02 - The First Time I Saw Forever

"Some people don’t crash into your life like storms. They seep in—slow, quiet, and before you know it, they become the air you breathe." – Meera

He wasn’t the kind of boy they warned us about.

He didn’t have a bike, or that devilish grin.

He wasn’t the charming flirt.

He wasn’t rich.

He wasn’t loud.

He was just… there. Always there. And somehow, that was enough.

The first time I saw Aryan Kapoor, I didn’t even know I’d seen my forever.

It was my first week in college. I was new in Kolkata, nervous, constantly calling home to ask my mother how long to soak rice or how to keep my laundry from smelling like mildew.

I had come from Siliguri—small house, strict parents, one younger sister, and a dream that barely fit in my chest.

I worked hard for that scholarship. I wasn’t the prettiest girl in class, but I was the one who always had a pen and always knew the answers. I didn’t expect attention from anyone. I just wanted to survive and maybe breathe a little.

Then he sat beside me in Sociology class.

Not by choice, I think. All the back benches were full.

I remember glancing at him—dark hair, eyes too serious for someone our age, a bag that looked older than he was. His shoes were torn on the side, barely holding together. He didn’t try to hide it.

When the professor asked a question, everyone stayed quiet. But he raised his hand.

And when he spoke—

God, he didn’t speak like the others.

He didn’t stutter. He didn’t bluff.

He answered like someone who had lived the lesson.

That was the first time I noticed him.

A few weeks later, I found out he came from a basti in North Kolkata. That he traveled 2 hours every day just to reach college. That he worked part-time at a garage to afford Tanya’s school fees. That he skipped meals so his mother, Kamini ji, could buy her medicines.

He never said any of this himself. I heard it from others.

He never looked for sympathy.

He never asked for help.

But every time someone mocked him, called him “garage boy” or “charity case,” he didn’t flinch.

He just kept going.

I think that’s when I started falling.

Not in one big moment.

But slowly. Silently. Like water rising after rain.

We became friends before we became anything else.

I’d wait for him outside class, pretending I needed help with notes. He’d pretend not to notice my silly excuses. One day, I asked him to have tea with me, and he said,

“Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”

That broke my heart.

I nodded. “Maybe I’m the one who should be lucky to be seen with you.”

He laughed. Just a little. But it was the first time.

Then came the real him.

The Aryan who skipped sleep to stay by Tanya’s side when she had a fever.

The Aryan who touched his mother’s feet before leaving for class every day.

The Aryan who gave me his umbrella in a thunderstorm, then walked home in the rain with cracked sandals.

He never had much. But with him, I felt like I had everything.

One evening, we sat on the hostel rooftop.

I asked, “What do you want from life?”

He looked at the sky and said, “Peace. For Ma. And a future for Tanya. That’s it. Meera, I’m not made for big dreams.”