Aman’s POV

Being the eldest and the only son in my family, my shoulders carried more than just a backpack. I had responsibilities — big ones. That’s why I gave up my dream of becoming a singer… of building a gaming career… and instead chose a degree that could land me a job the minute I graduate.

No, I don’t have generational wealth.

But I will build my own.

That’s a promise I made to myself.

So here I was, getting ready for college — for a degree I didn’t even want. I still don’t know why I agreed to it, but I guess hope does strange things to you.

I came downstairs for breakfast. My parents and sisters were already seated.

“So, your first day of college?” Papa asked.

“Yes.” I replied, biting into a slice of toast.

“Want any tips?” he smirked.

“Of course, if you’re offering.” I looked up.

He smiled — that classic dad smile — and said, “Stay away from girls.”

“Not possible.” I replied without thinking.

The table went silent.

My mom paused mid-sip. My sisters stared at me like I had just announced I was eloping. I looked around at the stunned faces and, grinning, stood up, grabbed my bag, and waved,

“Bye! Love you all!”

I hopped on my bike and headed out, wind against my face, heart surprisingly calm.

Yes, they worried I might fall for someone. After all, I’d always been popular in school — especially among girls. And to be honest? I liked the attention. It was the only thing that made me feel… enough.

I reached college on time and spotted Dev, my childhood best friend, waiting near the parking lot — as usual, fixing his hair in his bike mirror like he owned the place.

“Hey, buddy! What’s up?” Dev grinned.

“All good.” I replied.

“Have you seen the girls around here? Bro, we’re going to love this place.”

I smirked. “Yeah. They do look promising.”

“So when are you introducing me to my future bhabhi?”

“Not happening. You know I hate commitments.”

Dev rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Aman. One day, some girl’s gonna give butterflies in your dirty stomach too.”

“There’s no girl who can do that. I’ve seen the prettiest ones. None of them have that ‘thing’ everyone talks about.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s see who climbs your head first.” Dev laughed, shaking his head.

We walked into class, took the front seats, and the lecture began. An old professor started explaining something — I wasn’t listening — when suddenly...

A soft voice echoed across the room.

“May I come in, sir?”

My head turned instinctively.

And then… everything froze.

There she was.

The girl in red.

Red kurta, white capri, red dupatta draped delicately over one shoulder. Her skin was dusky — not the kind that beauty magazines talk about, but the kind that makes sunsets jealous. Her hair was braided simply, her face bare of any makeup, and yet… I was staring.

Not because she was “perfect.”

But because she was real.

Raw. Soft. And completely unaware of how beautiful she looked while standing there nervously.

“Why are you late?” the professor asked.

She fumbled. “Sir… actually, there was traffic.”

The classic excuse, I smiled inside.

The professor let her in.

She walked past us to the last row, and as she did, her red dupatta brushed lightly over my shoulder. A soft floral scent — sweet, light, unforgettable — lingered in the air.

“Are you in a relationship with her?” Dev leaned in, whispering like a child.

“What?! Are you crazy?” I hissed.

“Because you’re twinning and staring like your soul found its missing half.”

Only then did I notice…

She was wearing the same red as my hoodie.

Same shade.

Same vibe.

And in that moment, I didn’t know why… but she felt like she was mine.

“It’s just a coincidence.” I muttered, turning away.

I tried to focus on the lecture. But it was no use.

It honestly felt like she walked in, brushed past me… and took my heart with her.

And yes, after that day — I started wearing my red hoodie more often.

Every day, almost. Hoping she’d wear red again. Hoping to match — just once more.

But she never did.

Different colors, every day.

And me? Stuck in red, chasing a silent connection.

She had no idea what she had done to me.

Days passed.

As expected, I got popular in no time — girls were already talking, messaging, smiling at me in the hallway.

I should’ve been happy.

But she — the girl in red — hadn’t even glanced my way once.

Not once.

Did she even notice me? I doubted it.

Why did I even want her to?

At college, we were all asked to open our academic web portals. Most girls — as usual — had no clue how to do it.

So being the gentleman I am (and maybe a little addicted to attention), I took my laptop and began helping them one by one.

A fair-skinned, over-accessorized girl came toward me with a small army of friends.

“Hey handsome, do you know how to open the web portal?” she asked, twisting her voice into fake innocence.

I could tell she was used to getting attention.

“Yeah. Of course.” I replied.

“Can you open ours too?” she added, gesturing to her friends.

“Ours? Wow, what a deal.” I smirked, but nodded.

I opened my laptop and got to work. Just then — a soft voice behind me:

“Hello?”

I looked up.

And there she was.

Her.

Same black eyes. Same softness.

Same girl in red — though today she wore something else. Blue, maybe? I didn’t notice. All I saw was her.

Her eyes met mine.

And for the second time — I froze.

I stared.

She didn’t look away.

She had the kind of face that made you forget how to breathe — not because she was perfect, but because she was real.

Soft lips. Tiny nose. Slight scar on her cheek.

And yet... she looked like poetry wrapped in silence.

To be continued... ❤️