'Perhaps love was never about finding someone. Perhaps it was about becoming the person you were meant to be before destiny introduced you to them'.

🎵 Ore manva tu too bawra hai

Tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai

Tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai bawre

Kyu dikhaye sapne tu sote jaagte

Jo barse sapne boonda boonda

Naino ko moonda moonda

Kaise mai chalu dekh na saku anjaane raaste gunja sa hai koi iktara

iktara🎵

Some stories begin with a meeting.

A chance encounter.

A stolen glance.

A conversation that changes everything.

This wasn't one of those stories.

This story began long before that.

Long before blooming flowers.

Long before unfinished sketches.

Long before soft smiles and familiar voices.

It began in the quiet spaces of ordinary lives.

In the moments nobody paid attention to.

Because before two people can become each other's forever, they must first learn who they are when nobody is watching.

Perhaps that was destiny's favorite part.

Not the meeting.

Not the confession.

Not even the love itself.

But the becoming.

The slow and beautiful process of turning strangers into the people they were always meant to be.

And somewhere within a city that never stopped moving, four lives continued forward completely unaware that their stories had already begun intertwining.

For now, however, destiny remained patient.

After all, even flowers bloom in their own time.

The greenhouse had always felt more like home than any house ever could.

Not because it was grand.

Not because it was beautiful.

Though it certainly was.

But because life existed differently there.

The moment someone stepped through its glass doors, the outside world seemed to soften.

The noise became distant.

The rush became irrelevant.

And somehow, all that remained was the scent of damp soil, blooming flowers, and quiet peace.

Morning sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling above, scattering warm golden patches across rows of flowers stretching endlessly in every direction.

Tiny droplets of water rested upon petals like liquid diamonds.

The air smelled faintly of jasmine and earth.

I inhaled deeply.

A small smile immediately appeared on my face.

Home.

This was home.

Not the apartment I returned to every evening.

Not the room filled with books and pressed flowers.

This.

This feeling.

This place.

This life.

I carefully knelt beside a row of white lilies, brushing away a dried leaf before inspecting each flower individually.

Most people would have walked past without noticing.

I never could.

I noticed everything.

The smallest signs of growth.

The slightest droop in a leaf.

The tiniest change in color.

To me , every flower carried its own personality.

Its own story.

Its own journey.

And perhaps that was why I love them so much.

Plants never pretended.

They never hid their needs behind forced smiles.

If they were hurt, they showed it.

If they needed care, they asked for it.

If they were loved, they bloomed.

Simple.

Honest.

Beautiful.

Human beings, on the other hand, were far more complicated.

A soft sigh escaped my lips.

"You're doing better today."

My fingers gently touched a struggling rose bush.

"See? I told you not to give up."

Silence greeted me.

I nodded thoughtfully.

"Good point."

Another pause.

"I suppose I did most of the work."

The rose bush remained unimpressed.

I gasped a bit too dramatically.

"That's extremely rude."

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

One of the workers passing nearby shook his head.

"Talking to plants again, ma'am?"

"Talking?" I repeated. "We're having a very important discussion."

The older man chuckled.

"They never answer."

"They do."

"Really?"

I smiled.

"You just have to learn how to listen."

The man left laughing.

I watched him go before returning my attention to my flowers.

Moments like these were ordinary.

Simple.

Yet they made me strangely happy.

The truth was, I had never needed grand adventures to feel fulfilled.

I found joy in tiny things.

Freshly bloomed flowers.

Rain against windows.

The smell of old books.

Handwritten letters.

Watching seeds become something beautiful.

Perhaps that was why I became a botanist.

While others chased success, I had chosen growth.

The growth of plants.

The growth of nature.

The growth of life itself.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

Without looking at the screen, I already knew who it was.

"Maa."

"Krishti."

The familiar voice immediately carried suspicion.

"Did you have breakfast?"

I stared at the forgotten sandwich resting on a nearby table.

The sandwich stared back.

Both knew the answer.

"Krishti."

My mother's voice sharpened.

"You're looking at the food right now, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"Krishti."

"I'm going."

"Eat."

"I'm eating."

"Immediately."

"Yes, Maa."

The call ended.

I sighed dramatically.

My mother possessed a supernatural ability to know exactly when I hadn't eaten.

Some mysteries of the universe would never be solved.

Picking up the sandwich, I wandered toward the far end of the greenhouse.

The morning continued peacefully.

Customers arrived.

Questions were answered.

Plants were purchased.

Children ran excitedly between flower displays.

Hours slipped away unnoticed.

As they always did.

And somewhere within that ordinary day, I remained exactly who I had always been.

A woman who believed growth required patience.

A woman who believed kindness mattered.

A woman who spent her days helping things bloom.

Completely unaware that life was quietly preparing someone who would one day do the same for her.

🎵 Gudiya re gudiya tera guda pardesiya jodi aasmani hogyi shagun pe dekho shaad maani hogyi

Re Kabira Maan Jaa

Re fakira yu na jaa

Aja tujhko pukaare teri parchaiya

Re Kabira Maan ja

Re fakira yu na jaa

Kaisa tu hai nirmohi kaisa harjaaiya🎵

"Take your time."

The words were gentle.

Unhurried.

Steady.

Much like the man who spoke them.

The counseling room remained silent.

Across from me sat a young woman nervously twisting her fingers together.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

The silence stretched.

Most people would have rushed to fill it.

I never did.

Because silence was important.

Silence often revealed things words tried to hide.

I leaned back slightly in my chair.

Waiting.

Listening.

Observing.

Years of studying human behavior had taught me something most textbooks never could.

People rarely said what they truly felt.

Instead, emotions appeared elsewhere.

In trembling hands.

In tired eyes.

In hesitant smiles.

In pauses that lasted a little too long.

And I noticed them all.

Not because I was trying to.

Because I genuinely cared.

Eventually the woman spoke.

Then another sentence followed.

Then another.

Slowly, carefully, piece by piece.

The walls she'd built around herself began to lower.

When the session finally ended, relief softened her features.

I noticed that too.

"Thank you," she whispered.

I smiled back.

"You're welcome."

After she left, the room became quiet once more.

For a few moments, I simply sat there.

Breathing.

Thinking.

Existing.

The clinic wasn't large.

But it was warm.

Comfortable.

Intentional.

Everything from the furniture placement to the lighting had been chosen carefully.

People opened their hearts easier when they felt safe.

And I wanted every person who entered this room to feel exactly that.

Safe.

My gaze drifted toward the sketchbook resting on my desk.

A familiar smile appeared.

Architecture.

My greatest hobby.

My oldest dream.

My favorite escape.

I flipped through pages filled with unfinished designs.

Homes.

Libraries.

Gardens.

Buildings designed not merely to exist but to belong.

Perhaps that was why I love architecture so much.

Buildings weren't just structures.

They were stories.

Memories.

Lives waiting to happen.

I often found myself imagining the people who would someday occupy those spaces.

The laughter.

The conversations.

The quiet moments.

The love.

Outside my office window, the city moved endlessly.

Inside, however, everything felt calm.

Peaceful.

Steady.

Much like me.

Though if anyone had asked, I would have admitted there were days I wondered about the future.

Wondered whether life still had surprises waiting for me.

Whether destiny truly existed.

Whether somewhere out there was a person who would understand me as naturally as I understood others.

I never lingered on those thoughts for long.

Life had a way of unfolding when it was ready.

And for now, my story continued exactly as it

always had.

Patiently.

Quietly.

One ordinary day at a time.

Unaware that somewhere among flowers and sunlight, another story was already growing toward his own.

Stay tuned

Hope u like the chapter

Ending quote for this chapter

'Some people enter our lives with noise. Others arrive so quietly that we do not realize they have already become part of our story.'

Questions

1) Which character did you connect with more in this chapter-Krishti or Avir-and what part of their personality drew you in the most?

2)Do you think destiny was already at work in their lives from this chapter, even though they haven't met yet? Why or why not?

Let me know ur views.

Stay tuned

Gaura 🧿