Wardrobe Meltdown and Project Panic
RIVAL HEARTS
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After much deliberation (and a little overthinking), Dhruvin had finally crafted what he thought was a chefâs kiss email. Smooth, funny, and just enough charm to annoy Aashna.
But when the reply notification popped up, his excitement turned into a frown.
From: Aashna Pathak
To: Dhruvin Deshmukh
Subject: Meeting for the Project
Tomorrow. College terrace. 5 PM.
That was it. No greetings, no formalities, not even a "Regards, Aashna" at the end.
He blinked at the screen. Bas? Itni hi feelings thi tumhare paas, Pathak?
Shaking his head, he cracked his knuckles and typed back.
From: Dhruvin Deshmukh
To: Aashna Pathak
Subject: Re: Meeting for the Project
College terrace? 5 PM? Not bad. Very filmy. Just let me knowâare we meeting to discuss the project or to throw me off the roof?
P.S. If itâs the second option, at least push me on my good side. Want my last photo to look nice. ð
He hit send and leaned back, grinning.
Across the city, Aashna saw the reply pop up on her screen. She read it once, then twice, lips twitching against her will.
She quickly exited the email. No way was she giving him the satisfaction of a reply.
Little did she know, Dhruvin was already looking forward to 5 PM.
The alarm buzzed at 6 AM, but Dhruvin was already awake. Something about today felt differentâlike something exciting was waiting for him at the end of the day. He grabbed his racket and headed out for his morning badminton session.
The court was already filled with familiar voices, and as he stepped in, Nishta waved at him with a smirk. âStill late as always, Deshmukh?â
âLate? Iâve been here since 4 AM doing push-ups,â he shot back, making her roll her eyes.
They started playing, and with every smash and rally, old memories resurfacedâNishta, Nishant, Taaruk, Mithali⦠the group that once felt like home. But the more he tried to recall, the fuzzier things became. It wasnât that he had forgotten. His mind had simply blocked certain things out. The realization left a strange hollowness in his chest.
âYou good?â Nishta asked, noticing the shift in his expression.
Dhruvin blinked, shaking off the thought. âHaan, thik hoon. Bas tu abhi bhi haar rahi hai, toh thoda guilty mehsoos kar raha hoon.â (Yeah, Iâm fine. Just feeling a little guilty that you're still losing.)
"Dream on," she scoffed, smashing the shuttlecock towards him with extra force.
After an hour of playing, he headed home, where the familiar scent of puranpoli hit him the moment he stepped in. His mood instantly lifted.
"Aala re majha hero!" Aaji called from the kitchen, her face lighting up. (Here comes my hero!)
Grinning, he hugged her from behind. "Aaji, tujhya haathachi puranpoli khalla nahi tar sagla divas vyarth jato!" (Aaji, if I donât eat your puranpoli, my entire day feels wasted!)
Aajoba, reading the newspaper on the balcony, chuckled. âAani college la jaayacha ahe ki puranpoli khaaun zopayacha?â (And are you actually going to college or just planning to eat puranpoli and sleep?)
Dhruvin dramatically sighed, stealing another bite. "Aajoba, I have a very important meeting at 5 PM. I need to look good."
Aaji playfully smacked his arm. âHaan haan, mulichya meeting la jaych tension nako gheus evdh.â (Yes yes, donât stress about going to meet a girl.)
Little did she know, this was the only meeting he was actually looking forward to.
Dhruvin stood in front of his cupboard, hands on his hips, staring at the mess he had just created. Clothes were scattered everywhereâblack tees, checkered shirts, hoodies he hadn't worn in months. Why was this so hard? It wasnât like he was going on a date. Bas ek project meeting hai, Dhruvin, get a grip. Yet, for some reason, he wanted to look... presentable. Not too casual, not too try-hard. After what felt like an eternity of overthinking, he finally settled on a crisp white shirt and a black jacket. Simple, effortlessâthoda serious, thoda cool. Perfect.
On the other side of the city, Aashna had barely slept.
She had tossed and turned the entire night, staring at the ceiling, replaying her fatherâs words over and over.
"Stability matters, Aashna. Literature wonât get you anywhere. Why canât you choose a real career?"
The words clung to her skin like an ink stain, impossible to wash away. She could still see the disappointment in his eyes, the firm set of his jaw, the way he had dismissed her dreams with such ease, as if they were mere distractions rather than a part of who she was.
She didnât fight back. She never did. What was the point?
There was no space in their house for debates, no room for her dreams to grow beyond the limits her father had set for her. So she swallowed it allâthe hurt, the anger, the feeling of being trapped in a life she didnât want.
Morning came, but the heaviness in her chest didnât fade.
Aashna lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like a heavy blanket. Her body felt glued to the mattress, her mind clouded with the remnants of last nightâs arguments and the suffocating pressure of expectations. For a moment, she considered skipping everythingâcollege, the project, the world outside her room. But she knew better. With a deep sigh, she forced herself up, dragging her feet to the bathroom. The cold water did little to wash away the heaviness in her chest, but at least it made her feel somewhat awake.
She stood in front of her wardrobe, staring at the rows of kurtas she usually wore. Today, even the thought of dressing up felt exhausting. Instead, she grabbed a loose navy blue sleeveless one-piece, something light, something that didnât cling too muchâbecause everything else already felt suffocating enough. Running a quick brush
through her hair, she glanced at her reflection, expression unreadable. Bas ek din aur nikal jayega. (Just one more day will pass.) With that, she picked up her bag and walked out. She avoided the dining table, ignored the voices in the kitchen, and left without breakfast. It was easier this wayâeasier than pretending everything was fine. She didn't even realize she had forgotten to carry a water bottle.
The day passed in a blur of lectures, assignments, and mindless note-taking. She buried herself in work, hoping it would drown out the thoughts swirling in her head. But every now and then, her mind would wanderâflashing back to the previous night, to the words she had left unsaid.
And then there was this project.
The thought of working with Dhruvin, dealing with his irritating smirks and effortless charm, felt exhausting. She just wanted to get it over with. No unnecessary interactions, no small talkâjust work, and done.
Meanwhile, Dhruvinâs day moved at an entirely different speed.
For him, the hours crawled.
4:00 PM.
4:15 PM.
4:30 PM.
Dhruvin tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk. His friends were talking about somethingâhe wasnât sure what. His thoughts were stuck elsewhere.
"Yeh 5 PM aaj aayega ya time wahi atak gaya hai?" he muttered under his breath. (Will 5 PM ever come, or is time stuck forever?)
Manan raised an eyebrow. "Why are you staring at the clock like youâre waiting for your crush to text you?"
Dhruvin smirked. "Crush nahi, partner." (Not a crush, a partner.)
Manan wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh? So it begins?"
Dhruvin leaned back, stretching with a lazy grin. "Letâs just say⦠aj raat ko email nahi, direct face-to-face interview hone wala hai." (Letâs just say⦠tonight, there wonât be an emailâthereâll be a direct face-to-face interview.)
And with that, the countdown to 5 PM truly began.
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Authorâs Note
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