MY STORYS

Riyan was an ordinary boy with an extraordinary love for his car. It wasn’t new or flashy, but it was his pride — a bright blue Maruti 800 his father had gifted him. Every evening after work, Riyan would polish it, clean the dashboard, and take it for a short ride through the calm streets of his village. One day, as he was waiting at a bakery, he noticed a girl struggling with her scooty. It wouldn’t start. Without hesitation, Riyan offered help. “Need a ride?” he smiled, pointing at his car. She hesitated but agreed. Her name was Athira, and the moment she stepped into his car, something clicked. They laughed at silly songs on the radio, shared stories of their school days, and before they knew it, they were at her home. That one ride turned into many — to the beach, to small tea shops, and long drives on rainy evenings. Riyan started noticing the little things — how she hummed when she was happy, how she rested her hand on the window, lost in thought. His car became more than just a vehicle; it became the bridge between two hearts. Months passed. One evening, as they sat in the car under a starry sky, Athira said softly, “I think I fell for this car first... then for you.” Riyan smiled. “Same here.”