going through a phase of writer's block, and writing something new helps. this one is a short story in the form of a few (long) drabbles.

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Annika was 16 when she saw him for the first time. Her father worked as manager of the Worli office of Oberoi Industries, and after Kalyani dadi's constant invites to bring his family home, Harshvardhan Trivedi had taken his wife and two kids over to Oberoi mansion for Diwali.

He was 19 years old then, back home from US for the weekend to celebrate Diwali with his family. When dadi had introduced Annika and little Sahil to her grandchildren, he had only nodded at her slightly, his hazel eyes showing nothing but indifference. Annika had found him handsome before that, but if there was one thing she hated in men, it was their inborn arrogance inherited from the patriarchal structure of the world. While bonding with the rest of the kids who were nearer to her age, she had stayed away from him. He was a college student, from Harvard nonetheless, and was too cool to hang out with her anyway. After spending a wonderful Diwali with the large, boisterous family who doted on Annika and her brother, the Trivedis were about to leave when Annika had had her first proper interaction with him, if it could be called that. The garden had been lit up with many brightly-colored diyas, all placed close to each other and almost filling up the entire space. Annika had gone there to take one last look before leaving, maybe take a picture on her brand-new phone and put up a story on Instagram with a nice Diwali gif, when she had been startled by a movement. It was him. When she had steered too close to a diya, he had hastily moved her long, flowing dupatta away, lest it catches fire.

"Be careful," Was all he had said before walking towards where the rest of the family stood, saying their goodbyes. Annika had stared after him, properly pinning up her dupatta. Maybe he wasn't too bad, but she didn't really think about Shivaay Singh Oberoi for a while after that.