized that my feelings for you are stronger than I ever imagined.”

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “Radha, will you be my girlfriend?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with anticipation. I watch her face, searching for any sign of what she might be thinking. A thousand thoughts race through my mind. What if I’m moving too fast? What if she just wants to be friends?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Radha smiles, a radiant, beautiful smile that melts all my worries away.

“Yes, Arjun,” she says softly, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

A wave of relief washes over me, so intense that I almost stumble. I reach out and take her hands in mine, my fingers intertwining with hers.

“Really?” I ask, just to make sure I haven’t imagined it.

She laughs, a light, musical sound that makes my heart sing. “Yes, really. I’ve been wanting you to ask me that for a while now.”

I pull her closer and kiss her, a slow, tender kiss that seals our commitment to each other. The jasmine scent fills my senses, and I feel like I’m floating on air.

“I’m so happy, Radha,” I whisper when we finally break apart.

“Me too, Arjun,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “Me too.”

We spend the rest of the evening wandering through the garden, hand in hand, whispering sweet nothings and dreaming about our future together. The wedding festivities fade into the background as we bask in the glow of our newfound love.

As we prepare to return to Delhi, I feel like a different person. I’m no longer just Arjun, the engineering student with a crush. I’m Arjun, Radha’s boyfriend, embarking on a new chapter of my life with the woman I love. The festival preparations suddenly seem less daunting, the challenges of college less overwhelming. Because now I have Radha by my side, and with her, I know I can conquer anything.

Back in Delhi, everything feels different. The city that once seemed mundane and ordinary now sparkles with possibility. Radha and I navigate our busy schedules, making time for stolen moments between classes, late-night phone calls, and weekend adventures. We continue to plan the Rajasthani-themed festival, our creative energy fueled by our love for each other. We find inspiration in everything around us, from the vibrant colours of the market to the intricate patterns of the textiles. And as we work side by side, our bond grows stronger with each passing day.

The festival is a resounding success, a testament to our hard work and dedication. The college campus is transformed into a Rajasthani wonderland, complete with colourful decorations, traditional music, and delicious food. As I watch Radha, her face glowing with pride, I know that I made the right decision. Coming to Jaipur, confessing my feelings, asking her to be my girlfriend – it was all worth it. Because now, I have everything I ever wanted: a loving family, a bright future, and a beautiful girl who loves me just as much as I love her.