I avoided this show for the longest time. Something about its premise—love, hardships, loss, and defiance of societal norms—felt too close to the bone. I wasn’t ready. But then one quiet evening, I gave in. And I found myself immersed, undone, and unexpectedly moved by what unfolded.
The story isn’t loud or melodramatic. It doesn’t lean on glittery frames or sweeping musical crescendos to make its point. It speaks of love in its rawest form—the kind that does not come with grand gestures but with quiet constancy. The kind of love that stands behind you when you’re falling apart. That defends you when the world points fingers. That chooses you—again and again—no matter the cost.
There were moments that gutted me. Watching the lead character give his all to the woman he loves—not just his affection, but protection, loyalty, and a sense of family she never had—shook something deep within. He goes against his own people, his own comfort, and the life he once knew, just to create a space where she could feel safe. And I found myself asking the inevitable question: does love like this really exist?
And then came the real punch in the gut—this was based on a true story.
That changed everything.
Because it reminded me that love like this doesn’t always look the way we’ve been taught to expect. It doesn’t come dressed in designer suits or sweeping us off our feet in sports cars. It doesn’t arrive with a Karan Johar background score. Sometimes, it comes quietly. As a hand that never lets go. As someone who takes the blows with you. As the one person who shows up even when the rest of the world walks away.
When life gives you tangerines, maybe it’s reminding you that love doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real.
And that, perhaps, is enough
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