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रे बाँधे, रे बाँधे, रे बाँधे, ऐसे मोहे बाँधे
हाँ मोहे बाँधे वो नैनों की डोर से
है ये प्यार कैसा?
इसका राज है क्या बोल दे
केह भी दे
कभी सकूँ, कभी लागे बला है
कभी दुआ, कभी लागे हला है
नैनों से ये क्या हो चला है
बैरिया, ओ बैरिया, मुझे सता ना बैरिया
बैरिया, ओ बैरिया, मुझे सता ना बैरिया
*********************
The school corridor hummed with the usual midday chaos classroom fans whirring like jet engines, the muffled echo of teachers’ voices drifting through half-closed doors, and the occasional screech of a chair dragging across a dusty floor. Everyone seemed to be exactly where they were supposed to be.
Except for Ansh.
Wearing his crisp school shirt tucked too neatly under his blazer, files hugged tightly to his chest, he walked with a purpose but not quite his own. As the trusted “Head Boy”, he’d been tasked with delivering confidential staffroom files… a job that had slowly evolved into something only slightly less glorified than being the school’s honorary peon. Still, he did it efficiently, responsibly. Because teachers trusted him.
But right now, his mind wasn’t on the files.
His heartbeat picked up, thudding louder than the sound of his polished shoes on the tiled floor. He was nearing her class. The one corridor he simultaneously dreaded and hoped to pass. His grip on the file tightened, his pace instinctively slowed, and his eyes drifted sideways toward the open door of Class XI-F.
His gaze flicked to the second bench from the window the usual spot. Empty.
Only Vivaan and Shagun sat there, apparently engaged in another heated debate over god-knows-what, while Priya sat next to them, entirely unfazed, munching on something like the queen of unbotheredness. But no sign of Aditi.
A quiet sigh escaped him, something between disappointment and relief. He picked up his pace again, trying to regain his composure. But then that voice.
“Excuse me, Mr. Head Boy.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. The tone was casual, but unmistakably hers.
His heart kicked against his ribs like it had just heard the morning school bell. He turned slowly, carefully arranging his features into an expression of calm authority only to fail miserably. What came out of his mouth was a hesitant, “Ha… bolo?” barely holding together the war of words raging in his brain.
Aditi walked toward him without a word. Her expression unreadable. Ansh stiffened. His ears flushed red. Every inch of his body tensed as she approached and then She bent down.
His soul nearly left his body. “Oh god. Oh no. Is she… is she touching my feet?”
Panicked, Ansh instinctively stumbled backwards, flailing slightly, and then thud. He landed on the cold corridor floor, with the grace of a toppled bookshelf, the files exploding from his arms like a low-budget paper fireworks show.
“Aree aree sambhal ke!” Aditi exclaimed, trying to catch him but her effort only made things worse. She slipped and ended up landing right on him, her palms pressed to his chest, her hair brushing his cheek, eyes wide in disbelief.
They froze. He didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. For a few seconds, time bowed its head in apology and disappeared.
Then Aditi blinked, realizing the absurdity first. She awkwardly sat up and slid off him, her cheeks pink. “Aap theek toh hain na?” she asked, brushing her skirt and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Ansh, still half-paralyzed with shock and sheer embarrassment, looked at her like she’d just thrown him off a cliff. “Tum… tum karne kya ja rahi thi?!”
“I was just trying to give you the papers jo aapki file se gir gaye the,” she said casually, holding up a couple of loose sheets that had fluttered from the folder. She didn’t even register the storm she’d caused inside him.
“Oh.” Realization hit Ansh like a chalk duster to the face.
His entire thought process came crashing down like a poorly built Jenga tower. She wasn’t touching his feet. She was picking up papers. Of course. Because normal people do normal things. And he… he had thought
Aditi raised an eyebrow. “Aapko kya laga?”
He coughed, trying to cover the red that had bloomed all over his face. “Huh… nahii, kuch nahi. Vo bas… achanak se balance bigad gaya.” He gave a nervous laugh that made it even more obvious he was lying.
“You sure?” she asked with a small frown, her tone softening. “Aapko lagi toh nahi na?”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly, maybe too quickly. Then, gentler, “Tumhe toh nahi lagi na?” His voice lowered with genuine concern, eyes scanning her like she was made of glass.
Aditi gave him a reassuring smile. “Main theek hoon.”
They both knelt down to gather the scattered files. Their hands brushed once. Neither said anything. She handed him the last few sheets, which she carefully aligned on the top of his stack.
“Thank you,” he murmured, a little more grateful than he meant to sound.
“Most welcome,” she replied, flashing that soft, dimpled smile the kind that made his already-racing heart stumble again.
And just like that, she turned and walked away, leaving behind nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume and the gentle chaos of unspoken things.
He stood there, files clutched like a lifejacket, trying to make sense of the whirlwind that had just passed.
“Tujhe laga vo tere pair chhoo rahi thi kya?”
The voice came from behind, laced with pure mischief. Ruhaan casually draped his arm around Ansh’s shoulder like a nosy sidekick with popcorn.
Ansh’s eyes widened. “Nahi be, pagal hai kya!” he snapped, trying hard to sound chill and failing gloriously.
“Side ho ab, kaam karna hai mujhe,” he added, trying to walk away before Ruhaan could start.
But Ruhaan was on fire. “Aisa nahi hai toh phir ye lal tamatar kyun bana hua hai?” he laughed, pinching Ansh’s cheek mercilessly.
“Bola hai na tujhe, mere gaal mat chua kar. Maar daalunga main,” Ansh warned, elbowing him lightly in the stomach.
Ruhaan groaned. “Maar ke bol raha hai ‘maar dunga’… dogla insaan.”
Still wheezing dramatically, he leaned closer, whispering like a conspirator in love. “Achha sunn… tera aur Aditi ka toh mast scene ho jaata hoga. Bahon mein bahein daal ke dono hamesha ek dusre pe gir jaate ho. Full Bollywood vibes, bro.”
Ansh tried to glare but couldn’t stop the smile creeping up on him. “Jaan boojh ke nahi girte…” he mumbled, his blush giving him away entirely.
“Jo bhi ho… mujhe bhi bata na koi aisi trick, jo main Shagun pe try maar saku,” Ruhaan said with mock desperation, clasping his hands like a beggar in a temple.
Ansh rolled his eyes, clutching his files tighter to hide the grin splitting his face.
“Arey bol na yaar…” Ruhaan whined, trailing him down the corridor like an excited puppy.
Ansh walked ahead, heart still buzzing, smile still dancing in the corners of his lips because despite the fall, despite the files, despite his overthinking mind…
He had just shared another moment with Aditi.
And to him, those were the kind of moments that made every corridor every stumble absolutely worth it.
———————————————–
The school canteen buzzed with its usual midday anarchy someone’s orange juice had launched a surprise missile attack near the samosa counter, students was in the middle of a serious paratha war, and the lunch lady looked like she regretted every decision that had led her to this moment.
But in the farthest corner of the room, where one leg of the table was held together with chewing gum and faith, sat seven teenagers huddled like war generals. This wasn’t idle gossip. This was a strategy summit. This was Mission: Parents Ko Phasana an operation so delicate, it required lies, logistics, and the perfect amount of “beta, proud of you” energy.
Vivaan, the youngest of the trio from House #1, dramatically placed an old ketchup-stained notebook on the table. In bold, fading red marker, it screamed “TOP SECRET.” Beneath it, half-erased math formulas cried in silence, having been sacrificed for the nobler cause of teenage rebellion.
Clearing his throat like a TED Talk speaker, Vivaan declared, “Log sunte hain plans. Legends likhte hain plans.”
Ruhaan, casually munching a cold aloo patty with the gravitas of someone fueling a covert mission, offered, “Fake camp letter banate hain?” His tone was hopeful, nostalgic, and just slightly illegal.
Before anyone could respond, Shagun thwacked his head not lovingly. “are you mad? Yeh 4th standard ka PTM nahi chal raha!” she snapped, adjusting her glasses with theatrical disdain.
Priya, poised and precise like her perfectly packed lunchbox, raised an eyebrow. “Toh academic route lete hain. Himalayan flora-fauna seminar bol do.” She said it like it was a sacred mantra passed down from elder siblings who’d lied before.
Aditi, seated beside her, aggressively shoveling chowmein into her mouth like she was on a timed food challenge, rolled her eyes. “Flora-fauna se pehle tu spelling yaad kar le, Priya. Last time tu ne ‘fauna’ ko fungus bola tha.”
Ruhaan cackled. “Yaad hai jab tune bola tha, ‘Extra fauna, pizza pe?” he teased.
Aditi didn’t even blink. “Aap chup hi rahiye. Idea to de nahi rahe ho, bas daant dikhva lo.”
Shagun sighed dramatically. “This is why I prefer novels over people,” she muttered, returning to silently judging the group’s intelligence.
Ruhaan flashed his trademark goofy grin. “You can choose me as well,” he said, earning only an uninterested eyeroll from Shagun that could’ve frozen lava.
He leaned forward, licking his fingers like an overconfident con man. “Main simple karta hoon. Mummy ko bolunga Ansh jaa raha hai. She’ll melt ‘Jaa beta, kuch toh acha kar le zindagi mein.’ Main toh customized dabba bhi le lunga.”
Ansh, caught mid-bite of a soggy vada pav, blinked in confusion. “Par main jaa hi nahi raha…”
“Ha koi nahi, diggi mein bhar denge tujhe,” Prateek added, not even trying to sound reassuring.
Priya, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder like the drama queen she secretly was, smirked. “Mammy ko bolungi yoga retreat jaa rahi hoon. She’ll say, ‘Beta, apne andar ke vichaaron se judh ja.’ And I’ll be on a hilltop, eating Maggi with my vichaar.”
Vivaan stood up, eyes gleaming like a Bollywood hero mid-revenge arc. “Priya sells spirituality. Ruhaan bhaiya sells excuses. I sell… escape logistics. Aman bhaiya drives. Samaira di sweet-talks aunties who smell rebellion. We’re not just covered we’re laminated.”
Shagun arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed but trying not to show it. “This is… disturbingly well thought out,” she murmured.
Aditi popped a fry into her mouth, shrugged like a seasoned liar, and said, “Main bol dungi ‘aapne toh pehle hi haan bola tha, mamma.’ If she doesn’t remember, that’s between her and her Vitamin B12 deficiency.”
Prateek’s face crumpled in panic. “Woh hum dono ki mammy hai, bhagwan ke liye! Mujhe bhi include kar liyo!”
Aditi, cool as the other side of the pillow, didn’t look at him. “Tera kaam hai survive karna. Chup chaap ha mein ha mila dio.”
Without warning, Prateek dramatically pulled Aditi’s cheeks. “Hayee, kitni pyari behen hai meri,” he cooed.
The death glare she gave him could’ve curdled the milk in the cafeteria fridge.
Ruhaan, practically wheezing from laughter, managed to say, “Prateek apni choti behen se dar gaya!”
Back at the cracked table, the team sat like rebels before battle noodles dangling from forks, eyes glowing with conspiracies, teenage angst simmering under the surface.
Vivaan slammed the notebook shut like it was a legal contract forged in chaos. “Ye plan nahi hai, doston. Ye azaadi ka blue-print hai. Ye rebellion hai. Ye… India’s Got Lies ka finale hai!”
Everyone instinctively put their hands into the center like cricket players ready for a match. A thunderous, chaotic, totally sincere cry erupted “MISSION: PARENTS KO PHASANA… EXECUTE!”
Shagun, looking unusually sentimental, whispered, “Trip ke baad matching hoodies banwa lete hain na?”
Aditi, without missing a beat, replied, “Matching nahi, bulletproof hone chahiye. Mom ke sandal se bacha lein.”
Prateek, now whispering like a soldier writing his last letter “Mujhe agar kuch ho gaya… toh mummy ko bolna I tried my best.”
Ruhaan patted his back like a proud commander. “Agar tu gaya, tera room mujhe milega. Emotional rent ke saath.”
Just then, the school bell rang a shrill reminder that the world outside still existed. In seconds, the rebels scattered like cockroaches dodging a slipper, backpacks full of half-eaten tiffins, and hearts full of fake alibis.
Aditi, dressed like she was about to negotiate a ceasefire at the UN, sat upright in the living room with a meticulously printed itinerary, a PowerPoint on standby, and the most obedient, sanskaari smile she could manufacture. She cleared her throat with the gravity of someone about to change international law.
“Papa, Mummy… hum summer break mein ek educational trip plan kar rahe hain. Rishikesh. Very spiritual. Very educational. Sath mein Priya, Vivaan, aur… head boy bhi ja rahe hain,” she added, throwing in the title like it came with a security clearance.
Prateek, sitting beside her and nodding supportively like a background extra in a health supplement ad, chimed in “Haan… flora… fauna… yoga… tyaag… aur thoda sa global warming awareness bhi.”
Their father, Amit, paused mid-sip of tea, one eyebrow arching up like a disapproving mountain. “Kya ghoomne jaa rahe ho? Aur kis se permission leke jaa rahe ho?” he asked, lowering his cup with surgical suspicion. “Tum sab akele kaise jaoge?”
Aditi beamed with pre-rehearsed conviction. “Aapse aur Mammy se permission le rahe hain, Papa. Aur hum akele thodi jaa rahe hain Samaira didi aur Aman bhaiya bhi saath ja rahe hain. Vo dono hume sambhaal lenge.”
Just as her mom’s expression began softening, the ultimate reinforcement walked in Samaira, radiating efficiency, arms full of laminated folders, highlighters in her hair like war medals. “Haan Mammy, itinerary bhi ready hai. Har cheez time ke saath even bathroom breaks are slotted. And upar se, I’m a pro at this!”
Their mother’s eyes sparkled as if the words “bathroom schedule” had unlocked something sacred. “Tum bhi ja rahi ho? Arre wah! Matlab tum sab bache akele ja rahe ho? Perfect! Toh hum bhi chalte hain!”
Before the siblings could react, their dad stood up, already holding his dusty trekking shoes that hadn’t seen sunlight since Vajpayee was Prime Minister. “Haan haan! Main toh pehle se keh raha tha Ganga Aarti dekhni hai. Ab toh mauka mil gaya! Aur sath mein Singhaniya sahab ki family ko bhi le chalte hain. Vo bhi keh rahe the Ganga mein dubki lagani hai.”
Prateek, who had been sipping water, almost did a spit-take. “Nahi, nahi, Mammy! Aapko waise bhi college ka bahut kaam hota hai na… upar se aap log hamare beech bore ho jaoge!”
Aditi jumped in quickly, backing up her brother with the panic of a crumbling conspiracy. “Haan bhaiya bilkul sahi keh rahe hain! I mean, Papa… like… aap log ham bachcho ke group mein thoda… out of sync feel karoge na. Aur itna travel, aapki back pain bhi ho sakti hai!”
Shweta waved off the excuses like flies at a dhaba. “Arre sab dekh lenge. Hume bhi fresh air chahiye. Tum logon ke saath ghoomna bhi toh ek anubhav hoga!”
Amit declared the final blow with the grace of a judge passing life sentence “We are coming with you all. Bus decide kar lo kitne din ke liye jana hai… main toh Ganga mein proper teerth karna chahta hoon.”
Silence.
The room fell into stunned disbelief. Aditi and Prateek stared into the abyss of their failed plot. Somewhere in the background, a metaphorical harmonium began to play the sound of teen dreams slowly dying.
Their “freedom trip” had officially turned into a family pilgrimage.
At Singhania’s house…
Vivaan paced like a general about to launch a coup.
“We need Aman bhaiya. Samaira didi says she won’t go without him. And we need her to convince the aunties. She’s our public relations wing. We cannot afford a Samaira didi’s mutiny.”
Priya stood with arms crossed, already two steps ahead. “He’s refusing. Says he has to ‘rest from people.’pta nahi itna muh kyu sadate phirte hain ye”
Vivaan flipped open his emergency weapon: an old photobook, dust-covered and dangerous.
“Fine. Then we use this.”
Cut to Aman’s room. He was lounging with headphones, peacefully scanning his assingments when the door burst open like a courtroom drama.
Vivaan entered holding The Book of Doom.
“Ya toh aap chaloge Rishikesh. Ya main ‘Chaddi No. 5 – Monsoon Dance’ photo WhatsApp pe daal dunga.”
Aman sat up. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Priya stepped in behind him, arms folded, smugger than a cat with a PhD.
“Also, page 14. ‘Barbie towel, no regrets’ moment. Samaira didi ne kaha toh maa ke kitty group mein bhi jaa sakta hai.”
Aman stared, traumatized. “You monsters.”
Vivaan grinned, evil yet proud. “You’re our driver. Our decoy adult. Our sacrificial goat. Pack your pants.”
And so, sulking like a betrayed Bollywood sidekick, Aman agreed. Blackmailed, broken, and booked.
All three siblings sat lined up on the living room couch like a marketing campaign for Modern Bharat Sanskaar Edition. Priya wore her modestest cotton kurta, like she was on her way to distribute prasad. Ansh fake-read The Power of Now, flipping pages like he actually knew what “mindfulness” meant. And Vivaan? Vivaan looked like someone who had just successfully forged parental signatures on his report card and was riding the high of moral compromise.
Priya opened the pitch with a voice dipped in passive-aggressive sweetness. “Ma, Papa… hum Rishikesh jaa rahe hain. Yoga. Ganga. Sanskaar,” she said, dragging that last word like it was freshly polished brass.
Vivaan followed up like a student being interrogated by CBSE examiners, voice robotic and soul absent. “Flora. Fauna. Physical fitness. Mental wellness.” He blinked twice, possibly in Morse code for send help.
Ansh, barely vertical and still recovering from his last nap, muttered from behind his book, “Haan… main bhi jaa raha hoon,” as if The Power of Now had personally convinced him.
Kirti blinked slowly, visibly confused but mildly impressed. “Beta Vivaan itna articulate kab se ho gaya?” she asked, as if he’d just solved world peace.
Rajveer squinted suspiciously. “Sanskaar? Ganga? Ansh ka toh samajh aata hai… par tum dono?” His voice dropped. “Koi prank toh nahi chal raha hai?”
Just as the trio fumbled for an answer that didn’t involve the word Maggi, the front door flung open and Kiran entered, practically floating in on a cloud of auntie enthusiasm. “Hum bhi chalte hain na! Shweta bhabhi ka call aaya tha vo bhi ja rahe hain bachhon ke saath wahi pe. Toh hum sab ek saath hi chalte hain!”
Rajveer, now holding the faded “I ♥ Haridwar” cap he hadn’t worn since 2004, lit up like a Diwali ad. “Main toh pehle se keh raha hoon…Ganga mein ek acchi dubki lena baaki hai! “
Sanjay the last one to join said “Toh next week nikalte hain. Kya bolti public?”
“YESSS!” came a chorus…unfortunately only from the adults. The kids just stared in spiritual defeat.
Ansh, not blinking, immediately texted Prateek with a shaking thumb “Uncle aunty ko hame bhejne ke liye convince karna tha… hamare saath chalne ke liye nahi.”
Vivaan slid halfway off the couch and lay flat on the floor like he had ascended to a different plane of disappointment. “Aditi se handle nahi ho payi situation… lagta hai… negotiation ki jagah press conference kar di.”
Priya, still forcing a smile, let out the faintest whisper through gritted teeth. “Main toh apni soul ka mute button dhoond rahi hoon.”
Meanwhile, in the background, Kiran and Rajveer were already planning the bhajan playlist and debating whether cotton kurtas or safari suits were better for trekking
—————————————————-
The sky had begun to take on that dusky, melancholic hue where sunlight begins to soften into memory, and shadows begin to whisper secrets. It was the kind of late afternoon that usually brought a pause to the chaos a breather, a cup of chai, laughter echoing through college balconies.
But not for Samaira.
Today, her steps were too quick. Her voice, when it escaped, was too tense. Her thoughts spun too wildly.
Samaira who could match steps with a storm, who never walked without announcing her presence in sarcasm or style was pacing the corridors like she was chasing ghosts. Because in a way, she was.
She hadn’t seen Aman since morning. Not properly. Not even one of his dry “Tum phir?” looks. He’d walked right past her in the English corridor no eye contact, no reaction, no… Aman. Just an empty shell wearing his face.
That had been hours ago.
Since then, she’d checked the canteenhis usual haunt at lunch. Nothing. Even his half-drunk chai glass hadn’t shown up.
She’d walked past the library windows thrice. She peered into classrooms that weren’t even theirs. She even checked the bench outside the mechanical block where he sometimes sat alone with that perpetually grumpy expression.
Still nothing. Even her inner sarcastic monologue had fallen silent. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She grabbed it instantly, hoping…
“Chacha Ji (Aman)” lit up the screen.
Her breath hitched.
“Hello?” she answered, trying to steady her voice.
Rajveer’s voice crackled through the speaker low and filled with concern.
“Beta Samaira, Aman tumhare saath hai kya? Subah se phone nahi utha raha. Messages bhi nahi padh raha… sab thik toh hai?”
Her heart dropped like a stone into her stomach. She swallowed and tried to inject calm into her tone.
“Haan… I mean nahi, par mil jaayega. College mein hi hoga. Main dekh leti hoon, don’t worry uncle.”
There was a pause. Rajveer’s voice softened.
“Zara usse kehna… main pareshaan ho gaya hoon. Tum samjha lena use. Aaj kal chup sa ho gaya hai.”
“don’t worry uncle,” she said gently, trying to reassure him and herself. “Main baat karti hoon.”
She ended the call. And immediately, the calm she had forced crumbled like dry paper. Her fingers gripped the phone tighter, her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
She wasn’t being paranoid. Something was wrong.
She picked up pace, practically speed-walking now as she moved through the college.
She asked a student in the corridor, urgency bleeding into her voice:
“Tumne Aman ko dekha kya aaj? Mechanical wala tall ladka…bore face, emotionless vibes?”
The guy looked confused and shook his head.
“Nahi yaar, aaj toh dikha bhi nahi.”
Her throat tightened.
Next stop, she caught a professor just stepping out of class.
“Sir, Aman Singhaniya ki attendance mark hui aaj?”
The professor blinked, pulling up the digital register.
“Absent. Strange. He never skips on submission days.”
That confirmed it.This wasn’t him just ignoring her.He was missing.Panic now clutched her spine like a hand tightening with every passing minute.
She checked the back stairs, peeked into empty labs, even the cycle stand where he sometimes sat when overwhelmed.
Still nothing.
Finally, frustrated and more scared than she would admit, she rushed toward the front gate. That’s when she spotted the college guard half-dozing on a chair, sipping from a thermos, utterly unaware of the storm brewing just a few feet from him.
She jogged to him, breath uneven. “Bhaiya,” she said quickly, “Aman Singhaniya ko dekha aapne? Subah kahin jaate hue? Koi idea?”
The guard blinked at her, trying to focus. Then nodded casually, unaware of what his next words would unleash.
“Haan, terrace gaya tha subah. Lecture se pehle. Tab se wapas nahi dekha maine. Shayad wahi ho.”
The world stilled.Samaira felt it.Everything noise, motion, logic froze in that second.Her breath caught. The guard’s words echoed over and over in her ears.
“Terrace gaya tha… tab se wapas nahi dekha…”
Since morning?
The sky outside was already dusky. That was hours ago.
Her stomach flipped, palms suddenly damp. A strange dread pressed on her chest like a weight she couldn’t explain. She didn’t ask anything else. She just turned and ran.
Her shoes pounded against the tiled floors, her hair flying behind her as she sprinted through corridors now thinning with evening’s slow hush. She didn’t care who stared.
Samaira Mishra wasn’t running for drama.She was running for Aman.Because something about this silence, this vanishing act felt wrong.
And if Aman thought he could disappear from her world without a word if he thought she would just stand by while he spiraled Then he clearly hadn’t been paying attention all these months.
Because no one disappears on Samaira’s watch.
Not even Aman
The sky had ripened into a bruised orange-red, the sun slowly sinking behind the distant hills. Shadows stretched long across the college terrace, casting elongated silhouettes over the cracked concrete floor. It was quiet eerily so. The kind of quiet that held back a scream. Wind rustled through the rusted grill, catching Aman’s tousled hair and tugging at the edges of his shirt. He stood there, unmoving, hands gripping the terrace railing as if it was the only thing anchoring him.
His phone lay forgotten near his bag, buzzing intermittently with missed calls and unread messages. But he didn’t care.
Then came the hurried sound of footsteps…sharp, uneven, desperate.
The door banged open with a metallic clang, and Samaira stormed in, breath ragged, eyes wide with a mixture of relief, fear, and fury. She scanned the terrace like a heat-seeking missile until she spotted him still by the railing, still turned away from the world.
“Aman!” she shouted, the anger in her voice slicing through the air.
She walked toward him with heavy, furious steps, her fists clenched.
“Do you even know what the hell you’ve put everyone through?! Tumhare Chacha ji pareshan ho rahe hain mujhe phone karke poochh rahe the tum mere saath ho ya nahi!”
Aman didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on the horizon. Jaw tight.
She came closer, her voice rising.
“I’ve been searching for you since morning! Classrooms, corridors, even the bloody parking lot. Aur tum yahan terrace pe khade ho, brooding like you’re some tragic hero from a bad web series!”
Still nothing.
He didn’t turn, didn’t blink. The silence between them stretched until it felt like it might shatter something.
Then finally, he spoke low and tired.
“Samaira, please go. I’m not in a mood to talk to anyone.”
His voice wasn’t cruel yet. But it was distant. Too distant.
Samaira took another step toward him, her voice softening slightly but thick with emotion. “Aman, look at me. Tum aise disappear kaise kar sakte ho? At least tell me what the hell is going on!”
He turned slowly. And the look in his eyes wasn’t sad. It wasn’t broken.It was cold.The storm inside him had found its voice.
“Why?” he snapped. “So you can play savior again?”
Samaira blinked, caught off guard by the venom in his tone.
“Aman…” she started. But he didn’t let her.
“Samaira Mishra…queen of chaos,” he continued with a bitter laugh. “Always poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. You think this is some story where you’re the heroine and I’m the lost project you’ll fix with your ridiculous energy and perfect timing?”
She stepped back slightly, the words hitting her square in the chest.
“What the hell are you saying…?”
“You think this is a game?” he interrupted again, louder this time. “You show up, act like you care, toss your loud jokes and witty one-liners around like banda repair ho jayega? I’m not some joke you can fix with your drama.”
His words were sharp, designed to cut.
Samaira’s voice dropped to a whisper, trembling. “Aman… yeh tum keh kya rahe ho?”
“I’m saying” he hissed, eyes narrowing, “mujhe farak nahi padta. Tumhare hone se zyada confusion hota hai mujhe. Tum sirf ek distraction ho. Nothing more. And I’m tired of pretending otherwise.”
Her breath caught. Not from heartbreak. From anger.
“You’re tired?” she said, her voice shaking now not with fear, but fury. “YOU’RE tired? Tum bas bhaag rahe ho, Aman. Sabse. Mujhse. Khud se.”
That struck him, but only briefly. He stepped toward her now, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
“And maybe I should,” he said. “Tumhare jaise log tum bas attention chahti ho. Jab wo nahi milta, toh hero banne aajati ho kisi aur ki story mein. But I’m not your hero, Samaira. Samjhi? Toh jao na chali jao wapas apne memes aur selfies ke world mein. Mera koi lena dena nahi hai.”
The words echoed.There was a beat of silence. Just the wind. Just the aching stillness of something breaking.
One second. That’s all it took.
SMACK.
Samaira’s palm struck his cheek with a force that snapped his head slightly to the side a sharp, brutal sound that sliced through the still terrace air like a crack of thunder. The echo of it lingered longer than any of their words had.
Aman stood frozen, blinking. Not just from the sting on his face, but from the sheer weight of what had just happened. What he had done.
And then he looked at her.
She didn’t look shocked. She looked finished.
Her chest rose and fell in hard, uneven breaths. Her fists were clenched at her sides, still trembling. And her eyes those wild, mischievous, stubborn eyes were now rimmed with tears she refused to let fall. They burned with something deeper than pain.
And when she spoke, her voice didn’t shake the way hearts usually do when they break.
It cut calm, cold, and terrifyingly steady.
“Are you seriously saying that…?” she whispered, her tone low, like the warning before a storm. “Tumne abhi tak asli Samaira dekhi hi nahi hai.”
There was no sarcasm. No fire-for-fire response.Just truth.Plain and unfiltered.
She took a step back not in fear, but in restraint. Like she needed the distance just to stop herself from cracking any further.
“Aaj ke baad apni shakal bhi mat dikhana,” she said, voice hoarse with heartbreak but still fierce. “You don’t deserve the care I gave you.”
Her next words came out like a punch to his gut.”You don’t even deserve to be hated properly.”
And with that, she turned.No dramatic pause. No lingering glance.Just a sharp pivot and the rhythmic, fading thud of her boots against the concrete. Each step echoed louder in Aman’s chest than it did on the terrace floor.
And then she was gone.Down the stairs. Out of reach. Out of his world.Aman stood alone, still and silent.
His fingers lifted slowly to touch the burning imprint on his cheek not from pain, but from what it meant. From the truth she left carved into him.
Because she had meant every word.Because he had meant to hurt her.Because in pushing her away, he hadn’t just crossed a line.He had destroyed something fragile.Something real.
The sky above was no longer soft or forgiving. It had turned into a blood-red bruise, edged with clouds that warned of oncoming storm. And maybe, just maybe, something inside him had taken on that same color.
But the worst part wasn’t the silence she left behind.
It was the terrifying thought that…
Maybe she was right.
Maybe he didn’t deserve to be hated properly.
—————————————————–
The lunch break was in full swing trays clattered, sauces flew, and juniors had declared war over the last paneer roll. But one corner of the canteen looked like a support group for emotionally compromised teenagers.
The usually hyper Vivaan was silently mutilating his samosa, one corner at a time, like it owed him money. Priya sat beside him, poking her aloo patty with the intensity of a scientist discovering fungus. Across the table, Aditi and Prateek were in round seven of their blame game.
“This is your fault!” Aditi snapped, mid-chowmein scoop.
“Mine? YOU were the only one jo muh main dahi jama k baithi thi” Prateek shot back, nearly knocking over shagun’s water bottle.
Meanwhile, Shagun stared at the ceiling like she was mentally editing everyone out of her novel.
And then like an uninvited musical number Ruhaan entered the scene, grinning like a man who’d just found Wi-Fi in the Himalayas. He was stuffing his face with spring rolls, talking with his mouth full and soul louder.
“Arey bhaiii!” he beamed. “Sab muh sadake kyun baithe ho? Mujhe toh permission bhi mil gayi. Kal jaa raha hoon shopping pe. Ansh, Prateek, chalo na saath! Thoda extra sexy dikhna hai wahan pe,” he added, dramatically winking at Shagun.
Shagun gave him a side-eye so sharp, it could’ve sliced a papad.
Ansh frowned. “Chup chaap decent bann ke rahiyo wahan pe.”
Ruhaan dramatically flexed both biceps like they had their own zip code. “Kyu bhai? Itni mehnat se banai hain. Flex toh marunga hi yaar!”
Prateek, without even looking up, said while munching aloo patty, “Nahi mar sakta. Flex karega, toh Papa tujhe air return ticket mein parcel kar denge.”
Ruhaan smirked like he’d cracked a code. “Par tere Papa ko batayega kaun?”
Prateek smiled sweetly. “Kisi ko batane ki zarurat hi nahi… vo toh khud hamare saath chal rahe hain. Sab kuch live telecast mein dekhne wale hain.”
“WHAAAATTTT?!” Ruhaan screamed like his entire wardrobe had been declared illegal. “TERE PAPA BHI JA RAHE HAIN?!” His spring roll fell from his mouth like a betrayed friend.
Vivaan banged his head on the table, dramatically. “Yaar Aditi! Tu kuch kar nahi sakti thi kya? Thoda idhar-udhar gumaa deti unhe?!”
Aditi flared up like a pressure cooker. “Tujhe kya lagta hai? Main try nahi ki? Par nahi… woh log toh ‘family bonding’ ke naam pe Everest chadh jaate!”
Priya sighed, resting her head on her palm. “Ab kya hi kar sakte hain… sab log saath ja rahe hain. Trip nahi, group therapy session lag raha hai.”
Vivaan let out a loud dramatic cry “Awwweeeennnhwwwwww!”
He started flapping his arms like a chicken in emotional distress.
“Isse koi bandh ke rakho yaar,” Prateek said, leaning away from Vivaan like he might catch second-hand melodrama.
Ruhaan collapsed into Ansh’s arms like a grieving bollywood heroine. “Matlab… poore raste bhar bhajan sunne padenge? No party songs… no dance… no Honey Singh… bas ‘Ram naam satya hai’ on loop?”
Ansh, unbothered and still chewing, casually held Ruhaan like it was their wedding vidai scene. “Next week nikalne ka plan hai, chacha bol rahe the. Ready rehna”
Amid all the chaos, Aditi suddenly turned toward Shagun, frowning. “Shagun, tera kya hua?” she asked, casually wiping her hands with a tissue. “Tune uncle se permission li trip ke liye?”
The question sliced through Shagun’s bubble like glass cracking under pressure.
Her hands stilled around her sandwich.
Just for a moment, everything around her faded the laughter, the shouting, even Vivaan’s chicken flapping. Her eyes flicked up, but only for a second, before she dropped them back to her food. The pause wasn’t long… but it was long enough.
Then she spoke, too quickly. “Umm… ha ha, mil gayi na. Kal hi de di thi unhone… I’m ready. Meri seat bhi bacha lena,” she added with a small, awkward smile the kind that tried too hard to be casual, like a shaky table propped up by lies.
Aditi, not noticing, nodded easily and turned back to nag Prateek again.
But Ruhaan?
He noticed everything.
He was suddenly very still no more jokes, no more theatrics. His eyes were locked on Shagun like a sniper who’d just spotted movement behind enemy lines.
He leaned forward slightly, gaze narrowing, the lightness gone from his face.
The pause. The pitch. The sandwich suddenly being more interesting than anyone at the table.
It wasn’t adding up.
“You are lieing ,” his brain whispered, loud and clear.
He didn’t say it aloud not yet. He just sat back, folding his arms, watching her with the quiet intensity of someone who knew. The way only someone who cared enough would bother to look past the words and into the silence between them.
Shagun, sensing the weight of his stare, didn’t look up. But her hand trembled just a bit the crust of her sandwich now lying in perfect pieces like all the excuses she’d tried to arrange.
Ruhaan smiled softly to himself.It wasn’t smug.It was… concerned.Protective.
Like he already knew he’d have to be the one to ask again when no one else was watching. Because if she wasn’t coming… he needed to know why.
And more importantly he needed to make sure she wouldn’t face it alone.
—————————————————-
The college moved on.
As it always does.
Assignments piled up, presentations were scheduled and rescheduled, chai stalls remained as crowded and chaotic as ever. Laughter still rang in the corridors. The world, it seemed, had no time to pause for broken things.
But for Aman, time didn’t move.
It crawled every second dragging with the weight of his own echoing words, the sharp sting of regret, and a silence that had grown deafening.
Ever since that day on the terrace, Samaira hadn’t looked at him. Not once.
Not in class, where they used to share muttered sarcasm over dull slideshows. Not in the library, where their whispered fights had once made the librarian scowl. Not even in passing, where once she’d brush past with a quick quip like, “Watch it, statue, don’t crack.”
Now?
Nothing.
She laughed, yes. She joked. She smiled. But never at him. Never near him.
And that silence? That silence hurt.It hurt more than her slap.It hurt more than the empty guilt.Because that silence had boundaries now. Lines he couldn’t cross anymore.
Aman sat in the back of the canteen, chin resting on his hand, food untouched again.A tray full of things he didn’t care for. A table surrounded by noise he couldn’t feel part of.
He didn’t speak. He just listened.Snippets of her name floated to him in other people’s laughter.
Each word stabbed a little deeper.Not because she was happy again.But because she was okay without him.And yet, he wasn’t.
He looked down at the half-empty water bottle in front of him, the label peeled halfway off, the condensation slowly drying. He stared at it like it had answers. It didn’t.
His mind, like a broken reel, kept rewinding to that moment.That scene on the terrace.
Her eyes.God. Her eyes.Not just filled with anger, but with betrayal. Like he had taken something pure and crushed it before it had the chance to bloom. Like she’d trusted him with something fragile… and he’d thrown it away just to protect his own cracks.
And the worst part?She didn’t yell.She didn’t argue.She didn’t try to defend herself.She just left.And somehow, that quiet exit had been more violent than any screaming match.
That night, Aman lay on his bed, phone resting on his chest, screen dark. The fan spun lazily above, stirring the same stale air of his room and his thoughts.
He hadn’t slept properly in days.Not because of nightmares.But because every time he closed his eyes, he imagined Samaira walking past him again eyes distant, laughter shared with someone else, her world continuing just fine.
And every time he opened his eyes, it still stung the same.In the days that followed, he found himself watching her more than he wanted to admit.
When she laughed at something Krish said, his chest ached in a way he didn’t understand.When she rolled her eyes at the canteen’s watery coffee, he paused mid-sip of his own.When she quoted a line from the very professor they used to mock together, something twisted inside him nostalgia, maybe. Regret, definitely.
And he wondered was it just guilt?
It had to be, right?
But… was it only guilt?
Why did her absence feel like this? Why did her laughter with someone else feel like loss? Why did silence from her feel like punishment?
He missed her taunts.He missed her stubbornness.He missed the way she’d pull out his earphones mid-sentence just to annoy him.He even missed the name he used to groan at”Zinda Statue.”
It had always irritated him.Now, it felt like a term of endearment he’d never hear again.
He told himself it was for her own good.That people like him people who broke things shouldn’t get close to people like her.That he wasn’t someone meant to be cared for.That he didn’t deserve someone who tried that hard to see him.
So he pushed her away. Hard. Cruel. Loud.And in doing so…He might’ve broken the only thing that had ever tried to reach the parts of him he never knew needed reaching.
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That’s all for this chapter, Bubbles! ✨
hope you enjoyed it…
If any scene touched your heart, made you smile, or even gave you tiny butterflies…Don’t forget to vote and drop your thoughts in the comments especially under the scenes that hit you the hardest! Your words mean more to me than you can imagine.
See you in the next chapter!
Till then, be healthy, stay safe, keep smiling, and always keep reading.
With love,
Prachi 💌
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I’D – pixiee_wrts
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