The train snaked its way through winding tracks as the city gave way to hills, and the air grew colder with every mile. Rhea sat by the window, her travel tote at her feet and her laptop open on her lap, though she wasn't really working. She was watching. Watching the trees change from coconut palms to tall deodars, watching the sleepy towns blur past, and watching the snow begin to dust the edges of rooftops.

Shimla.

Even the name felt like a whisper of her past. She hadn't visited in over a decade - not since she and Aarav had stopped talking. The fallout was still a tender bruise she tried not to poke, a messy tangle of teenage misunderstanding, unspoken words, and hurt pride.

Back then, Shimla had been more than a holiday spot. It had been her childhood sanctuary - the summer visits to her grandmother's cottage, the long walks with Aarav through pine-scented trails, the stolen glances, the shared secrets, and then... silence. Abrupt. Final.

But now she was returning, not as a girl with scraped knees and sketchbooks, but as a woman with spreadsheets and deadlines.

Her phone buzzed. It was her assistant, Meera.

Meera: "Confirmed: decorators arrive on the 9th, caterers a day before that. The bride wants a snowy mandap. How's the weather?"

Rhea smiled faintly, typing her reply.

Rhea: "Snowing. Pure white. Perfect for the mandap. Keep me updated on floral shipments."

As the train pulled into the station, Rhea felt a knot of emotions gather in her stomach. Anxiety, excitement, nostalgia. She wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck and stepped onto the platform, boots crunching softly against the icy ground.

Shimla looked just as she remembered, and yet not. The air was thinner, cleaner, scented faintly of wood smoke and pine. The sky was a pastel grey, and snowflakes floated lazily from above, clinging to coats and eyelashes. The old bookshop by the station was still there, and so was the caf� that sold the best butter toast in the world.

Her driver was waiting, a middle-aged man with a woolen cap and a cardboard sign that read "Rhea Kapoor - Snowcrest Estate."

"Welcome, ma'am," he greeted, loading her luggage. "You're here for the big wedding, right? Everyone's been talking about it."

"Seems like it," Rhea smiled, ducking into the warm car. "I hope the roads are clear."

"They are. For now," he said, chuckling. "But Shimla has its surprises."

As they drove through winding roads flanked by towering pines, Rhea stared out the window, lost in thought. Her breath fogged up the glass, and she traced an absent-minded swirl on it - something Aarav used to do when they were kids, drawing funny faces during car rides and making her laugh until she wheezed.

She quickly wiped it away.

When they reached the Snowcrest Estate, Rhea was struck by its sheer elegance. Nestled on a secluded hill, the estate was a perfect blend of old-world charm and modern luxury. Stone walls, wooden balconies, fire-lit lounges, and large glass windows that framed the snow-covered landscape like paintings.

Her room overlooked the mountains. She stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cold bite her cheeks. The silence was soothing. Mumbai was all noise and motion. Shimla? was stillness.

Later that afternoon, wrapped in a warm shawl and sipping hot chocolate from a quaint local caf�, Rhea strolled through Mall Road, scouting vendors and venues. She took notes, clicked photos, and made mental checklists. But in quiet moments, her mind wandered. What if she saw Aarav? Did he still live here? What if he didn't recognize her? Or worse, what if he did?

As she passed a street artist painting a snowy landscape, her heart skipped. His strokes reminded her of Aarav - bold yet thoughtful. She had once watched him create an entire portrait using only shades of blue, claiming colors had emotions too. She hadn't understood it then. She did now.

Back at the estate, the wedding chaos began to brew. Staff bustled with heaters and floral arrangements, lighting crews tested chandeliers, and chefs argued over the exact texture of saffron risotto.

And then came the moment.

Rhea was giving instructions to the d�cor team near the back lawn when she felt something shift - like a breeze changing direction. She turned.

And there he was.

Aarav.

He was walking toward her, bundled in a dark coat, his hair slightly tousled, his eyes the same deep brown that once held all her secrets. He looked older, broader, and more refined, but the moment their eyes met, time folded.

He stopped. Blinked.

"Rhea?" His voice was warm, soft - startled, but familiar.

Rhea forced a smile, heart racing. "Aarav. Hi."

He stepped closer, his grin widening. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," she replied, thankful her voice didn't tremble. "I'm planning the wedding."

He chuckled. "Of course. You always did love organizing everyone else's chaos."

She raised an eyebrow, playful despite the storm inside her. "And you still sound like someone who paints for a living."

"I do," he said, his voice steady. "I'm the best man."

Silence hung between them, filled with memories and tension and a strange, quiet joy.

Rhea looked away first. "Well... small world."

Aarav nodded. "Or maybe not so small. Maybe it was just time."

And just like that, the past cracked open. Not loud, not sudden - but like ice melting quietly under morning sun.