Title: The Garden of Second Chances
Reunion after years / Wedding backdrop
Characters: Aman and Anjali / Salman and Kajol from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
Word count: 1278
Runner-up entry in Khan-tastic Writing Contest
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(Book cover made by WildestDreams)
The garden shimmered beneath a canopy of lights, each one glinting in a different hue, as though a thousand fireflies had gathered to bless the night. Laughter rippled through the air, carrying with it the mingled scent of countless perfumes — traces of jasmine, musk, and rose weaving together in the warm breeze. Somewhere, an old Bollywood melody floated across the lawn — a nostalgic tune from the ’90s, Saajan Ji Ghar Aaye, that brought a wistful smile to every face.
It was a grand Indian wedding. One of Aman’s distant relatives was marrying the girl of his dreams — an ex-student from St. Xavier’s College. That, perhaps, was why Aman had come tonight. To see her again. To glimpse a fragment of a past that had never quite let him go.
Aman had never cared for social gatherings.
He scanned the crowd, his eyes tracing the sea of vibrant dresses and crisp sherwanis. All around him were faces glowing with joy — old college friends embracing after years apart, children darting between legs like restless sparks, and clusters of elders gossiping in hushed, delighted tones. Aman felt strangely apart from it all, like an outsider peering through glass at a world that no longer belonged to him.
He stood in the corner, hands buried in his pockets, when he saw her - Anjali Sharma.
It had been almost ten years. Ten long years since he had last seen her.
He had known she would be here. She never missed a wedding — she loved watching people in love getting their happy ending, loved the poetry of two souls uniting.
For a fleeting moment, Aman forgot how to breathe.
Her blue saree shimmered under the lights, catching each glint like liquid moonlight. Gone was the tomboyish, unpolished Anjali Sharma of college days — in her place stood a woman transformed, poised and radiant. Yet, beneath that composure, Aman sensed traces of the girl he once knew — a flicker of mischief in her smile, the familiar warmth in her eyes. The old Anjali was still there, buried perhaps, but not gone. Maybe she had merely learned to hide herself better.
Before reason could intervene, Aman’s heart betrayed him. He stepped forward.
“Anjali Sharma,” he said softly, her name a whisper more than a greeting — as if saying it aloud might break the spell. “Or should I say… Mrs. Anjali Khanna?”
She turned, startled, and then her expression softened. “Aman! My God… it’s been ages!”
Her smile — that same disarming smile — struck him like sunlight through cloud.
“Ten years,” he replied with a grin.
She laughed awkwardly. “Still counting, huh?”
“Never stopped,” he said quietly.
Silence fell between them, threaded with the rhythm of distant drums.
“I don’t see Rahul anywhere, couldn't make it?” Aman said, breaking it at last.
Her eyes flickered — so quick, so fleeting, that only someone who had once memorized every nuance of her face would notice.
“He’s busy,” she said quickly, too quickly.
“Right,” Aman murmured. “Rahul Khanna — always busy.”
She forced a polite smile, then excused herself. He watched her retreating form, unease curling in his chest. Something wasn’t right.
***
The night deepened. The bidaai was underway — the bride and groom bowed to elders, tears mingling with laughter as they began their new life together. Most guests had already left, leaving behind only family and the lingering hum of celebration.
Aman wandered to the balcony, grateful for the cool air after the crowd. The breeze carried the scent of marigolds and rain-soaked earth. And then —a voice. A voice he would recognize anywhere.
He froze. Her.
Drawn by something he couldn’t name, he followed it.
Inside a quiet room, Anjali’s voice drifted out — low, pained. She was speaking to another woman.
“You can’t keep pretending forever,” the other voice said. “He thinks you’re married, doesn’t he?”
Anjali sighed. “Yeah… I told him Rahul’s busy. He seemed to buy it.”
“Why lie, Anjali? People would understand why you didn’t marry Rahul. You did nothing wrong!”
Aman stilled. Didn’t marry Rahul? The words hit him like thunder.
“I don’t want anyone’s sympathy,” Anjali said firmly. “He thinks I had my happy ending. Let him.”
“But you chose your dignity over happiness. There’s no shame in that.”
Aman held his breath. Dignity? What had Rahul done?
Anjali’s voice softened, trembling with buried hurt. “You know why I didn’t marry him, Riya. He loved Tina — she was always his first choice. He only noticed me when I changed — when I stopped being the tomboy he ignored. He didn’t see me; he saw my clothes, my jewellery, my hair. He was trying to find Tina in me. I couldn’t settle for being second best. I loved him, but I loved myself too.”
Riya’s voice was gentle. “And Aman? He wasn’t like that. He accepted you as you were.”
Anjali’s tone faltered. “He deserved someone who could love him with her whole heart. He’s a good man — he deserves happiness. But I couldn’t give him that. Not when Rahul still lived in a corner of my heart.”
Aman stepped back, heart hammering, her words echoing in his chest. The truth left him hollow — not angry, not betrayed — just shattered.
***
He was leaving when he saw her again. She stood beneath the fairy lights, her face aglow in the shifting colours. The wind tugged playfully at her pallu, her hair falling across her cheek as she tried to tame it with delicate fingers. She was smiling faintly as she watched the newlyweds depart — a smile both tender and lonely.
He couldn’t walk away.
“Still finding your happiness in others’ happiness, hmm?” he teased softly.
She turned, startled.
“Are you still afraid to live for yourself?” he asked.
“What… what do you mean?”
“You didn’t have to lie to me about Rahul.”
Her eyes widened. “You were eavesdropping? That’s bad manners, Aman!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, bowing his head slightly — then looked up again, meeting her gaze. “But I’m not sorry for knowing the truth.”
“It makes no difference,” she murmured. “That chapter is closed. I’ve moved on.”
“Your eyes tell a different story,” he said simply.
She turned away.
“Look at me,” he whispered. “Nazrein kyun chura rahi ho? You deserve to live… not merely survive.”
She exhaled, her voice trembling. “And what about you? Why aren’t you married yet?”
He smiled faintly. “Because I never found the right one. Maybe we were meant to meet again. Maybe fate’s giving us another chance. Kismat har kisi ko doosra mauka nahi deti.”
“I can’t promise you anything, Aman. Main thak gayi hoon.”
“Then let me be the one who helps you rest,” he said, half-playful, half-earnest.
Her eyes glistened. “Tum bohat acche insaan ho, Aman.”
He stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Toh phir mujhe qubool kar lo.”
She smiled through her tears. “I don’t know what you expect from me. I’m not that old Anjali anymore.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “I want to know this new one.”
She laughed softly — a laugh tinged with disbelief, with the irony of fate’s cruel humour.
“Do you believe in second chances?” he asked quietly.
“Maybe in another lifetime.”
He nodded, eyes never leaving hers. “Then I’ll wait.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you,” he smiled, “are unforgettable.”
They laughed — two souls once broken by love, now finding solace in each other’s company, if only for a moment.
She stepped back. “Goodnight, Aman.”
As she turned and walked away, a strange calm settled over them both. For the first time in years, she didn’t feel alone.
And neither did he.
For he knew — if fate could bring her back after ten long years, it could one day bring her to him again.
