( character ka naam adhushrit he ... Kahi kahi jagah pe autocorrect hua he toh adhushirt ban gaya he woh toh plz samaj ke lena it will take time to edit everything.)

AUTHOR'S POV

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Standing before the mirror, Niyati adjusted the pleats of her bridal saree, her reflection glowing in rich shades of red and gold. The soft chooda on her wrists clinked gently as she moved, and a shy smile curved her lips....one that held a thousand memories within it. As the makeup artist worked silently behind her, Niyati’s thoughts drifted back to a time far removed from this moment.

Back to the very first day of college.

The beginning of everything.

The day her journey truly started.

The day she met him....without even realizing how deeply that moment would one day shape her life.

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𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝟏 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐩

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The streets of Gujarat were already alive with their usual chaos....honking vehicles, hurried pedestrians, and vendors calling out to passersby. Amidst all this, Niyati rushed forward, her dupatta slipping slightly off her shoulder as she hurried toward Parul University, where she had recently taken admission in business studies.

“Bhai, aaj toh bohot late ho gayi,” she muttered anxiously, quickening her pace. “Tu bhi na, buddhu hai Niyati. College ke pehle din hi late ho gayi. Ab sab kya sochege mere baare mein, yaar?”

Her scooty had betrayed her at the worst possible moment, forcing her to abandon it and run the rest of the way. As she climbed the steps of the college building, she groaned softly, adjusting her slightly crumpled kurti.

“Kya yaar, mere saath hi kyun hota hai yeh sab hamesha?” she complained under her breath. “Ab dekho na meri kurti… aghhh! Maaru jeevan na, pachad ka lagya chhe badha. Hey mahadev whyy??" She said while holding her trishul pendent with her right hand.

Her silver anklets chimed delicately with every step she took, their soft sound echoing through the long corridor...a sound that unknowingly caught a few curious glances.

Reaching the hallway, she stopped abruptly and looked around, panic slowly settling in.

“Lo, ab class dhoondo,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “Su mathakuti chhe aa?”

(What kind of headache is this?)

“Pagal ho rahi hoon main,” she whispered to herself and continued walking.

Finally, she found a classroom with students already seated inside. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture, pushed the door open gently, and spoke..still slightly breathless..

“May I come in?”

And just like that, without her knowing it yet, destiny took its very first step toward her.

“Haash… bachi gayi,” Niyati whispered to herself as she finally stepped inside the classroom, trying hard to steady her breathing. Her heart was still racing from all the running.

Her relief, however, lasted only a second.

The moment she entered, the entire class turned toward her in unison. Dozens of curious eyes fixed on her, some surprised, some amused, and some simply observant.

She froze.

"Oh God… not today. Please not today,"she thought as realization dawned on her. Their attention wasn’t just because she was late..it was because of her hair. A few loose strands framed her face messily, and her braid had slightly come undone during the run.

My hair never supports me at the right time, she sighed inwardly.

Before she could gather herself, a stern voice echoed across the room.

“Why are you late, miss?” the professor asked, adjusting her glasses as she looked directly at Niyati.

Niyati swallowed nervously but maintained her composure. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she replied politely, offering a small, apologetic smile. “It’s my first day, and I wasn’t sure where the classrooms were.”

The professor studied her for a brief moment before nodding. “Alright. Come in and introduce yourself.”

As Niyati walked further into the classroom, her eyes quickly scanned the room....and that’s when she noticed it.

Everyone else was dressed in casual western outfits—jeans, tops, shirts, sneakers. And there she was, standing in a simple yet elegant traditional kurti with her dupatta neatly pinned.

"Uff… why do I always feel so out of place?" she wondered, her grip tightening slightly on her bag strap.

Standing near the podium, she took a deep breath.

“Hello everyone,” she began softly. “My name is Niyati.”

A few students nodded, most barely looked up.

“I’m here for my business studies,” she continued. “I want to become a writer in the future, but… for backup, I’m studying business as well. Nice to meet you all.”

Her voice trembled just a little at the end.

Silence followed.

No excited smiles. No welcoming whispers. Just uninterested faces and a few students returning to their conversations.

"Maybe I should’ve said something more impressive", she thought, her confidence shrinking instantly. Being an introvert had never been easy, and moments like these only made it harder to speak freely.

With a quiet nod from the professor, she walked toward the back bench and sat down alone, carefully placing her bag beside her. She folded her hands in her lap, staring ahead, though her thoughts were miles away.

Will I even survive here? she wondered.

The unfamiliar faces, the new environment, the subtle feeling of not belonging??it all weighed heavily on her heart.

Maybe no one wants to be friends with me, she thought, her eyes clouding with uncertainty.

Little did she know, someone in that very classroom had already noticed her—far more deeply than she could imagine.

Later that day, after a few lectures were cancelled, Niyati found herself wandering around the campus aimlessly. She hoped that exploring the university might help lift her mood and distract her from the awkwardness of the morning.

The campus was vast and lively...students laughing, groups sitting under trees, the distant echo of footsteps...but despite all that, she felt strangely alone.

As she turned into one of the quieter corridors, her steps slowed.

A group of boys stood there, leaning casually against the wall, laughing among themselves. The moment their eyes landed on her, something inside her tightened.

Her sixth sense warned her—something isn’t right.

Their laughter faded into smirks as they openly stared at her. One of them whispered something to another, and soon low chuckles followed. Then came the comments...mocking her traditional attire, her dupatta, the anklets on her feet.

“Yeh dekho, lagta hai kisi shaadi se seedha yahan aa gayi,” one of them sneered.

Another laughed. “College hai ya sanskar class?”

Their words weren’t loud, but they were sharp enough to pierce. They took a step closer, trying to intimidate her.

Niyati’s heart began to pound. She clutched her bag tightly, her fingers trembling.

“Please… stop,” she tried to say, but her voice came out weak, barely audible.

This place was new. The faces were unfamiliar. And confrontation..especially like this...was something she wasn’t ready for.

Just as panic threatened to take over, firm footsteps echoed through the corridor.

A tall, well-built man entered, dressed in crisp formal attire. His presence alone commanded attention. He looked like a bodyguard..strong, disciplined, and alert. A thick mustache framed his stern expression, adding to his authoritative aura.

“Kya ho raha hai yahan?” he asked sharply, his voice deep and commanding.

Startled, the boys stiffened instantly.

Without thinking, Niyati stepped back and moved behind him, her hands shaking slightly as relief washed over her.

“Kuch nahi, Amanveer sir,” one of the boys stammered, avoiding eye contact.

'Toh… unka naam Amanveer hai', Niyati thought silently, peeking at him from behind.

Amanveer’s gaze hardened as he looked at the boys. “Tum logon ko samajh nahi aata ke bullying is strictly forbidden in this college?” he said coldly.

He took a step forward, his voice lowering but growing more dangerous.

“Agar maine tum logon ko dobara aisa karte pakda na, seedha mere paas aaoge. Jail mein raat guzaarne ka shauk hai? Phir try karke dekhna.”

The warning was enough.

The boys didn’t dare respond. They muttered quick apologies and fled the corridor without looking back.

The silence that followed felt heavy—but safe.

Niyati exhaled slowly, realizing only then how tightly she had been holding her breath.

Little did she know, this moment...this unexpected rescue..was not just an act of protection, but the beginning of something far greater.

Amanveer slowly turned toward Niyati, who still stood there with her head lowered, her fingers tightly clutching the strap of her bag.

“Acha bacha,” he said gently, his tone softening completely. “Woh log chale gaye hain. Ab tum theek ho...dekh sakti ho.”

Niyati hesitated for a moment before finally lifting her gaze.

“Thank you… bhaiya,” she said softly.

As her eyes met his, she felt an unfamiliar calm wash over her. His expression held no judgment, no authority..only reassurance.

Amanveer smiled faintly. “Koi baat nahi, bacha. Ab jao. Dhyaan se.”

She nodded quietly, unsure of what else to say. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her footsteps light yet hurried, as if she wanted to leave the moment behind—but not the feeling of safety it had given her.

Amanveer watched her retreating figure for a brief second before turning back toward his duties, unaware that this fleeting encounter would soon echo far beyond this corridor.

Meanwhile…

In a luxurious rented flat not far from the university, sunlight filtered through tall glass windows, reflecting off sleek furniture and polished surfaces. The place spoke of comfort, wealth, and quiet power.

Seated casually on a designer sofa was a young man dressed sharply in formals. One leg rested over the other as he scrolled lazily through his phone, completely at ease. Despite his relaxed posture, there was something unmistakable about him..an aura that hinted he was no ordinary student.

The doorbell rang.

Moments later, the door opened, and Amanveer Rathore walked in, loosening his collar slightly as he stepped inside.

“Tu yahan baitha hai aur phone scroll kar raha hai?” Amanveer asked, raising an eyebrow. “College nahi jaana tujhe aaj?”

The young man...Adhushrit...didn’t even look up. “Bhaiya, jaunga. Bas thodi der mein,” he replied casually, his attention still fixed on the screen.

Amanveer shook his head lightly. “Theek hai,” he said, walking further in. Then, as if remembering something, he paused.

“Waise,” he added, “aaj college mein ek ladki se mila.”

That made Adhushrit stop scrolling.

“Acha?” he asked, finally looking up.

“Haan,” Amanveer continued, leaning against the table. “Bahut masoom thi yaar. Achi lagi… bilkul innocent si.”

Adhushrit’s curiosity was clearly piqued now. Something about his brother’s tone felt different..thoughtful, almost reflective.

Without saying much more, Adhushrit stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Chalo, main bhi college ja raha hoon,” he said. “Waise bhi kuch formalities complete karni hai." .

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The Next Day

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The second day at college felt no different for Niyati.

She was still alone.

Whispers followed her wherever she went...silent judgments wrapped in curious glances. Most students couldn’t understand her traditional style. While others walked around in western outfits, Niyati chose ethnic clothes that reflected who she truly was. Her simple kurti, the silver anklets softly chiming with every step, and the small bindi on her forehead gave her an elegance that didn’t go unnoticed...though not always appreciated.

Culture wasn’t a fashion choice for her; it was her identity.

Niyati believed deeply in her roots. A devoted follower of Mahadev, she never missed her morning prayers. Somewhere deep within her heart, she longed for a love as pure and eternal as that of Mahadev and Parvati—a love built on devotion, understanding, and faith.

But life had taught her early that love wasn’t always easy.

She never got the love which she deserved.She had grown up feeling emotionally distant from her step mother. No matter how hard she tried, she was often misunderstood..her silence mistaken for weakness, her sensitivity seen as fragility. Over time, she had learned to endure loneliness quietly.

That morning, she sat on the last bench of the classroom, her diary open in front of her. Her pen moved gently across the pages, pouring out thoughts she never spoke aloud. The professor had cancelled the lecture due to an emergency and instructed the class to sit quietly and complete their work.

The room was filled with low murmurs and the faint scratching of pens.

Nearly ten minutes had passed when the classroom door creaked open.

A girl entered, slightly breathless, her eyes scanning the room nervously.

“May I come in, ma’am?” she asked politely.

“Yes, Miss Harini Chavan,” the professor replied without looking up, before returning to her paperwork.

Harini glanced around the classroom, searching for an empty seat. Almost all were occupied...except one.

The seat beside Niyati.

She hesitated for a second before walking toward her.

“Hey,” Harini said softly, offering a warm smile. “Can I sit next to you?”

Niyati looked up from her diary, a little surprised, then nodded gently.

“Yes… please.”

Harini sat down, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

Noticing how tired she looked, Niyati reached into her bag and silently offered her water bottle.

Harini looked at her for a moment, then smiled gratefully.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it.

For the first time since stepping into that college, Niyati didn’t feel completely invisible.

Sometimes, the beginning of a friendship is as simple as a shared seat..and a small act of kindness.

Harini was from Maharashtra but had shifted to Gujarat after her father’s transfer. Unlike Niyati, she was outgoing, expressive, and quick to strike up conversations..almost the opposite of Niyati’s quiet, reserved nature. Somehow, their differences made their bond stronger.

As they sat together during a free lecture, Harini turned toward her with curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“Waise,” she said, nudging her lightly, “tell me something about yourself.”

Niyati smiled faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m nothing special,” she began softly. “My name is Niyati. I’m from Vadodara. I love writing stories, and dancing is my passion.” She paused for a second before adding, “I want to become a writer someday… but I’m studying business as a backup.” She smiled shyly. “And I guess you’ve already noticed—I’m an introvert.”

Harini’s face lit up. “That’s actually really cool!”

Then it was her turn. “I’m Harini..from Maharashtra. And I want to become a businesswoman.”

“Nice to meet you, mota ben,” Niyati said with a playful grin.

Harini blinked. “Kya mota?”

Niyati laughed softly. “Arre, mota ben means elder sister in Gujarati!”

“Oooooh!” Harini burst out laughing. “Mujhe laga tum mujhe mota bol rahi ho!”

Both of them giggled, the sound blending easily with the chatter around them..

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It was lunch break and they were in corridor, while wandering around the college grounds, Niyati and Harini found themselves drawn toward a small crowd. Music floated through the air..soft, rhythmic, and unmistakably traditional.

A group of girls were dancing gracefully to a devotional number.

Niyati’s eyes sparkled instantly.

“Bhaiya,” she said excitedly to a senior managing the music system, “Woh Kisna Hai song chala do na!”

Before Harini could even react, Niyati grabbed her hand and pulled her closer.

As the music began, something changed within Niyati.

She stepped forward, her movements natural, effortless...like the rhythm already lived inside her.

🎶

“Woh hai rangeela, chhail chhabela

Woh hai natkhat, jamunataka…”

🎶

Her ghungroo-less feet moved with precision, her hands forming graceful mudras, her expressions glowing with devotion. The crowd slowly grew silent, watching her in awe...then bursts of hoots and claps followed.

🎶

“Phere lagaye, murli bajaye

Gopiyo ke sang raas rachaye…”

🎶

Every step told a story. Every expression reflected faith, love, and surrender. It wasn’t just a dance..it was prayer in motion.

Harini stood still, eyes wide, her heart full.

It felt like watching Radharani herself, she thought.

Completely lost in her Krishna.

For the first time, the campus didn’t just see Niyati as the quiet girl in traditional clothes.

They saw her soul.

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Meanwhile…

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Adhushrit had just finished his work of formalities from two days his admission process was stuck that's why he wants able to attend class but today it got completed and he was returning to his flat when soft music floated through the evening air. The melody was familiar, devotional...something that tugged gently at his senses.

Curious, he slowed his steps.

Almost without realizing it, he followed the sound toward the college ground.

As he reached the edge of the crowd, his gaze instinctively moved toward the center...and that’s when he saw her.

Niyati.

She was dancing.

Not just moving to the rhythm, but living it. Every step carried devotion, every expression told a story. There was a calm intensity in her movements...graceful yet powerful.

Adhushrit stood still, completely mesmerized.

The world around him blurred..the chatter, the hooting, the claps...everything faded into the background. His eyes followed her every move, his heart reacting before his mind could process what was happening.

Without realizing it, his feet moved forward.

At that very moment, Niyati’s foot caught slightly in the hem of her kurti. She lost her balance for a split second.....

And before she could fall, strong arms steadied her.

Adhushrit had caught her.

Their eyes met.

Time seemed to pause.

The music continued, the crowd existed, yet somehow none of it mattered. For that fleeting moment, it was just the two of them....standing there, breathless, connected by something neither of them understood yet.

As the song flowed on, Adhushrit didn’t step back.

Instead, he matched her rhythm.

🎶

“Jo hai albela, mad naino wala

Jiski deewani Brij ki bala…”

🎶

He mirrored her steps effortlessly, moving with surprising grace. Their coordination felt natural, almost instinctive...as if they had practiced together countless times before.

As there performance of ended...

The crowd erupted.

“Arey yaar, yeh nayi student bohot acha dance karti hai!”

“Tum dono ki jodi toh kamaal ki thi!”

“Wah! Kya dance kiya dono ne!”

Applause filled the ground as the song came to an end.

Harini rushed toward Niyati, excitement written all over her face.

“Wah yaar!” she exclaimed. “Tum toh bilkul Radharani lag rahi thi—pure raasleela!”

Niyati smiled shyly. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Then she turned toward her unexpected dance partner.

“Hello,” she said politely. “Aapne bhi bohot acha dance kiya.Myself, Niyati.”

Adhushrit smiled faintly, still catching his breath.

“Hello… aapne bhi,” he replied. “Main toh bas… aise hi beech mein aa gaya.”

“Myself, Adhushrit.”

“Nice to meet you, Adhushrit,” she said gently.

“Same to you, Miss,” he responded.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting slightly.

“Excuse me,” he said before stepping away to take the call.

As he walked off, Harini nudged Niyati excitedly.

“Yaar! Kya mast jodi thi tum dono ki!” she gushed.

Niyati felt warmth rush to her cheeks. She looked away shyly, smiling despite herself.

“Bas na…” she murmured. “Ab mujhe sharam aa rahi hai.”

And somewhere nearby, as Adhushrit spoke into his phone, his mind wasn’t fully there.

It was still on the ground.

On a girl in traditional clothes.

On a dance that felt like destiny’s first whisper.

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