Sparks and Spills
Sneha Sharma had always been a perfectionist. She loved her books neatly stacked, her coffee brewed just right, and her life planned down to the last detail. But all of that precision shattered the moment she met Girish Malhotra.
It was her first year in college, and she had just settled into her favorite corner of the library, immersed in a novel. The peace lasted precisely ten minutes before disaster struck—quite literally. A steaming cup of coffee tipped over, soaking the pages of her book and splashing onto her notes.
“What the—” she gasped, jumping back.
“Oops,” came a casual, unapologetic voice.
Sneha turned sharply to face the culprit—a tall guy with an infuriatingly smug expression. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and smirked. “Didn’t mean to ruin your book. But hey, maybe it’s a sign you should read something better.”
Sneha’s temper flared. “Are you serious? Do you even know how expensive this book is?”
Girish shrugged. “Relax, it’s just paper.”
“Just paper?” she echoed, aghast. “Do you even understand the concept of respecting books?”
He grinned. “Not when they get in the way of my caffeine.”
From that day on, Sneha swore she would never tolerate Girish Malhotra. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.
Their rivalry only grew fiercer as time passed. Whether it was class debates, group projects, or college festivals, they somehow always ended up on opposite sides, each determined to outdo the other.
In their final year, they were both selected for the same marketing internship. The moment Sneha saw Girish walk into the office, her jaw tightened. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Girish, leaning against the doorway, flashed her a grin. “Missed me, Sharma?”
“Like I’d miss food poisoning.”
The workplace became their new battlefield. If Girish suggested an idea, Sneha tore it apart. If Sneha proposed a strategy, Girish found flaws in it. Their colleagues watched in amusement, whispering bets on who would finally snap first.
But in between the fights, there were moments that neither of them could explain.
Like the time Sneha was working late, struggling to finish a report. Without a word, Girish placed a cup of coffee beside her before walking away.
Or when Girish had a fever, and Sneha, despite insisting she couldn’t care less, left medicine on his desk with a note: "Stay alive so I can keep proving you wrong."
It was a love-hate symphony, playing in the background of their daily battles. And yet, neither of them dared to admit that maybe—just maybe—there was something more beneath the war.
Little did they know, life was about to throw them into a situation where they couldn’t escape each other, forcing them to confront what they had spent years denying.
