Rumours have their own way of spreading—like wildfire on dry leaves, and in this case, the gym was the forest. It started with a single incident: Karan accidentally grabbing Kanika's waist during a weight-handling misstep. But by the time it reached the protein shaker crowd, it had turned into something far more scandalous—"They were fighting like lovers."
***
Karan didn't acknowledge the whispers. As always, he stuck to his reps and routines, zoning out the world. Kanika however, was simmering. Not with shame—but curiosity. She wasn't used to being ignored. She was used to attention—sometimes unwanted, but always present. But Karan? He didn't even flinch.
A few days after the rumours went viral, she decided enough was enough. She needed answers—or at least the satisfaction of a confrontation.
She entered the gym early, spotting him instantly at the dumbbell rack. As she approached, he sensed her presence like a startled cat and dashed to the other end of the gym. She narrowed her eyes and gave chase.
What followed was a gym-wide scene that looked like something out of a sitcom. Kanika chasing Karan from one machine to another. From cables to treadmills to the pull-up bar section. It was like watching a cat chasing a rat.
Elders doing light yoga at the back began chuckling. "What's going on with this love duo?" one uncle muttered.
Finally, when Karan heard the stifled laughter, he froze and turned sharply. "What are you trying to do?" he demanded.
Without missing a beat, she pinched the bottom corner of his t-shirt—just like a stubborn child grabbing her mother's bodice in a crowded fair—and blushed as she noticed people watching them.
"Let go," he whispered urgently. "People are watching. What do you need?"
"Let them watch. Maybe they'll get some clarity about all those rumours," she whispered back, her voice laced with amusement and irritation.
He tried to gently pull away. "I don't want any more drama."
As he twisted to break free, her foot slid on a stray weight plate. She lost balance—and fell hard. Her back hit the floor first, then her elbow smacked into the side of a metal machine. Pain shot through her. Gasps echoed. One of the gym trainers rushed to help. Karan, stunned and pale, stood frozen as people crowded around Kanika.
"Bro, that girl's hurt," someone finally told him, shoving him toward her.
She refused to let him help at first. "You've done enough already," she snapped.
But he could see it—her hand was swelling fast, blue and ballooning. Panic replaced his hesitation.
***
"No arguing," he muttered. Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms like a baby. Her cheeks flushed as red as pre-workout powder.
"Put me down!" she hissed, struggling.
"You want to walk with a possibly broken hand and a bruised ass? Be my guest."
She shut up immediately. She could hear his heartbeat against her ear. Loud. Steady. Real.
The hospital was just two buildings away. He rushed there, and within minutes she was on a stretcher, rolling into X-ray.
Karan paced outside like a father-to-be. When the doctor came out and said, "Nothing major—just torn tissue, needs a plaster for two weeks," he exhaled so hard the nurse chuckled.
But then he added, "Check her back too—she fell really hard."
Kanika's eyes widened. "Karan!" she shrieked. "Don't say stuff like that here!"
Too late.
The female doctor smiled slyly. "Your girlfriend is fine. Very lucky to have such a… concerned boyfriend."
Karan's eyes widened. "She's not my girlfriend", and went to reception to complete formalities.
But Kanika stayed silent, avoiding his gaze.
The doctor winked. "He clearly cares a lot. Take care of him too, hmm?"
When they stepped out of the hospital, she muttered, "This is all your fault."
He looked down. "I know."
"You're dropping me home."
"Uh... I don't know how to ride your scooty."
She blinked. "What?"
"I don't know how to drive it," he said sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.
She burst into laughter. "So you can deadlift twice your weight, but you can't handle a scooty?"
He stayed quiet.
"Also," she added dramatically, "You've touched more of me in one day than most guys in a year. Might as well ride my scooty too."
He turned bright red.
"Get in the taxi," he mumbled, flagging one down.
She slid in with a mischievous grin. Before he could close the door, she patted the seat beside her. "Get in, Mr. Gentleman."
He hesitated, then got in.
For a few seconds, silence.
Then: "You going to tell all your friends how my body felt?" she teased.
He glared.
She grinned wider. "Does your girlfriend know how well you handle women?"
His jaw clenched.
She grew quiet suddenly. "Don't share any of my private photos. Please."
Before he could reply, the taxi driver glanced at him suspiciously.
"She's joking!" he blurted. "All jokes!"
The driver didn't move.
"I'm joking," Kanika finally confirmed, chuckling.
She leaned her head on Karan's shoulder and whispered, "You're fun to mess with." And then, just like that, she dozed off.
When she woke up, she was in her room, tucked into bed. Her mother later told her it was Karan who carried her upstairs.
***
A full week passed.
Karan remained silent, tucked away in his disciplined world of reps, sets, and silence. No chaos. No accidental run-ins. No gym-floor glances. It was as though he had folded himself back into the shadows, exactly where he felt safest.
Kanika, on the other hand, counted every day like a ticking bomb. Her plastered hand had become a constant, inconvenient reminder—not just of the accident—but of him. Of his arms catching her. Of his voice, calm and detached. Of the wall he had so easily rebuilt between them.
But Kanika was never the kind to sit and wait.
So on the seventh day, armed with a vengeance—and a still-mending wrist—she returned to the gym.
He was there, of course. As expected. Standing near the mirror, curling dumbbells with that same focused stare, his jaw clenched in quiet rhythm. Sweat trailed down his temple like punctuation marks of effort. He didn't see her coming.
With the stealth of a cat and the mischief of a child, she tiptoed behind him and jabbed her fingers into his waist.
"AH!" he shouted, the dumbbells slipping from his hands with a heavy, metallic crash. They thudded onto the rubber mat like dropped anchors.
Karan spun around, panic still in his eyes, only to find her grinning up at him with innocent delight—like a schoolkid who'd just set off a fire alarm for fun.
"You psycho!" he hissed under his breath, one hand still pressed against his chest, as if calming a heart that had leapt out of rhythm.
***
She laughed and slapped his back lightly. "Missed me?"
Before he could respond, the trainer appeared at the far end of the gym, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the dropped weights. Karan shot him a quick nod, grabbed his towel, and slipped away between the machines, blending into the crowd before Kanika could say another word.
But Kanika wasn't finished with him yet.
Later she spotted him again—this time loading plates onto the barbell, prepping for a deadlift. He was methodical about it, focused. His head was slightly bowed, shoulders squared.
She leaned against the nearest post and watched, arms folded.
Without turning, he spoke. "Stop staring."
Her lips curled. "Why? Are you trying to impress me?"
He answered by adding two more 10-kilo plates to the bar.
"How about now?" he asked.
She yawned dramatically. "Still no."
He added another ten.
"Use a belt, idiot," she muttered and walked off to grab one from the corner rack.
As she bent down to pick it up, a deafening clang echoed across the room. Heads turned. Conversations paused mid-sentence.
Karan stood tall, arms still tensed, the barbell now dropped at his feet. He had just pulled more than twice his own bodyweight off the floor in one clean, brutal motion.
His chest heaved with exertion, eyes slightly glazed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—like a boy who had just unlocked a secret level in his favourite game. There was pride there, sure, but also disbelief.
***
Kanika rushed to his side, steadying him as his knees wobbled from the effort. He swayed toward her, his breath still ragged, and in the unsteady motion, his face dipped forward—his lips grazing the side of her neck for the briefest, unintended moment.
The room exploded with laughter.
Someone whistled. Another gym-goer clapped sarcastically.
But Kanika stood frozen. Not because of the attention—but because for a fleeting moment, she felt something electric pass between them. Soft. Sudden. Confusing.
He didn't say anything. Just chuckled quietly, took a long sip from his water bottle, and leaned against the bar.
She stood frozen, her heartbeat embarrassingly loud in her ears. Her mind was tangled. This wasn't supposed to feel like this. She couldn't understand why the air around him felt so charged, or why her stomach refused to settle.
Just then, her brother called out. "I'm done. Let's go!"
She turned toward him, then looked back at Karan. "You go ahead. I'm finishing my workout."
Karan raised an eyebrow. "With one hand?"
She teased. "Leg day. Your favourite, remember?"
He began gathering his towel and gear.
"So you're just going to leave a hot girl alone at the gym?" she teased, trying to mask the weight in her voice with playfulness.
He didn't even flinch. "I'm sure there are plenty of good-looking guys around who'd be happy to help."
She stepped in front of him. "You think I will let anybody touch me like this?"
He finally looked at her, his expression unreadable but his gaze piercing. She held it, then softened her tone just enough to make her next line sound like an invitation.
"Anyway, my friends and I are going shopping this evening. Come with us."
He blinked slowly, as if trying to process whether she was joking. "Why would I do that?"
She smiled, tilting her head. "Because you owe me. For breaking my hand, remember? Now someone has to carry my shopping bags."
He rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Just sighed like a man surrendering to fate. "Fine. Where?"
***
She told him the location. Gave him the time.
Later that evening he showed up early.
And when she arrived and saw him waiting outside the mall, standing with his hands in his pockets, awkward and unsure but present—her heart gave a strange little flutter she wasn't ready to admit.
She walked up to him, slipped her fingers into his hand—the uninjured one—and turned to her group of friends with the confidence of a girl who knew exactly what she was doing.
"Guys," she said with a smile that stopped time.
"Meet my boyfriend."
Karan stood there, stunned into silence. His cheeks burned red, his mouth opened halfway as if to speak—but no words came.
And for once, she didn't want him to say anything at all.
Because this time, her words were more than enough.
Time felt like it had slowed. The noise of the mall, the laughter, the footsteps—all of it blurred out.
He stood there, in his plain black t-shirt and faded jeans, feeling like a misplaced extra in a scene meant for someone else.
Her hand was warm in his, but his palm had gone cold. Not because he didn't want to be hers.
But because he didn't believe he deserved to be.
Her friends, dressed in polished clothes, eyes lined and lips painted, looked him up and down with smirks that said "Really? This guy?"
And that stung.
He tried to smile—but it felt like swallowing a stone.
***
It was supposed to be a simple outing—just a quick shopping trip, nothing more.
At least, that's what Karan believed.
But fate have a way of turning ordinary afternoons into unexpected turning points.
One wrong word, one mischievous smile, and suddenly the ground beneath you shifts.
By the time they would walk out of those glass doors, the lines between friend, stranger, and something much more would blur beyond repair.
And Karan, completely unprepared, was about to learn that sometimes the most life-changing moments don't start with plan.
They start with a casual, "Meet my boyfriend."