A 50-year-old man was walking down the street, carrying heavy grocery bags in both hands. As he stood at the street corner, a car pulled up in front of him. A young woman stepped out—a strikingly beautiful lady—who offered to give him a ride home.
"It's alright, I can manage," the man replied with a polite smile.
But the girl insisted. Without waiting for his approval, she gently took the grocery bags from his hands and placed them inside the car. Despite having no memory of ever seeing her before, he felt an odd sense of familiarity—an unexplainable trust.
They both got into the car, and she started driving. After a brief silence, the man turned to her and asked, "What’s your name?"
"Anjali," she replied simply.
Curious, the man asked, "Do I know you? How are we acquainted?"
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she remained silent for a while. When they stopped at a traffic signal, she opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small book. Handing it to him, she said, "It'll take a little while to reach home. This will keep you occupied in the meantime."
The man hesitated. It was a personal journal. He wondered whether it was appropriate to read someone else’s diary without permission. But then he reasoned—if she had willingly given it to him, surely she had already considered that. With that thought, he opened the book.
The first page read:
"Hi, Ganavi here. It’s 1998, and I’ve just turned 18. Today was supposed to be my first day of college—something I had dreamt about for years. But instead, it turned out to be the worst day of my life."
The old man’s eyes flickered with interest as he continued reading.
The Journal
"I was excited about college, expecting it to be just like in the movies. I even wore my favorite dress. But fate had other plans.
On my way to college, I got distracted by a cat crossing the road and, in that split second, lost control of my vehicle. I crashed into a young man. He fractured his right leg, and the doctor said he would need six months of rest.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
I apologized profusely and even offered to cover his medical expenses, begging him not to escalate the situation. However, he refused to accept my apology—unless I agreed to his conditions.
He somehow figured out that I didn’t have a driver’s license, and he used it to his advantage. He introduced himself as Tarun, a senior at my college who also happened to live near my house.
He told me he wouldn’t inform my family or the authorities on one condition: for the next six months, I had to be his personal chauffeur. I was to pick him up from home, drop him off at college, and bring him back every single day.
And one more thing—he wanted ice cream.
Every. Single. Day.
I scoffed. "I'm not your mother," I told him. "I won't do that."
But he simply smirked. "Then I'll go to the cops," he said casually.
Terrified that my father would find out and take away my independence, I had no choice but to agree.
So every morning, I woke up early, got ready, and waited outside his house to pick him up. After college, I would buy him ice cream from my own pocket money before dropping him home.
At college, I soon discovered that Tarun wasn’t just anyone—he was the top scorer in academics and athletics. He had a massive fan following, especially among girls. But to me, he was just a mean and manipulative guy who had trapped me in this ridiculous arrangement.
Unfortunately, my newfound association with him made me the target of his admirers. Every day, some girl or the other would pick a fight with me, accusing me of trying to get close to him.
One day, while one of these girls tried to slap me, a boy stepped in to stop her. He handled the situation smoothly, diffusing the tension with his words. "Are you okay?" he asked me afterward, a concern evident in his eyes.
His name was Rakshith.
We met again a few days later while I was waiting for Tarun outside the college gate. Rakshith bought me ice cream, and we started chatting. He was kind, funny, and charming. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I had made a real friend.
Then Tarun came out and saw me eating ice cream. His expression darkened.
"Let's go," he said coldly.
"I’ll be there in two minutes," I replied.
Without a word, he snatched the ice cream from my hands and threw it into the trash.
Furious, I snapped, "You don’t own me! I am not your servant, and I won't let you control me anymore!"
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He simply turned and walked away.
Later that evening, guilt crept in. I thought he would go straight to my father and expose everything. But he didn’t.
The next morning, I still went to his house, out of habit more than anything. When he saw me, he simply ignored me and took the bus instead.
That hurt more than I expected.
I apologized at college, telling him I would continue what I had promised. But he just said, "Not anymore. Do as you please. I won’t complain."
For reasons I couldn’t explain, his indifference upset me.
Meanwhile, Rakshith asked me out on a date for my birthday. He had planned a long drive and dinner. I was excited—it felt like my college dreams were finally coming true.
After dinner, he surprised me with a birthday cake. But the evening took a dark turn.
When I resisted his advances, he revealed his true colors.
"You were just a tool to get back at Tarun," he sneered. "He always acted superior. You were the only girl close to him—I wanted to ruin you, just to see him suffer."
Horrified, I ran and locked myself in the bathroom. Rakshith, in his cruelty, called Tarun and taunted him, saying he was going to have his way with me.
Tarun didn’t reply. He simply hung up.
An hour later, I heard the door burst open. Through a crack in the door, I saw Tarun. He was furious, his fists landing blow after blow on Rakshith.
"This is your last warning," he growled. "If you ever come near her again, you won’t live to see another day."
Once Rakshith fled, Tarun turned to me. He took me home but didn’t say a word.
As we reached my house, I turned to him. "Why did you come?" I asked. "Did I ask you to save me?"
He slapped me—gently, but firmly.
"How can you be so naive?" he scolded. "Do you have any idea what could have happened tonight?"
I was crying now. "What right do you have to tell me what’s right for me?"
And then, he kissed me.
I slapped him. But deep inside, I already knew the answer to my question.
"Why did you do that?" I whispered. "Who am I to you?"
"You’re everything to me," he admitted. "I loved you from the moment I met you. I always will."
We dated for three years. Our families disapproved, but we chose each other. We got married, had two beautiful children—a son and a daughter.
In 2013, I was diagnosed with a tumor. My time was running out.
I wasn’t afraid to leave this world. My only worry was—who would take care of Tarun?
November 23, 2014. Today is the day. I called Tarun to come see me. He’s on his way.
I hope he will be strong.
Tears streamed down the old man's face as he closed the journal.
"I'm sorry, my dear," he whispered. "I forgot you… and I forgot her."
Anjali smiled softly. "It's alright, Dad. Don’t worry. Mom will always be there to remind you."
