After a challenging year, cricket star Hardik Pandya seeks solace with his family before the T20 World Cup. When renowned romance novelist Avni Dixit moves into the flat across from his, her quiet world of books and his high-profile life unexpectedl...
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Dear diary,
It's been a while since I last wrote to you. I guess I stopped because writing about my life felt like living it twice—and who wants to go through all of that again? But today, I feel the need to put my thoughts into words, to let it all out. Maybe because things are changing. Maybe because I'm finally feeling... something different.
Growing up was never easy. With Dad always away for work, it felt like I was living in a house with just shadows of parents rather than the real thing. When he did come home, every six months or so, it wasn’t much better. Mom would scold me endlessly for the smallest things, like spilling a drop of water on the floor or getting a single question wrong on a test. And when Dad was around, they fought constantly. The walls of our home were soaked with their shouting matches. They didn’t realize that their wars chipped away at me bit by bit.
Being the older sibling, I had to be strong for Aadit. I practically raised him, you know? I was his sister, his guardian, his confidante, all in one. I had to act like an adult, even when I was still a kid myself. While other kids were out playing or dreaming about their future, I was busy cleaning up after their messes, both literal and emotional. I had to keep it all together so Aadit wouldn’t see the cracks. I always thought that’s what being a big sister meant—patching things up, even when you’re the one falling apart.
I was a good student once. Gifted, they said. The teachers would praise me, and my parents were proud—for a while. But when things at home started spiraling, my grades did too. I became average. Maybe that’s when the disappointment began. My parents always made it clear I wasn’t living up to their expectations. Aadit, on the other hand, could do no wrong. He was their favorite, the golden child who could make mistakes and still be cherished. I envied him for that sometimes. But I loved him more than anything. He was my only light in that dark, suffocating home.
Once I graduated in literature, I decided enough was enough. I packed my bags and left. I used every bit of my savings to get away from that life, to breathe without feeling like the air was filled with shards of glass. I moved into a small, dingy flat and started writing—because if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was creating worlds better than the one I was in. Writing novels became my escape, my therapy, my salvation.
But recently, since moving into this new flat, things have... shifted. Meeting the Pandya family has brought a whirlwind of emotions and experiences I never expected. It’s like stepping into a different world altogether, one where kindness isn’t a rarity, where people actually care. Hardik, Krunal, Pankhuri—they’re like this warm, welcoming tribe that pulls you in, whether you want it or not. And Agastya, with his innocent smile and big, curious eyes—he's filled a space in my heart I didn’t know was empty. Being around him makes me feel lighter, like maybe the burden I’ve been carrying all these years isn’t mine to bear anymore.
