"The Floating Balloon"

It was a Sunday morning in Delhi, the streets alive with the honking of rickshaws and the cries of vegetable vendors. Sanvi had gone to the crowded market near her hostel, clutching a cloth bag and carefully picking through a stall of second-hand books. Money was tight, and she had learned that the old sellers often carried hidden gems if you searched long enough.

On her way back, she noticed a boy—no more than seven—standing by the roadside, crying softly. A burst balloon dangled limply from his hand, the bright rubber torn under the wheel of a passing scooter. His mother, juggling a heavy basket of vegetables, looked helpless.

Sanvi paused. She could have walked on—Delhi was full of such small heartbreaks—but something tugged at her heart. She knelt down, wiped the boy’s tear-streaked cheek, and said gently, “Don’t cry. Wait here.”

Crossing the street, she went to a balloon seller and bought not one, but two balloons with the few coins she had left. When she returned and handed them to the boy, his face lit up like Diwali lamps. His mother blessed her softly with folded hands, but Sanvi only smiled shyly, adjusted her dupatta, and hurried away before anyone else could notice.

But someone had noticed.

Across the street, Yogesh Kapoor stood with his manager, waiting for his car. His sunglasses hid his gaze, but his eyes followed the girl in the simple salwar kameez, books tucked under her arm, walking quickly back toward the hostel road.

For a man used to the glitter of film sets, scripted smiles, and money spent on meaningless luxuries, the scene was disarming. A girl had spent her last coins just to stop a child’s tears. No audience. No applause. Just kindness.

Yogesh felt something stir in him that he couldn’t name. He didn’t know her name, . All he knew was that—for the first time in years—someone had done something real. And it had touched him more than any performance ever could.

“She has a good heart,” he thought as she disappeared into the crowd. “And maybe… I want to know more.”

---

A few days later, the law college was buzzing with energy. The corridors echoed with voices, lecture halls brimmed with ambition, and every student seemed to be striving to leave their mark.

And like every universe, it had its stars.

Arjun Mehra was one of them. Tall, sharp-featured, with an easy smile that even the strictest professors found hard to resist, Arjun wasn’t just admired for his looks. His brilliance in class set him apart—answers precise, arguments compelling, confidence unshakable. Within a week, everyone knew his name.

And then there was Ritika Malhotra. With her designer handbags, flawless hair, and laughter that turned heads in the cafeteria, Ritika was already a campus figure. She had studied in the same school as Arjun, and though she never admitted it, she had followed him here. Where Arjun was admired, Ritika ensured she was always close by.

But Arjun’s attention wasn’t easily caught. Until one morning, during a group activity in the library hall.

Students were divided into teams to prepare case briefs. Sanvi, nervous as always, fumbled with a stack of law reports. Her notebook slipped, scattering pages across the polished floor. Laughter rippled through the room.

Before she could bend to pick them up, a voice cut through.

“Wait—look at this.”

It was Arjun. He had picked up one of her pages. Instead of dismissing it, he read it carefully, eyebrows lifting. “This is… really good. You’ve cross-referenced two judgments most of us haven’t even touched yet.”

The laughter died. Sanvi froze, cheeks warming, uncertain how to respond. She hadn’t meant to impress anyone—it was just her habit to prepare thoroughly.

Arjun smiled as he returned her notes. “You think differently. I like that.”

The room shifted. People looked at her with new eyes. For someone like Arjun Mehra, who rarely praised anyone, to openly compliment a quiet girl from Odisha—that was enough to spark curiosity.

From a corner, Yogesh watched silently, his jaw tightening though he didn’t understand why. And from another corner, Ritika’s manicured nails dug into the strap of her handbag, her gaze sharp and unblinking on Sanvi.

---

Over the next few days, Ritika’s attention fixed on Sanvi. It wasn’t hatred, not exactly. But when she saw the way Arjun’s eyes softened with respect whenever Sanvi spoke, something inside her twisted.

Still, Ritika wasn’t foolish. She wasn’t going to fight openly. Instead, she slid into the seat beside Sanvi in the cafeteria one afternoon.

“Hey,” she said brightly. “You’re Sanvi, right? The Odisha girl? I’m Ritika.”

Sanvi looked up, surprised. Girls like Ritika rarely noticed girls like her. “Yes… hello,” she replied politely.

And just like that, Ritika began her little game. She laughed, joked, slipped in playful comments.

“You know, Arjun is always so serious. In school, he was such a nerd.”

Or, “He may look cool, but he’s terrible at dancing. Like, painfully terrible.”

She waited for Sanvi to blush, to giggle, to reveal some interest in Arjun. But Sanvi only listened, sipping her tea quietly. Finally, she looked at Ritika with steady eyes.

“Ritika,” she said softly, “you don’t have to take me as competition.”

Ritika froze. “What do you mean?”

Sanvi smiled faintly. “It seems like you’re trying to convince me not to like Arjun. But I don’t. I respect him, yes, because he’s smart. But I don’t feel that way about him. I think… maybe you do.”

For a moment, Ritika’s perfect composure cracked. Then she laughed, covering her face. “God, you’re sharper than I thought.”

Sanvi’s smile warmed. “I support you. If you like him, I hope he sees you.”

It was the last thing Ritika expected. Instead of rivalry, Sanvi had offered friendship. And somehow, it felt better than victory.

From that day, their bond grew—awkward at first, then natural. Ritika still teased, still rolled her eyes when Arjun got too serious, but her heart was lighter.

Meanwhile, Arjun continued to admire Sanvi—not romantically, but with genuine respect. He often asked her opinion in group work, nodded thoughtfully at her arguments. It was recognition not for beauty or style, but for her mind.

And though Sanvi never sought attention, she found herself slowly growing more confident in the presence of people who, in their own ways, believed in her.

What she didn’t notice, however, was a pair of quiet eyes at the back of the classroom—Yogesh’s eyes—watching this new circle form around her. Watching, and waiting.

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