Chapter 11 – Falling Forward
There was no grand announcement. No dramatic shift. No change in status on social media.
But something was different now. Tangibly, deeply different.
They still sat in their usual seats. Still walked the same corridors. Still had the same inside jokes and shared silences. But beneath it all, a quiet certainty had taken root.
They were together—unofficially official, and more than enough.
—
It was a Tuesday morning when Mehar reached school early. Aarav was already waiting near the library, a coffee in one hand and a book in the other.
"You're spoiling me," she teased as he handed her the cup.
"I'm investing," he replied with a grin.
She smiled, but there was warmth in her chest that she couldn't ignore.
They walked in comfortable silence toward the back steps, where they often sat before class.
"You're quieter today," Aarav noted, watching her.
She nodded. "I've been thinking... about how I used to write poems about love before I even understood it."
"And now?"
She looked at him. "Now I think I might write one for you."
That stunned him—momentarily. But then he simply smiled.
"You already are. Every time you look at me like that."
—
Their dynamic shifted in subtle, beautiful ways.
He held her hand under the lunch table now. She left notes in his locker, sometimes with doodles, sometimes just a "good luck" scrawled on a sticky tab.
They exchanged voice notes before sleeping—sometimes five minutes long, sometimes just a whispered "I miss you."
Everything was quiet. Simple. And yet it meant everything.
—
One evening, Mehar was invited to a group dinner at Aarav's house. His parents weren't home, and a few of their mutual friends were already there.
But as the night wore on and the group dwindled, she found herself alone with him in the kitchen.
She reached for a plate just as he did. Their fingers brushed.
"I'm not scared anymore," she whispered.
Aarav looked at her. "Of what?"
"Of this."
He didn't speak. Just cupped her face gently and kissed her—soft, slow, steady.
It wasn't urgent or unsure. It was certain.
Like they'd both been waiting, and now, finally, they were here.
—
Later that night, as she lay in bed replaying the moment, Mehar realized something:
This wasn't the kind of love that demanded fireworks.
It was the kind that grew like vines—slow, quiet, and all-consuming.
They weren't falling backward. Not anymore.
They were falling forward.
Together.