I stand in front of my mirror, buttoning the cuffs of my ice blue shirt-tailored, crisp, and cool against my skin. The shade matches my eyes, almost too perfectly, like I planned it. I didn't. Well... not consciously. But I'm a fashion designer. Style is muscle memory at this point.
The shirt's tucked into a pair of slim, cream-coloured trousers, the fabric soft and fluid when I move. Clean lines. No fuss. I slip on a pair of tan leather loafers, no socks-because I'm not here to impress college kids, but I'm not going to walk in looking like I got lost on my way to brunch either.
A silver ring on my right hand, my signature cologne, and a quick sweep through my wavy hair with my fingers-that's it. No over styling. The whole look says: "I came because my best friend made me. I'll leave as soon as it's polite."
I was ready to leave the mansion when my phone buzzed showing the caller I'd- Dhruv, I answered the call. " Don't be late, I'll introduce you as the genius fashion designer." He spoke.
Perfect. Now I'll be the unwilling guest and 'the unexpected celebrity.'
With a smirk and a half-hearted groan, I grab my blazer-a soft grey linen-and head out the door. Time to play nice.
I slipped into my McLaren, and drove off to Dhruv's house.
___
He told me to be ready at 6 PM and he was late. "It's already 8 PM Dhruv. You're not going to get married today, that you're taking this much time to get ready." I told him standing at the door of his room, knocking continuously.
"Just five minutes." He told me nth time.
Finally after 10 mins he came out. White shirt, black trousers, with a black blazer.
"How am I looking?" He asked me, grinning.
"Spoiled potato." Saying I left.
"You're just jealous of my hotness." He said with a proud grin.
"Get in the car or else I'll leave without you." Saying I slipped into the driving seat.
___
"Don't be nervous, I'm with you." He assured me. What does he think?? Am I a kid?? Why would I be nervous??
"Dramatic." I said.
"Hello sir." He greeted a man in mid 50s.
"He is my friend, and a fashion designer, Aryan Malhotra." He gave my introduction to that man.
"Aryan Malhotra. Everyone knows him. I'm very glad that you grace us with your presence." He said.
"Aaryan, he is the director of our college." Ohh so he is that 'khadoos budhha' not my words but Dhruv's.
I was getting bored in this not-so interesting party. Students were dancing, some were taking pics, some were stuffing their mouth with gol gappa as it is their last day on planet.
I was roaming my eyes here and there, then my eyes landed on a figure.
A girl.
She's standing near the back, surrounded by people who are all trying too hard to look like they're not trying. She's different. Effortless. Laughing like the world hasn't broken her yet. Hair loose, eyes alive, that soft blue outfit soft against the lights-making her magnificent.
I watch her talk, gesture, tilting her head, her head falls back when she laughs, She was looking ethereal, I went somewhat close to the place she's standing, Her Jasmine fragrance hit my nostrils, making me drew towards her.
She is wearing a soft blue dress hanging on her shoulder, her long dark wavy hair cascading down her back, she's not even trying. The way her eyes light up when she laughs, she's looking like an angel, flawless, pure.
There was sunlight in her laughter, moonlight in her gaze, and an entire symphony in the way she carried herself-graceful, unbothered, unknowingly unforgettable.
The way she is fidgeting her fingers around the straps of her bag, like she is nervous. Her nails painted in a shade that matches my eye colour. The way she smiles, smirks at her friends, her soft pink lips held a kind of poetry, even in silence- soft, full, and tinted naturally like rose petals, her nose- Slightly upturned at the tip, as if touched by mischief.
She is breathtaking. I want to talk to her, but how? I want to hear my name from her mouth. But the twist? She doesn't even know what she did to me, just seconds ago I wanted to escape from here, but now I want a reason to stay in this party.
There's something magnetic about her-like the world around her moves a little differently. Slower. Warmer.
And just like that, the room shifts. The noise dulls. The crowd blurs. It's cliché, but I swear-for a second-I forget why I'm even here.
She doesn't look at me.
She doesn't notice me.
She didn't even glance at me.
While everyone else is gawking at me.
I don't think she even knows I'm here.
And that bothers me more than I'd like to admit.
Me, the guy who usually gets noticed before he even speaks, suddenly invisible. I stand there in my designer ice blue shirt and charm that's worked a thousand times before... and she laughs at some joke a friend made, completely unaware I even exist.
I should walk up. Say something clever. Maybe compliment her earrings or ask if she's a student. But the truth is... I freeze.
Me. Aaryan Malhotra. Fashion designer. Used to being chased, noticed, invited in.
What the hell is happening with me?
My heart is pounding in my chest.
I'm feeling nervous. Aaryan Malhotra. Nervous? Yes I am.
I'm just a stranger in a grey blazer, standing at the edge of a party, watching someone who doesn't know she just rewrote my evening without saying a word.
Dhruv finds me again. "Why do you look like someone just hit you with a poetry book?"
I shrug. "Do you know her?"
"Who?" he asked.
"That girl."
"Sakshi sinha, 19. She's a first year student. English literature." He informed.
"But, why do you ask?" He questioned.
Sakshi. How sweet.
"Hey where are you lost??" He waved his hand infront of me.
"Nowhere" I answered, still stealing glances at sakshi.
"Why do you ask?" He repeated.
What should I answer? I don't know. I just looked at her and suddenly my heart started beating like it'll come out of the rib cage. And twist? She didn't even glance at me. Should I tell him it's bothering me?
Nope, not happening.
"I just liked her sense of fashion. That's why I asked." I told a fake reason. My best friend is a fool he got convinced.
I pretend to listen to Dhruv continuously blabbering about the director, did I heard? No. I was stealing glances at her.
She's so... young.
Not in a naïve way. In a fresh, unjaded kind of way. The kind of energy you forget exists when you're buried in deadlines, clients, and caffeine-fueled nights sketching until sunrise.
Nineteen. English Lit.
And me? Twenty-four, already seen too many people trying to be something they're not. But her? She's just being.
I want to know what book she's holding in her bag.
I want to know if she likes Eliot or hates him.
I want to know what makes her laugh like that.
I want to know everything about her.
I want to know her.
I fell for her.
At the first sight? Yes. Because I never noticed any girl as much I'm noticing her. My heart never pounded for anyone, I was approached by many girls, but she stole my heart.
Sakshi sinha.
She'll be the death of me.
And she's unaware of it.
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