In the bustling corridors of St. Mary's High, 17-year-old Riya doodled hearts in her notebook, her eyes always chasing Aryan, the soccer star with messy hair and a killer smile. They weren't official, but everyone knew: stolen notes during math class, shared earphones under the banyan tree, and his jacket draped over her shoulders on rainy days. Riya's world spun around Aryan's goofy grins.
One afternoon, transfer student Vivaan arrived—tall, charming, with an Italian accent from his Delhi boarding school days. He sat next to Riya in English lit, flashing dimples that made the girls giggle. "Your poem analysis is brilliant," he whispered, leaning close. Riya blushed, explaining metaphors while Aryan watched from across the room, his soccer ball forgotten.
By lunch, Vivaan was everywhere: sharing her samosa, challenging her to arm-wrestle, calling her "poet queen." Riya laughed louder than usual, but her heart tugged toward Aryan, who sulked on the bleachers, kicking pebbles. "He's just friendly," she told her bestie Priya, but doubt flickered.
Jealousy hit peak during the school fest. Aryan spotted Vivaan twirling Riya in a silly dance-off, her laughter echoing. Fists clenched, Aryan stormed off. Riya chased him to the empty art room. "It's nothing! You're the one who makes my heart race—like when you scored that goal and looked straight at me."
Aryan turned, eyes stormy but soft. "I thought... maybe you liked his fancy words." He stepped closer, voice dropping. "But you're my chaos, Riya. Only mine."
She grinned, pulling him into a hug. "Prove it, soccer boy." Their first kiss tasted like mango lassi and victory—sweet, messy, perfect. Vivaan? Just a plot twist in their forever story
