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जहां लिखा है नाम हमारा
उसी जगह है एक किनारा
मिलना वही पे मुझे
तेरा नाम था पढ़ा मैंने इक पेड़ पे
मैंने लिख दिया अपना साथ में
तेरे नाम की कलम स्याही मेरे नाम की
बस यही था मेरे हाथ में
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VOTE: 420+
COMMENTS: 400+
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It was one of those calm evenings where the house felt unusually quiet the kind where the sky outside slowly melted into shades of orange and blue, where the world seemed to slow down on its own. Everything felt at peace. Everything… except Ansh.
Restlessness clung to him like a second skin. No matter how still the room was, his thoughts refused to settle. Aditi still hadn’t talked to him properly, and that silence was gnawing at his insides. He could handle her anger her sharp words, her glare, even her stubborn sulking. But this? This quiet distance? It terrified him.
And for Ansh, that nothing felt heavier than anything else.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, fingers twisting and untwisting the bedsheet unconsciously as if he could wring answers out of the fabric itself.
“chill bro… maan jayegi itna kyu marr rha hai tu?” Ruhaan’s relaxed voice came through the phone, irritatingly calm.
Ansh scoffed. “saale teri wajah se hi hua hai ye sab, kya zaroorat thi kritika ka naam lene ki uske samne… now she won’t even make cheesecakes for me,” he snapped, irritation and hurt tangled together.
“pagal kahi ka… itna baichain hogya tu to,” Ruhaan laughed. “bhaii thoda limit me reh, kal ko NDA main jayega to kaise mahino bitayega usse bina baat kiye?”
The teasing tone didn’t soften the words. Ansh fell silent.
The thought hit him unprepared the distance, the separation, the months without her constant presence. No shared corridors. No stolen glances. No random arguments turning into laughter.
His chest tightened. There was a pause on the call, long enough for Ruhaan to sense the shift.
“achha vo sab chod,” Ruhaan said, changing track. “maine suna hai aditi foodie hai?”
“hmm… thodi thodi,” Ansh replied, absent-mindedly rubbing the corner of his pillow.
“to usko kahi bahar leja kuch achha khila aur maang le maafi, maan jayegi.”
Ansh straightened slightly. “pakka?”
“ha maan jayegi, nhi maani to kismat teri vo,” Ruhaan chuckled. “chal abhi phone kaat… shagun ke sath jana hai mujhe.”
The line went dead. Ansh stared at his phone for a moment before letting it fall onto the bed beside him. He leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan spinning lazily above.
“What should I bribe her with?” he wondered.
Food, obviously. But not just any food.
His mind flickered back to Diwali the fairy lights, the soft chaos, the warmth. And her eyes lighting up after the first spoonful.
She liked that moong daal ka halwa… A slow, genuine smile curved onto his lips.
“why not make that for her,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
The decision settled deep, firm and unwavering.
He grabbed his phone again, opening YouTube with a seriousness usually reserved for exam prep. Recipe videos played one after another. He watched carefully rewinding, pausing, noting every step like it was a military briefing.
“I’ll make it myself,” he decided. No shortcuts. No store-bought cheating.
He slipped off the bed and peeked out of his room cautiously, like someone planning a heist.
“okk… so mammy and chachiji are not at home now,” he murmured. “let’s just soak the dal for now and make it in morning before everyone wakes up.”
He tiptoed into the kitchen, heart pounding for no real reason, found the moong dal in the cabinet, checked it twice because if he messed this up, he’d never forgive himself and soaked it carefully.
Balancing the bowl like precious cargo, he carried it back to his room and placed it on his study table.
“I wish ye subah tak fool jaye,” he whispered, looking at the dal hopefully.
His brain was already calculating.
“Mammy and chachiji wake up at 6 am. Halwa takes at least an hour. Cleaning, smell control, dishes…. I need to start at 4 am.” he calculated preciesly
He set an alarm for 3:45 am, stared at the glowing screen for a moment, then lay down.
Sleep, however, refused to come. The night crawled by slowly, thoughts looping endlessly around Aditi her expressions, her words, the way she’d walked away without looking back.
Before the alarm could ring, his eyes snapped open at 3:30 am.
“15 minute pehle hi start kar leta hu,” he thought. “spare time bach jayega.”
He quietly grabbed the soaked dal and slipped into the kitchen, movements careful, almost reverent. The house slept while he worked silently grinding the dal, heating the kadhai, stirring patiently.
Every few minutes, he checked the recipe again, terrified of missing a step. His arm ached, sweat dotted his forehead, but he didn’t stop.
Finally, the halwa came together…rich, glossy, aromatic. Just how she liked it. A satisfied grin spread across his face as he glanced at the clock.
5:40 am.
“Oh shittt… gayab hona padega,” he muttered, panicking. He hurriedly filled a spare tiffin box, and in his rush, accidentally grabbed the hot kadhai.
“ahhh!” He hissed, shaking his hand as a burn mark bloomed across his skin. He clenched his jaw, refusing to make noise.
Doesn’t matter, he thought. Worth it. He cranked up the exhaust fan, washed the dishes at lightning speed, wiped everything down like a professional cleaner.
Just as he turned to leave
“Ansh?”
He froze. Kriti stood there, arms folded, eyebrows raised.
“itni subha kya kar rha hai kitchen main tu?” she inquired.
Ansh stiffened, instinctively hiding the tiffin inside his jacket.
“ku… kuch nhi chachiji,” he lied.
“To kitchen main kyu hai tu vo bhi itni subha?” she asked.
“vo… vo mujhe bhook lag rhi thi,” he said nervously. “to socha kuch pada hoga.”
“raat main to theek se khaya nahi tune,” she said. “mujhe utha deta.”
“disturb nhi karna chahta tha,” he replied quickly.
“pagal kahi ka,” Kriti shook her head fondly. “sooji ka halwa bana du? khayega?”
“nhi nhi,” Ansh panicked. “maine… maine maggie kha li.”
“subha subha maggie kon khata hai,” she scolded. “aaj se 5 rotiya khayega raat ko.”
“theek hai,” he nodded rapidly. “main jata hu… padhai karni hai.” He escaped upstairs, heart racing.
Inside his room, he finally exhaled, sinking onto the bed. He looked at the tiffin box resting safely in his bag and smiled softly.
“please maan jana isha,” he whispered.
Zero period at school always had a strange rhythm to it half the students were still trickling in, corridors echoed with footsteps and laughter, and classrooms felt alive but not fully awake yet.
Aditi walked into her class, her bag slung over shoulder, eyes scanning the room lazily. Priya was already there, sitting sideways on her bench, chatting animatedly with a few classmates. Shagun’s seat was empty, and Vivaan’s bag lay abandoned on his desk clear proof that he himself was roaming somewhere in the school, as usual.
“Hi,” Aditi greeted softly as she reached her seat.
“Hi,” Priya replied with a smile.
“Shagun nahi aayi abhi?” Aditi asked, placing her bag down and pulling her chair back.
“Nahi, abhi to nahi aayi… aati hogi,” Priya said, turning around to sit facing Aditi now.
They began chatting casually, random school gossip filling the air, when Shagun finally entered the classroom, fixing her hair and yawning dramatically as she plopped down beside them.
Outside the classroom, however, another story was unfolding.
Ansh had been deliberately roaming the corridor specifically the stretch right outside Aditi’s classroom. He pretended to check notice boards, leaned against the wall, walked back and forth… anything, as long as he could steal glances inside.
“Zyada nahi ho raha tera?” Prateek asked suddenly, side-eyeing him.
Ansh instantly straightened up. “Maine kya kiya?”
“Zyada sadhu mat ban,” Prateek said flatly. “Kab se dekh raha hu, lagatar jhank raha hai Aditi ki class mein.”
Before Ansh could defend himself, Ruhaan chimed in dramatically, munching on chips. “Vo to bas dekh raha hai. Tu to pata nahi kya-kya karta hai Priya ko dekh ke… chi chi chiiii. Bolte hue bhi sharam aa rahi hai mujhe. Tauba tauba tauba.”
Ansh spun toward Prateek instantly. “Kya karta hai ye?” he demanded, grabbing his collar.
“Abee….maine kya kiya ab!” Prateek shrieked.
“Achhe se maar yaar Ansh,” Ruhaan encouraged, enjoying the chaos. “Aur Prateek, self-defence to kar….tu to chuhe se bhi ganda darr gaya.”
Ansh sighed and let go.
“Ye to jaan le lega meri,” Prateek muttered, adjusting his collar as Ruhaan burst out laughing.
“Tu kya daant phaad raha hai?” Ansh snapped at Ruhaan.
Ruhaan only laughed harder. “Maza aata hai jija–saale ki ladai dekhne mein. Socho future mein high school friends ki jagah ek dusre ka jija–saala banke introduction doge.”
“Chup hoja warna muh tod dunga,” Ansh warned.
“Haan, kyunki saala jo banega ye mera,” Prateek added smugly.
“Prateek,” Ansh snapped again, lunging toward him.
Prateek yelped and bolted down the corridor, Ansh chasing him briefly before giving up.
Inside the classroom, completely unaware of the chaos outside, Aditi settled into her seat and absentmindedly opened the desk cabinet.
She froze. There was a tiffin box inside. Her brows knitted together in confusion. “Ye kiska hai?” she muttered, pulling it out.
“Bhara hua hai,” Priya observed, leaning closer. “Kisi bache ka hai kya?”
“Ek chit bhi hai,” Shagun said, spotting a folded note taped to the lid. She opened it and read aloud.
“For Isha, as an apology.
–by her Fauji ji.”
The words hung in the air.
“Hein?” Priya frowned. “Apni class mein Isha bhi hai kya koi?”
“Mujhe lagta hai kisi ki girlfriend ke liye hai,” Shagun said thoughtfully. “Ghar wale thodi na aake rakh jaayenge.”
But Aditi wasn’t listening anymore. Her heart had already started racing.
“Idhar dikha.” She quickly took the box from Shagun’s hands and opened it. The moment the lid lifted, the warm aroma of moong daal ka halwa spread across their desks rich, comforting, familiar.
“Pagal hai kya, khola kyun?” Priya scolded.
“Kyunki ye mere liye aaya hai,” Aditi said softly, a small smile curving her lips.
Before either of them could react, she pulled a spoon from her bag and took a bite.
“Tere liye kyun aaya hai?” Shagun asked, shocked. “Aur kisne bheja hai? Ispe Isha likha hai, Aditi nahi.”
“Haan, aur aise kuch bhi nahi khana chahiye,” Priya added worriedly. “Kuch ho gaya to?”
“Nahi hoga,” Aditi replied calmly, taking another bite. “Tere bhaiya ne rakha hai ye yahan.”
Shagun’s eyes widened. “Bhaiya ne diya hai tujhe? Kab? Kaise?”
“Hawww,” Priya gasped. “Matlab Ansh bhaiya ne sorry bolne ke liye halwa bana ke diya?”
“Itna shock kyun ho rahi hai?” Aditi shrugged casually. “Ghar pe bana hi hoga na.”
Priya shook her head slowly. “Aaj tinde ki sabzi bani hai ghar pe… halwa nahi.”
Aditi froze.
Matlab… he made this himself? shagun said with full shock.
“Khud hi banaya hoga,” Priya said quietly. “Ghar mein kisi ko pata bhi nahi hoga.”
The realization hit Aditi fully now. He had woken up early. Made halwa from scratch. Cleaned everything. Hidden it. All for her. Her chest tightened, eyes stinging just a little.
“Tasty bana hai kya?” Shagun asked, breaking the moment and then took a bite.
“Oh my god,” she exclaimed. “Kitna tasty hai! Bhaiya ko MasterChef mein bhejo yaar. Kya NDA-wanda main ja rahe hain?”
Priya tasted it too, nodding eagerly.
“Bas bas,” Aditi said quickly, pulling the box closer. “Baaki ka mera hai.”
“Hawww, kutti,” Priya protested. “Khane de na.”
“Nahi.”
“Dekha Priya?” Shagun sighed dramatically. “Halwa isse humse zyada pyara hai. Kar di na dhokebaazi.”
“Lo,” Aditi relented, giving them one more bite. “Ab bas. Main khaungi baaki ka.”
She finished the rest slowly, savoring every spoon not just the taste, but the effort behind it.
Then she looked at them seriously. “Lunch break mein koi bhi ye topic canteen mein nahi uthayega. Pretend karo ye scene kabhi hua hi nahi. Unhe pata nahi chalna chahiye ki mujhe halwa mila.”
“Kyun?” Priya asked.
“I’ve a plan,” Aditi said, a mischievous sparkle returning to her eyes.
“Theek hai,” Shagun agreed. “Par bhaiya se baat kar lena. Vo bohot upset lag rahe the.”
“Haan,” Priya nodded. “Ro hi na jaaye.”
Aditi smiled soft, assured, full of warmth.
“Uski tension mat lo,” she said quietly. “Nahi rone dungi unko.”
Because in that moment, more than the halwa, what filled her heart was this, Someone loved her enough to try.
Lunch break arrived with its usual chaos the canteen buzzing with voices, plates clattering, laughter echoing across the space. Everyone had settled at their usual table, food spread out, jokes flying freely.
Everyone except Ansh was actually enjoying the lunch. He barely touched his food.
Instead, his eyes kept drifting towards Aditi’s direction again and again. She was sitting there, laughing softly at something Shagun said, completely unbothered. Not once did she look his way.
His chest tightened.
Did she get the tiffin or not?
Kahin kisi aur ne to nahi le liya?
Kahin… usse pasand nahi aaya?
He swallowed hard, appetite long gone.
“Khale,” Ruhaan said, eyeing him. “Kab se dekhe hi ja raha hai. Nahi khana to mujhe dede.”
“Nahi… kha raha hu,” Ansh whispered back, poking his food uselessly. “Tu kha apna.”
Ruhaan leaned closer, voice calm. “Relax. Mil gaya hoga usse. Akele mein pooch lio.”
Ansh nodded, though his nerves didn’t listen.
As soon as lunch started wrapping up, Aditi stood up, picking up her bottle just like she always did. Ansh noticed instantly.
She walked towards the wash area, unaware or pretending to be unaware that he followed her again. The moment she sensed his presence behind her, a tiny smile tugged at her lips. She masked it immediately.
The corridor was less crowded now, voices fading into the background. Ansh slowed his steps, then finally gathered the courage.
“Ishaaa~”
She stopped. Turned.
That single word said softly, almost shyly was enough to grab her full attention. Heat crept up her cheeks, but she kept her face composed.
“Hmmm,” she hummed, washing her hands, deliberately nonchalant.
Ansh swallowed. “Did you get that box in the morning?”
She didn’t even look at him. “Which box?” she asked coldly.
His heart skipped. “The tiffin box under your desk… I kept it there. With your favourite moong daal ka halwa.”
“Nahi to,” Aditi replied simply. The words hit him like a slap.
His face fell. “Tumhe… sach mein nahi mila?”
“Rakha hoga tab to milega,” she said coolly, still washing her hands.
“I swear, maine rakha tha,” he said quickly, panic creeping into his voice.
“Mujhe to nahi mila,” she repeated.
He frowned, muttering under his breath, “Aise kaise nahi mila… chuha to nahi kha gaya?”
“Kya hua?” she snapped, finally turning to him, eyes sharp. “Rakha bhi tha ya hawa mein hi bas?”
“Ek second… let me check once,” he said, already backing away, anxiety written all over his face. Before she could say anything, he rushed off.
The moment he disappeared down the corridor, Aditi burst into soft laughter, covering her mouth.
“Maza to aata hai inko pareshaan karne mein,” she muttered to herself, eyes sparkling. She followed him.
Ansh entered her classroom like a man on a mission, heading straight to her desk. He opened the cabinet. Empty. His stomach dropped.
“Kya hua, bhaiya?” Priya asked, barely holding in her smile.
“Huh… kuch nahi,” Ansh muttered, clearly flustered.
“Kuch dhoond rahe ho kya aap?” Vivaan asked innocently.
“Haan… vo… ek tiffin hona chahiye tha yahan,” Ansh said, trying to sound casual. “Dekha kya tum logon ne?”
“Tiffin?” Vivaan shook his head seriously. “Nahi to, yahan to koi tiffin nahi mila.”
“Haan,” Shagun added smoothly. “Humein bhi kuch nahi mila.”
“Mila kya?” Aditi’s voice came from behind. Ansh turned sharply.
Priya looked at Aditi with a knowing glint. “Pata nahi yaar, tune tiffin dekha kya koi yahan pe?”
“Maine nahi dekha,” Aditi said sweetly. “Ye bol rahe hain inhone yahin rakha tha usme-“
“Areeee—” Ansh cut her off instantly, panicked. “Kuch nahi, kuch nahi. Khali tiffin tha bas. Aise hi… Ruhaan ka tha na, isliye pooch raha tha. Koi baat nahi, jaane do.”
He didn’t meet her eyes even once. And before anyone could react, he turned and walked out, shoulders tense, pride barely intact.
The moment he left…
“Jhooth bolne lage hain bhaiya bhi,” Priya said dramatically, pouting. “Tere saath reh reh ke…. Mera tiffin hai vo.”
“Arey chal na,” Aditi laughed, pushing her aside and sitting down. “Hatt abhi.”
“Kis tiffin ki baat ho rahi hai?” Vivaan asked, genuinely confused.
“Vo mera tiffin hai yaar,” Shagun waved it off. “Ruhaan le gaya tha na…tu nahi samjhega, chhod.”
But Aditi wasn’t listening anymore. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her desk, heart full, warm, almost overflowing. She leaned back slightly, a soft, satisfied smile playing on her lips.
Evening had settled in quietly, the kind of calm that usually soothed Ansh but today, it only made the chaos in his head louder.
He sat slouched on his study chair, elbows resting on the desk, eyes unfocused on the open textbooks in front of him. Physics lay abandoned, pages open but unread. His mind was stuck somewhere else. Somewhere between a missing tiffin, a cold “nahi mila,” and the way Aditi had looked straight through him at school.
“Mujhe achhe se yaad hai… I’ve kept it there only,” he whispered to himself, more to convince his own heart than anything else.
He leaned back and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, ruffling it harder in frustration.
“Aise kaise gayab ho gaya yaar…” he muttered, sighing deeply.
Before he could spiral further, a soft knock echoed against his door.
“Khula hua hai,” he said absentmindedly.
The door opened. And just like that, his entire world walked in. Aditi stood there.
For a split second, Ansh froze then sprang up from his chair like a guilty schoolkid caught red-handed. His heart slammed against his ribs.
She stepped inside, her expression unreadable, eyes calm but cold. She closed the door behind her with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than it should have.
His throat went dry.
“H-hii,” he managed. She didn’t respond.
Instead, she walked past him, stopping at his study desk. Her fingers brushed over his open books, flipping a page, scanning lines she clearly wasn’t reading.
“Padhai chal rahi hai?” she asked coolly.
“Haan… vo thoda—” he started, but she cut him off.
“Meri to yaad aati nahi hogi?”
The words hit him straight in the chest.
“Nahi, aisa nahi- I’m really sorry, and I’m guilty, aur mere kuch karne se pehle hi kand ho jaata hai—” he began blurting everything out in one breath, panic spilling over.
She stepped closer and gently but firmly covered his mouth with her hand. The sudden closeness knocked the air out of his lungs.
His brain short-circuited.
Her hand was warm. Her eyes were inches away. His heart started racing so fast it felt like it might give him away. He forgot how to blink.
“Kuch zyada nahi bolne lage aap?” she said softly.
He couldn’t answer. Words refused to come out. She withdrew her hand, studying his flustered face for a second.
“Cheesecake khayenge?” she asked
“Huh?!” Ansh blinked, completely thrown off.
“Khayenge… ya main le jaaun wapas?” she asked again, this time stern, like a warning.
“Haan haan, kha lunga,” he said instantly, nodding a little too fast.
“Khaiye phir,” she said, holding out a tiffin box.
The same tiffin box. His eyes widened. “Ye to—”
“Priya ka lunch hai,” Aditi said pointedly. “Ruhaan bhaiya ka nahi.” Then, with a small huff, “Jhooth bolna bhi seekh rahe ho aap ab.”
He looked down at the box, then back up at her. “You ate the halwa, right?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Hmm… mere Fauji ji ne banaya tha. Main nahi khaungi to bura nahi lagega unko?” she said mock-offended, leaning against his desk, arms crossed.
Relief flooded his face. “Achha bana tha?” he asked quietly.
“Main aapko kyun bataun?” she teased. “Fauji ji ko bataungi.”
A small smile finally tugged at his lips.
“Achha… to Fauji ji ko hi bata do kaise bana tha,” he said, placing the cheesecake aside and stepping closer, bracing his arms on either side of her close, but not touching.
“Hmmm… achha tha,” she said thoughtfully. “Par kaju thode aur daalne chahiye the.”
“Note kar liya,” he said playfully. “Aage se dhyaan rakhunga Isha ji.”
“Haan,” she nodded, then her gaze fell to his hand. “Aur aage se haath bhi nahi jalna chahiye.” He stiffened.
“Ye to bas…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck.
She reached into her bag and pulled out an ointment. “Ye wali cream laga lijiye. Jaldi theek ho jaayega.”
He stared at her, stunned not at the cream, but at the care behind it. Even when she was upset, she noticed. Always.
“As my Isha says,” he said dramatically, accepting it and bowing exaggeratedly like a servant before his queen.
She smiled despite herself. Silence settled between them comfortable, warm.
“So…” he said carefully. “Halwa really worked out for me.”
“Kisne bola?” she replied instantly. “I’m still mad at you.”
His face fell. “Ab kyun I’m really sorry, Isha yaar…”
“Pehle cheesecake khaiye,” she ordered.
He obeyed. Opening the box, the rich chocolatey aroma filled the room. A whole cheesecake sat inside.
“Tumne banaya?” he asked.
She nodded, suddenly nervous. He took a bite. Chocochips crunched softly under his teeth.
“Kaisa bana hai?” she asked, eyes hopeful.
“Very tasty,” he said honestly, taking another bite.
“Sach mein?” she smiled. “Mujhe bhi taste karaaiye.”
“Nahi, tum mat khao,” he said quickly.
“Aree…. itna kya lalchi ho rahe hain aap?” she laughed. “Dubara bana dungi. Taste to karne dijiye.”
She managed to take a bite despite him trying to stop her. Her expression changed quickly.
“Texture theek nahi hai,” she said slowly. “Aur… thoda kadwa bhi. vineger ka taste nhi gaya poori tarah se”
He immediately grabbed a glass of water and handed it to her. “Ye lo.”
She drank, then looked at the box sadly.
“It’s okay,” he said, taking another bite. “Main kha lunga.”
“Nahi, mat khaiye,” she said quietly, taking the box back.
He noticed the disappointment in her voice instantly.
“It’s fine, Isha,” he said gently, taking it back. “Maine isse bhi bura khaya hai.”
“But I wanted to make the best for you,” she admitted, eyes downcast. “I thought ki main bhi chocochips daal ke banaungi to apko kritika ke cakes jaisa taste ayega inme but chocochipsa dalne main maine theek se texture pe dhyaan hi nhi diya” “
That was it. Ansh stood up and cupped her cheeks, lifting her face so she had to look at him.
“Listen to me,” he said softly but firmly. “Tum jaisi ho… jo ho… I want that only. I love my Isha no matter what. Tumhe perfect hone ki koi zarurat nahi hai. I like the messier version of you more.”
She blinked, eyes shimmering.
“Aur rahi baat cheesecakes ki,” he continued, forehead resting lightly against hers, “to main aaj ke baad sirf tumhare haath ke khaunga. Kadwe ho, teekhe ho, tasteless ho…jo bhi ho. Sirf meri Isha ke banaye hue.”
“But you love the ones Kritika makes,” she whispered.
“That’s rubbish,” he scoffed gently. “Ruhaan bas bakwaas karta hai. Tum jaanti ho use.”
She nodded.
“And I’m really sorry,” he said sincerely. ” I shoudl’nt have mentioned anything related to kritika, I never wanted to make you feel insecure or less…she is no one to me but you are my world to me. i’m really sorry it was all my fault “.”
She smiled faintly. “nhi apki galti nhi hai…you were honest with your reviews, main hi kuch jyada jaldi jaleous ho jaati hu”
“Achha hai,” he teased softly. “Mujhe pata chal jaata hai where I’m not supposed to be present.”
She laughed and hugged him tightly.
“Itne achhe kaise ho aap?” she murmured.
He kissed the top of her head gently.
tumhare sath bura banne ka mann hi nhi karta” he said fondly.
Ansh tilted his head slightly, watching Aditi with narrowed eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips soft, curious, almost suspicious.
“Vaise…” he began casually, as if the question hadn’t been bothering him since morning, “why did you lie to me that you didn’t find the box under your desk in school?”
Aditi looked up at him. For a second, she stayed quiet then a slow, wicked smirk spread across her face. The kind that instantly put him on alert.
“Vo?” she said lightly. “Aapki tang kheenchne mein maza aata hai.”
Before he could react, she reached up, ruffled his hair messily, laughing out loud and bolted toward the door.
“ISHA–” he exclaimed, half-laughing, half-offended.
She was almost out. Almost.
He caught her wrist just in time and pulled her back with sudden force. She let out a surprised gasp as she lost balance and stumbled backward straight into his arms.
Her hands hit his chest. He wrapped an arm around her instinctively, steadying her. The air shifted.
“Achha ji…” he murmured, leaning closer, his face inches from hers now, voice low and teasing. “Meri tang kheenchne mein maza aata hai aapko?”
Aditi’s breath hitched but she didn’t back away.
“Hmmm,” she said, giggling softly, her hands resting against his chest. “Bohot maza aata hai.”
His eyes darkened with mischief.
“Main bhi kheenchu tang tumhari?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
Her eyes widened dramatically. “Nahi kheench paayenge aap.”
She twisted free from his grip in one swift move, stuck her tongue out at him playfully, and jumped onto his bed, laughing. “Pakad ke to dikhaiye pehle!”
She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him.
Ansh ducked just in time, the pillow flying past his head. he laughed, grabbing another pillow and advancing toward her.
She squealed, scrambling backward on the bed, throwing pillows at him wildly. Feathers puffed up slightly in the air as they laughed, dodged, and missed pure chaos, pure joy.
And then, Ansh’s foot caught in the blanket.
“Whoa—!” He lost balance. Time slowed. He tripped forward and fell straight onto the bed— Onto Aditi. The pillows slid away. Laughter vanished.
Aditi lay beneath him, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. Ansh had instinctively braced himself on his arms but they were too close.
Too close. His body hovered over hers, caging her in. Their legs were tangled, breaths uneven, faces just centimeters apart.Neither moved. Neither breathed properly. Ansh’s heart thundered so loudly he was sure she could hear it.
Aditi blinked once… twice… her cheeks burning, lips slightly parted, eyes locked with his.
His gaze dropped for half a second to her lips…then snapped back to her eyes, as if scared of his own thoughts.
Their breaths mingled. The room felt smaller. Warmer. Charged.
And then…
“ANSHHHHH!”
They jolted apart like they’d been struck by lightning.
“Kya ho raha hai room mein tere?” Kiran’s voice echoed from outside. “Itni awaazein kyun aa rahi hain?!”
Ansh shot up instantly, standing ramrod straight. Aditi scrambled up too, fixing her hair, eyes darting everywhere except at him.
“K-kuch nahi, mammy!” Ansh shouted back, voice cracking just a little. “cockroch aa gaya tha! Ussi ko bhaga raha tha!”
There was silence. A long one. Then footsteps faded. Aditi exhaled shakily.
“M… main jaati hoon,” she said quickly, avoiding his eyes. “Priya wait kar rahi hogi.”
“Haan—haan,” he nodded too fast. “Jao.”
She slipped out of the room in a hurry, heart racing. The door closed. Ansh stood frozen for two full seconds.
Then he collapsed backward onto his bed with a groan, burying his face into his pillow.
“Tu pagal hai kyaaa,” he muttered furiously to himself. “What were you doinggggg.”
His ears burned as the image replayed in his mind, her eyes, her breath, how close they were. He groaned again, pressing the pillow harder against his face.
Outside the room, Aditi leaned against the wall for a moment, hand pressed to her chest, smiling like an idiot.
The school corridor was unusually noisy during recess lockers slamming, students laughing, teachers shouting reminders but Vivaan barely noticed any of it.
He was leaning near the water cooler, pretending to fill his waterbottle, when a familiar name made his ears perk up.
“…bro I’m telling you, Shivank is such a player,” one boy said in a low voice.
Vivaan’s hands froze on the bottle.
“Obviously,” another replied. “Har mahine nayi ladki. Abhi Trisha ke saath tha na? usse pehle diksha aur ab pta nhi konsi nayi ladhki ke sath hai.”
Vivaan subtly shifted closer, keeping his face neutral.
“Trisha toh legit serious thi bhai uske liye,” a third voice added. “Poor girl. Shivank ne full timepass kiya uske saath.”
“Timepass?” the first boy scoffed. “Bhai, he plays with girls like it’s a game. Sweet banega, protective banega, phir jab bore ho gaya, boom, next target.”
Vivaan felt something twist in his chest. Trisha. Ex-girlfriend. Player. He inhaled slowly, then decided to step in.
“Arre Shivank?” Vivaan said casually, finally looking up from his phone. “Wohi Shivank jo basketball team mein hai?”
The boys turned toward him, surprised but not defensive.
“Haan haan wahi,” one of them nodded. “Tum usko jaante ho?”
“Nahi Bas naam suna hai,” Vivaan shrugged, leaning against the wall like he didn’t care. “Par itna bhi bura nahi hoga yaar. Log exaggerate kar dete hain.”
They laughed.
“Exaggerate?” one of them said. “Bhai, Trisha ko dekhna tha breakup ke baad. Bechari roti phirti thi last year.”
“Usne khud bola tha,” another added. “Shivank ne kaha tha he ‘needed space’… aur agle hafte nayi ladki ke saath canteen mein baitha tha.”
Vivaan clenched his jaw…barely.
“Oh,” he said lightly. “Toh Trisha ne khud bola?”
“Haan,” the boy nodded. “Same section thi mere sath. Sabko pata hai.”
Vivaan nodded slowly, absorbing every word, every expression, every detail.
“Interesting,” he muttered.
“Kya?” one of them asked.
“Kuch nahi,” Vivaan smiled faintly. “Bas soch raha hoon… log dikhte kuch aur hain aur karte kuch aur hain.”
The bell rang, cutting the conversation short. The boys grabbed their bags and walked off, still gossiping.
Vivaan stayed back. His expression changed the moment they were gone. This wasn’t just random gossip. Too many names. Too many patterns.
But still, Rumors weren’t proof. Riva deserved facts, not half-baked stories. Vivaan straightened up, slipping his phone into his pocket.
“Shivank,” he murmured under his breath. “tu to gaya beta ab”
The school ground buzzed with restless energy as students lined up class-wise for the special assembly. Whispers travelled faster than the breeze, ties were being adjusted, shoes shuffled against the concrete, and teachers stood at their posts trying to maintain order.
At the front, the stage was neatly arranged. The school emblem gleamed under the morning sun. Soon, the microphone crackled to life.
“Attention, please.”
The murmurs slowly died down as the Principal stepped forward, her calm but commanding presence instantly demanding silence.
“Good morning, students.”
“Good morning, ma’am,” the entire school echoed in unison.
She smiled softly before continuing. “Today’s assembly is special not just to acknowledge the efforts of our student council, but also to announce an important transition for the upcoming academic session.”
A ripple of curiosity passed through the students. Her gaze shifted toward the front row where Ansh and Dipti stood straight, composed, and dignified in their blazers.
“I would first like to appreciate our current Head Boy, Ansh, and Head Girl, Dipti,” the Principal said, her voice warm with pride. “This year, they have shown exceptional dedication, leadership, and responsibility toward the school.”
A round of applause erupted across the ground. Ansh gave a small nod, his expression modest yet proud. Dipti smiled gracefully, hands folded behind her back.
“Whether it was managing events, handling student concerns, or representing the school externally,” the Principal continued, “they have upheld the values of discipline, teamwork, and integrity.”
The applause grew louder. As it settled, the Principal’s tone shifted more formal now.
“With the current academic year coming to an end, it is time to begin the process of selecting the next Head Boy and Head Girl for the upcoming session.”
Instantly, the ground was filled with hushed excitement. Class 12 students exchanged looks. Some straightened unconsciously. Some smiled. Some grew thoughtful.
“This responsibility,” she said firmly, “will be given only to students who demonstrate leadership, confidence, accountability, and the ability to represent the school with dignity.”
She paused, letting the words sink in.
“All students of Class 11 who are going to enter in 12th, who believe they possess these qualities may step forward and prepare themselves.”
Aditi, standing among her classmates, felt her heart skip slightly.
“phir se voting wala drama hoga yarr” aditi wisperred sulkingly.
“maza ayega…tujhe election main khada karvayenge ham” Priya said glancing at her instinctively with mischieve.
“tu bhi bhaiya ki tarah majdoori karegi phir”Shagun laughed and raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“You will be given one week,” the Principal continued, “to prepare. During this time, you may interact with students, present your ideas, and reflect on how you wish to contribute to the school.” She lifted a sheet slightly.
“At the end of this week, a voting process will be conducted. The choice will lie with the students and the faculty.”
A low murmur spread through the assembly.
“One week,” someone whispered.
“This is serious,” another muttered.
Ansh, still standing near the stage, felt dozens of eyes on him not as the current Head Boy, but as the standard everyone would now be measured against.
“Remember,” the Principal added, her voice firm yet encouraging, “leadership is not about popularity. It is about responsibility.”
She smiled once more. “I wish all aspiring candidates the very best.” The assembly concluded with applause, but the energy lingered.
The bell rang sharply, signalling the end of the previous period. The classroom buzzed with low chatter everyone was still talking about the special assembly and the announcement that had shaken Class 11 more than any surprise test ever could.
Head Boy. Head Girl. One week.
Aditi sat at her desk, chin resting lightly on her palm, eyes unfocused as her mind replayed the Principal’s words. She hadn’t even realised she was fidgeting with her pen until Shagun leaned closer.
“Tu kuch zyada hi shant lag rahi hai,” Shagun whispered.
“Bas soch rahi hoon,” Aditi replied vaguely.
Before Shagun could say anything more, the classroom door opened.
Instant silence.
Ansh walked in first, posture straight, expression calm and composed very Head Boy coded. Dipti followed beside him, holding a clipboard, her presence equally commanding yet warm.
“Good morning ma’am,” Ansh greeted respectfully.
“Good morning,” the teacher replied, smiling. “Class, settle down.”
Ansh turned to face the class. “As you all know, today the process for selecting candidates for the next Head Boy and Head Girl has officially begun.”
Dipti stepped forward, voice clear. “We’re here to take the names of students who are interested in standing for the position.”
The room stirred. Some students exchanged glances. Some sat straighter. Some suddenly found their notebooks very interesting.
“We’ll be noting down names today,” Dipti continued, “so think carefully before volunteering.”
A brief pause. Then….
“Charu.”
The name echoed confidently through the room. Charu stood up smoothly, a practiced smile on her face, chin lifted as if she had already claimed the title.
“I would like to apply for Head Girl,” she said, loud and assured.
A few students nodded. A few rolled their eyes.Aditi stiffened.
From behind her, Vivaan leaned forward instantly. “Absolutely not.”
Shagun turned to Aditi with horror-struck eyes. “Tu samajh rahi hai na agar Charu Head Girl bani toh hum sab barbaad.”
Priya didn’t even bother lowering her voice. “Main ek din bhi survive nahi kar paungi uske under.”
Aditi sighed quietly. “Guys—”
“NO,” Vivaan cut in. “You are giving your name.”
Aditi turned. “Excuse me?”
Shagun grabbed her arm dramatically. “Hum Charu ka reign of terror nahi jhel sakte.”
Priya nodded furiously. “Tu nahi bani toh woh ban jayegi. Choice samajh rahi hai?”
Aditi opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, the teacher’s voice cut through.
“Aditi.”
She looked up, startled. “Yes, ma’am?”
The teacher smiled encouragingly. “You’ve always been responsible, sincere, and approachable. I think you should consider giving your name.”
The class went quiet. Aditi felt every pair of eyes turn toward her. Her heart began to race. She glanced briefly toward Ansh.
He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t pressuring her. But there was something steady in his gaze belief. Silent confidence.
Charu scoffed lightly, crossing her arms. Aditi swallowed.
“Ma’am…” she hesitated, fingers curling into her blazer. “I’m not sure if—”
“Leadership isn’t about being sure,” the teacher said gently. “It’s about being willing.”
Behind her, Vivaan whispered urgently, “Bol de warna main khud bol dunga.”
Shagun added, “Please.”
Priya pressed her palms together dramatically. “School aur dosti dono ke liye.”
Aditi exhaled slowly. She stood up.
“I… I would like to give my name as well,” she said, voice soft but clear. For a second, there was silence.
Dipti smiled and wrote her name down. “Aditi,” she repeated, nodding.
Ansh glanced up from the list briefly just once and the corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly. Charu’s expression hardened.
Aditi sat back down, heart pounding, hands trembling just a little.
Priya squeezed her hand.
“Now let the real competition begin.”
And Aditi, still trying to steady her breathing, realised one thing very clearly, She had just stepped into something much bigger than she’d planned.
Aditi’s room looked like the aftermath of a mild storm.
Her bed was messy, books lay open but unread, notes scattered across the study table, and Aditi herself was pacing from one corner of the room to the other like a ticking clock about to explode.
“Main stage pe kaise bolungi?” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair.”Pure school ke saamne… microphones… sab log dekh rahe honge… Principal… teachers… aur agar main blank ho gayi toh?”
She stopped suddenly, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
“What if I mess it up?” her voice cracked. “What if I forget my points? What if I embarrass myself?”
“Aditi, saans,” Shagun said firmly, grabbing her shoulders. “Pehele saans le.”
Riva, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed, tilted her head. “Aap to aise ghoom rahi ho jaise execution ke liye ja rahi ho.”
“Ye execution se kam nahi hai,” Aditi groaned. “Speech deni hai Riva. Speech. On stage. In front of the whole school.”
Priya closed her notebook dramatically. “Okay first of all stop overthinking.”
Vivaan, leaning against the door with folded arms, snorted. “And second of all….Charu.”
That one word changed the air. Aditi froze.
“Bas,” Vivaan continued. “Ab imagine kar Charu on stage.”
Shagun shuddered. “Woh apni awaaz mein hi aadha school torture kar degi.”
Riva made a face. “She’ll turn it into a fashion show + self-praise session.”
Priya nodded gravely. “And phir woh Head Girl ban jaayegi.”
Aditi’s panic was slowly being replaced by dread.
“No,” she whispered. “That… cannot happen.”
“Exactly,” Shagun said, pointing at her. “Losing to Charu is not an option.”
Aditi dropped onto her bed with a frustrated sigh. “But I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never spoken on stage like this. Ideas toh hain…but bolna… present karna… confidence—”
Vivaan straightened. “Toh help lele na.”
“Help?” Aditi looked up.
Riva’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Ansh bhaiya kis kaam ayenge?”
The room went suspiciously quiet.
Aditi blinked. “heinn!”
Priya raised her eyebrows. “Head Boy. Ex-Head Boy guidance. Obvious choice.”
Shagun grinned. “And bhaiya tujhe to kabhi mana hi nhi karte kisi bhi cheez ke liye….upar se head boy ki headgirl bnn jayegi tu….to kya mast troop bnega nayiii”
“Shagun,” Aditi warned, cheeks warming.
Vivaan shrugged. “Dekh, He’s good at this stuff. Leadership, speeches, structure…sab aata hai unko, he’ll guide you perfectly aur speach to kya kaidi dete hai vo….”
Aditi hugged a pillow to her chest, conflicted. “But what if I bother him? What if he thinks I’m incapable? aisi choti choti cheezo ke liye i can’t bother him”
Riva leaned forward, voice soft but firm. “He won’t.”
Shagun nodded.
“Woh khud tujhse zyada tujh par bharosa kartein hai.”
Priya smiled gently.
“And honestly? Agar Charu ke against jeetna hai na…to tujhe best version banna hoga apna.”
Vivaan added bluntly,
“Aur Ansh bhiya tujhe best bana sakta hai.”
Aditi looked down, chewing on her lip.
She imagined standing on stage her voice steady, thoughts clear, confidence intact. And then she imagined Ansh standing somewhere in the crowd, watching her not worried, not panicked just… proud.
Her grip on the pillow tightened.
“Okay,” she said softly.
All four heads snapped toward her.
“I’ll take his help.”
Ansh’s room felt different today. Not because it had changed but because Aditi was in it.
She sat on the edge of his bed, her notebook open on her lap, pages filled with hurried handwriting, arrows, cut lines, rewritten points. The evening sunlight filtered in through the half-open curtains, painting the room in warm gold, and Ansh sat on the chair opposite her, elbows resting on his knees, fully focused on her words like nothing else in the world existed.
“Okay, start from the beginning,” he said gently. “Slow. Don’t rush.”
Aditi inhaled, straightened her back, and began.
“Good morning respected Principal, teachers, and my fellow students—”
She faltered for half a second.
Ansh raised his hand slightly, not stopping her, just signaling calm. “Continue.”
She did. As she spoke, her voice was soft at first, hesitant, but every sentence she finished gave her a little more confidence. She talked about discipline, about inclusivity, about making students feel heard not just toppers, but everyone.
Ansh listened like it mattered. Like every word mattered.
“Pause,” he said after a while, standing up and walking toward her. He crouched in front of her so they were at eye level. “This part, don’t apologize here. You don’t need to say ‘I may not be the best.'”
“But what if—”
“No,” he cut in gently, shaking his head. “Never doubt yourself on stage. Confidence first. Honesty comes later.”
He took the pen from her hand and flipped the notebook toward himself, scribbling a few changes. Aditi watched him quietly how his brows furrowed in concentration, how his pen moved decisively, how calm he looked doing something he was so good at.
“You see,” he explained, tapping the page, “instead of saying what you lack, talk about what you bring. People don’t vote for hesitation.”
She nodded, but her eyes never left his face. When he handed the notebook back, she didn’t immediately look down.
She just… stared at him.
At the way the light caught his features. At the faint seriousness in his eyes. At how effortlessly he had stepped into this role for her without making her feel small even once.
“School main mere alawa bhi sab log honge,” Ansh said suddenly, glancing up with a knowing smile, “aise dekhna band karo.”
Aditi blinked, startled. “Kya?”
He leaned back slightly, teasing but affectionate. “Practice pe focus karo. You have to win.”
Her cheeks flushed instantly. “I wasn’t—”
He smiled softer now, the teasing fading. “I know. But abhi tumhari speech zyada important hai.”
She laughed quietly, embarrassed, and looked back at the notebook. “Okay… sorry.”
She started again, this time more confident. She stood up, pacing a little as she spoke, trying to imagine the stage, the crowd, the microphones. But halfway through, her voice wavered.
“What if I forget this point?” she said suddenly, panic creeping back in. “What if Charu speaks better? What if—”
Ansh was on his feet in a second. He reached out, gently catching her wrist, grounding her before the spiral could begin. “Isha.”
She looked up at him.
“Look at me,” he said softly. She did.
“You’re not Charu,” he said calmly. “And thank God for that.”
A small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
“You care,” he continued. “You actually think about students, about school. That’s your strength. And if you forget one line…so what? Speak from here.” He tapped lightly over her heart. “That never goes blank.”
“But stage frightness—”
“—is normal,” he finished. “Even I had it.”
Her eyes widened. “You?”
“Haan,” he chuckled. “Believe it or not, Head Boy bhi darr ke saath hi banta hai.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “And tum akeli nahi ho. I’m right here.”
Something in his tone, steady, sure made her shoulders relax.
“You trust me na?” he asked.
She nodded without hesitation. “More than anyone.”
“Then trust this too,” he said. “You can do it.”
There was a quiet moment between them. Not awkward. Just full.
Aditi reached out and held his hand, fingers curling into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For not making me feel stupid.”
Ansh’s expression softened completely. “You could never look stupid to me.”
He squeezed her hand gently, then let go, gesturing toward the notebook again. “Now. Once more. From the part about student councils.”
She smiled smaller, steadier this time and began again. And this time, when she spoke, her voice didn’t shake.
Ansh watched her with quiet pride, correcting her here and there, guiding her tone, adjusting her pacing but mostly just letting her shine.
Because somewhere between nervous pacing and rewritten lines, between encouragement and stolen glances, Aditi wasn’t just practicing a speech anymore. She was becoming someone who believed she deserved to be heard.
And Ansh without even realizing it was helping her become that person
Aditi finished the last line and stopped. For a second, the room stayed quiet.
Ansh didn’t interrupt. He didn’t correct her. He didn’t even move. He just looked at her properly this time with an expression that wasn’t teasing or soft or playful. It was proud.
“That,” he said finally, standing up straight, “was perfect.”
Aditi blinked. “Sach main?”
“Bilkul,” he replied seriously. “Clear thoughts, steady voice, no unnecessary fillers. Agar tum aise boli na stage pe” he paused, then added with conviction, “people will listen.”
Her shoulders dropped in relief, a smile spreading across her face. “I did it?”
“You did,” he nodded. “And you’ll do it again on stage.”
Then his tone shifted slightly gentler, more thoughtful.
“Ek last advice,” he said. “Stage pe jaake sirf apni speech pe focus karna. Don’t care about who’s looking at you. Eyes, whispers, reactions nothing matters except your words.” Aditi tilted her head, pretending to think very hard.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “But what if I see you there?”
Ansh raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
She stepped closer, grinning. “Haan. How am I supposed to unsee you?”
Before he could react, she reached up and ruffled his hair messily, laughing.
“There,” she said smugly. “Distraction.”
For half a second, Ansh froze. Then unexpectedly he smiled. Not embarrassed. Not annoyed. Just… soft.
He bent down slightly so his face was closer to hers, eyes amused. “Ek baar aur.”
Aditi’s eyes widened. “Kya?”
“Ruffle again,” he said, tilting his head forward a little. “Properly.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Aapko to bilkul pasand nahi tha na jab koi baal touch karta tha?”
He looked at her then said quietly, “Tum karti ho to achha lagta hai.”
Something fluttered hard in Aditi’s chest. She reached up again, this time slower, gentler, fingers sliding through his hair. Ansh closed his eyes for a brief second, like he was memorizing the feeling.
When she pulled her hand back, both of them were smiling small, private smiles meant only for each other.
“See?” she said softly. “Ab main stage pe bhi distract ho jaungi.”
Ansh chuckled, straightening up. “Toh phir bas mujhe ignore karna.”
She shook her head. “Impossible.”
The market was unusually crowded for a winter evening yellow lights glowing, vendors packing up, the cold creeping in quietly. Vivaan had his hands in his hoodie pockets as he walked, head down, mind busy with random thoughts.
That’s when he saw Riva.
She was standing near a closed shop, arms folded tightly around herself, phone in hand. Her shoulders were stiff, like she’d been standing there for far too long. The cold wind brushed past, and she shivered.
Vivaan slowed.
Why is she here?
And alone?
Concern hit him before logic could stop it. He turned back and walked toward her.
“Riva?” he called out.
She looked up, startled. “Vivaan?”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyes instinctively scanning around. “It’s late and freezing.”
She hesitated, then said casually, “I’m waiting for Shivank.”
That single name made his stomach drop.
“Waiting… here?” he asked carefully.
“Haan,” she nodded. “He said he’d come.”
Vivaan checked the time on his phone. “Since when?”
“Umm… around one and a half hours,” she said, attempting a small smile. “Traffic hoga shayad.”
One and a half hours. In this cold.
His jaw tightened. “Have you tried calling him?”
She nodded and dialed again, putting the phone on speaker. It rang. Once. Twice.No answer.She tried again.Still nothing.
Vivaan exhaled sharply, irritation and worry tangling inside him. “He hasn’t picked up even once?”
She shook her head. “Maybe phone silent pe hoga.”
Vivaan didn’t reply. He just stepped closer, positioning himself slightly in front of her blocking the wind without even realizing it.
“I’m not leaving,” he said finally.
She looked at him. “why?”
“I’ll wait,” he repeated. “Jab tak woh aata nahi.”
“Vivaan-“
“Riva,” he cut in, softer but firm. “Tum yahan akele nahi ruko gi.”
She sighed, clearly conflicted, but didn’t argue further.
Minutes passed. Then more. Vivaan’s irritation grew with every passing second.Finally, a bike pulled up near them.Vivaan recognized it instantly. Shivank.
He removed his helmet casually, like nothing was wrong.
Riva’s face lit up with relief. “Shivank! Finally—”
“Do you have any idea how long she’s been standing here?” Vivaan snapped before she could finish.
Shivank frowned. “Tum yaha kya kar rhe ho and chill bro!”
Vivaan stepped forward. “do you even have a bit of sincerity towards th time and weather aise koi wait karvata hai kisiko?”
Shivank scoffed. “Relax, yaar. Aagaya na main.”
“poore 2 ghante late,” Vivaan shot back. “Calls ignore karke.”
“Busy tha,” Shivank replied dismissively.
“Busy?” Vivaan laughed bitterly. “Tujhe pata bhi hai she was shivering..”
“Bas!” Riva interrupted sharply, stepping between them. “Enough. Dono.”
She looked at Vivaan first, eyes pleading. “Please… tum jao.”
Vivaan froze. “Riva—”
“I’ll handle this,” she said quietly. “Please.”
Something cracked inside him. He wanted to argue. Wanted to stay. Wanted to protect her. But instead, he nodded.
“Fine,” he muttered.
He turned, walking away before either of them could see his face. The cold felt harsher now. With every step, the truth settled heavier in his chest. The realization hit him hard clear and undeniable.
He clenched his fists, jaw tight, eyes burning. And for the first time, he didn’t curse Shivank. He cursed himself.
The school assembly ground buzzed with restless energy that morning. Rows of students stood neatly in their houses, but no one was really standing still. Whispers floated in the air, nervous glances were exchanged, and eyes kept drifting toward the stage.
Aditi stood in the front row, fingers tightly clasped, heart thumping so loudly she was sure the people beside her could hear it.
Ansh stood a little behind with Prateek and Ruhaan.
“Relax,” Ruhaan murmured. “Jeet jayegi vo”
Ansh didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Aditi calm on the outside, chaos on the inside. He knew how much this meant to her.
The principal stepped up to the mic.
“Good morning, students.”
The chatter died instantly.
“After a week of campaigning, speeches, and voting, it is time to announce the new student council for the upcoming academic year.”
Aditi swallowed.
“For Head Girl—”
A pause.
“—Aditi Mishra from class 11th F.”
For a second, everything went silent inside her head. Then the ground erupted. Cheers. Claps. Whistles.
Priya gasped loudly. “ADITIIII!”
Shagun grabbed her arm. “OH MY GOD YOU WON!”
Vivaan froze, then broke into the widest grin. “Mujhe to pehle se hi pta tha”
Ansh closed his eyes briefly, a soft smile forming pride flooding his chest. Prateek patted his shoulder while Ruhaan smirked. “Told you.”
Aditi walked up to the stage, legs trembling but chin lifted. As the badge was pinned onto her blazer, she glanced down for just a second.
Her eyes met Ansh’s. He nodded once, eyes warm.”You did it.”
The principal continued, “And for Head Boy…Daksh Malhotra from class 11th C.”
More applause followed as Daksh joined her on stage, grinning confidently. After the formalities, the mic was handed to Aditi. She took a breath.
“Good morning everyone,” she began, voice steady despite the storm inside. “Thank you for trusting me. I promise to work for a better, more inclusive school environment.”
Applause followed again.
“Now,” she continued, a small smile playing on her lips, “I’ll be announcing the Vice Captains and House Incharges. The names have been drawn from a bowl of volunteers.”
She picked up the bowl. Aditi unfolded the first chit.
“Vice Head Girl—Shagun Shrivastav from class 11th F.”
Shagun’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?!”
The next chit.
“Discipline Incharge—Riva Mishra fromm class 11th A.”
Riva blinked, stunned. Vivaan slowly turned toward her. “Wait… tu bhi—?”
Another chit.
“Cultural Head incharge—Priya Singhania from class 11th F.”
Priya looked like she might faint. “Maine kab name diya?!”
Aditi didn’t stop.
“Red House Captain—Vivaan Singhania fromm Class 11th F.”
Vivaan’s mouth fell open.
“EXCUSE ME?”
Laughter rippled through the assembly. She continued smoothly.
“Yellow House Captain—Aarav Khanna from class 11th B.”
“Green House Captain—Mehak Joshi. from class 11th E”
“Blue House Captain—Kabir Singh. from class 11 D”
“And other student council members will be announced later.”
The assembly ended in applause and excited chatter. The moment they were dismissed, the group surrounded Aditi.
“TU PAGAL HAI KYA?!” Shagun whispered-shouted. “Maine form bhara hi nahi!”
“Same!” Priya added. “Mujhe dance aur events se hi time nahi milta—”
Riva crossed her arms. “didi ye aapne kiya na. Explain.”
Vivaan narrowed his eyes. “Mera naam kisne diya?”
Aditi looked at all of them, completely unbothered.”Maine.”
All of them together:
“TUNE?!”
She shrugged innocently. “Obviously. Akele majdoori thodi karungi.”
They stared at her.
She smiled wider.”Tum log meri team ho. Aur mujhe pata tha jab naam niklenge, mana karne ka option nahi hoga.”
Shagun groaned. “You planned this it’s unfair.”
“Very strategically,” Aditi nodded.
Vivaan sighed, then smirked. “Head Girl ban ke power misuse ho rahi hai.”
Priya laughed despite herself. “Par honestly… proud of you.”
Riva softened, a small smile appearing. “Fine. We’ll do it. Together.”
From a distance, Ansh watched her laughing, leading, glowing.
Ruhaan nudged him. “Aditi tak to theek tha ye sab bhi rahege sath main?”
“bhawaan bharose hai ab to student council” prateek said in despair.
Time moved fast too fast.
For Ansh, Prateek, and Ruhaan, the corridors that once felt endless were now counting down their last days. Class 12th was nearing its end, boards around the corner, farewells waiting at the edge of time. The weight of leaving hung quietly in the air, even on days that felt normal.
That afternoon, their classroom was unusually loud boys half-pretending to study, half-living in denial.
The door opened. Instantly, the room shifted.
Aditi walked in, blazer crisp, badge of Head Girl pinned neatly, Daksh beside her. There was something different about her now still the same Aditi, but steadier, surer. Someone who belonged at the front of the room.
The class erupted.
The teacher cleared her throat sharply. “Silence. Sit down.”
The noise dimmed, but the excitement stayed. Aditi smiled politely and stepped forward.
“Good afternoon everyone. We’re here to officially announce the Farewell Ceremony for Class 12th, to be organised by Class 11th students.”
The class burst again.
“FINALLY!”
“Last party of school life!”
“Full DJ hona chahiye!”
The teacher raised her hand. “Enough. Let her finish.”
Aditi continued calmly, explaining the date, theme, and basic instructions. Ansh watched her from his bench, chin resting on his hand quiet pride warming his chest.
Then…A voice from the back.
“Aditi ma’am…”
The tone wasn’t respectful.
“Farewell mein aap dance karogi na?” A few boys snickered. “Head Girl ka special performance toh banta hai.”
The air changed. Ansh’s smile vanished instantly. Prateek straightened. Ruhaan’s jaw clenched.
“Shut up,” Ansh snapped under his breath, already standing halfway.
“Zyada nhi khul raha muh tera?,” Prateek muttered, eyes dark.
Ruhaan turned fully. “Limit mein reh, samjha?”
Before any of them could say more, Aditi raised her hand calm, controlled.
“Excuse me.”
The room went silent. She turned toward the boy, expression composed but eyes sharp.
“Farewell performances are decided by the organising committee,” she said evenly. “And dance is not something anyone is entitled to ask for…especially like that.”
A pause.
“If you’re interested in performing,” she continued, voice firm, “you can give your name respectfully. Otherwise, comments like these reflect more on your upbringing than my role.”
The boy opened his mouth, Then closed it. The class was dead silent. Even the teacher looked impressed.
Aditi glanced once around the room. “Any other questions related to farewell?” No one spoke.
“Good,” she said, nodding slightly. “Details will be shared soon. Thank you.”
She turned and walked out with Daksh, back straight, dignity intact. Ansh exhaled slowly.
Ruhaan leaned back, whistling quietly. “She handled that like a pro.”
Prateek smirked. “aaj to lash milni thi iski yaha shukar hai time rehte chup hogya”
The moment the door closed, Ansh stood up fully and turned toward the boys at the back.
“Dobara,” he said calmly, voice low but dangerous, “agar kisi bhi ladki se aise baat ki especially her “
Prateek cut in smoothly.” toh yaad rakhna, hum abhi bhi prefects aur ex-council members hain.”
Ruhaan added, smiling without humor, “Admit cards delay karwana aaj bhi humare liye mushkil kaam nahi hai.”
The boys swallowed.
“Samajh aa gaya?” Ansh asked. They nodded quickly.
“Good,” Ansh said. “Ab padhai pe dhyaan do.”
The school no longer felt like school.
It felt like a buzzing beehive corridors echoing with music tests, paper decorations taped everywhere, teachers half-scolding and half-smiling, and students pretending to work while fully living the farewell fever.
The auditorium was chaos in the best way possible.
Aditi stood near the stage, clipboard in hand, hair tied up in a messy ponytail, eyes scanning every corner like a commander on duty.
“Lights check ho gaye?” she asked.
“Yes, didil!” a junior replied nervously.
“And the backdrop?”
“Almost done.”
She nodded, scribbling something down. There was no trace of nervousness now only focus. Responsibility sat on her shoulders effortlessly.
A little distance away, Ruhaan was very visibly not in his class. He leaned against a pillar beside Shagun, holding a bunch of fairy lights.
“lights theek se pakdo,” Shagun said, standing on a chair.
Ruhaan smirked. “theek hai pakdi to hui hai….tumhe bhi pakad leta hu aao”
Shagun shot him a look. “shut up ruhaan…we are in school”
“ab to main chala jaunga phir to koi tease bhi nhi karega tumhe” he replied innocently, plugging in the lights.
She laughed despite herself. “achha hai na…sukoon se masti to kar paungi main”
“hawww…dhoka mila mujhe” he said dramatically.
She froze for half a second then shoved him lightly. “Drama band karo apna aur kaam karo.”
Across the corridor, the arts room looked like a tornado of glitter, charts, paint, and ribbons.
Priya sat on the floor sorting posters while Prateek carefully taped a huge “FAREWELL 2026” board.
“Straight lagana,” Priya instructed.
“I know ma’am,” Prateek replied, squinting. “Perfect hona chahiye. “
She smiled. “isiliye to apko bulaya tha.”
He paused, looked at her, then grinned. “seedha bolo mere bina mann nhi lgta tumhara.”
She rolled her eyes but her cheeks pinked.
Outside, near the house boards, Vivaan stood with hands on hips, pure authority mode on.
“Red house, kya decoration hai ye?” he snapped. “Straight lagao yrr!!”
A junior groaned. “Bhaiya, hum try kar rahe—”
try karne se kuch nhi hoga….properly karo sab kuch” vivaan scolded the poor kids again.
And then there was Ansh. Standing at the far end of the auditorium. Watching Daksh stood beside Aditi, leaning slightly closer as they discussed the stage layout.
“Backdrop thoda left shift karna hoga,” Daksh said. “And podium center mein hona chahiye.”
Aditi nodded. “Hmm… makes sense.”
Daksh smiled. “You’ve really handled everything well, Aditi.”
Ansh’s jaw tightened. He walked toward the stage, steps sharp. Without slowing, he bumped into Daksh’s shoulder.
“Watch it,” Ansh said curtly.
Daksh stumbled back slightly. “S-sorry bhaiya”
Ansh looked at the stage, then at Daksh.
“Stage decor ke dimensions galat hain,” he said sternly. “Discussion kam, kaam zyada karo. You’re the Head Boy, Farewell hai tumhara gossip session nahi.”
The silence was loud.
Daksh swallowed. “Sorry… I’ll focus.”
He stepped away immediately. Aditi turned slowly to Ansh, a knowing smile occured on her face.
Ansh stood a little away from the chaos, pretending to supervise while actually doing anything but that.
Daksh was near Aditi again. Laughing. Talking. Leaning slightly closer than necessary. Ansh folded his arms, jaw tightening.
“Isko meri isha se itna chipak ke kaam krne ke alawa kuch aur nahi dikhta kya…” he muttered under his breath. “Hadd hai yaar….muh tod dunga iska main.”
His lips twisted into a tiny pout as he looked away, still mumbling curses like a grumpy old man trapped in an eighteen-year-old body. From across the hall, Aditi caught it.
The pout. The frown. The very obvious sulking. She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling too wide.
“So cute,” she thought.
Handing her file to someone else, she quietly walked over and sat down beside him on the floor. Ansh didn’t even look.
“pareshaan mat kar Ruhaan” he started, irritated.
Then he froze. That wasn’t Ruhaan’s presence. He turned and found Aditi sitting there, knees pulled up, smiling at him softly.
“…oh,” he said, instantly nervous.”Tum… kab”
She tilted her head. ” Abhi Abhi…lgta hai apko apki lugaii jyada pasand hai nayii…girlfriend thodi kam”
“lugai” ansh frowned.
haa…har jagah ruhaan bhiya ko hi imagine karte ho aap…mujhe bhi kar liya karo kabhi” she sulked.
nhi aisa nhi hai vo to bss” ansh stammered.
thode se jaleous ho rhe ho aap” she said making ansh caught off gaurd. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed dramatically.
“Haan,” he admitted quickly, cheeks pink. “Ho raha hoon.”
She smiled, waiting.
“I just…” he rubbed the back of his neck, voice softer now.”Mujhe achha nahi lag rha jab wo tumhare paas rehta hai. Main chahta hoon na… ki main rahoon tumhare paas. Aur school ke baad” he hesitated, then added honestly, “Main tumhe bohot miss karunga.”
Before he could spiral further, Aditi reached out. She ruffled his hair, fingers instinctive then squished his cheeks between her palms the way she always did, pure habit, pure affection.
“Pagal hain aap,” she said fondly. “Daksh sirf kaam ke liye hai we are not even in same class.”
She leaned closer. “Aur aap….aisi koi jagah nhi jaha aap na ho mere liye…you are here in my heart….foreever.”
His sulk dissolved instantly. A smile broke through, slow and warm.
“I love you,” he said without thinking.
She smiled back. “Love you too.”
And then “main aya abhi” Ansh said and stood up eyes fully determine.
Aditi blinked. “kaha ja rhe hain aap?”
He walked straight to Daksh, expression calm but firm.
“Daksh,” he said, voice low but clear. “keep some distance from aditi while working i don’t like someone beeing too close to my girlfriend.”
Daksh blinked. Then, he burst out laughing.
“i know Bhaiya,” he said casually, “mujhe pata hai.” Ansh froze.
“And upar se,” Daksh added, completely unfazed, “Main interested bhi nahi hoon usmein. Baat baat pe bezatti kar deti hai. Aap hi jhelo usko.”
Ansh stared at him, caught completely off guard. “Tumhe kaise pata ?” he asked.
Daksh shrugged. “Bhaiya yaar… poore school ko pata hai. Head boy is dating his best friend’s sister…jo ab head girl bhi hai.”
Ansh felt his ears burn. Poora… school?
He went completely red, lips parting in shock but he didn’t say anything. After a beat, he cleared his throat, regaining composure.
“theek hai theek hai…Focus on work,” he muttered stiffly and turned away.
Behind him, Aditi watched the entire thing amused, fond, and very much in love. And Ansh?
He was still processing the fact that apparently… his love life was school-wide news.
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that’s all for this chapter…hope you enjoyed it.💖
please don’t forget to vote and leave your comments…🥹
lots of love♥️
~Prachi💌
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