...The art of falling in love...( Abhira❤️Armaan)

16.

The air in the college had been thick with anticipation for the past week. Elections were in full swing, and the atmosphere buzzed with the energy of campaigning. Armaan, had found himself working closely with Abhira,They'd spent countless hours together, crafting banners, brainstorming catchy slogans, and sharing quick meals between their hectic schedules. The entire college, observing their easy camaraderie and shared laughter, had unofficially declared them a couple.

Election day had finally arrived. The ballots were cast, and the nervous wait began. The results were to be announced in two days.

“So, what do you think, Miss Sharma?” Armaan asked Abhira, his eyes teasing. “Who do you think will win?”

Abhira shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Who knows? Anything can happen.”

Aryan scoffed, “What a silly question, bhai. Of course, we’ll win.” He puffed out his chest, radiating confidence.

“Yeah, and what would this bhenji know about elections anyway?” Charu sneered, her gaze dismissive as she looked at Abhira.

(Author's note: Oh, Charu, if you knew who she was and where she comes from, you'd probably have a heart attack!)

Abhira gracefully turned and walked away, leaving the loud group behind. Armaan, his brows furrowed in concern, immediately followed her.

He caught up to her in the hallway, his voice carrying a note of irritation, “Why didn't you say anything to Charu? She was insulting you.”

Abhira simply replied, “It's okay, Armaan. She's your friend.”

“Yes, she is, but that doesn't give her the right to insult you! Who gave her the right?” he argued, his protectiveness rising.

Abhira interrupted him, her voice gaining a touch of steel, "You, Armaan. You gave your friends the right to insult me – to insult anyone, for that matter." She turned to leave, but before she could, Armaan grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly firm. He pulled her into  storeroom, shutting the door behind them.

"What, Armaan?" Abhira asked, a hint of apprehension creeping into her voice. "Look, I know they're your friends, and they're like family to you, and I respect that. Your friendship is really…"

Armaan cut her off, his voice low and intense. "I love you, Abhira."

Abhira froze, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I love you," Armaan repeated, his gaze unwavering.

Abhira stood there, speechless, the confession hanging in the air like a physical presence. Armaan gently shook her arm, bringing her back to the present. "Abhira, I said, I love you.”

Abhira took a step back, her mind reeling. She turned and fled, rushing out of the storeroom and into the crowded hallway.

Armaan didn't give up. He chased after her, his voice echoing in the corridor. "At least tell me your answer! Do you love me or not?"

Abhira stopped, turned, and a soft smile bloomed on her face. "I'll give you my answer on the day the election results come out. Okay?" she said, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something else, something that looked a lot like hope.

Their conversation, now at a higher volume, had been overheard by some of their fellow students, who stopped, stared, and whispered amongst themselves. The news of Armaan's confession and Abhira’s cryptic answer spread like wildfire across the college, adding another layer of suspense to the already tense atmosphere. The countdown to the election results, and Abhira’s answer, had officially begun.