Deewana Dil

Some love stories don't start with butterflies.
They start with silence. With bruises hidden under full sleeves. With eyes that don't sparkle like they used to.

Shrishti used to be the brightest spark in the room. She was laughter in hallways, wit in classrooms, fire in debates. She was the girl who wore yellow just because it made her feel like sunshine.

But now, she flinched at loud voices. Apologized too quickly. Avoided mirrors.

And no one noticed.

Except Rohan.

He had known her since they were five. She was the first person to teach him how to cheat at board games, the one who used to braid his hair in two messy plaits just to annoy him, the one who cried with him when his dog died in the third grade.

Now, in their eleventh year, everything had changed.

His father was gone. His mother depended on him for everything. His shoulders ached under the weight of responsibility no teenager should bear. And the girl he loved was quietly being destroyed by someone who claimed to love her.

He watched her fade.
Day by day.
Smile by broken smile.

And he stayed quiet.
Because she was in a relationship.
Because he didn't want to be the boy who ruined things.

But watching her pretend, watching her hurt, watching her lie to the world and to herself-it burned.

And maybe... it was time.
Time to step in.
Time to remind her who she used to be.
Time to show her that love wasn't supposed to break you.

It was supposed to heal you.