𝗧𝘂𝗺 𝗛𝗶 𝗧𝘂𝗺 – [𝐀𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞] - 𝐂𝐇 - 𝟏𝟑 ༊˚

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ये रातें अब नहीं धड़कती
द

िन भी सांस नहीं लेते
अब तो आ जाओ मेरे सोणेया
बातें रह गयी ज़रूरी
मेरे लबों पे अधूरी
आके सुन जाओ मेरे सोणेया
तेरे बिन नहीं लागे जिया
तेरे बिन
अब तो आजा पिया
तेरे बिन नहीं लागे जिया

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comments : 30+

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At college…

The college seminar hall buzzed with competitive energy, the air thick with nerves and over-caffeinated ambitions. Laptops clicked, charts flipped, whispers spread like wildfire about who had the most powerful slides, the most confident delivery, the cleanest suit. Final presentation day. Do or die.

Everyone was on edge, Well… almost everyone.

Samaira strolled in like she’d just been invited to a music festival, not a business pitch showdown. Headphones dangling from her neck, and an iced coffee in one hand like it was the last Horlicks of civilization. She chewed gum like it was a stress-reliever, war-cry, and style statement all rolled into one.

She looked around at the frenzy and whispered to herself:

Samaira smirked as she scanned the buzzing seminar hall, watching students frantically reviewing notes, adjusting slides, and psyching themselves up like they were prepping for a SpaceX launch. Her voice dripped with mischief and that signature brand of sarcastic ease as she muttered under her breath, half to herself and half to the universe, “Yeh log toh aise tensed hain jaise NASA ke liye pitch kar rahe hain. Relax, doston… sabse zyada tumhara ego fail hoga, presentation nahi.”

Heads turned, but she didn’t care. She was a walking contradiction disaster energy in designer boots. And then… she spotted him.

Aman Black formal shirt. White file neatly tucked under his arm. Hair so perfectly set it looked like it signed a contract not to move. Earphones in one ear, lips muttering to himself as he reviewed bullet points from memory. He stood in front of the projector like a soldier prepped for battle. No chaos. No clutter. Just calm, cold, calculated precision.

Samaira murmured to herself with a smirk, her tone casual but laced with anticipation, “Lagta hai meri morning coffee ke saath thoda drama bhi milega aaj…” She took a slow sip from her cup, as if she were sipping on a secret plan. Her steps were unhurried, but the glint in her eyes screamed mischief as she strolled confidently across the seminar hall her sights set on one particular target.

Without hesitation, she stopped right in front of him Aman. He was buried in his notes, calm, focused, and surrounded by the kind of energy that said “don’t mess with me.” Naturally, that only invited her more.

She tilted her head, flashed her signature devil-may-care grin, and said sweetly while sipping her coffee, “Look who’s ready to conquer the universe Mr. Zinda statue himself.”

Aman didn’t even flinch. He kept his eyes glued to the laptop screen, his voice flat as a chalkboard, “Not now, Samaira.”

Samaira let out a mock gasp, placing a hand on her chest like he’d wounded her pride, her tone dramatically offended, “Arrey waah, itna attitude? Lagta hai tumne subah spreadsheet ke saath meditation bhi kiya hai.”

That finally earned her a reaction. Aman looked up slowly, his brows arched, his eyes silently begging the universe for strength. He sighed like a man who knew peace would never be his as long as she was in the same room.

“Tumhare jaise logon ke liye hi presentation guidelines mein ‘no distractions’ likha hota hai,” he said dryly, his voice carrying the weight of deep, tired sarcasm.

Samaira’s grin widened as she leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling with unholy glee, “Excuse you. Main distraction nahi hoon main event hoon,” she declared, as if she were announcing the arrival of fireworks at a funeral. Her tone? A delicious blend of mock arrogance and unapologetic chaos. Around them, students nervously rehearsed, but this battlefield was theirs now and they both knew it.

Samaira leaned in dangerously close to Aman’s laptop, where he was carefully adjusting the projector angle like a surgeon preparing for a life-saving operation. Her eyes scanned the screen with a smirk playing on her lips, ready to pounce with a snarky remark.

“Waise, tumhare slides mein animation hai? Ya sirf boredom ka slideshow?” she asked sweetly, her voice dipped in faux curiosity, like a student asking about homework just to mock it.

Aman inhaled deeply, his jaw clenching slightly. Internally, he began chanting peace mantras like a monk surrounded by chaos. “Stay calm… inner peace… do not throw the coffee…”

Samaira, of course, wasn’t done. She casually propped herself up on his table, peering at the screen as if it was her birthright, “Presentation kar rahe ho ya Pran Pratishtha kar rahe ho, Mr. Headache Deluxe?” Her tone was playful but sharp, the kind that made people simultaneously laugh and question their life choices.

Aman didn’t even look at her, continuing his task with monk-like restraint. “Samaira Mishra Please go spill your sarcasm somewhere else,” he said, each word delivered with the crisp precision of a man on the edge.

Samaira’s grin widened. “Aww, tum ab mujhe by full name bula rahe ho? Kitne professional ho yaar tum. Mujhe toh laga tum sirf cops se itna serious tone mein bulate ho,” she teased, her voice lilting with mock affection.

That finally got to him. Aman looked up, eyes narrowed with the kind of expression reserved for people who play drums in libraries. “That’s because you behave like someone the cops should be called for,” he deadpanned, his tone dry enough to cause a drought.

Samaira clutched her chest in mock offence, gasping. “Rude. But fair,” she said with a cheeky smile, unbothered and thoroughly entertained by his growing exasperation.

She took another exaggerated sip from her coffee, still hovering too close to the laptop for his comfort. Aman’s eyes darted nervously to the cup like it was a grenade.

“Zara door raho,” he warned, voice tense. “Tumhare haath mein coffee aur mood mein sarcasm hai, yeh dono hi meri presentation ke liye khatra hai.”

Samaira’s smirk turned devilish as she replied, “Mujhe laga tum jaise log pressure mein shine karte ho. Chalo test karte hain.” Her tone was wickedly amused like a scientist testing an explosive just for fun.

Around them, students watched from the corners of their eyes, whispering and giggling. The seminar hadn’t started yet but the real show clearly had.

Before Aman could even blink, disaster struck classic Samaira-style. Her elbow, as if it had a personal vendetta against peace, nudged the coffee cup sitting innocently on the edge of the table. The cup, obedient to every romcom law of physics, toppled in slow motion and spilled its entire contents right onto Aman’s carefully printed presentation sheets and, to add poetic insult, half of his neatly ironed shirt.

Aman stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide, expression caught somewhere between horror and quiet existential breakdown. His voice, when it finally emerged, was low and laced with disbelief.
“…Tum kya…? tumhara aim specially train kiya gaya hai destruction ke liye?!”

Samaira gasped, hands flying up in panic. “Oh sht! Main…main…okay, this looks bad…BUT TECHNICALLY tumhare table par mere elbows ke liye jagah hi nahi thi ” Her words tumbled out in frantic defense, eyes darting from his shirt to the ruined papers like she could somehow reverse it all by talking fast enough.

Aman gave her a look that could curdle milk. “Haan, galti meri hi hai. Tumhara NASA-certified elbow kaafi jagah demand karta hai.” His tone was dry as the Sahara, soaked in sarcasm that only made the nearby students bite back laughter harder. Some turned to “pretend” help while fully enjoying the escalating drama.

Samaira, now in full panic-cleaning mode, grabbed a bunch of tissues and started blotting his shirt.”Sorry! Wait…don’t move…warna coffee aur fail ho jayegi. Matlab… spill hogi. Fail toh tum waise bhi nahi hote, right?” Her voice was half-apologetic, half-nervous banter, as she desperately dabbed at the now-brown fabric.

Aman winced at the tissue assault and muttered, “Thanks. Mujhe bas tumhari blessing ki kami thi presentation se pehle.”

Samaira, undeterred and very much enjoying herself now, chirped, “Aman Singhaniya getting blessings from me? Wah, kya character development chal raha hai.” Her tone turned playful, mischief practically dancing in her eyes.

Aman narrowed his eyes, brushing her hand away from his now blotchy shirt. “Character toh tum ho hi. Development ki baat karein toh… tumse milne ke baad mere patience ka ho gaya hai.” His voice was sharp, but there was a reluctant flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Samaira burst out laughing, unbothered, absolutely thriving in the chaos she created. “Yaar sach mein… tum tension mein aur bhi zyada cute lagte ho. Pata hai tum blush bhi karte ho jab gussa aata hai?” Her voice had softened into teasing affection, and her grin turned smug as she caught the slight color rising in his cheeks.

Aman blinked, realized what she said and worse, realized she was right. He turned away quickly.
“Main blush nahi karta. Tumhara chaye-wala coffee was lukewarm. Shirt pe heat effect aaya bas.” His attempt at damage control was admirable… but not convincing.

Samaira leaned in with a triumphant smile, her voice dipping playfully. “Denial. Classic. Next stage: Acceptance. And then… love story?”

Aman didn’t miss a beat, his voice flat as he stared straight ahead. “Next stage is security. Tumhe seminar hall se bahar nikalna padega.”

Samaira clutched her chest in mock offence, feigning heartbreak. “Aman beta, itna attitude theek nahi. Coffee toh pehle hi thandi ho gayi hai… ab dil bhi thanda mat karo.”

He exhaled slowly, giving her a long-suffering look that silently screamed, “Why me, universe?” And yet…

When their fingers brushedaccidentally, of course as she handed him the soggy but wiped-off sheets, something shifted. Neither of them pulled away immediately. It was brief, subtle, but real.

Samaira’s voice softened for the first time that morning, her teasing replaced with a genuine undertone. “Sorry, waise. Tumhari presentation sach mein important thi. Agar chaho toh… main tumhe apne notes de sakti hoon. Maine tumhara topic bhi padha tha… secretly I liked it.” Her eyes avoided his now, the bravado dimmed just enough to reveal sincerity underneath the sarcasm.

Aman blinked, caught off guard by the change in her tone and even more by what she said.
“…Tum seriously meri file padh ke aayi thi?” His voice dropped a little, confusion mixing with curiosity.

Samaira shrugged, suddenly finding the floor more interesting than his eyes. “Kya karein. Tumhare sarcasm se irritate hoti hoon… par tumhare ideas se thoda impressed bhi.”

And just like that, the chaos stilled for a moment. The storm was still there messy, dramatic, competitive. But now, there was something new flickering in the aftermath. Something uncertain. Unspoken. Something that felt a little like… the beginning.

The lunch bell had rung long ago, echoing once before fading into the hum of the school. Now, the classroom stood in a kind of gentle disarray  benches half-shoved back, open pencil pouches abandoned mid-note, and the faint scent of warm food still curling in the air like a memory.

Most of the students had already spilled into the corridor, their laughter bouncing down the stairs, a world away.

But Aditi hadn’t moved.

She sat as if the moment hadn’t passed as if the bell hadn’t rung at all. Her notebook lay open before her, the corner of the page folded by absent fingers. Her pen rested loosely in her hand, its tip hovering above a half-drawn sketch she no longer remembered starting. Her eyes weren’t fixed on the page, or even the walls around her. They were… far. Far beyond the classroom. Trapped in a silence that wasn’t around her, but within her.

“Don’t deny yourself something you once loved.”

The words played on repeat, like a whisper she couldn’t shut out. Not because Ansh had said them, but because of the way he’d looked at her while he did like he knew. Like he saw straight past the layers of excuses, past the mask of indifference she wore so well. And worse she knew he was right.

A weight settled in her chest. That tight, aching pull that came every time she thought about it her injury. The scream she hadn’t meant to let out. The chaos. The pain. The hospital lights that made everything feel cold and sterile and far too real. It wasn’t just the physical hurt. It was what came after the fear of falling again. Of not being good enough. Of being seen as broken.

She told herself it didn’t matter anymore. That she’d outgrown it. But deep down, she knew better. She exhaled shakily, her gaze drifting down to her page. The sketch there a running track. Faintly outlined. Unfinished. And for the first time in a long while, she wondered…

Did I give up too soon?

And now someone had come along and quietly, gently reminded her that the key was still there. Still hers. In that stillness, Aditi closed her eyes. Not to cry. Not to break. Aditi looked up slowly. Her eyes found him with instinct, like they’d been waiting to.

Ansh.

He stood near the noticeboard, sleeves rolled up neatly, shirt tucked just right, posture crisp as always and yet, there was a calmness about him that didn’t feel forced. He wasn’t talking. Wasn’t commanding attention. Just focused, aligning the sports day chart with careful precision, the pin pressed gently into the soft cork. He hadn’t noticed her watching. Or maybe… he had, and was pretending not to.

There was something about him in that moment unbothered, steady, quietly present. He didn’t try to stand out, and maybe that’s what made him glow like that in her eyes. People like him didn’t need noise to be noticed. Aditi bit her lower lip, unknowingly.

She didn’t understand why his words kept echoing in her mind. Why his voice gentle and steady had cracked open something she thought she’d buried. Why, when he looked at her, it felt like he didn’t see the image people had of her the expectations, the labels, the broken athlete. He just… saw her.

And for a second, that felt more terrifying than comforting. But before her brain could talk her out of it before the ghosts of fear and hesitation could pin her back down she stood. Her chair scraped against the floor with a soft whisper.

Ansh didn’t turn. She walked, not fast, not slow just… cautious. Like she was stepping into a memory. Each step carried weight. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, mimicking the rhythm of a countdown she hadn’t heard in years.

She reached the front desk. The clipboard sat there, like it had been waiting. The pen rested just beside the last entry a simple black ink, nothing dramatic. Nothing bold.

But for her, it might as well have been a spark. She stared at the blank space below the last name. So much silence in that little gap. Her hand lifted, hovering, fingers trembling slightly. She wasn’t scared of writing. She was scared of what it meant. Because if she wrote it, it meant trying. It meant facing the thing she’d been running away from. But she inhaled, slow and deep and then wrote:

“Aditi Mishra — Sprint race”

Her handwriting. Not someone else’s. Not a coach, not a teacher. Hers. She placed the pen down, almost like it was fragile. Her hand stayed near the paper for a second longer than needed  grounding herself. Steadying the choice. Behind her, a voice soft, calm, familiar broke the silence.

“You sure?”

Her breath caught at the question. She didn’t turn around. Her eyes stayed on her name. On the word “sprint.” On the part of her she thought she’d left behind.

“I think… I want to try. Just once,” she said quietly, the words barely above a whisper. “I miss it.”

She finally turned to face him. Ansh stood a few steps behind, hands relaxed by his sides, his expression quiet steady. There was no triumph in his gaze. No teasing. Just warmth. Quiet and understanding. He didn’t need to speak to let her know he was proud. It was there in the softness of his eyes, in the way he nodded once, slow and gentle, like he knew what it took for her to write those three words.

The golden afternoon light bathed the corridor, softening every corner of the school like a warm secret. It wrapped itself around Aditi and Ansh as they stood by the front desk the list complete now, the moment still lingering between them. Ansh nodded slightly, his voice calm and certain, as if he already knew the ending of a story she hadn’t even dared to dream of.

“You’ll fly. I know it.”

His words landed in her chest like a quiet promise, tender and strong. They didn’t cheer or challenge they just believed. And that… that made her feel everything all at once. Aditi tried to deflect, her voice light but unsure, her gaze flicking away. “And if I fall flat on my face?”

He smiled then the kind of smile that didn’t push, didn’t pretend, didn’t pity. “Then I’ll be there to help you up.”

Just that. No grand declarations. No metaphors. And yet her heart skipped. Because in that simple sentence was something deeper than anything anyone had ever told her presence. Steadfast. Quiet. Safe. She didn’t respond. Didn’t know how to. So she just looked at him and in that silence, her mind wasn’t still. It was spiraling.

Why did his words feel like balm on wounds she hadn’t dared to name? Why did he a senior, practically a stranger — feel like he saw her in ways even her closest friends hadn’t? Something knotted inside her chest. She didn’t unravel it. Just cleared her throat and looked away.

“I should… go to the canteen,” she mumbled.

“Me too,” he said softly, as if their destinations had always been the same.

They walked side by side down the corridor. No brushing shoulders, no stolen glances from her end. Just quiet steps and a golden stillness between them. But Aditi could feel him not physically, but like a steady presence at her side. Not intruding. Not trying. Just… there.

And what she didn’t know what he wouldn’t admit aloud was that every few seconds, Ansh glanced at her. Not to admire, not to analyze, but simply because she was there. She had chosen to try. And that meant everything. As they reached the staircase, Ansh’s voice broke through the hush, softer than the light around them. “I’m really glad you changed your mind.”

Aditi let out a small breath of laughter, equal parts nervous and real. “You make it sound like you were betting on me.”

He met her eyes, his reply low and honest. “No. I just… hoped.”

She didn’t know how to respond. So she said the first truth that slipped through her lips. “You’re strange.”

He grinned, a little more open this time, teasing but warm. “So I’ve been told.”

And that made her smile really smile the kind that started in the heart and reached her eyes slowly, like dawn breaking across a tired sky. They stepped into the light streaming down the hallway, their shadows stretching behind them, their footsteps quiet, but moving forward.

Something had shifted. Not with noise. Not with drama. But gently. Unmistakably. Like the first breath after winter.

Just outside the canteen, the corridor buzzed with the usual post-lunch chatter, but Shagun wasn’t hearing any of it. She stood frozen, mid-sip, her fingers still curled around a juice bottle she’d just yanked from the vending machine. But her eyes wide and disbelieving were locked on a scene unfolding down the hall.

Aditi. Walking next to Ansh. Not by accident. Not like someone bumped into someone on the way. No awkward “Oh, hey” kind of moment. No, they were walking side by side like it was the most normal thing in the world. Shagun blinked hard. Then whispered to herself, almost offended by how surreal it felt.

“No. Freaking. Way.” Before she could fully process what she was seeing, a familiar voice slid in from behind her smooth, amused, and entirely too pleased with itself.

“So I’m not dreaming then,” Ruhaan said, his tone practically smirking.

Shagun flinched, nearly dropping her bottle. “Uff! Tum mujhe dara kyun rahe ho?”

Ruhaan leaned casually against the vending machine, folding his arms and tilting his head toward the corridor like he’d been expecting this exact moment. “Tum bhi wahi dekh rahi ho na jo main dekh raha hoon?”

Still glued to the sight of the two walking away Aditi’s head tilted slightly in Ansh’s direction, and Ansh glancing down at her every now and then with that soft look Shagun whispered, “Haan… woh dono… saath…?”

Ruhaan nodded slowly, his grin stretching wider. “Jaise kisi slow-burn web series ka first trailer drop ho gaya ho.”

Shagun turned sharply to him, suspicion flickering in her gaze. “Tum itne calm kyun ho? Jaise tumhe already kuch pata tha?”

He shrugged, mock-innocent. “Kya karun, darling? Main duniya se pehle cheezein dekh leta hoon. Intuition level bhaiya se bhi upar hai.”

Shagun gave him a flat stare. “Flirting mat shuru karo. Serious moment hai.”

But Ruhaan, in true Ruhaan fashion, wasn’t going to let that stop him. He pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Flirting toh meri coping mechanism hai. Jab Ansh jaise insaan ka yeh haal hai… toh mujhe bhi dar lagta hai. Bas ek baar ‘haan’ bol kar dekh lo Shagun, tum!”

Shagun rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t sprain something. “Apni bakwaas band karo. Aur Ansh bhaiya ka kya haal jiski baat kar rahe ho tum?”

Ruhaan raised both hands in mock surrender. “Main toh bas yeh keh raha hoon, kabhi kabhi Head Boy bhi dil se haar jaata hai.”

Shagun’s lips twitched into a knowing smirk. “Aditi ko toh pata bhi nahi chalega kab yeh banda uski kahani likh jaayega.”

Ruhaan leaned in just slightly, his eyes gleaming with that signature wicked charm. “Aur tumhare liye ek kahani main likh doon? Hero main, heroine tum…”

Without missing a beat, Shagun deadpanned, “sorry m boring writers ki kahaniya nahi padhti.”

He clutched his heart like she’d physically wounded him. “Oof. Kya toxic dialogue maara hai yaar. Scene mein villain hoon ya extra bhi nahi?”

She didn’t answer. She just took another sip of her juice, eyes flicking once more to where Aditi and Ansh had disappeared into the canteen. And this time… she smiled. Just a little. Because even she knew something had begun.

——————————————————————————–

At their usual table, Priya, Vivaan, and Prateek were already mid-chaos, juggling food and banter like seasoned performers. Vivaan, cheeks stuffed with samosa, declared, “Agar mujhe yeh bada samosa nahi mila na, main protest kar dunga!”

Prateek didn’t even look up. “Tu kha bhi raha hai aur protest bhi karega?”

Priya, ever the calm in the storm, added, “Doosra order kar le, chuhe. Drama mat karo.”

Just then, Ansh and Aditi stepped inside the canteen. They weren’t touching or laughing, but there was an undeniable shift in the air as if the sunlight itself had changed filters for their entrance. It wasn’t the what they were doing, but the way they moved together that turned heads. Intentional. Familiar.

Shagun was already sliding into the seat beside Aditi, eyes glinting with mischief as she leaned in to whisper, “Tu bolti thi na he doesn’t even look at girls? Aaj toh tujhse door bhi nahi jaa rahe hein.”

Aditi’s eyes widened as she hissed back, flustered, “Shut up! Kuch bhi mat bol. He’s the head boy. Unka har kisi ke saath kaam hota hai.”

“Kaam?” Shagun raised an eyebrow. “Canteen tak walk karna bhi form bharne mein count hota hai kya?”

Aditi’s face turned crimson. “Bas kar yaar. Tu kitna faltu sochti hai. Main batati hoon—he’s not into girls. He doesn’t even look at girls!”

Smirking like a cat who’d just discovered cream, Shagun replied, “Par tujhe dekhte waqt toh unki aankhon mein glitter tha.”

Aditi groaned and buried her face in her hands, wishing for a portal to another universe.

Across the Table there were Ruhaan and Ansh

Ruhaan leaned across the table toward Ansh, his tone low and teasing as he fake-sipped his Coke. “Tu Aditi ke saath walk karte hue aya, aur ab normal behave kar raha hai jaise sab kuch normal chal raha ho tere andar”

Ansh didn’t even look up, mumbling, “Chup kar.”

Ansh sighed, clearly trying to focus on the food in front of him, but the faint blush creeping up his ears betrayed him. And while everyone else may have been focused on food or gossip, Ruhaan watched his friend’s quiet unraveling with the satisfaction of someone who absolutely saw this coming.

At their usual table, chaos reigned.

“Ruhaan bhaiya, Aapki chori ki aadat kab jaayegi?” Priya huffed, narrowing her eyes as she caught him red-handed stealing fries from her plate again.

“Yeh koi aadat nahi hai beta,kala kehte hain isse,” Ruhaan declared proudly, tossing a fry in his mouth like he’d just won an award.

“Kala nahi, chori bolte hain isse,” Shagun deadpanned, unimpressed.

Ruhaan leaned across the table with all the drama in the world. “Shagun yaar, tum jitni baar mujhse ladti ho na, mujhe toh lagta hai tum secretly mujhpe fida ho,bas admit nahi kar rhi ho.”

Shagun choked on her juice. “Get lost, Ruhaan!”

“Arre maaro mat yaar, pyaar se bhi to bol sakti ho,” Ruhaan winked, narrowly dodging the tissue Shagun launched at him with impressive aim.

Prateek shook his head, grinning. “Ek din tu iss se sach mein pitega, Ruhaan.”

“Tab tak toh dil jeet chuka hounga,” Ruhaan shot back, ever unfazed, striking a fake romantic pose that sent half the table into fits of laughter.

The table was alive with noise smiles, shouts, jokes overlapping jokes.

But Aditi? She just sat there with a soft, closed-lipped smile, her fingers quietly breaking her roti, eyes flickering between the speakers but never quite jumping in. She didn’t need to be loud to be present. She existed differently. Like background music you didn’t always notice it, but the room felt different when it stopped.

And someone did notice. Ansh. From across the table, his eyes kept returning to her always, somehow, effortlessly. She was like a quiet puzzle he couldn’t solve. The way she smiled when no one was looking directly at her. The way her gaze would linger on her food longer than necessary, like she was buying herself a moment to stay out of attention. The way her presence was like… calm in the middle of a storm.

She never fought to be seen. But he couldn’t look away.

Then, Vivaan happened.

“Yeh paneer bada tasty lag raha hai!” Vivaan declared dramatically, eyeing Aditi’s tiffin box like it had personally offended him by not offering him a bite.

Without a second thought, he reached across the table.
Fingers brushed against hers. And Aditi Flinched.

Not subtly. Not in the “oh, that startled me” way. It was instinctual. Raw. Her entire body jolted as if she’d touched a live wire. Her breath caught mid-sentence. Her hand snapped back with such force it nearly knocked over her water bottle.

Her eyes normally soft and observant flickered with something sharp. Panic. Discomfort. Vulnerability. And then, just as quickly, she buried it. Masked it behind a small smile and dropped gaze.

For a moment Silence. Unusual for this group.

Then—

“ABE VIVAAN!” Prateek’s voice thundered as he smacked the back of Vivaan’s head. “Apne tiffin mein kha na, bandar!”

“Arre bhaiya!” Vivaan winced, rubbing his head with exaggerated pain. “Khaana sabka hota hai, sharing is caring!”

“Sharing ka gyaan mat de,” Priya shot back. “Khud ka lunch toh finish kar le pehle!”

Priya, barely suppressing her laughter, added, “Vivaan, kabhi kabhi lagta hai tu janam se chuha hi tha.”

The group burst into familiar chaos. Laughter, teasing, noisy camaraderie. The tension dissolved for them.

But not for Ansh. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t even blinked. His gaze stayed fixed on her. On the way her hands now rested tightly clasped in her lap. On how her fingers had curled inward like she was trying to make herself smaller. On how her shoulders remained subtly tense, her breathing shallow, uneven. Her eyes kept focused on the plate but she wasn’t seeing it.

She wasn’t here. She had disappeared inside herself. And no one noticed. Except him.

Ansh leaned back in his chair, his fists tightening under the table. His jaw clenched not in anger at her, but at how clearly something had happened. Something no one else had seen. Something she had buried so well.

But he saw it. He always saw it. And suddenly, the noise around him didn’t matter. Only she did.

Then, suddenly 

“I need to go,” Aditi said, standing up so abruptly her chair scraped against the floor.

Her voice was calm too calm. Her expression, unreadable. Only her eyes flickered with something… tight, hidden.

Priya frowned, confused. “Abe, kya ho gaya tujhe? Ik paneer ka piece hi to liya h chuhe ne.”

Aditi forced a small smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Nahi, bas washroom jaa rahi thi.”

Casual tone. Simple words. But her hands tugged at the sleeves of her shirt, fingers trembling just slightly. And she turned away too quickly. Too controlled.

Her back straight. Her strides even. Like she was trying very hard not to run. The others blinked, then shrugged. Too lost in their banter to read between the lines.

But Ansh didn’t shrug. He saw it. He felt it. The shift in the air. The tension in her limbs. The fragility beneath her stillness. His chair made no sound as he pushed it back and stood.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t announce where he was going. Didn’t even glance at the others. His eyes followed her. And then he did too. With silent steps and a heart that beat heavier than it should’ve, Ansh followed Aditi. Not to ask questions. Not to intrude. Just to be there if she needed someone. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

———————————————–

Inside the washroom, Aditi gripped the sink with both hands, her knuckles pale against the ceramic. Her reflection stared back at her eyes wide, chest rising and falling too fast, like her body was trying to outrun a memory it hadn’t even fully processed.

It was nothing. Just a touch. Just a stupid accident.
Vivaan didn’t mean anything by it.

She repeated that over and over, like a mantra. But the tremble in her hands didn’t stop. The unease under her skin didn’t fade. A flutter in her stomach that wasn’t butterflies it was panic.

“Not everyone is the same,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible above the hum of the flickering bathroom light. “Not everyone is like… him.”

Her jaw clenched.She hated this. Hated the way one small moment could unravel her like this. Like she was made of glass pretending to be steel. A sharp inhale. Then an even sharper exhale. She splashed cold water on her face, gritting her teeth as if that could reset her entire nervous system. Get a grip, Aditi.

Straightening her back, she wiped her face, fixed her expression, smoothed down her sleeves—

and walked to the door. She pushed it open  And nearly collided straight into him.

Ansh. She gasped, stumbling back instinctively. Her feet fumbled, but she caught herself just in time, one hand shooting out to the wall for support.

There was no contact. But the near miss was enough to make her heart lurch. Ansh stepped back too, hands raised slightly in reflex not to catch her, but to give her space. As if he already knew that even accidental closeness could shatter something in her.

Their eyes met. For a second, Aditi’s mask cracked. The fear she hadn’t meant to show flickered in her eyes. The guarded edge that always hid behind her soft-spoken nature faltered, and vulnerability spilled through the cracks.

Ansh didn’t speak. He just looked at her with a calm, grounded expression that didn’t pity, didn’t prod, didn’t demand. Just… understood.

Aditi blinked quickly, looking away. Her voice barely above a whisper “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“Are you okay?” His voice was steady. Too steady. Like he was holding back everything else he really wanted to ask.

Aditi froze for half a second. Then, like muscle memory, she curved her lips into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yeah… I’m fine.”

Ansh didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stood there, his gaze locked onto her like he was trying to read the truth between her words. “Pakka?”

A pause. Too long. Too careful. That hesitation it cracked the lie wide open. Ansh saw it. Felt it. That was all the confirmation he needed.

He didn’t push not in the way others might. No questions, no accusations. Just a soft, deceptively casual addition”You left in a hurry.”

His tone was light, but it wasn’t fooling anyone. Aditi’s throat tightened. Her eyes darted toward the hallway.”Koi baat nahi thi. Bas aise hi…”

“are you sure?” It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh. But the way he said, It stopped her mid-sentence. There was something in that single word. A gravity. A quiet insistence. Like he wasn’t asking. Like he already knew.

She looked at him then really looked. And for a brief second, the world around them quieted. The noise of the hallway. The chatter of students. The chaos of life. None of it touched that moment. Only her walls. And his patience.

Her voice came softer this time. Shakier. “Mujhe class ke liye late ho raha hai.”

She didn’t meet his eyes as she brushed past him. Didn’t stumble this time. But her steps still had that same controlled stiffness like she was holding in more than just words.

Ansh didn’t follow. He didn’t stop her. But he didn’t move either. His gaze lingered anchored on her receding figure. He didn’t need to chase after her. He already knew. She was hiding something. And whether she was ready or not He wasn’t going to ignore it.

*************************************

How was the chapter?
I truly hope you enjoyed reading it.

I’ll see you in the next update!

Until then – be safe, stay healthy, and never stop smiling or dreaming.
Keep reading, my lovely Bubbles! 💗

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