Aarav owned two shirts, one pair of worn slippers, and a bicycle with a squeaky chain. Every morning at five, he delivered newspapers across Rosewood Colony, where the gates were taller than his entire home. Nobody there ever noticed him. Then, one by one, three girls did.
Meera, the collector's daughter, was calm, polite, and used to getting whatever she asked for. One rainy morning her car broke down on the road. Aarav, already soaked, held his torn umbrella over her until the driver arrived. "You're getting wet," she said. "It's fine," he smiled. "Papers are wetter than me." Meera laughed, and she thought about that smile for the rest of the day.
Zoya, the hotel owner's daughter, was loud, sharp, and fearless. She once caught Aarav reading a torn scrap of an old textbook behind her gate and snatched it from his hand. "You like studying? Then why are you delivering papers?" Aarav answered quietly, "Because studying doesn't pay for my mother's medicine." For the first time, Zoya had no joke ready. The next morning, a bag of brand-new books was waiting on his bicycle, with no name on it.
Riya, the jeweller's daughter, was shy and almost always alone. She was the only one who ever asked him, "Have you eaten?" Soon she began leaving tiffin boxes outside her gate. "The cook made too much again," she would say, though the cook never did.
For weeks, none of the girls knew about the others. Each believed she was the only one who saw the real Aarav.
Then came Sunday, the colony's festival day. Aarav was asked to help set up the stage, and all three girls arrived at the very same moment.
Meera saw Zoya laughing with him, and something cold settled in her chest. Zoya saw Riya hand him a tiffin box and rolled her eyes. Riya saw Meera straighten his collar and quietly looked away, her heart sinking.
"So he is your friend?" Zoya asked Meera sharply.
"I helped him first," Meera replied.
"I gave him books!" Zoya snapped.
"And I feed him every single day," Riya whispered, surprising even herself.
Silence fell. Three proud girls realized that none of them was the only one.
Aarav stood between them with an armful of decorations and confusion on his face. "Did I do something wrong?"
Nobody answered. Each of them wanted to say, "No, it's me, I'm the one who..." but the words stuck in their throats.
Aarav looked from one face to another. He had never seen rich girls fight over anything, least of all over him. He lowered his eyes and picked up a fallen marigold garland from the ground. "I only wanted to help with the stage," he said softly. "I didn't know any of you knew each other." His honest voice made it worse. Meera bit her lip, Zoya crossed her arms, and Riya clutched her dupatta tightly. Without another word, all three turned and walked away in different directions, leaving Aarav alone among the flowers.
That night, Aarav sat on his tiny doorstep while his mother coughed softly inside. He looked at the books, the tiffin box, and the new umbrella Meera had quietly given him to replace his torn one. Why would three rich girls be kind to a boy like me, he wondered. And why does it feel like I have walked into a storm?
Across the colony, three lights burned in three big houses. Three girls lay awake staring at the ceiling, each one jealous, and each one afraid to admit why.
To be continued...
