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She stood there in a sky-blue kurti, slim-fit jeans hugging her legs, hair messy from the wind under her helmet, a few strands stuck to her cheek, half-damp with sweat or heat—maybe both.
Not covered. Not conservative in the way people might expect. But there was a kind of modesty in her confidence—something that didn't need layers to prove dignity. Her entire being screamed of independence, of a girl who knew her place in the world and didn't need validation to defend it.
And maybe that's what shook me the most.
She didn't look like someone waiting to be saved. She looked like someone who saved herself.
"Marne ke liye humari hi scooty mili thi aapko?" ("Out of all the scooters in the world, you had to pick mine to die under?")
Her words echoed in my head like the start of a song you don't know the lyrics to—but you already know it'll stay with you forever. The way she said it, fierce eyes narrowing beneath thick brows, lips slightly parted in disbelief... God. I'd never seen someone more alive. More electric.
And me?
I just stood there, taking it all in like a man who'd been drowning for years and finally tasted air.
What was that saying? "Pyar pehle nazar ka jhoot hota hai." (Love at first sight is a beautiful lie.)
But this didn't feel like a lie. It felt like recognition.
As if some part of me had known her from a dream I never remembered, and suddenly she was here—in flesh and fire—scolding me in the middle of a sunlit Devprayag street.
"Bolna aata hai aapko?" ("Do you even know how to speak?")
Yes. I did. I just didn't know how to speak —yet.
She looked at me like I was absurd, and maybe I was. She didn't seem like someone who believed in fate or fairy tales. Her kind of story didn't have time for boys who stood around smiling like idiots. And still... I wanted to be in her story. Even if I had to rewrite the entire damn plot.
Then her friend arrived—pulling her away before I could even ask her name, but fate lemme know her name, Noor.
She was the one being called for, and I was the one who felt like I'd been left behind.
As her scooty sped away down the hill road, leaving behind a faint cloud of dust and something much heavier in my chest, I just stood there. Still. Quiet.
And utterly changed.
She hadn't been wearing a hijab. She hadn't quoted poetry or played coy. She hadn't smiled sweetly or batted her lashes like girls often did in romantic clichés. She was blunt. Bold. Blazing.
