Some Things Are Worth It

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Author's Note: My first shot at a Kal Ho Naa Ho fic. It's sort of random, but hopefully your doubts will be cleared at the end. Trust me and read it till the end – read it and you'll understand. Please ignore any out-of-characterness – again, the end will explain all. –All hail The End–

This fic is about Naina and Aman, and if I write any more in the summary, I will give away what little plot there is, so please go ahead and read.

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'Hello, Naina,' said Aman as he walked past her in the kitchen. No wait, they were actually in Central Park, the autumn leaves falling romantically around them as a gentle breeze blew. For no particular reason, she was wearing a beautiful orange – no wait, it was actually gold – dress and her hair was exceptionally soft and in control. She was sitting on a bench made of marble, and the bench, the exquisite gold dress, the bronze and copper leaves falling and of course, her softly billowing hair all gave her an ethereal glow.

'Hello, Aman,' Naina replied, although that was not what she really said. She said, 'So, the famous Aman Mathur has decided to talk to us little people?' Actually, she didn't say that because that could be misinterpreted as nasty. She just smiled really adorably and said, 'Hi, Aman.'

'Mind if I sit with you?' Aman asked, and for no real reason, his jeans and jacket changed into a silk suit with a tie that matched perfectly with her dress. Naina took in the tie, the shirt and the jacket – they were obviously very expensive and Aman must have gone to a lot of trouble to look good for her – before she looked up and met his eyes and nervously turned away… or rather before he nervously turned away because he was the nervous and anxious one.

'Aman, of course you can sit with me,' said Naina, curious as to what he wanted to say. 'What's the matter?' For it was perfectly clear that something was the matter with the guy (the very cute guy) in front of her. Naina could barely keep from melting at the sight of him, but she did a wonderful job of hiding it and he had no clue of her true feelings, of course.

'Well,' began Aman, his warm brown eyes looking earnestly at her, 'there's something I've been wanting to tell you for ages, but I just don't know where to begin…' He trailed off and looked deep into her eyes – her soul – no, he didn't do that, because as stated above, he was nervous and anxious. He looked at his shoes instead.

'Oh, Aman!' cried Naina, batting her eyelashes. Except, of course, she didn't do anything of the sort, because it would've made her look like Sweetu. Instead she said in an intelligent and empathetic way (for of course, she was intelligent, empathetic, regal, sophisticated, stunningly beautiful, delightfully well-mannered, etc.) 'Oh, Aman, you know you can tell me anything.'

'Well,' began Aman again (but of course, Aman Mathur was not in the least bit repetitive or boring, so he actually said 'You see'), 'I don't think I can put this into words…'

Naina looked surprised and confused (and of course, so adorable that Aman blushed which made him look even cuter). What on earth was he trying to tell her?

'…so I wrote this song a few weeks ago.'

He rose suddenly from the bench and walked to a stage and podium that had appeared (Central Park had suddenly turned into a beautiful hall) that had been left over from some concert – or even better, he had planned the whole thing with the stage and the light – which were dimming – and the music – which was softly playing as Naina stared, awestruck at the romantic setting in front of her.

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala…

Main tumse bahut pyaar karta hoon, lalala…

Sirf tum mere dil mein rehte ho, lalalala…

Main hamesha tumse pyaar karoonga, lalala…'

Naina watched in rapt silence as Aman crooned into the mike, clearly putting his whole heart into it. It was this knowledge that made her own beat erratically.

As the song ended (to the enthusiastic applause of the extremely large crowd of MBA students who were randomly listening), he walked over to her, bent down on one knee, looked into her eyes – her soul (now was the appropriate time for such interaction) – and said,

'Naina Catherine Kapur, tum mujhse shaadi karoge? Will you marry me?'

Naina looked down to see that he was holding out the most beautiful ring imaginable. Her heart stopped…

'Wait, what will our parents say?'

'Oh, they'll be fine about it,' said Aman, laughing it off. 'Your mom likes me and I know my mom loves you.'

Suddenly, the last few lines of dialogue never happened.

Only Aman was finished singing the heavenly song (to the extremely loud applause of the great crowd of MBA students) he walked over to her, bent down on one knee, looked into her eyes – her soul – and said,

'Naina Catherine Kapur, tum mujhse shaadi karoge? Will you marry me?' The hall disappeared for Central Park with its romantic autumn setting again.

Naina looked down to see that he was holding out the most beautiful ring imaginable. Her heart stopped…

'What will Dadi say? I thought she wanted me to marry a Sikh!'

'No, silly,' he said, laughing, stroking her cheek. Naina shivered pleasantly at his touch. 'Do you think I hadn't considered that? I asked for her blessings before!'

'Oh, of course,' she giggled, then they went back in time so the proposal could happen properly.

Only Aman was finished singing the heavenly song (to the extremely loud applause of the great crowd of MBA students) he walked over to her, bent down on one knee, looked into her eyes – her soul – and said,

'Naina Catherine Kapur, tum mujhse shaadi karoge? Will you marry me?'

Naina looked down to see that he was holding out the most beautiful ring imaginable. Her heart stopped…

'Oh, Aman, of course I will!' she cried, and suddenly she was in a beautiful wedding sari and when she looked at Aman, he was also in the proper groom attire. They walked hand-in-hand to the temple that was conveniently located in Central Park where a priest who had somehow forgotten half the wedding rituals and the holy hymns stood to unite them forever. The extremely large crowd of MBA students became the wedding audience and she could see her mother and grandmother in the front row, both tearfully dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs.

'Do you, Aman, take this woman to be your wife?' asked the dodgy priest, falling back on the Western ritual to make up for the lack of Sikh and Hindu ones.

'I do,' Aman said softly, looking at her with an expression she knew she would treasure as time passed.

'And do you, Naina, take this man to be your husband?'

'I do,' she said firmly, not taking her eyes off Aman's smiling brown ones.

'I now pronounce you man and wife!' the priest exclaimed, continuing on with the words Naina had been waiting for. 'You may now kiss the bride.'

Naina moved in towards Aman, her one true love, her husband-to-be. He too was leaning towards her. Her heartbeat sped up as she snaked her arms around his neck and her eyelids began to flutter shut – she saw Aman's do the same… she moved her lips into the appropriate kissing position… she felt his hand on her cheek… felt his warm breath on her lips…

'Naina, what are you doing?' Aman's voice sounded amused.

Naina jumped and straightened, red-faced, hurriedly shutting her open mouth. 'N – nothing,' she said quickly.

He looked at the charcoaled mess in the frying pan and raised an eyebrow. 'I can see that,' he said. 'We'd better make some more fast, because the restaurant's going to open soon.' He quickly got out the vegetables and starting chopping them up. 'What were you thinking, letting this burn?'

She rolled her eyes, but inwardly she smiled. Wouldn't you like to know? she thought.

'So,' he continued cheerfully at her silence, 'I take it you have learnt the art of daydreaming. But really, was this the time?' He looked pointedly at the charcoal that had fused itself to the frying pan, refusing to come off.

Her face heated, but she sighed happily, remembering her daydream. She didn't care if she had to listen to Aman's prodding to reveal what she had been dreaming about all day. It doesn't matter, she thought, some things are worth it.

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Author's Note 2: A suitable ending? Did it make sense? I hope I explained myself…

Anyways, if I didn't, you're perfectly free to ask and I'll explain.

A translation of Aman's song lyrics:

'Oh, Naina, I love you…

Lalala, etc. …

I love you very much, lalala…

Only you live in my heart, lalala…

I will always love you, lalala…'

Yes. And sorry to the people out there who actually know Hindi fluently and can tell that I'm butchering the language. Call it poetic license if you like.

Anyway, at the end of each one of my fics, there's my usual attempt to brainwash you guys into reviewing.

Let me present some statistics. You see, each of my stories has about one hundred – or over for some – hits, but the highest number of reviews I've got for any one fic is ten. Ten reviews out of over one hundred hits. Less than ten percent. That's pretty pathetic.

So this is the part where I beg you guys to review. I mean, come on, it's not that hard. Just press that purple or blue or whatever button and type in a short – or if you want, long – message. And if it makes you feel good, I value each and every review and just knowing that people are reading – and possibly enjoying – my stories makes me feel really good.

Thanks for that. And hope you liked the fic.

Okay, generally, when I'm bored as I am now, I start random surveys on vaguely related topics. Today I'm going to start a survey about this fic, a related topic.

Did you understand the fic? Meaning did you get it or did you keep wondering why the hell the settings were changing and why the ending was so weird and why they kept going back in time?

What would you rate it on a scale of one to ten – ten being the highest and one being the lowest?

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