Second Chance and Confession short love story
Aarav Mehra wasn’t just a software business owner—he was the business. Meetings, deadlines, codes, deals. Love? Um, daa, he used to believe in it. Once.
Rohit, his forever-chill best friend and part-time unpaid therapist, often barged into his glass cabin, dramatically waving his arms like he was in a bad Bollywood romcom.
“Dude, you’re gonna die with your face in a laptop and not in someone’s lap,” Rohit said, flopping on the couch, scrolling through dating apps like he was swiping for groceries.
Aarav gave a faint smirk. “Love? Yeah sure… true love. Maybe in cloud storage, bro.”
But what Rohit didn’t know was… Aarav’s heart still carried a name. A ghost. A ‘what if’ that never let him sleep in peace.
Two weeks later…
“New joining today,” Rohit chirped, holding two coffees and way too much energy for a Monday.
“Great,” Aarav muttered, eyes still on his screen.
“Name’s… Ruhi Sharma.”
Aarav’s fingers paused mid-type. There was a half-second flicker—a shake in his hand so subtle, but enough to make Rohit frown.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah… coffee’s hot,” Aarav lied.
But inside? Oh boy.
A knock. Soft. Hesitant.
And then… she walked in.
Same eyes. Same confidence. Same ‘I’ll pretend I’m okay’ smile.
“Ruhi Sharma, our new Operations Manager,” Rohit said with the excitement of a game show host. “Ruhi, meet Aarav—the guy who practically lives here.”
Ruhi blinked. Just for a moment. Her lips parted slightly—maybe to say something, or maybe just… breathe.
Aarav, composed like a damn monk, nodded with a straight face. “Welcome aboard.”
And Rohit, sensing the weird tension like any good desi friend, cracked a joke about office coffee being worse than heartbreak. No one laughed. Not really.
Later that day, Aarav drove aimlessly, windows down, the city lights reflecting the storm inside him.
He didn’t even play music. That’s how serious it was.
Next few days…
Formal. Dry. Awkward.
Ruhi tried—small talk, a compliment about the new client, a joke about printer paper jams.
But Aarav? Nope. Escape mode: ON.
“Sorry, I’ve got a call.”
“I need to check something urgently.”
“Yeah, uh… Nish will help you.”
But Nish wasn’t always around. Especially not one rainy evening, when the office was nearly empty.
The Confession
Ruhi stood outside his cabin, clutching a file like it was a shield. She closed her eyes, whispered to herself, and knocked.
No answer. Just the sound of keyboard clicks.
She walked in anyway.
“Aarav.”
He looked up. Blinked. Just once.
Silence.
Then she spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t move.
“I know what I did. I ran away. I panicked. I ghosted you and it was… selfish. I thought I was protecting both of us from something messy but I ended up… just being a coward.”
Aarav stared, expression unreadable. Eyes glassy but jaw tight. His heart was, um, definitely not in software update mode.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” Ruhi continued, voice trembling now. “Every Diwali, every damn chai song, every time someone said your name. I never stopped loving you.”
He chuckled bitterly. “You left without a word, Ruhi. No calls. No closure. Just… poof. Like we were some bad memory.”
“I was scared,” she whispered.
“I was wrecked,” he snapped, voice cracking.
Her eyes welled up. “I know.”
More silence.
Then Aarav turned away, biting his lip, blinking fast like some dumb teenage boy. “You don’t just get to walk back and press ‘resume’, Ruhi. This isn’t… a paused movie.”
She nodded. “I know. But… maybe we could start a new one?”
He looked at her, really looked this time. The girl he once loved. The woman now standing there—messy, regretful, real.
“Why now?” he asked.
“Because this time, I’m not running.”
Aarav exhaled. Looked away. Then looked back. And softly said—
“Daa… you always knew how to mess up my emotional firewall.”
A Week Later…
Office gossip was on fire. Aarav and Ruhi were spotted laughing—yes, laughing—in the cafeteria. Rohit nearly dropped his samosa.
“Whaaaaat the actual—” he muttered, stunned.
Ruhi walked by and winked. Aarav followed, holding two coffees.
Same girl.
Same love.
But this time, no running.
He bumped her elbow with his. She almost spilled her cup. “You’re still clumsy,” he teased.
“You still roll your eyes too much,” she shot back.
“Oh, and I hate your new perfume.”
“Shut up, you love it.”
He smiled. “Yeah… I do.”
Ending Note:
Sometimes, the past walks in with a new resume and an old apology.
But love? Real love? It doesn’t knock twice.
Unless… you’re brave enough to open the door again.
~The End (of the past) and the Beginning (of forever-ish) 💛
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