Chapter 4: Rescues and Realisations

5

Back at my rented 2BHK, I changed and showered. I’m a neat freak, and sticky cream is my worst nightmare. The geyser took ages, so I shivered while trains rumbled past and the aunty next door shouted at her son, "Doodh laana mat bhoolna!" Her voice carried right through the thin walls.

When I stepped into the living room, Arjun handed me a shopping bag.

I blinked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Open it."

Inside—a kurti, exactly like the ruined one. Tag still on, the soft fabric smelling of mall AC and sandalwood.

I stared at him. "Why are you giving me this?"

Before he could answer, the comments exploded:

[He’s giving her the kurti so she won’t pick on the heroine again, obviously!]

[Looking back, the male lead started protecting the heroine this early on. I’m shipping this couple so hard!]

Arjun’s eyes shone, almost dazzling. "Didn’t you really like that kurti?"

The comments still raged. I smiled. "Thanks."

For a moment, silence. Only the ceiling fan spun lazily above, and I tucked a stray hair behind my ear, feeling both grateful and strangely foolish.

6

Later, the comments told me more drama had unfolded:

[Sab supporting girl ki galti hai! Manager ne heroine ko nikaal diya.]

[Ab heroine ko roadside tandoori stall pe kaam karna padega. Tension ho raha hai!]

[Phir se koi ladka heroine ko tang kar raha hai. Get lost, you creep!]

[Don’t worry, hero aa gaya hai! Classic rescue scene!]

With the comments screaming, I walked to the tandoori stall. The sizzle of marinated chicken on the grill was drowned out by shouts and the clang of metal plates. The air was thick with roasting chicken, charcoal smoke, and customers arguing over chutney. Autos whizzed past, and somewhere a street dog barked at a cyclist. I wrapped my dupatta tighter, out of place in this chaos.

Arjun’s jacket was stained with blood. His face was cold as he punched a goon. Priya’s hair was wild, her eyes red as she hid behind him.

In the chaos, someone tried to sneak up behind Arjun. Priya screamed.

I stepped forward, chappal almost slipping, but I steadied myself, adrenaline racing. "Bas, ab toh ho gaya tera kaam." I kicked the attacker away. Bystanders gasped. An aunty murmured, "Wah beta!"

Arjun turned, surprised. "Sneha?"

His disbelief was clear, as if he’d never expected me to dive in. But this was Delhi—no one messes with my people.

I didn’t answer, just held out my hand. He handed me a beer bottle.

A second later, it shattered over the attacker’s head.

The breaking glass echoed, and the crowd gasped. A nearby aunty tsked, "Beta, sambhal ke!" Shopkeepers yelled for the police, others just watched, mouths open.

In the chaos, Arjun explained, "Yeh log staff ko pareshan kar rahe the. Jab mana kiya toh haathapayi shuru ho gayi."

"Mm," I replied, grabbing another attacker and twisting his arm. He howled.

It got messier. Out of the corner of my eye, someone swung an iron rod at Arjun.

I shouted, "Arjun, sambhal!"

Everything slowed. Just as the rod was about to hit, a small figure darted in front of him.

Bang—

The rod struck flesh. Priya had taken the blow for Arjun.

A collective gasp from the crowd. For a split second, even the sizzle of chicken stopped, a dhol beat from a wedding procession in the distance paused. A street dog barked, shattering the silence.

Priya’s face twisted in pain. As she collapsed, Arjun caught her.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, her eyes unfocused. With her last strength, she whispered, "Ar… jun…"

And fainted.

For a moment, the whole world seemed to pause.

After I finished off the last thug, I flicked blood from my sleeve and looked up.

The beautiful girl lay unconscious in his arms, her face peaceful.

He looked down at her, his flirtatious eyes now full of confusion and helplessness.

It was like an invisible wall had risen between us.

And I was just the bystander in this love story.

A gust of wind blew dust across my feet. Somewhere in the distance, dhols from a baraat thudded—a reminder that love stories unfold everywhere, except mine.

7

The comments were going mad:

[Iconic scene! Ab toh hero heroine pe fida ho gaya!]

[Only heroine throws herself in front of danger—rooting for them!]

[Us pal, jab usne Arjun ka naam liya, sacha pyaar jeet gaya!]

For a moment, I almost wished I was the girl in his arms. But Delhi air doesn’t let you dream for long.