Dinner at the Sharmas' — A First Step Inside
Ruhi stood outside Rudra's family home in South Delhi — the house she had only ever imagined in sketches and stories.
It looked like a palace.Polished marble steps. Garden fountains. Walls of glass and steel.
She held her breath as Rudra opened the tall wooden door and led her inside.
"I've never been more nervous," she whispered.
He smiled and whispered back, "I've never been more proud."
Inside, his father Vikram Sharma was already seated at the head of the dining table, wearing his usual crisp white kurta and reading spectacles.
He looked up.
And this time,he smiled first.
"Welcome, Ruhi," he said warmly. "We're glad you came."
🫖 The Dinner Table — Real Talk Over Roti
The dinner was elaborate — paneer lababdar, dal makhani, fresh phulkas, and Rudra's favorite sweet: jalebi with rabri.
But it wasn't the food Ruhi noticed — it was the way the conversation flowed.
Vikram asked her about her ambitions, her writing, her family.
No tests.No passive judgment.Just… curiosity.
Midway, he set down his spoon and said:
"When Rudra was ten, I told him emotions were weaknesses.He believed me for a long time.
But he never looked lighter than he does now — sitting next to you."
Ruhi blinked — unsure whether to smile or cry.
She chose to do both.
📓 Beyond the Buzzer – Page 163
"Some walls don't fall with arguments.They soften with honesty —One dinner at a time."
📜 A Truth from Ruhi's Past
That same week, Ruhi visited Darjeeling to spend a weekend with her parents.
Her mother, Meera, handed her an old shoebox filled with letters Ruhi had written as a teenager.
One caught her eye — a school essay titled:"My Impossible Dream"
She had written:
"I want to fall in love one day. But not with a boy in a film._With someone who will fight for me.Even when I don't fight for myself._But I don't think my parents will ever approve.We're too different. And love doesn't fill tiffin boxes."
Ruhi laughed.Then teared up.
Because here she was —Living that "impossible dream."
And maybe, just maybe, her parents were starting to see that it wasn't impossible after all.
🖋️ Simran's First Review — The Sting and the Spark
Back in Bangalore, Simran received an email from her publisher:
Subject:Your First Official Review is In
She clicked eagerly.
The first line read:
"Simran Arora's debut collection is promising — raw, heartfelt, and occasionally naive. But her strength lies in how real she lets herself be."
She froze.
Naive?
Then read it again. And again.
And suddenly, it didn't feel like an insult.
It felt like a beginning.
Because what's more powerful than writing something so honest that it risks sounding unpolished?
She replied to her editor:
"Thank you. Let's get started on the next one."
🏀 Aarav's First Class — A Different Kind of Court
Meanwhile, Aarav walked into a government school gymnasium that smelled of chalk and effort.
Fifteen kids stood in front of him — boys and girls with second-hand sneakers and first-hand hope.
He tossed a basketball in the air and said:
"Rule number one: you're not here to be perfect.You're here to be passionate."
They listened.
They learned.
They missed shots, then made them.
And Aarav stood there, not as a coach —but as a mirror of everything he once needed.
🧣 A Quiet Blessing
On Sunday morning, as Ruhi and Rudra sat on a park bench sipping chai, Rudra's mother arrived quietly.
She handed Ruhi a small box.
Inside was a pair of delicate silver earrings.
"They were mine," she said gently. "I wore them when I first met Rudra's father."
Ruhi looked up, surprised.
"I know what our world looks like from the outside, beta," she continued. "But from today… I want you to see it from inside."
Ruhi reached for her hand.
And this time, no one had to ask for acceptance.
It was offered freely.
📓 Beyond the Buzzer – Page 165
"Some blessings aren't loud.They're wrapped in velvetAnd passed across generations —Softly. Willingly. With love."
💫 End of Chapter 32