Description

About The Book 

Advay and Saanvi have shared years of effortless companionship colleagues, neighbours, and family friends whose lives intertwine in the everyday rhythm of Hyderabad. Their mornings begin on the company bus with familiar banter; their days end with the quiet comfort of knowing the other is always there.
But while Saanvi speaks her heart freely, Advay has mastered the art of saying the safe things.
Quiet, observant, and emotionally reserved, he loves her deeply yet fear of rejection keeps him silent. Saanvi, expressive and intuitive, notices the pauses in him the almost-confessions, the unfinished sentences, the way he looks at her when he thinks she isn’t watching. When Advay asks her to meet for coffee outside their usual routine, she believes he is finally ready to speak.
He doesn’t.
Interrupted at the worst moment and retreating into caution, Advay lets the confession slip into something ordinary. Hurt and humiliated, Saanvi walks away realizing that silence can wound more deeply than harsh words.
What follows isn’t dramatic separation, but something quieter and more dangerous: distance between two people who were never strangers.
As Advay confronts the pattern of his hesitation with the help of his childhood friend Arjun, and Saanvi slowly recognizes that her anger stems from hope rather than ego, both begin to understand a painful truth love cannot survive on familiarity alone.
During a Christmas retreat in Ananthagiri Hills, surrounded by fog, firelight, and old memories, honesty finally replaces fear. They choose to begin again not perfectly, but truthfully.
Just as their bond deepens, life intervenes. Advay is offered a two-year assignment in New York. The impending separation forces what silence once prevented. At the airport, he finally confesses his love not cautiously, not carefully, but completely. Saanvi reveals she has already secured her own transfer, waiting to see if he would choose her without being prompted.
Distance tests them, but it also trans

About The Author

This story began quietly.
Not with certainty.
Not with a full outline.
Just a feeling I couldn’t ignore.
Before Aaromale had a title, before Saanvi and Advay had names, there were people who believed in this story long before it had a shape.
My deepest gratitude and blessings from my mother, Bharathi, whose strength and unwavering faith have always been my foundation. Amma, your love is the first home I ever knew.
To my brother Laxmikanth Kodi and my sister-in-law Deepthi, thank you for your constant encouragement and quiet confidence in me. Your belief steadied me more than you realize.
To my dear friends Madhavan, Sravanthi, Tejaswi, Chandrakanth, Kiran, Harish, Ankush Bhai, Vivek, Sruthi, Saikrishna, Sudheer, and Suma thank you for believing in this story long before it had a structure or direction. For listening when I rambled about scenes. For encouraging me when self-doubt grew louder than the words on the page. For questioning, pushing, laughing, and reminding me why I started. Your support mattered more than you know.
To my beloved ones, near and far thank you for your patience, your understanding, and your quiet faith while I disappeared into this world. Every conversation, every late reply, every “how’s the writing going?” found its way into these pages in one form or another.
This may be my debut novel, but it is not mine alone.
It carries pieces of every person who stood beside me while it was being written. It carries shared laughter, difficult days, late-night clarity, and moments of doubt that were softened by someone else’s belief.
If this story moved you, comforted you, or reminded you of someone you love then it has done its job.
I hope Aaromale finds a home with you, the reader, just as writing it found one with the people who made it possible.
With gratitude,
Umakanth Kodi