The plan was audacious, born from a casual, heat-induced complaint by Kritika one sweltering afternoon in late September. The monsoon had retreated, leaving behind a city that steamed and baked under a relentless sun.
"I'm going to melt," she'd declared dramatically, fanning herself with a notebook. "We should just run away. Go to the mountains. Somewhere we can actually breathe."
To everyone's surprise, it was Ruhi who latched onto the idea with an unexpected, almost fervent enthusiasm. "Manali," she'd said, a strange, wistful look clouding her eyes. "My parents used to take me there when I was little. It's beautiful." She turned her gaze to the group, a rare, almost childlike excitement in her expression. "Let's go for the semester break."
And so, what began as an idle daydream was transformed, with astonishing speed, into a meticulously planned reality. It was organized, of course, by Ruhi. She handled everything with her usual quiet efficiency: booking the tickets, finding the accommodation, even creating a shared document with a suggested packing list. Rihan suspected it was also largely bankrolled by her, though she never mentioned money, waving away their attempts to contribute with a simple, "Don't worry about it. It's my treat."
They took an overnight bus, a rattling, semi-sleeper that wound its way out of the dusty plains of Rajasthan and up into the winding, treacherous roads of the Himalayas. The long journey was a microcosm of their friendship. It was filled with Kritika's terrible but enthusiastic singing of old Bollywood songs, Ashutosh's surprisingly well-prepared snacks of theplas and homemade sandwiches, and a quiet, nervous energy that crackled almost palpably in the space between Rihan and Ruhi.
They sat next to each other, a fact Ruhi had ensured with her careful seat selection. In the darkness of the bus, the usual buffer zones of their college life disappeared. Their shoulders would occasionally brush when the bus lurched around a hairpin bend, a simple contact that sent sparks of electricity through Rihan's veins. He found himself unable to sleep, pretending to be asleep instead, just so he could watch her.
She had fallen asleep an hour out of Chandigarh, her head resting against the cool glass of the window. The harsh, fluorescent lights of passing towns and dhabas painted fleeting, ghostly patterns on her serene face. In sleep, the formidable fortress of Ruhi Soni seemed to crumble just a little. Her features softened, the resolute line of her jaw relaxed, and she looked younger, more vulnerable. He saw the girl, not the President, and his chest ached with a fierce, protective urge that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Manali was a paradise. It was a sensory shock after the heat and dust of Jaipur. The air was crisp and thin, carrying the clean, sharp scent of pine and damp earth. The sky was a shade of brilliant, piercing blue that hurt the eyes. They checked into a charming, two-storey wooden guesthouse with a wide, flower-lined balcony that overlooked the roaring, untamed waters of the Beas River. It was a place Ruhi had found online, a family-run establishment that felt more like a home than a hotel.
The days that followed were idyllic, a string of perfect, sun-drenched moments strung together like pearls on a necklace. They were blissfully free from the rigid structures and unspoken hierarchies of college. They were just four friends on an adventure. They explored the winding, bohemian streets of Old Manali, haggling for silver jewellery and woollen shawls. They went trekking through dense pine forests where the sunlight dappled the ground in shifting patterns of gold and green, the silence broken only by the chirping of unseen birds and the crunch of their own footsteps. They sat for hours in quaint, hippie-chic cafes, sipping honey-ginger-lemon tea and talking about everything and nothing – their childhoods, their dreams, their fears.
It was here, away from Jaipur, that the dynamics between them truly shifted and settled. Ashutosh and Kritika, witnessing the undeniable, magnetic pull between Rihan and Ruhi, often found subtle ways to give them time alone. A feigned interest in a particular shop, a sudden craving for an apple pie from a specific bakery – they became masters of the strategic retreat.
It was on one such occasion, during a long walk along the banks of the Beas River, that things changed forever.
The sun was beginning to set, staining the snow-capped peaks of the distant mountains in breathtaking hues of orange, pink, and deep violet. The roar of the river was a constant, powerful presence, a wild, elemental music. They had been walking in a comfortable silence for a while, just listening to the water and the crunch of their boots on the gravel path.
"I've never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life," Rihan said, his voice filled with a genuine, childlike wonder as he stared at the majestic, colour-washed landscape.
Ruhi stopped walking and turned to face him. The golden light of the setting sun caught the mahogany highlights in her hair, making them glow like spun gold. "Haven't you?" she asked softly, her voice almost lost in the roar of the river.
He tore his eyes away from the mountains and looked at her, truly looked at her, and the breathtaking vista behind her faded to an insignificant, out-of-focus blur. Her face, bathed in the soft, ethereal light of the 'golden hour', was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her eyes, in that moment, were deeper and more expressive than he had ever seen them. He saw the intelligence, the strength, the kindness that he had come to adore, but he also saw a flicker of something else – a deep-seated loneliness, a profound yearning that seemed to mirror the emptiness he had carried inside himself for so long.
"No," he whispered, his voice hoarse with an emotion he couldn't name. "Never."
The world seemed to shrink until it was just the few inches of charged air that separated them. The roar of the river faded to a dull, distant hum. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, see the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. Acting on an impulse that was bolder than anything he had ever done in his entire timid life, he reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered for a fraction of a second too long, the touch both hesitant and deliberate.
He felt her breath hitch. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and when she opened them again, the calm, composed, untouchable Ruhi Soni was gone. In her place was a girl, vulnerable and raw, her heart laid bare in her unguarded gaze.
"Rihan," she breathed his name, and it was both a question and a plea.
He didn't know what came over him. All the fear, all the shyness, all the timidity that had shackled him for years, simply dissolved in the face of the overwhelming, primal need to close the distance between them. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was tentative at first, hesitant and questioning. It was the kiss of a boy who had never been so brave. Then she responded. Her hand came up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming a passionate, almost desperate expression of all the unspoken words and simmering feelings that had been building between them for weeks. It was a kiss of gratitude, of admiration, of a shared, profound loneliness, and of a burgeoning, terrifying love.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. The sun had finally dipped below the mountains, plunging the valley into a soft, purple twilight. The first stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky.
"Ruhi, I..." he started, but he had no words for the tidal wave of emotions that was crashing through him. Love, fear, disbelief, joy – it was all there, a chaotic and beautiful storm.
"Shhh," she whispered, placing a gentle finger on his lips. "You don't have to say anything."
She took his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. They fit together perfectly. They walked back to the guesthouse in a new kind of silence, a silence that was no longer empty but filled with a profound and thrilling understanding.
The rest of the trip passed in a romantic, dreamlike haze. They were inseparable, always holding hands under the table, stealing chaste kisses behind the cover of ancient deodar trees, and sharing secret, knowing smiles that spoke volumes. Kritika was ecstatic, buzzing around them like a happy honeybee. Ashutosh, after a long, appraising look at the two of them, gave Rihan a single, approving nod, a gesture that meant more to Rihan than any words could.
For those few, magical days in the mountains, they were just two people falling in love. The shadows of the past and the complexities of their lives in Jaipur seemed a million miles away, a different reality that couldn't touch them here.
But as they packed their bags on the last day, a sense of foreboding began to creep back in, as chilling as the crisp morning air. The return to reality was inevitable. Rihan, lost in the bliss of his newfound love and confidence, was completely unprepared for the fact that they were not returning to the same world they had left. Their happiness, so open and radiant, had been noticed back on campus. And in the dark, resentful corners of the college, jealousy was festering, turning into a potent, volatile poison that was about to be violently unleashed.