Romance...
Ananya was eighteen when she realized that love doesn't arrive with fireworks. Sometimes, it quietly grows beside you.
She and Rohan had been friends since class nine. Same classroom, same tuition, same endless arguments about silly things. He used to tease her about her messy handwriting. She used to steal his notes before exams. Everyone thought they were just "best friends."
And honestly, they thought so too.
Until that winter evening.
It was December in Kolkata. The air was cool, the sky turning pink as the sun dipped behind the buildings. Ananya had just finished her higher secondary exams. She felt nervous about results, about college, about growing up.
They were sitting near Prinsep Ghat, legs dangling, watching the river shimmer under soft lights.
"You'll leave me when you go to college, right?" Rohan suddenly asked, trying to sound casual.
She laughed. "Why would I?"
"You'll make new friends. Forget old ones."
She turned to look at him properly. For the first time, she noticed how serious he looked. Not teasing. Not joking.
"Some people," she said softly, "are not replaceable."
The words hung between them.
That was the first time her heart beat differently around him.
Over the next few weeks, small things started feeling bigger.
When he waited outside her coaching class just to walk her home.
When he remembered exactly how she liked her tea.
When he texted, "Reached home?" every single night.
One day, she fell sick. High fever. She didn't tell many people. But somehow Rohan found out.
He came to her house with oranges and a small handwritten note that said:
"Get well soon. I need my fighting partner back."
Her heart did something strange again.
That night, lying in bed, she realized something terrifying and beautiful.
She didn't want him as "just a friend."
Confession didn't happen dramatically. No roses. No big speech.
It happened on a rainy afternoon.
They were sharing one umbrella, walking too close, shoulders brushing. The rain got heavier. She slipped slightly, and he instinctively held her hand.
Neither of them let go.
"Ananya," he said quietly, not looking at her, "if I say something… will things change?"
She knew. She just knew.
"Maybe," she whispered. "But maybe they'll change in a good way."
He took a deep breath. "I think… I love you."
There it was. Simple. Honest. No poetry. No drama.
Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled.
"I was waiting for you to realize it," she said.
And just like that, the friendship that had been growing for years gently turned into love.
First love at eighteen isn't about perfection.
It's about stolen glances.
About long calls at night.
About holding hands for the first time and feeling like the world has shifted.
Ananya would later learn that not all first loves last forever.
But some first loves teach you what love is supposed to feel like—safe, warm, and real.
And sometimes, the person who was your best friend…
becomes your first heartbeat. 💛
If you want, I can write a sad ending version too… or a more dramatic one 😌