Letter of Love from “Love”

Letter from the Universe: “Anyone but her”

Because Sometimes Destiny Needs a Little Defiance

Hemanth: Hi Ishan,

How’re you doing? When’s the interview?

Ishan: Honestly, I don’t know, Hemanth. My horoscope looks terrible this week. And my interview — my dream interview — is tomorrow. The predictions say I shouldn’t attempt anything important now or it’ll fail. And you know what? My horoscope has never been wrong. Out of all the weeks in my life, it had to be this one.

Hemanth: (laughs uncontrollably) Hahahahahahaha! Oh man, hahahahaha!

Ishan: Yeah, yeah. Go on, laugh. Make fun of me and my beliefs. You’ll stop laughing when something like this comes true in your own life. People like you call this superstition. But you’ll believe in Superman, Iron Man, or even time travel — and yet dismiss horoscopes because they’re “Indian” and not “science.”

Hemanth: I’m not mocking you, Ishan. I laughed because you’re letting your horoscope control your life instead of guiding it. I don’t deny predictions. But they’re not meant to imprison you in fear. Think of them like a roadmap — they’re guidance, not shackles.

Ishan: Easy for you to say. You don’t believe in them. You’ve got nothing to lose. I’ve got everything to lose.

Hemanth: That’s where you’re wrong. I do believe in them — and I’ve lived through what you’re feeling.

Ishan: What do you mean?

Hemanth: Rani.

Ishan: (teasing) Your wife Rani? That amazing woman? I still wonder what she saw in you. She deserves way better.

Hemanth: (smirks) You’ll never change. Anyway, listen. When Rani and I wanted to marry, we had everything against us. Our parents, our families, and yes — even the stars.

We’d been friends and colleagues. Outsiders in a new city, we bonded fast. We explored, laughed, and slowly, friendship grew into something deeper. But confessing wasn’t easy.

One day, at our favorite café, out of nowhere, Rani asked me: “Do you love me?”

I nearly choked on my coffee. In a panic, I denied it. “No, of course not. We’re just friends!”

She raised her eyebrows, smirked, and teased me: “What’s wrong with you? Can a girl never be friends with a guy? Or is every friendship supposed to turn into love?”

I laughed nervously, but inside I was sinking. A few days later, I broke. I confessed everything — that I loved her.

She stared at me for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Finally! I thought you’d never admit it, duffer.”

That was us. Full of laughter, drama, and heart.

Two years later, we decided to marry. And then the storm began. Parents on both sides disagreed. Convincing them was like living in Game of Thrones, Hunger Games, and Bigg Boss — all rolled into one. After months of fighting, both families reluctantly agreed. And then came the final test: horoscopes.

We went to the family priest. He looked at our charts and said, coldly:

“Anyone but her. If they marry, they won’t be happy. The marriage will not last. Within two years, they will separate.”

That one sentence destroyed everything. For once, both families agreed: no marriage. And just like that, Rani and I were torn apart.

I drowned in alcohol. My only friend was Old Monk. For two years, I lived like a ghost. My parents kept bringing proposals. I’d sit silently and say, “If you like her, I’ll marry.” Because for me, life had ended when I lost Rani.

Then, out of nowhere, my parents relented. They said, “Fine, go marry Rani.” But by then, anger consumed me. “Why now? After ruining two years of my life? She’s probably married and happy. I won’t ruin her life again.”

I stormed out.

Weeks later, there was a loud knock at my door. Hungover, furious, I opened it — and there she was. Rani. Crying. Fuming. Before I could speak, slap! And then another.

“You idiot! You broke up with me because of a horoscope? Without even asking what I wanted? Do you even know how I lived without you?”

I mumbled excuses, saying I didn’t want to hurt her, that both our parents had decided. She slapped me again. “You fool. I wanted you to fight for me. To choose me. Instead, you let me go.”

And then, between anger and tears, she asked, “Do you love me?”

This time, there was no hesitation. “Yes. And I’ll never let go again.”

We married soon after. It’s been ten years now. We’ve had fights, struggles, challenges — but we’re still here. Strong. Happy. Together.

So Ishan, here’s the point: The pandit wasn’t wrong when he said we’d face trouble. We are opposites. We do clash. But instead of letting that prediction destroy us, we chose to use it as a warning — and worked on those differences. That’s why we survived. That’s why we’re thriving.

Horoscopes are not prisons. They’re lessons. They’re not meant to stop you from living — they’re meant to teach you how to live better.

So go to your interview. Stop fearing your stars. Remember: if I could marry the girl I was “never supposed to,” then you can absolutely land the job you’re “not supposed to.”

Stop letting the horoscope scare you. Prepare, go in with confidence, and treat any bad forecast as a prompt to be extra careful, not to give up. If I could marry the girl everyone told me I shouldn’t, you can absolutely win this interview despite what your stars say.

That, Ishan, is the truth about love. Horoscopes, predictions, doubts — they can warn you, but they cannot define you. Love isn’t about avoiding storms. It’s about choosing each other again and again when storms come. When you become the kind of person who chooses the relationship even when it’s hard — and then find someone who does the same — you’ve found the best kind of love. You’ll fight, you’ll cry, you’ll argue, and even when you feel like leaving, you’ll stay — because you chose to stay. That is your best love. And you will defy the destiny itself.