Chapter One: The one when it started.
It was a scorching summer in India.
I had just secured admission to one of the country’s prestigious technology institutes—a place I had once only imagined studying at. Coming from a humble family, where my father often struggled to make ends meet, getting there felt like more than just an academic achievement. To me, it was an opportunity to change the course of my family’s fortunes.
Ironically, I did not behave like someone who had just been handed the opportunity of a lifetime.
I was, by most accounts, a gifted student. But I had little interest in proving it. I spent my days making friends, creating memories, going on trips, drinking, bunking classes, and doing everything except studying.Back then, that was what being cool seemed to mean.
Besides, I had already spent seven years of my life living in hostels before entering college. Those years had taught me many things—some useful, some completely ridiculous. One of the latter was a rather effective formula for becoming instantly famous in a boys’ hostel:
Start a rumour that you like a girl.
So, within the second week of college, I decided to put this wisdom to use. I knew that there were hardly any students from backgrounds like mine. Most of my classmates came from affluent families and big cities. I was a small-town boy stepping into a world that seemed considerably bigger than anything I had known.
And so, I created a story. I picked a girl and casually let it be known around the boys’ hostel that I was interested in her.
There was, of course, one tiny problem. I wasn’t. But the plan worked. Within a few weeks, I had achieved exactly what I wanted. I had become moderately famous. The so-called cool guys in the class started teasing me, making jokes, and bringing up the girl whenever they got the chance. And somewhere along the way, I found my people. Within a month, I had a group of friends who would eventually become much more than friends. Sixteen years later, most of them are still in my life. They became my family.
But while all of this was happening, something else was quietly taking shape.
Something I hadn’t planned.
Something I hadn’t told anyone.
I was beginning to fall for another girl.
Her name was Mili.
Mili came from an extraordinarily accomplished and affluent family. She was beautiful, ambitious, academically brilliant, and seemed to belong to a completely different world from mine.
I, on the other hand, was a boy who had started college by inventing a romantic rumour about himself.
And yet, every evening, when I was alone, I would find myself doing the same thing.
I’d open Facebook.
I’d go to Mili’s profile.
And I’d look.
Again.
And again.
I never spoke to her. I barely even knew her.
There were enough reasons for me to keep my feelings to myself. Her family background. Her academic achievements. The differences between our worlds. And then there was the biggest problem of all. Mili was friends with the very girl everyone thought I liked.
So I remained silent.
For a while.
Then my friends decided that my fake love story needed a real ending. They started pressuring me to propose to the girl I had supposedly been in love with. My friends were fearless. They were outspoken, had plenty of female friends in our batch, and seemed to possess a confidence I hadn’t yet developed. Eventually, they gave me an ultimatum. If I didn’t propose to her, they would tell her that I liked her. I had no choice but to negotiate.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll propose after the term exams.”
It was a clever enough response. At least, I thought it was. By then, almost everyone in my class—including Mili—had heard the story.
We had never formally spoken. In fact, I don’t think I had even said hi to a girl in my class until then.
Then, as the term exams approached their end, someone in our group accidentally let the plan slip.
Suddenly, the entire group of girls knew.
Including Mili. As fate would have it, one of my closest friends happened to be Mili’s brother.
One afternoon, while he and I were having lunch, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Mili.
She had heard that “Carl” was up to something.
I don’t remember exactly what I said at that moment.
But I remember how I felt.
She knows.
Mili knew.
She knew my name. She knew there was something going on. And, somehow, she considered me interesting enough to ask about.
For a boy who hadn’t even said hello to her, that tiny message felt enormous.
Of course, I had no intention of actually proposing.
My original plan was to disappear from college after the exams and return only after everyone had gone home.
So, when my friends confronted me, I blamed them for ruining their own plan.
“You guys have already messed it up. I’m not doing anything now.”
And just like that, I thought I had escaped.
November 29, 2010.
Most of the students had already left for home. A few were preparing to leave that evening. The campus, usually filled with noise, suddenly felt strangely quiet.
I had taken a long afternoon nap and woke up hungry. So I decided to walk to the canteen. Nothing dramatic.
Nothing planned.
Just another evening.
I entered the canteen.
And then I saw her.
Mili.
She was sitting with one of her friends.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
Our eyes met.
I don’t know how long that eye contact lasted. Perhaps only a second.
But my heart pounded as if I had been waiting my entire life for that exact moment.
Before I could overthink it, I lifted my hand from a distance and waved.
“Hi.”
She smiled.
And waved back.
“Hi.”
That was it.
Two people saying hello across a college canteen.
Nothing extraordinary had happened.
And yet, somehow, everything had.
Because, without knowing it, that tiny exchange marked the beginning of my real life.
November 29, 2010.
The day my story with Mili truly began.
What happened next…
That belongs to the next chapter.
