He Hates Me Or Does He?

PART 1 THE MASSIVE TURN

I’m trying to enjoy this warm cup of Indian milk tea that mom made—sweet, comforting, familiar—while flipping through my Economics notes. I didn’t crack the exam this year, and yes, it stings, but I’m staying hopeful. I will clear it soon. That’s the plan.

The tea, like always, tastes like home. Sweet, milky, with just the right kick of spice. But it only takes a few sips—four, maybe five seconds—before I think of him. He loved tea too. Actually, he’s the reason I fell so deeply for it. And even though everything’s in the past now, my love for tea hasn’t changed. Maybe that's what hurts the most—it’s still here, still strong.

It’s been six months since he left for the UK to pursue his MBA. Six months since he met Shefali, the girl he’s now all about. Blonde, tall, Instagram-perfect. I tell myself it doesn’t affect me anymore. And most days, it doesn’t. But today? Maybe a little.

I open Instagram for a distraction, hoping to escape into reels, and—of course—there he is. Another story. Him and Shefali at Starbucks, both smiling like they just discovered love for the first time. His arm around her shoulders. The kind of smile that used to be mine. They look... thrilled. Probably off to make love or plan a future or whatever. Ugh.

“Pull yourself together, Anika,” I whisper. “You’re not a maniac. You’ve cried enough. You’ve made peace. You’re healing.” And honestly, it's true. Those three years with him were intense, but now, it's about me. About building my future. Cracking this national exam—it’s not easy. But it’s mine to win.

Just then, I hear Papa call out for me. I head over, and he says gently, “Beta, there’s this NGO opportunity in our hometown. Would you like to be a part of it? Social work—like you always said you wanted.”

And just like that, my heart lifts.

“Yes, Papa,” I say. “I’d love to give it a try. I have a month and a half free—it’s perfect.”

He smiles. “Good. I’ve already spoken to the manager. They liked your resume. You should go for it.”

I nod, trying to hold back the grin, and head back to start packing.

---

Two Days Later

I’m halfway through packing when a notification lights up my screen. It’s a Gmail from findyouranswershere.com, a small part of academia.com India. My resume has been accepted—they want me to write professional answers, paying 15–20k monthly. My first real earning.

I call Papa. Then Mamma. We’re all excited. They look at me with so much pride, and it hits me—I’m starting to become the version of myself I always dreamed of.

---

Two Weeks Later

I reach Agra, my small hometown. Bua greets me with a warm hug and compliments my weight loss. I laugh—yeah, heartbreak makes for a brutal trainer.

The house is buzzing. Chacha, Chachi, cousins everywhere. Anjali Di is getting married in 20 days, and the heat of May is no match for the chaos inside. Sanjana, Vartika, Aashna di, Maitreyi, Anshika, Khushboo, Aparna, Vaidehi, Kavya, Kalpana—all my sisters—and then the boys: Soham, Kapil, Kabir, Prakhar, Saksham, Rohan, and Krishant. It feels like a giant, loud, hilarious Indian movie.

May 20th. The day of Anjali Di’s engagement. We’re all running around in a flurry of makeup brushes, hair straighteners, and lehengas. Somehow, laughter and chaos make the perfect pair. And for the first time in months, I feel... okay. Maybe even happy.

The venue is bursting with colors, music, and the smell of marigold and street food. My sisters and I pose for selfies. The boys stand in a corner with coffee cups, pretending not to watch us while we plan to tease them about finding brides next.

Kabir Bhaiya notices me. “You've lost weight!”

I blush. “Yeah… gym.”

“How much?”

“13 kgs in 6 months.”

They’re all impressed, and it feels good. Like all that crying and running and surviving actually amounted to something.

Just then, Deepak Bhaiya hands me a coffee. I take it, and while sipping, I notice a guy standing beside him. Tall. Calm. Sharp jawline. Coffee in hand. Looking right at me.

My heart skips. Something about him is... familiar. Like a face I’ve seen in some web series or movie, but can’t quite place.

“Vihaan, are these your car keys?” Kabir Bhaiya calls out.

He looks at him. “Oh yes, thanks.”

Vihaan.

I take another sip of coffee, trying not to stare. But my curiosity is already stirring.