The Unfolding Petals - Salman and Kajol

Writer: ExoticDisaster

Graphicer: Dellz_Creationz

Storyline Trope - Sacrifice for love

Bollywood Element - Diary

Character Pairing (Hero + Heroine): Aman (Salman Khan) from Kuch Kuch Hota hai and Priya (Kajol) from Baazigar

This Story is runner up in 🎬 Khan-tastic Stories Contest

The Unfolding Petals

Aman Mehra never believed in grand gestures in love. His universe had, for years, revolved around Anjali Sharma. He was moments from marrying the woman he loved, steps away from his happily-ever-after. Yet, fate intervened with a whispered truth delivered by little Anjali Khanna, who told him the reality: that the Anjali he loved was already completely devoted—not to him—but to her best friend, Rahul.

Knowing that her happiness lay elsewhere; he made the selfless choice. He broke off the engagement, not with anger, but with a quiet dignity that stunned everyone.

"Go to him, Anjali," he had said, his voice a strained whisper. "You both deserve each other."

His dynamic changed with both Rahul and Anjali after that. He was always welcomed at their house. They became his best friends but he knew, they both were consumed by guilt. They tried desperately to fix his broken heart, setting him up on awkward dates with their single friends, constantly reminding him of his wonderful qualities. Aman appreciated their efforts, but each failed attempt only deepened his resolve to heal on his own terms. He needed a fresh start, a different horizon.

So here he was, in a major business trip to New York.

“Sir, your schedule for today is set.” He looked up to see his assistant, Kabir, explain. “You have a lunch meeting with the investors, then we head for the site.”

“Sight-seeing?” Aman frowned.

“I mean visit to the construction site. Priya will be accompanying you.” He said and left the cabin after Aman nodded.

Priya Chopra. Aman sighed. Priya was a young intern, incredibly efficient, sharp but, utterly silent. She spoke only when directly addressed, her answers always to the point. Her eyes behind her thick glasses, however, held a depth that Aman found intriguing, though he never truly considered it.

Just yesterday, was their first encounter. A critical presentation had gone awry due to a technical glitch, and Aman, still carrying the weight of his past, had lashed out.

"Didn't you double-check these files?" he had demanded, his voice echoing sharper than he had intended. “How can someone so irresponsible work in my office?”

Priya hadn't flinched. She hadn't offered an excuse, hadn't defend herself. She had just fixed it.

Aman closed his laptop and walked out of his cabin, walking towards the canteen area.

He poured himself some coffee when he overheard hushed conversations near the water cooler.

"Did you hear that?" Someone whispered. "Yesterday Aman sir yelled at her." Another replied, "Strange though, she didn't even say anything. The old Priya would have argued back, or at least looked upset."

"The old Priya?" Aman murmured to himself; arousing a curiosity.

Making sure the employees didn’t see him, he walked out. Old Priya. He couldn’t let it off his mind. He opened the glass door of his cabin while sipping his coffee when his gaze fell on her.

She was organising her desk, humming lightly. Then it became a routine – he started observing her, subtly at first, then with more intent, finding himself drawn to the small, particular habits that marked her day.

He learned that when she was deep in concentration, she had a habit of gently tapping the eraser end of her pencil against her notepad. He noticed the way she would sometimes stare out the window, lost in thought, a faint sadness clouding her eyes. And he registered the quick, unconscious wrinkle of her nose to push her slipping glasses back into place.

Just like every other day, Priya was packing up her things after work. And as usual, Aman was observing her when he saw a small, worn leather-bound book slipping from her bag. It lay on the floor, half-hidden under her chair. Priya walked away, oblivious of her diary that has fallen down. Aman marched towards her table and picked it up. It wasn't a work-related notebook; the cover was embossed with a delicate, faded floral pattern.

He then found himself sat in his cabin; his fingers trembling as he turned the brittle page.

The earlier pages brimmed with tales of college crushes, ambitious dreams, and the joy of a girl living life to its fullest. But then, the tone shifted. A name began to appear with increasing frequency: Vicky.

He read on:

________________________________________

October 22nd.

Vicky. Even writing his name sends shivers down my spine, but not the happy kind anymore. Today, my world didn't just crack; it shattered into a million of pieces.

His family lost everything because of my father. He stole from them and drove them into bankruptcy. He built his empire on the ruins of Vicky- No, Ajay’s family's life.

Yes, Vicky wasn’t Vicky, he was Ajay, who had sworn revenge from my father. Getting close to me, was a part of his plan.

The man I loved had been using me. The betrayal was a knife in my heart. But I also felt sympathy towards him. He wasn't just a villain in my story; he was a victim first.

My father, a beacon of strength and morality, was a thief. The truth was a bitter pill, but it was the truth.

I still remember the day I saw Ajay for the last time. He lay there, in his mother’s embrace, taking his last breath.

And I, I fell to my knees beside him, unable to stop my tears.

His revenge, was now complete, but at what cost?

________________________________________

Aman closed the diary with a soft thud. His hands were shaking, not from cold, but from the shock of Priya's words.

He understood now. The silent, workaholic girl was not just quiet. She was a broken soul. She had witnessed a love so brutal, that it had stripped her of every ounce of her former bubbly self.

Now he realised, his selfless act of love was nothing compared to what Priya had gone through. He thought nothing was more hurtful than watching the love of your life marrying someone else; but he could never even imagine the pain of watching them die in front of your eyes. The silent suffering, the brave facade, the inability to speak of the pain – it was all unimaginable.

He started seeing Priya in a whole new light. He understood her silence, and her reserved nature. He understood the effort it took to simply carry on, day after day, when your heart felt like a hollowed-out shell.

A new purpose began to solidify within Aman. He didn't want to fix her, he wanted to help her rediscover the spark that had been extinguished. He wanted to bring back the old Priya, the bubbly, talkative girl who had once known joy. Perhaps, in helping her heal, he might find a path to healing himself too.

His efforts began slowly. He started including her in team lunches, asking her opinion on things beyond work, sometimes even just sharing a quiet, understanding smile. He would leave a small, thoughtful note with a new coffee flavour on her desk, or recommend a book he thought she might enjoy.

Priya, initially, remained guarded, but the smallest changes were encouraging: a faint hint of a smile at a silly joke, a slightly longer gaze when he spoke, a quiet "thank you" that held a touch more warmth.

Aman knew it would be a long journey, but for after months, he had felt a flicker of hope – not just for Priya, but for himself. He wanted to see her laugh again, to hear her voice ring with joy. And perhaps, just perhaps, he would learn to laugh again alongside her.

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