Aanya's POV
The days leading up to the fest were chaos — music rooms were packed, costumes half-stitched, and the canteen buzzed with fest gossip.
But for Aanya, everything felt quiet.
Because every afternoon, just after class, she would slip away to the music room.
And he would already be there.
Waiting. Tuning his guitar. Messing with the mic. Pretending to be chill.
But she could feel it — the same nervous excitement that lived inside her.
Each day, they practiced.
Each day, the notes got smoother.
But it wasn't just the melody falling into place.
It was them.
The way he'd glance at her when she hit a high note.
The way she'd smile when he got the harmony wrong on purpose, just to make her laugh.
The way their voices didn't just blend… they belonged together.
One evening, after they finished the final chorus, the music faded.
Aarav looked at her — not playful this time, not teasing.
Just… quietly present.
"You sing like you mean every word," he said.
She didn't know how to reply.
So she looked down, pretending to fix the mic wire. "Maybe I do."
A pause.
Then, softly, he said, "You have this... calm energy. It's weirdly addicting."
Her heart skipped.
And before she could lose courage, she whispered, "You feel familiar. Like I already knew you before I met you."
He didn't say anything.
But he didn't look away either.
And in that silence — her heart spoke louder than words ever could.
That night, lying on her bed, Aanya stared at the ceiling, the melody still humming in her mind.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
It didn't ache like before.
It felt... full.
Warm.
Like something was slowly falling into place.
"Maybe it's him," she thought. "Maybe he's the one I was dreaming about all this time."
And for the first time in years, she wasn't afraid of the feeling.
Because deep down, every moment with him whispered one thing:
"I found him."
Aanya's POV
Every rehearsal felt different now.
Not just because their timing had improved, or because their song was polished.
But because something unspoken kept blooming between them.
It was in the way Aarav handed her the mic — gently, with a soft smile.
The way their fingers brushed when they passed the guitar.
The way he stayed behind after practice, like he didn't want to leave just yet.
One afternoon, as they sat on the floor of the music room, catching their breath after a high-energy rehearsal, Aarav reached for his bottle of water and paused.
"You ever feel like… this is more than just singing?" he asked suddenly.
Aanya turned her head, surprised.
He wasn't looking at her. Just staring at the ceiling, like trying to understand something inside him.
She nodded slowly. "I've been feeling that too."
He looked at her now. Really looked.
There was no teasing this time.
Just a quiet understanding.
"I keep thinking about that day in the corridor," he said, voice low. "And even before that… that moment on the stairs."
Her breath caught.
"You felt it too?" she whispered.
He nodded. "Like I've known you in a hundred ways before even knowing your name."
A silence settled between them — heavy, warm, real.
And then, softly, Aanya said, "I had a dream. A voice said, 'You already found me. I'm with you.'"
His eyes widened. "I had the same dream."
Their eyes locked again — just like the first time.
But now, it didn't feel confusing.
It felt like the truth had always been quietly waiting to be spoke
Later That Day
The campus buzzed with fest energy — decorations, lighting, last-minute chaos.
They walked together near the side stage, both quieter than usual.
"After the performance," Aarav said, stopping.
She turned to him.
"Let's talk. Really talk. About all of it — the dreams, the feelings, this strange... thing between us."
Aanya nodded.
And for the first time, her smile reached her eyes.
"Okay. After the song."
Both didn't say it out loud.
But their hearts were already whispering:
This time, no more running.