If Habiba was the anchor, Jeba was the kite—bright, colorful, and always chasing the wind. An Fine Arts major, Jeba saw the world in brushstrokes. She swore she'd never date anyone "boring," which is exactly why everyone was shocked when she fell for Aarav, a straight-laced Physics tutor.
Their meeting was a literal collision. Jeba was carrying a wet canvas across the quad when she tripped, smearing a streak of "Electric Blue" acrylic right across Aarav's pristine white button-down shirt.
"I am so sorry! I'll pay for the dry cleaning!" Jeba gasped, horrified. Aarav looked down at his chest, then back at Jeba's panicked face. He didn't get angry. Instead, he traced the edge of the blue streak. "Actually," he said with a shy smile, "the composition is quite striking. It looks like a nebula."
Aarav began attending every one of Jeba's gallery shows. He didn't understand art, but he understood her. He would stand in front of her most chaotic paintings and try to explain them using the laws of thermodynamics.
Jeba taught him to see the messiness of life as beautiful, and Aarav taught Jeba that stability wasn't a cage—it was a canvas. One evening, under a sky full of stars, Aarav gave her a gift: a telescope. "So you can see the real nebulas," he whispered. "Though they aren't nearly as bright as you."
Tamanna was the romantic of the trio. She wore her heart on her sleeve and spent her weekends volunteering at the local animal shelter. She spent years waiting for a "movie moment," but her love story turned out to be much more grounded—and much sweeter.
Enter Ryan, a shy drummer in a local indie band who also happened to be the guy who delivered pizza to their dorm every Friday.
For a year, Ryan was just "the pizza guy." But Tamanna noticed things others didn't. She noticed he always gave them extra garlic sauce because he knew Jeba loved it. She noticed he wore a bracelet made of braided twine that looked like it was made by a child (it was—his younger sister).
One Friday, the elevator was broken. Ryan climbed six flights of stairs to deliver their order. When Tamanna opened the door, he was out of breath but grinning. "I wrote something," he blurted out, handing her a crumpled piece of sheet music along with the pepperoni pizza. "It's called 'The Girl in Room 6B.'"
Tamanna realized that love wasn't about a prince on a white horse; it was about the person who climbed six flights of stairs just to see you smile for thirty seconds. She began attending his band's rehearsals, sitting in the back with her sketchbook. Their love was built on shared playlists, rainy afternoon walks, and the quiet comfort of being understood without having to perform.