Year 2025,

A group of students was traveling to a hill station for a college trip. The train thundered forward with a steady metallic rhythm. At first, the journey had been exciting.

Laughter bounced between the berths, snacks were passed around endlessly, and truth-and-dare confessions had filled the compartment with dramatic gasps and theatrical screams.

But hours later, the excitement had faded into a slow, heavy boredom.

Outside the window, the evening sky had begun melting into a deep blue. Endless fields stretched into darkness, punctuated by occasional lonely stations where dim yellow bulbs flickered like tired fireflies.

“What do we do next, guys? I am getting kind of bored. There is nothing to do,” the girl groaned, her shoulders drooping. “Even our mobile phones have zero signal and are about to die. Damn!”

“I think we should all sleep now to kill time,” one of the boys suggested, stretching lazily.

“Nah! I don’t want to sleep,” another girl protested immediately.

The group of five college students looked at one another helplessly. No games left. No network. No sleep. Only the endless roar of the train and the slow crawl of time.

“Would you guys like to hear a story?”

The unfamiliar voice came from the corner of the compartment.

Five heads turned at once.

A ninety-year-old ascetic sat curled on the edge of the lower berth, wrapped in saffron-colored robes. His shoulder-length hair, white as winter snow, framed a face etched with deep lines of time. His grey eyes, however, were strikingly alive, calm yet piercing.

He seemed to shrink into himself, trying to protect his frail body from the cold air slipping through the windows.

“Story? What kind of story?” the girl asked politely.

“A real love story,” the ascetic replied, a faint smile touching his lips.

The students instantly exchanged excited looks.

“Wow! We would love to hear it, right guys?” she said eagerly.

“Yup! We’re all in for a good story,” the group agreed in unison.

“Please start the story!” she said warmly, then quickly removed a blanket from her bag and handed it to him. “But first, wrap this around yourself. You’re shivering.”

The old man accepted the blanket with grateful eyes and nodded slowly.

“This story,” he said quietly, “began many years ago, in 1997… but it hasn’t ended yet.”

A glittering Monday morning unfolded outside a grand temple of Lord Shiva. Bells rang rhythmically, their echoes dancing through the bustling market streets. The air smelled of incense, marigold flowers, wet stone, and freshly fried street food.

Meera stood near a roadside panipuri stall, eyes sparkling with pure devotion for the crispy puris filled with spicy water.

She was just about to pop the first panipuri into her mouth when a hand swiftly snatched both the puri and the entire plate from her grip.

“What are you doing?” Aahil asked sternly.

“What the hell are you doing, Aahil?!” Meera snapped. “I have told you so many times not to trouble me when I am eating panipuri. Give my plate back!” She screeched and extended her palm.

“You can’t eat this,” Aahil declared calmly — and ate a panipuri himself.

“Ahhh… It’s so spicy!” he coughed dramatically.

Meera glared at him, fuming. “Who said I can’t eat? And WHY ARE YOU EATING MY PANIPURI?!”

“Will you stop yelling and listen to me for once?” he sighed.

“What? Tell me!!”

“There are three reasons. First — roadside stall. Unhygienic and—”

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes.

“Second — you can’t eat this, so I must finish it. I hate wasting food.” He grabbed another puri.

Meera slapped his arm. “And the third?”

“The most important one… it’s your fast today.”

Meera froze.

“Oh, My God! I was about to break my fast!” she gasped, covering her mouth in horror.

“Exactly. And how does someone forget their fast right after leaving a temple?” Aahil shook his head while tossing the empty plate into the dustbin and paying the vendor.

“This is not my fault. It’s his fault!” Meera accused, pointing at the vendor.

The vendor instantly defended himself. “No, I tried to stop her like every Monday. Today she threatened me to make it extra spicy!”

Meera glared murderously at him.

“This market is huge, yet you keep your stall outside the temple. If my fast had broken today, you would have been a sinner!” she declared dramatically and stormed away.

Aahil followed, chuckling.

“What happens to you when you see panipuri? You eat like there’s no tomorrow. Last time you ate forty in a row and suffered for two days!”

She stopped abruptly and turned. “Why didn’t you come to the temple today?”

“I was coming. Then I saw you marching straight toward panipuri stall.”

“Can you drop this topic? I am hungry, and this isn’t helping!” she snapped, sliding into the passenger seat of his royal blue car and slamming the door.

Aahil shook his head, amused, and took the driver’s seat. “Can I ask something?”

“Fine. But not about food.”

“If someday you had to choose between me and panipuri… who would you choose?”

“Panipuri,” she answered instantly, bursting into laughter.

“I knew it. No problem. I can date Alina, Priya, Rubina—”

Before he could finish, Meera grabbed his collar and pulled him close.

“Listen carefully. You may be tall, handsome, charming, but if you ever look at another girl, I will kill you and then myself. You are mine.”

Aahil burst into laughter. “I didn’t know you were this possessive.”

“Shut up and drive.”

Silence filled the car for a while.

Then he teased softly, “You praised that hero.... umm, I forgot his name, and I got jealous.”

She turned to him gently. “There’s a difference between liking and loving. I may like someone… but I love you. Liking changes with time. Love never does.”

Aahil smiled quietly as the car sped toward college, sunlight dancing across the windshield.

“Wow… such lovely childish banter. They sound deeply in love. What happened after that?” the girl asked eagerly.

The ascetic smiled, “Love stories,” he said softly, “are never as simple as they begin…”