In the dusty lanes of Nagpur, where summer heat shimmered like a promise, Aamir first saw Nurain under the old neem tree outside their college gate. She was arguing with a chaiwala over ten rupees, her eyes flashing like monsoon lightning. He was 19, she was 18. He paid the ten rupees without thinking. She glared at him. “I don’t need saving,” she snapped. “I know,” he smiled, “but I needed an excuse to talk to you.” That was 2009. The beginning of fourteen years of stolen glances, late-night calls, fights over future plans, and making up under the same neem tree that watched them grow. Aamir wanted to be a chemist. Nurain wanted to prove the world wrong about “dusky” skin. They both hated how fairness creams made people feel less. While their friends chased jobs, they chased something bigger—a cream that would actually work, without lies.