Aarohi Sharma had always been good at compartmentalizing. It was a skill she had mastered over the years—a necessity, really, when life kept throwing curveballs her way. Today was no different.

She sat at a small wooden desk in her hotel room, her laptop open in front of her, the screen filled with graphs and numbers that refused to make sense. The view outside the balcony was breathtaking—a perfect slice of Italy, with cobblestone streets and flower-laden terraces—but Aarohi barely glanced at it.

Her phone buzzed beside her, and she reached for it without looking away from her laptop.

Myra: How’s the land of romance and pasta treating you?

Aarohi smirked, typing back a quick reply: Lovelyy. The pasta’s fine, though.

A sharp knock at the door made her jump. “Coming!” she called, setting her phone down and making her way to the door. She opened it to find a bellboy holding a small package.

“Ms. Sharma?”

“That’s me.” She took the package, thanked him, and shut the door.

It was a shipment of samples she had been waiting on for her latest project. Aarohi had been working remotely as a consultant for an architectural firm, and while the idea of working from Italy sounded glamorous, the reality was far less exciting. Most of her time was spent on calls, reviewing designs, or tracking shipments like the one now sitting on her desk.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she returned to her laptop. The notification chime of an incoming email broke her focus. Aarohi clicked on it, her eyes narrowing as she read the subject line.

“Urgent: Project Deadline Moved Up.”

“Of course,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

Her mind, however, was only half on the email. The events of the previous evening kept replaying in her head—the way Shubman had looked at her, the awkward tension between them, the sharp sting of his words. It was surreal seeing him after all these years, even more surreal to realize that the same fire, the same something that had defined their friendship, was still very much alive.

She shook her head, closing the email and leaning back in her chair. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. But even as she tried to focus on her work, her thoughts kept drifting.

Aarohi stood abruptly, deciding she needed a break. She stepped out onto the balcony, the crisp air doing little to calm her racing mind. The streets below were bustling with tourists, their chatter and laughter rising like a melody.

Six years. It had been six years since she had last seen Shubman Gill, and yet the memories felt as vivid as if they had happened yesterday.

The shrill ringtone of her phone interrupted her thoughts. It was Myra again, this time with a video call. Aarohi hesitated for a moment before picking up.

“Hey, drama queen,” Myra said, her face filling the screen.

“Hey yourself,” Aarohi replied, managing a small smile.

“You look… tense. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just work.”

“Uh-huh,” Myra said, narrowing her eyes. “And this has nothing to do with a certain cricketer you ran into last night?”

Aarohi rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t. And even if it did, it’s none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is my business,” Myra teased. “Anyway, don’t let him get to you, babe. You’re better than that.”

“I know,” Aarohi said, though her voice lacked conviction.

As the call ended, Aarohi leaned against the balcony railing, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to think about the boy she once called her best friend, about the laughter and the fights, about the bond they shared before it all fell apart.

With a deep breath, she turned and walked back inside, her heart heavier than before.

Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d face him again. But for tonight, she let herself drift back into the memories she had tried so hard to bury.

And just like that, the past began to unfold.