Dear diary,
I hate him.
I hate his hoodie. I hate his eyes. I hate how he looked at me like I was something worth looking at.
And I especially hate how he didn't even blink when he almost leaned in.
Almost.
Again.
This is getting dangerous.
I'm deleting my heart.
If anyone asks, I'm in love with sleep and biryani.
Not with my brother's best friend.
Definitely not.
---
I slammed the diary shut, dramatically threw it under my pillow, and collapsed backward like the universe personally betrayed me.
Why did he always manage to get under my skin like this? And why, in the name of all that is rational, did my stomach feel like it was doing cartwheels every time he smirked?
I rolled over and stared at the ceiling fan.
"Please spin the feelings away," I whispered. The fan betrayed me too.
---
Knock knock. "Tapasyaaaa," came Mom's voice from the other side of my door. "Aarav's asking for that psychology file you made him fill out."
Oh no. Right. The group project I'd completely ignored since the Bonfire Incident™.
"Yeah, just a sec!" I called, flinging myself off the bed like I wasn't a walking heart-shaped disaster.
I opened the door with my face in its best Emotionally Neutral Human Being™ expression.
Mom raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"
"Totally."
"You sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're… glowing."
"I HAVE OILY SKIN."
She laughed softly. "You know, Tapu… Aarav isn't that boy who used to steal your mango candies anymore."
"Right, because now he steals my peace," I muttered.
She handed me the file and leaned in. "Just saying. Sometimes girls take time to admit what mothers already know."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, heart thudding.
She smiled sweetly. "You'll figure it out. Or he will. Either way, I'm rooting for love and logic."
"Okay, wow. Thank you, Mother Netflix."
---
I walked into the living room like I was headed into a battlefield. Aarav sat on the couch, scrolling on his phone and casually ruining my life with how good he looked in a plain black tee.
"Here's your precious file," I said, tossing it beside him and plopping on the armchair.
He looked up. "Ah, my project partner returns."
"No grades. Just judgement."
He laughed. "That's fair. You've been avoiding me?"
I raised a brow. "I've been busy."
"Being adorable?"
"Being annoyed."
"Oh yeah?" he grinned. "You seemed pretty un-annoyed during our moonlit beach walk."
My cheeks betrayed me again by blushing. "That was—you're imagining things."
"You didn't imagine me holding your hand though, did you?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out except a confused squeak.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching me like I was some fascinating puzzle.
"You know, I didn't expect you to grow up like this."
"Like what?"
"All smart-mouthed and soft-hearted," he said, voice low. "You keep pretending like you don't care, but you do."
I swallowed. "And you pretend like you're not flirting."
He smirked. "Maybe I'm not pretending."
For two seconds, we just looked. And it was the kind of looking that felt like falling.
Then I shot up like I'd sat on a cactus. "Okay, wow. Thanks for the psychological evaluation. We're done here."
He laughed and stood, grabbing the file. "Thanks, Professor Tapasya. Your analysis is always fun."
"Yeah well, go bother my brother. Or a coconut tree."
He winked. "Nah. I prefer bothering you."
---
I marched back into my room, slammed the door, and immediately pulled out my diary like it was a life support system.
Dear diary,
This is an emergency.
He remembered our walk.
He knows I felt something.
He likes bothering me.
I think he likes me.
Or maybe he's just a walking flirt bomb sent to ruin me.
Either way…
I'm falling.
And I am so, so screwed.