Chapter 1- Wings of Love: The Real Love Story

The Art Gallery & the Brush of Destiny : The morning in Delhi was poetry in motion—crisp autumn air that nipped at the cheeks, sunlight pouring over the city like molten gold, and a stillness so deep it seemed the very cosmos was pausing to listen. 

Squadron Leader Aarhant Panday stood at the National Gallery of Modern Art threshold, his white shirt and coat casually draped over one shoulder. For a man accustomed to the thunderous symphony of a MiG-21 slicing through the sky, the serene halls of the gallery offered a sanctuary, almost holy in its quietude. Solitude, he mused, that's what I seek here. Just... silence.

He wandered through the gallery, his boots echoing softly against the polished floors, each step a deliberate choice to embrace this rare moment of peace. The paintings, vibrant and telling tales of a thousand different lives, seemed to whisper to him, inviting him into their world where the only battles were those of color and form. 

Here, in this hushed embrace of art, Aarhant felt a weight lift from his shoulders, the daily cacophony of commands and engines fading into the background. It was as if he could breathe again, truly breathe, filling his lungs not with the thin air of high altitudes but with the rich, calm essence of art and silence. 

Inside, the gallery hummed with muted energy. Sagarika Tiwari was there in green and golden-bordered saree, her eyes narrowing at a contemporary Himalayan landscape

This was his refuge, his moment of unadulterated solitude, where the only roar was that of his own heart, quietly beating in sync with the pulse of the city around him.

But destiny had other plans

She leaned closer, unaware of the man approaching behind her.

Inside, the gallery hummed with muted energy. Sagarika Tiwari adjusted the pallu of her green and golden bordered saree, her eyes narrowing at a contemporary Himalayan landscape. 

The painting was bold—swirls of indigo and ash, jagged peaks cloaked in mist. To most, it was a moody abstraction. To her, it was a puzzle. What’s the artist hiding? 

She wondered, her forensic mind itching to dissect the brushstrokes. Fraud investigations had trained her to see patterns in chaos and secrets in spreadsheets. Art, she realized, wasn’t so different.

What followed wasn’t just a conversation—it was a dance

They drifted from painting to painting, their voices low, intimate. Aarhant described Raja Ravi Varma’s use of light as “precision, like lining up a target,” while Sagarika likened fiscal ethics to “balancing a canvas—too much greed, and the whole thing collapses.” 

When they paused before a haunting Chopin-inspired abstract, he admitted, “His nocturnes got me through my first solo night flight. Felt like the stars were playing piano.”

Sagarika’s breath hitched. Who is this man? “I play Chopin when I’m stuck on a case,” she confessed. “His music feels like… truth.”

Aarhant’s gaze locked onto hers. “Truth,” he repeated softly. “That’s it. Flying—it’s not just speed. It’s truth. Up there, everything simplifies. Just you, the machine, and the horizon.”

“And down here?” she dared.

“Down here,” he said, holding her stare, “it’s messier. But today… today’s making a lot of sense.”

Hours melted away. They debated whether Van Gogh’s Starry Night was genius or madness (“Both,” Aarhant argued. “Like a perfect barrel roll—controlled chaos”).

Sagarika confessed her love for Hindustani classical music, imitating a sitar riff with a laugh that made Aarhant’s pulse stutter. When he mimicked the roar of his jet engine—“KRRRSSSHHH!”—she clutched his arm, giggling.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, not letting go.

“You’re the first person who didn’t ask if I’ve shot down a plane,” he replied, suddenly serious.

“Would you tell me if you had?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t want to know.”

Their hands brushed again. This time, neither pulled away.

By sunset, the gallery lights dimmed, casting them in amber haze. Sagarika hesitated. “I should…”

“Have dinner with me,” Aarhant blurted.

“I don’t even know you.”

“You know I hate small talk. You know I think Chopin is a genius. You know I’ve memorized the way your nose scrunches when you’re about to win an argument.”

Cheeky ! “That’s not enough.”

“Then let’s find out what is.”

She bit her lip. Danger, her logical mind warned. This man is a thunderstorm. But her heart? Her heart was already airborne.

“Give me your phone,” she said.

He handed it over, watching as she typed her number. “Sagarika Tiwari,” she announced, “in case you forget.”

“Aarhant Panday,” he replied. “And I won’t.” (in his heart hea said Love you, Bye!)

 Love in the Time of Fighter Jets

Long-distance relationships are notoriously challenging, but when your partner's career involves safeguarding our skies while yours is all about outsmarting fraudsters across time zones, the challenge turns into an epic saga.

Here's how Aarhant and Sagarika keep their love not just surviving, but thriving:

A Love Tested by Distance

Aarhant's job takes him to the extremes of India—from the lofty, icy peaks of Leh to the breezy coasts of Gujarat, with a new posting every 18 months. Meanwhile, Sagarika is a whirlwind in courtrooms and boardrooms, dealing with legal battles and corporate maneuvers.

Love Language #1: Acts of Service

Aarhant mailed handwritten letters (pre-internet charm) and care packages with Kashmiri saffron. Sagarika curated playlists of his favorite ragas for lonely flights.

Love Language #2: Quality Time 

Virtual “dates” happened at midnight. They’d watch the same Netflix thriller, debating plot twists over Zoom.

But cracks emerged. Missed birthdays, silent dinners, and Sagarika’s tearful confession: “I need you here—not just in my heart.”

Conclusion: We Have To Write Your Own  Best Love Story

Aarhant and Sagarika’s journey reminds us: The best love stories aren’t fairy tales—they’re forged through grit, laughter, and choosing each other daily. 

Whether you’re navigating long distances, exploring love languages, or considering couples therapy, remember: Unexpected acts of love build timeless bonds.

Got a real-life romance that defied the odds? Share it below—we’re all here for the magic.