SOMETIMES THAT HAS TO DO WITH PERFECT PART 1

Sometimes that has to do with perfect

Written by Kingson Das

(Based on a concept by a @Borrdcat)

Part One — The Weight of Perfection

Aarohi Sharma learned the meaning of responsibility before she learned how to rest.

As the eldest, she was never just a daughter — she was an example. Every expectation rested on her shoulders like an invisible crown, heavy and unquestioned. At family gatherings, her name was spoken with pride. At home, it was spoken with instruction.

“Be careful, Aarohi.”

“Be better.”

“Don’t disappoint us.”

Perfection wasn’t a choice. It was her course.

So she followed it without complaint.

She studied when others slept. She smiled when she was tired. She ignored distractions the way she had been taught — feelings included. Love, she was told, was a blockage. Something that slowed people down. Something irresponsible.

And for a long time, she believed that.

Until Kabir Mehta.

He didn’t arrive loudly. He didn’t force his way into her life. He simply noticed her — the girl who always had things under control, the one everyone admired but no one truly knew. He asked questions no one had asked before. He tested limits she didn’t know she was allowed to have.

And without realizing it, Aarohi fell.

Harder than she ever meant to.

Being with Kabir felt like breathing differently — like discovering air she hadn’t known existed. For the first time, she wasn’t perfect. She was just… human. Laughing, dreaming, imagining a future that wasn’t planned by someone else.

When she told her family, the air changed.

They didn’t shout. They didn’t argue loudly. Rajesh Sharma didn’t raise his voice, and Sunita Sharma didn’t cry. They were calmer than that — disappointment wrapped in concern, control masked as care.

“Relationships are distractions,” her father said.

“You’ll lose focus,” her mother added.

“You know better, Aarohi.”

She was angry. Hurt. Confused.

That night, she cried into Kabir’s shoulder, words breaking between sobs. She told him everything — the pressure, the expectations, the fear of becoming nothing if she failed.

He listened. Then he said something that felt reassuring at the time.

“Keep it a secret,” Kabir told her softly.

“Just until you become big. Powerful. Then no one can stop us.”

So she agreed.

And once again, Aarohi chose perfection.

She worked harder than ever — fueled by family pride and the promise of love waiting quietly in the background. Days blurred into nights. Sacrifices stacked silently. And eventually, it worked.

She made it.

An award. Recognition. Proof that every ounce of effort had meant something.

But when she went to share the news with the person she thought would understand the most, Kabir’s reaction wasn’t what she expected.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t celebrate.

He ended it.

No explanation that made sense. Just a sentence that hollowed her out.

“I found someone else.”

Aarohi didn’t argue. She didn’t beg. She simply broke — quietly, the way she’d been trained to.

Weeks later, when she returned home, she expected rest.

Instead, she found chaos.

Her younger sister, Ananya Sharma, was getting married.

The house was alive with preparation, excitement, voices speaking over one another. When Aarohi tried to speak — to ask questions, to remind them of everything they once told her — she was gently silenced.

“The groom’s family is coming tomorrow,” her parents said.

“Don’t ruin this.”

So Aarohi wore her mask again.

And when the groom arrived, the past came with him.

(To be continued…)

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