The doorbell rang on a quiet Sunday morning.
Inside the Mehra apartment, Rhea looked up from her phone.
“I’ll get it,” she said casually.
Vihaan was sitting on the couch, scrolling absentmindedly, the television playing in the background without his attention.
Their father sat in his usual chair near the window, reading the newspaper.
It was an ordinary morning.
Rhea opened the door.
A delivery boy stood there, holding a bouquet of fresh lilies wrapped in soft pastel paper.
“Delivery for Aarya Deshmukh,” he said, checking his phone.
Rhea frowned slightly.
“This is 1404,” she replied. “You want 1403.”
She pointed toward the adjacent door.
“The flat next door.”
The delivery boy nodded quickly. “Oh. Thank you.”
She smiled politely and closed the door.
As she turned around, she noticed Vihaan looking up.
“New neighbor,” she said simply.
He didn’t respond immediately.
He already knew.
—
A few seconds later, the doorbell rang again.
Next door.
Vihaan didn’t move.
But he listened.
He heard the faint sound of the door opening.
He imagined her standing there.
He didn’t know why.
He simply did.
—
Outside, Aarya opened the door.
The delivery boy stood there, holding the bouquet.
“Delivery for Aarya Deshmukh.”
She froze for a second.
“For me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She took it carefully.
The lilies were fresh. Beautiful.
Familiar.
Her fingers found the small card attached.
She opened it.
And smiled.
A real smile.
Soft. Unprotected.
All the best for your new beginning. Mumbai is lucky to have you.
– Rohan
Her brother.
Her chest tightened slightly.
He had always known how to reach her without saying too much.
“Thank you,” she said softly to the delivery boy.
She closed the door gently.
Inside, she stood there for a moment, holding the bouquet.
Mumbai suddenly didn’t feel as distant.
—
Inside the Mehra apartment, Rhea walked toward the kitchen.
“Who was it?” her mother asked.
“Delivery,” Rhea replied. “For the girl next door.”
Vihaan didn’t look up again.
But something stayed with him.
He hadn’t seen her smile.
But he had felt it.
Later that evening, as he stepped into his balcony, he noticed them.
The flowers.
Placed carefully near her balcony railing.
Alive.
Present.
Like she was.
He didn’t know who sent them.
He didn’t need to.
He just knew they belonged there.
And somehow, her presence beside him felt less temporary.
Less distant.
Without either of them realizing it—
They were no longer just strangers.
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