Chapter 1 – The Beginning of Us
Hello to everyone…. Posting my first story.
A slow burning story… Have patience for the best part.
Apologies if anything goes wrong since it is my first attempt
Characters
Aashu – Me
Abhi – My Friend
Pooja – Abhi’s Sister
Some friendships become a part of your life so naturally that, after a while, you stop remembering what life was like before them.
My friendship with Abhi was one of those.
We first met nearly eighteen years ago on a dusty cricket ground in our village. I was sixteen, and he was fourteen. The two-year age difference never mattered. Every evening after college, we would gather with the neighborhood boys, argue over teams, celebrate boundaries as if they were international matches, and return home covered in dust.
What started as cricket soon turned into a genuine friendship.
Our daily games became weekend outings, festival celebrations, and countless cups of tea at each other's homes. Before long, our families knew each other well. It wasn't unusual for me to walk into Abhi's house even when he wasn't home.
His mother would smile and say, "He's gone to the market. Sit down, he'll be back soon."
Sometimes I'd wait. Other times, we'd simply chat until he returned. I had become less of a guest and more like another member of the family.
It was during those early visits that I first met his younger sister, Pooja.
She couldn't have been more than twelve years old then—a quiet, cheerful girl who usually kept to herself. Most of the time, she'd be helping her mother around the house or rushing off to college with two neatly tied ponytails swinging behind her. If our eyes met, we'd exchange a polite smile before she disappeared into another room.
At that age, she was simply my friend's younger sister. Nothing more.
Pooja had always been a quiet part of my visits to Abhi's home. She would be helping her mother in the kitchen, studying in one corner of the house, or leaving for college just as I arrived. We'd exchange a smile or a brief "How are you?" before going about our day. That was the extent of our relationship for years.
The years passed quickly.
After completing my Higher Secondary education, I left home to pursue engineering. College kept me busy, and I spent most of the year away. Whenever I returned during holidays and festivals, I made it a point to meet Abhi. We would catch up over long conversations about college, cricket, and our plans for the future.
By then, I was in the second year of engineering, Abhi was preparing for his Higher Secondary examinations, and Pooja was getting ready for her SSC board exams. It had been a few years since I had first met the little girl with two ponytails, and the transformation had happened so gradually that I hadn't really noticed it until I returned home during one of my college vacations.
The shy little girl I had first met was now a confident and cheerful teenager. She had grown taller, though she was still a little shorter than Abhi, and carried herself with a quiet confidence that hadn't been there before. The innocence of childhood was still visible in her warm smile, but she had begun to carry herself with the grace and simplicity of a young woman.
At home, she usually wore simple knee-length or slightly below-the-knee cotton frocks, often in soft colours or floral prints. On festivals and family functions, she preferred neatly pressed salwar kameez, while for college she was always in her uniform, her long hair tied into a braid or a ponytail. She had expressive eyes, a pleasant smile, and a calm nature that reflected her mother's personality.
Despite becoming more confident, some things never changed. She remained soft-spoken, respectful, and always willing to help her mother with household chores. Whenever I visited, she would greet me with a polite smile before returning to her books or whatever work she was doing. Like any student preparing for board examinations, her textbooks were never far away.
Even then, I never looked at her any differently. To me, she was simply Pooja—my closest friend's younger sister. Our conversations rarely went beyond a casual "How are your studies going?" or a brief exchange of greetings before each of us carried on with our own lives. At that stage, neither of us could have imagined that life would one day bring us much closer than either of us had ever expected.
Our interactions, however, remained simple and formal. A brief greeting, a polite smile, perhaps a question about college or studies, and then we would go our separate ways. We knew each other well enough through the family, but we had never really shared a conversation beyond basic pleasantries.
Abhi's family lived a simple life.
There were four members in the house—his father, his mother, Abhi, and Pooja. Farming was their primary source of income, and everyone contributed in one way or another.
Next door lived Abhi's uncle and his family. His uncle and aunt had three children—Prasad, Shubham, and Rani. Since the two houses stood side by side with an open courtyard between them, both families functioned almost like one large household.
As my friendship with Abhi deepened over the years, I naturally became familiar with everyone. Family gatherings, festivals, weddings, and celebrations often meant that I spent time with both households. The elders treated me with affection, the younger cousins joked with me freely, and after so many years of coming and going, my presence hardly surprised anyone anymore.
Looking back now, it amazes me how ordinary those days felt.
As the years went by, my visits to Abhi's house became more than just friendly visits. I was present for festivals, family celebrations, examination seasons, and countless ordinary evenings that, at the time, seemed too simple to ever be remembered. Looking back now, I realize those ordinary moments were quietly laying the foundation of relationships that would stay with me for life.
Festivals were always special at Abhi's house. Whether it was Diwali, Ganesh Chaturthi, or a family wedding, I often ended up staying the night. The evenings were filled with laughter, card games, homemade sweets, and endless conversations that stretched well past midnight. Pooja, still in her college years then, would spend most of her time helping her mother serve tea and snacks to everyone. During the day she was usually seen in simple knee-length cotton frocks, while the evening aarti meant changing into a colourful ghagra choli that her mother had carefully chosen for the occasion. Sleeping arrangements were never planned—we simply spread mattresses across the floor wherever there was space. Those nights never felt like I was staying at a friend's house; they felt like I was with my own family.
Childhood doesn't announce when it ends. One day you're arguing over cricket scores, and before you know it, conversations begin revolving around examinations, college admissions, and plans for the future. We were growing older, whether we noticed it or not.
As we grew older, cricket gradually gave way to books. During examination season, our conversations shifted from batting techniques to mathematics, physics, and career plans. Sometimes Abhi and I studied together, quizzing each other before important exams and motivating one another whenever confidence started to fade. Pooja would often be studying for her own examinations in another corner of the room, surrounded by neatly arranged textbooks and notebooks. At home she had become comfortable in simple T-shirts with knee-length shorts or loose cotton capris while studying, changing into regular clothes only if visitors arrived. Every now and then, she'd ask Abhi for help with a difficult problem before quietly returning to her books. Those sessions rarely lasted more than a couple of hours before someone suggested tea, and we ended up talking about everything except our exams.
Life has a strange way of changing people so gradually that you rarely notice the difference until you look back. That was exactly how it was with Pooja. There wasn't a single moment that made me think she had grown up. It simply happened over the years, one season at a time.
The years passed almost unnoticed. By the time I had completed engineering and started my first job, Abhi had also stepped into adulthood, and Pooja was in her early twenties. The mischievous collegegirl who once ran around the courtyard with her cousins had quietly grown into a confident, graceful young woman.
She had grown taller, her features had become more defined, and she carried herself with a natural confidence that came with maturity. Her face retained the same warmth and innocence I remembered from years ago, but adulthood had given her a poised presence. She looked healthy, fit, and elegant, with a naturally balanced physique that reflected an active village lifestyle rather than any conscious effort.
Her choice of clothes changed with time as well. At home, she was comfortable in simple cotton dresses, capris, or shorts on warm afternoons. Whenever she stepped out with family or friends, she was often seen in jeans paired with a kurti or a simple top. Festivals brought out her love for traditional attire—bright ghagra cholis during Navratri, colourful sarees during family functions, and graceful ethnic outfits during celebrations. She never dressed to attract attention, yet her simplicity often made her stand out.
What impressed me most, however, wasn't her appearance. It was the person she had become. She was thoughtful, responsible, and deeply devoted to her family. Whether she was helping her mother with household work, assisting her father during busy days, or teasing Abhi over the smallest things, she carried herself with the same kindness and humility that everyone admired.
Over the years, I also began to notice the little things that made her who she was. Whenever a loose strand of hair slipped across her face while she worked, she would absent-mindedly tuck it behind her ear without interrupting what she was doing. If guests visited, she was never the kind to sit quietly in one place—she would instinctively help her mother with tea, arrange extra chairs, or make sure everyone had something to eat before thinking about herself. Whenever someone praised or teased her, she would lower her eyes with a shy smile rather than reply immediately. She had a habit of laughing before she finished a sentence whenever something genuinely amused her, and despite all the responsibilities that came with growing up, she never lost the warmth that made everyone around her feel comfortable.
Even then, I never looked at her any differently. To me, she was simply Pooja—my closest friend's younger sister. Our conversations remained brief, respectful, and entirely ordinary, and neither of us had the slightest idea that life would one day change the nature of our relationship forever.
Time never waits for anyone. College came to an end, responsibilities grew, and each of us slowly stepped into the next phase of our lives. The carefree days of spending every evening together became less frequent, replaced by work, commitments, and the realities of adulthood.
After engineering, I was fortunate enough to secure my first job. Like every newcomer to the professional world, I became busy learning the ropes, adjusting to a new routine, and building my career. The frequent visits to Abhi's house slowly became occasional ones, mostly during weekends, festivals, or whenever I happened to be in the village. Every time I visited, I noticed small changes. Abhi seemed more mature, and Pooja had stepped comfortably into adulthood. Depending on the day, she would be in jeans and a simple kurti if she was heading out with friends or running errands, or in a comfortable cotton saree when there was a family function or a religious ceremony at home. She greeted me with the same warm smile she always had before disappearing into the kitchen to help her mother or bring tea for everyone. Despite meeting less often, the comfort between our families never changed.
Just as I was finding my place in the professional world, Abhi too was beginning to build a future of his own. Watching my closest friend take those first steps into adulthood felt almost as satisfying as taking my own.
Around the same time, Abhi also began building his own future. Whether it was getting his first job or proudly bringing home his first motorcycle, I could see the confidence growing in him. I still remember the excitement on his face when he handed me the keys and insisted I take the first ride. Pooja stood near the doorway laughing as she watched the two of us argue about who would ride first. She had just returned from college, dressed casually in blue jeans and a light-coloured kurti, teasing Abhi that he'd probably scratch the bike before the day ended. Watching the two siblings together reminded me that, despite growing older, some relationships never really changed.
For a while, life settled into a comfortable rhythm. There were no major surprises, only the quiet satisfaction of watching everyone move forward. Then, as often happens in families, conversations slowly shifted toward finding a suitable match for Pooja.
Time moved on, and before we realized it, conversations in the house began revolving around finding a suitable match for Pooja. One evening, during a family gathering, the elders shared the news that her marriage had been fixed. The atmosphere changed instantly. Happiness, excitement, and a little nervousness filled both households. Dressed in a graceful saree for the family gathering, Pooja accepted everyone's blessings with a shy smile, occasionally lowering her eyes whenever someone teased her about the wedding. Abhi looked proud but emotional, while his parents finally seemed relieved that they had found a good family for their daughter. The house soon buzzed with discussions about dates, invitations, shopping, and preparations.
"Once the wedding date was finalized, both households transformed almost overnight. Every visit brought a new responsibility—shopping, invitation cards, decorations, arranging vehicles, or receiving relatives arriving from different places. The house, once quiet, was now filled with constant conversations, laughter, and the excitement that only a wedding can bring. Pooja seemed genuinely happy, patiently listening to everyone's opinions while choosing clothes, jewellery, and everything she would need for her new life.
The celebrations began a few days before the wedding. Mehendi, haldi, music, and endless teasing filled the courtyard with life. Children ran around playing without a care in the world, cousins danced long after the music should have stopped, and friends made sure neither the bride's family nor the groom's escaped a little harmless mischief. Somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, I found myself handling one responsibility after another, no longer feeling like a guest but like a member of the family."
Once the wedding date was finalized, both households transformed almost overnight. Every room seemed to have a purpose, every day came with a new list of tasks, and every family member found themselves busy preparing for one of the happiest occasions in the family's life.
As one of Abhi's closest friends, I naturally became part of the wedding preparations. There was always something to do—booking vehicles, arranging decorations, receiving relatives, helping with invitations, and making sure guests were looked after. Pooja was constantly surrounded by cousins, aunts, and neighbours as they discussed jewellery, bridal outfits, and wedding rituals. Every day seemed to bring another shopping trip or fitting. Whether she was trying on a traditional saree for one ceremony or a beautifully embroidered lehenga for another, she looked excited rather than overwhelmed. Both families worked tirelessly, yet there was joy in every bit of the chaos. Every evening ended with everyone sitting together over tea, discussing what had been completed and what still remained.
Weeks of planning, shopping, and endless preparations passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. Before any of us were ready for it, the morning of the wedding had arrived.
The wedding arrived sooner than any of us expected. Dbangd in her bridal attire, adorned with traditional jewellery and a warm smile that couldn't quite hide her emotions, Pooja looked every bit the happy bride. The happiness on her face brought relief to everyone who had watched her grow up over the years. As the rituals concluded and it was finally time for her to leave, the cheerful atmosphere gave way to tears. Her parents struggled to hold back their emotions, while Abhi, who had spent the entire day making sure every guest was comfortable, quietly stood beside his sister, trying to remain strong. Watching her leave after the farewell ceremony was an emotional moment for everyone present. Like the rest of the family, I silently wished her a lifetime of happiness, believing she was beginning a beautiful new chapter.
For the next few years, life settled into a peaceful routine. Pooja adjusted well to her married life, Abhi remained busy with work, and I continued building my career. We still met during festivals and family gatherings whenever our schedules allowed. The visits were less frequent than before, but whenever we met, it felt as though nothing had changed.
None of us knew that the quiet family I had become so close to would one day face a tragedy that would change every relationship within it—and slowly change mine with Pooja in ways I could never have imagined.
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