Chapter 2

The Distance Between Two Worlds

The message stayed on her screen longer than it should have.

Unknown Number:
Arts girl. Reached home? Or did you disappear back into mystery?

Shristi stared at it, her brows knitting slightly.

She hadn’t given him her number.

For a brief second, irritation flickered — sharp, instinctive. Then curiosity softened it.

Shristi:
How did you get this number?

A pause.

Then—

Sammy:
You left before the finale.
Your friend didn’t.

A breath escaped her, half amused, half resigned.

Of course. Swati.

Shristi:
That’s not very polite.

Sammy:
Neither is disappearing without saying goodbye.

She found herself smiling.

It came easier than she expected.

Over the next few days, the messages didn’t stop.

They didn’t become dramatic. There were no confessions, no declarations.

Just fragments.

Questions that didn’t feel like interrogations.

Replies that didn’t feel forced.

He asked her what she did when she wasn’t pretending to be from “Arts.”
She asked him how someone could be so sure about music when everything about it was uncertain.

Sometimes, there were long pauses.

Sometimes, there were sudden bursts of conversation.

And somehow, in between—

They began to know each other.

Not completely.

But enough.

Sameer’s world, meanwhile, remained exactly as it had always been.

Small.

Loud.

Alive.

The apartment he lived in sat at the end of a narrow lane, its walls slightly worn, its balcony cluttered with drying clothes and forgotten flowerpots. Inside, the air always carried the smell of spices, old wood, and something comforting.

“Sameer!” A voice rang out before he had even stepped in properly. “Did you bring the bread?”

He dropped his keys onto the table. “I brought myself. That’s more important.”

From the kitchen, Christine Aunty shot him a look. “Don’t act smart. Go get it.”

He grinned and turned toward the door again.

“Also,” she added, softer this time, “did you eat anything?”

“Yeah,” he replied casually. “Crowd fed me applause.”

“That doesn’t count,” she muttered.

From the adjoining room, Harry Uncle folded his newspaper and glanced up. “Won?”

Sameer nodded once.

That was enough.

No celebration. No fuss.

Just quiet pride.

Behind him, Rohan rushed past, nearly colliding into him. “Move! I’m late!”

“You’re always late,” Sameer shot back.

“And you’re always annoying,” Rohan snapped, grabbing his bag.

Sameer smirked. “And yet, you still live here.”

Rohan rolled his eyes but didn’t reply.

It wasn’t his family by blood.

But it was home.

Later that evening, Sameer sat on the terrace wall, legs swinging slightly as Kabir tapped a restless rhythm on his drumsticks.

“You’re distracted,” Kabir observed without looking at him.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Kabir said. “And it’s either music… or a girl.”

Sameer didn’t respond.

Kabir chuckled. “Definitely a girl.”

Sameer finally looked up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She’s… different.”

Kabir raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Like she’s not where she belongs,” Sameer said slowly.

Kabir studied him for a moment, then leaned back. “That’s either very poetic… or very dangerous.”

“Probably both.”

Days passed.

Messages turned into calls.

Calls turned into silences that didn’t feel awkward.

Shristi never told him everything.

Not about her father.

Not about the life waiting behind those gates.

And he didn’t ask.

He only listened.

Her birthday arrived with the weight of expectation.

The Arora mansion was transformed overnight — fresh flowers, golden lights, a guest list that read like a business directory.

Everything was perfect.

Everything felt wrong.

“You should wear the blue one,” her father said, glancing briefly at her outfit as he adjusted his cufflinks.

She nodded without arguing.

Downstairs, guests began to arrive.

And with them—

Rishabh Malhotra.

Her fiancé.

He greeted her with a practiced smile, handing over a carefully chosen gift. “Happy birthday, Shristi.”

“Thank you,” she replied politely.

“You’ll love tonight,” he continued. “I’ve planned everything.”

She didn’t say anything.

Because that was exactly the problem.

Everything was always planned.

Late afternoon, before the party fully began, a car pulled into the driveway.

New.

Polished.

Expensive.

A gift from her father.

The staff moved efficiently, preparing to receive it, when the driver stepped out.

Sameer.

For a moment, the world seemed to hesitate.

He looked different — cleaner, sharper, slightly out of place in a pressed shirt that didn’t quite belong to him.

But his eyes—

They hadn’t changed.

“Delivery for Ms. Shristi Arora,” he said, professional but not distant.

Her father stepped forward, recognizing him faintly. “You’re from Mehta Motors.”

“Yes, sir,” Sameer nodded. “You visited the showroom last week. I assisted you.”

Behind him, Kabir leaned casually against the car, offering an eager nod. “Best choice in the segment, sir. Smooth drive, excellent performance—”

Sameer shot him a look.

Kabir coughed and fell silent.

Rajiv Arora gave a brief, approving nod. “It’s a good model.”

“It suits her,” Sameer replied before he could stop himself.

A flicker passed through Rajiv’s eyes.

Then—

Shristi stepped forward.

And everything else faded.

For a second, they just looked at each other.

Different worlds.

Same moment.

Sameer extended the keys.

“Happy birthday,” he said quietly.

She took them, her fingers brushing against his.

A brief touch.

But it lingered.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice softer than before.

“Shristi,” Rishabh’s voice cut in smoothly as he stepped beside her, “aren’t you going to invite them in?”

Sameer stepped back immediately. “No need, sir. Delivery’s done.”

Professional.

Distant.

Gone.

But not entirely.

By evening, the party was in full swing.

Music filled the halls. Laughter echoed. Conversations overlapped.

Shristi moved through it all like she always did — smiling when needed, speaking when expected.

But her eyes kept drifting.

To the entrance.

To the space where he had stood.

Her phone vibrated.

Sammy:
Nice party.
Looks exhausting.

Her breath caught.

She glanced around.

And then she saw him.

Near the far end of the hall, half-hidden in the shadows, watching.

Not intruding.

Just there.

Her heart began to race.

Shristi:
Take me out of here.

The reply came almost instantly.

Sammy:
Back gate. Five minutes.

The night air hit differently.

Cooler.

Real.

Sameer stood beside the car, spinning the keys lazily.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You’re impossible,” she replied, though there was no irritation in it.

“Get in.”

This time—

She didn’t hesitate.

The city unfolded before them in streaks of light as the car moved through empty roads.

No destination.

No expectations.

Just motion.

Shristi leaned back, letting the wind brush against her face.

For the first time that day—

She could breathe.

“This feels…” she began, then stopped.

“Wrong?” he offered.

“Right,” she corrected softly.

He smiled.

They drove without speaking for a while, the silence comfortable, filled only by the hum of the engine and the distant rhythm of the city.

Eventually, he turned toward the quieter stretch near the sea — the same place, the same boathouse.

The waves were louder at night.

Closer.

More honest.

They stepped out.

For a while, neither said anything.

Then—

“You didn’t tell me,” he said.

“About what?”

“That you live like that.”

She looked out at the sea. “You didn’t ask.”

“And the fiancé?”

Her shoulders tensed slightly.

“I didn’t choose that either.”

The words lingered between them.

Sameer nodded slowly.

“I figured.”

She turned toward him. “You don’t belong in a showroom.”

He smirked faintly. “Temporary job.”

“Temporary life?”

“Maybe.”

A pause.

Then she said quietly—

“Take me somewhere.”

He looked at her, really looked this time.

“Somewhere where none of this exists.”

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and something unspoken.

“There’s a cruise,” he said finally. “Leaving tomorrow night.”

She didn’t interrupt.

“Music event. Three days. No rules. No expectations.”

No expectations.

The words settled deep.

“Come with me.”

Not a demand.

Not persuasion.

Just an open door.

Shristi looked at the horizon.

Endless.

Uncertain.

Free.

Then back at him.

“Okay.”

No hesitation this time.

No second thoughts.

Just a decision.

Because somewhere between a message she hadn’t expected, a boy who didn’t belong in her world, and a night that didn’t ask for permission—

Shristi Arora had stepped out of her life.

And into something she didn’t yet understand.

The sea waited ahead.

And with it—

Everything that would change them forever.