Hey beauties, How are you all?

I am back with a new chapter. I will make the pov banner soon guys.  

So let’s start with the chapter... 

Sanskriti POV

My steps continue moving forward, steady and practiced, as the roads of Dehradun slowly grow busier with each passing minute.

The early morning calm begins to fade into the rhythm of everyday life—students in uniforms, office-goers rushing with files in their hands, vendors calling out to customers—but I remain within my own quiet world, walking the same path I have walked countless times before.

It takes me forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes of walking every single day. That is why I hurry. That is why I leave early.

I had stepped out of the house at eight in the morning, and now, by the time I finally reach the college gate, it is already eight forty-five.

My breath is slightly uneven, not because I am exhausted, but because I have learned to rush through these roads with purpose, always aware of time, always aware of my surroundings.

This is also the reason why I never attend the last class. Because by the time the day ends, the sun begins to set.

And I cannot walk alone in the dark. Not because I am afraid of darkness itself. Darkness is silent. It does not harm.

But men— Men do.

My fear of the dark is small. Almost normal. But my fear of men… that is something else entirely.

I can walk under the night sky. I can walk through dimly lit streets. But not when there are eyes watching.

Not when those eyes look at me like I am something to be taken. Something to be used. Something without a voice.

So I avoid it. Every single day.

As I reach the college gate, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder, a familiar voice greets me.

“Finally, by god’s grace, you’re here Sansuie.”

I look up and see her.

Shivika.

My only friend in this entire college.

She stands there with her arms crossed, glaring at me dramatically as if she has been waiting for hours.

A small pout forms on my lips. “Ika, you know na I walk all the way to the college.”

She rolls her eyes instantly. “Let me guess, today also you got late in temple.”

I smile innocently, unable to deny it.

“Almost, you know na, tapkeswas mandir me itni shanti milti hai muje ki kabhi kabhi late ho jati hu. Waha sirf shiv ji hi nahi, baki sare ishwar bhi hai na.” (Almost, you know right, I find so much peace in Tapkeshwar temple that sometimes I get late. It’s not just Lord Shiva there, all the other gods are there too.)

Shivika sighs dramatically, grabbing my hand and pulling me forward as she starts walking inside the campus.

“Ha ha, Sansuie sab janti hu. This too that we are going to be late and let’s walk faster, I am not going to stand outside.” (Yes yes, Sansuie I know everything. Including the fact that we are getting late, so walk faster, I am not going to stand outside.)

I nod quickly, matching her pace as we both walk toward our building.

The college campus is already filled with students. Groups of people walk past us, some laughing, and some discussing assignments, some completely lost in their own worlds. This is my third year here, and yet, I still feel like I exist on the edges of this place rather than within it.

But at least— No one bullies us here.

The college is strict about such things. Seniors do not trouble juniors.

The fourth-year students are too busy with their placements, preparing for interviews, worrying about their future. The third-year students like us are buried in assignments and internal exams.

Life here is… normal. Or at least it tries to be.

Yes when we were in first year, we were asked to call our seniors with respect. We were told that now, we are in the first phase of our professional life and should address our seniors as Sir and Ma’am rather than didi and bhiya.

And we did. And now junior call us ma’am too. It’s a wired feeling when they do. But not bad.

Soon, we reach our classroom just five minutes before the lecture begins. We slip inside quietly and take our usual seats together.

Shivika lets out a relieved sigh as she drops her bag onto the desk.

“Thank god, Maya ma’am ki class hai, bach gye warna class ke bahar hote pakka.” (Thank god it’s Maya ma’am’s class, otherwise we would definitely be standing outside.)

I nod slightly.

“Yes, she is so strict. But it’s strange every time she is always 5 mins early. How come she is not here till now?”

Shivika looks around, noticing the same thing. “Yes, you’re right.”

Just then— a sudden sound fills the room.

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

Almost every phone in the classroom lights up at the same time. Students immediately pull out their phones, checking messages, murmuring among themselves.

For a moment, I just sit there. Still. Watching. A small, familiar feeling settles quietly inside my chest.

Left out.

Because I don’t have a smartphone. My brother had insisted on buying one for me many times. But I refused.

I told him I didn’t need it. That it would only distract me. That it would make me lazy. The truth… is something I never told him.

I didn’t want him to spend more money on me. I already feel like I take too much. Instead, I use an old Nokia phone.

My nani’s phone.

The same one she used before she passed away. There are only a few contacts saved in it.

My brother. My friend Shivika. And my father.

Yes. I saved his number. Even though I know he will never call me.

But somewhere inside me… A small part still hopes that one day— He might. He might call me like a father should.

With love.

My thoughts break when Shivika groans loudly beside me.

“Yrrrr, Sansuie. Ma’am chutti pe hai aj. She just messaged in the group. See everyone is going now.” (Oh god, Sansuie. Ma’am is on leave today. She just messaged in the group. See, everyone is leaving now.)

I frown slightly, watching students stand up and begin walking out of the classroom.

“Why? If she is not coming that doesn’t mean next class teacher won’t.”

Shivika hits her forehead lightly with her hand.

“Offo, I didn’t give you full information. She is not coming and the next class teacher are busy because some company is coming today for 4th year students. So everyone is going to the ground.” (Oh, I didn’t tell you everything. She’s not coming and the next class teachers are busy because some company is coming today for the 4th year students. So everyone is going to the ground.)

I nod slowly, still confused.

“But why ground Ika?”

Shivika pouts slightly. “To see my brother.”

I blink.

“Hain?” (What?)

Shivika pouted, “Arey, you know he is famous for his extra ordinary football skills. And they are having a match today with some other college team that’s why most of the people must have gone there only.” (Oh come on, you know he is famous for his extraordinary football skills. And they are having a match today with some other college team, that’s why most of the people must have gone there.)

I nod slowly, finally understanding what she meant, my eyes instinctively drifting toward the classroom door where students are still leaving in groups, their voices filled with excitement and anticipation.

There is a different kind of energy in the air, something lively and loud, and something I usually stay away from.

“Ohh… okay.”

For a moment, I just sit there watching them go, wondering how easily people choose what they want. How naturally they move toward joy without hesitation, without fear holding them back.

Then I ask her softly, because something inside me needs to know, “Okay. So don’t you want to go there?”

She nods slightly, and I catch it—the flicker in her eyes. The excitement she tries to hide. The interest she immediately covers with indifference as she shrugs.

“I wanted to, but I know you won’t want to come there due to the crowd, that’s why we are not going.”

She says it so casually. So easily. As if it does not matter. But it does. It matters more than she is letting me see. Because I know what she just did. She chose me.

She chose my comfort over her happiness. And something about that tightens painfully inside my chest.

For me, my bhaiyu is everything. If there was a moment where he was standing somewhere shining, winning, being admired by everyone—I would run, no matter what, just to see it. Just to be there.

So how can I let her miss something like that? How can I let her give up something that matters to her… because of me?

I shake my head quickly, almost as if I am shaking away the fear inside me.

“No we will go. I am not afraid.”

The words come out stronger than I feel. Stronger than the truth. Because I am afraid. I always am.

But this moment is not about me. I stand up immediately, determination settling into my steps. Before I can move further, Shivika grabs my hand and pulls me back slightly.

“No Sansuie, I know you’re scared. Aur wese bhi apne bhai ko mai roj dekhti hu ghr pe jb wo muje pareshan karta hai.” (No Sansuie, I know you’re scared. And anyway, I see my brother every day at home when he annoys me.)

I look at her then. Really look at her.

At the way she is trying to make it sound unimportant. At the way she hides her excitement so effortlessly just to keep me comfortable.

And I realize something very clearly in that moment— she deserves this. She deserves to see her brother win.

She deserves to cheer for him. She deserves to be happy without holding herself back because of me.

And how could I take this moment from her?

I tighten my hold on her hand slightly. “No Ika, we are going. I want to see him play too.”

This time my voice is steadier. Not loud. Not forceful. But certain.

Certain enough that she cannot argue.

She studies my face for a moment, as if trying to understand whether I am forcing myself or if I truly mean it.

Then suddenly— she smiles. A small amused smile.

“Okay madam, let’s go.”

And just like that, we begin walking.

The corridors feel emptier now, echoing slightly as our footsteps move quickly through them. The further we walk, the louder the sounds from the ground become—cheers, whistles, the thud of the football hitting the ground.

As we walk, she nudges me playfully, mischief returning to her voice.

“Sansuie, the way you said you want to see him, I mean should I think that you’re going to be my future bhabhi?”

My mouth falls open instantly, my steps almost faltering.

“Hwww, Ika how could you say that? I have no intension of becoming your bhabhi and I am not becoming your bhabhi.” (Whattt, Ika how could you say that? I have no intention of becoming your sister-in-law and I am not becoming your sister-in-law.)

My voice comes out in a rush, flustered and embarrassed, my face warming slightly. She frowns dramatically, placing her hand on her chest.

“Why? What’s wrong in becoming my bhabhi?”

I shake my head quickly, trying to regain my composure, a small teasing smile forming despite myself.

“Because then I would have to handle your tantrums all my life.”

She gasps as if I have insulted her deeply. “That you have to do, even when you’re not my bhabhi.”

I laugh. And it surprises me. Because it is not forced. It is not small. It is real. Light. Unburdened.

For a moment, I forget everything. The house. The taunts. The fear. The weight I carry every day.

And she laughs with me, the sound bright and carefree, pulling me further into that fleeting moment of normalcy.

But as soon as we reach the ground— everything changes. The noise hits me first. Loud. Overwhelming.

Cheers rising and falling like waves. Whistles cutting through the air. People shouting, laughing, calling out names.

The entire ground is filled with students, their energy high, and their excitement visible in every movement.

My steps slow down without me realizing it. My body instinctively hesitates.

Because crowds— they make me uncomfortable. They make me feel seen. Too seen.

Shivika immediately notices. Her hand tightens around mine.

“Come, don’t stop.”

There is no pressure in her voice. Only reassurance. She pulls me gently forward. And I let her.

We move through the crowd carefully, squeezing past groups of students until we reach the front row.

Just like always— two seats are empty. Reserved. For us. For her and me. By him.

I sit down beside her, my fingers still holding onto her hand, gripping it a little tighter than usual. Because I feel it again.

That sensation crawling along my skin. Eyes. Watching. Lingering. Unwanted. Uncomfortable. I don’t turn to look. I don’t want to confirm it. Because sometimes, not knowing feels safer.

Shivika glances back at me, her eyebrows lifting slightly in silent question. I shake my head quickly.

“I’m fine.”

And she trusts me. She always does. We both turn toward the field. The game is already intense.

Players move swiftly across the ground, their movements sharp and precise, their focus unwavering. The ball passes rapidly from one player to another, strategies unfolding within seconds.

And then— I see him.

Shivansh.

Shivika’s brother.

Just then Shivika whispered to me, “I am sure today, bhai will win this game.” I asked because the way she said it so confidently was as if she could see future, “Why?”

Shivika smiled, that smile told me a dramatic reply is coming, “Because his lucky charm came to watch his game.” I nodded because she was right, “Yes, you’re indeed his lucky charm.

Shivika shook her head and murmured something I didn’t heard but then I looked at the game and her brother.

There is something different about him. Something that stands out even in the middle of so many players.

He moves faster. Sharper. With confidence that does not need to be proven. Every time the ball reaches him, the crowd reacts instantly.

The energy shifts. People lean forward. Voices rise.

He dribbles past two defenders effortlessly, his feet moving with such control that the ball seems to follow him willingly.

“Go bhai!” Shivika shouts beside me, half-standing from her seat, her voice filled with excitement.

I find myself watching him closely. Understanding now what she meant. Why she said he was famous. Because he is.

Not just because of his skill— but because of the way he owns the field.

Minutes pass. The opposing team scores. A collective groan spreads through the crowd.

Shivika clenches her fists. “Come on bhai, focus!”

The game continues. Back and forth. Tension building with every pass. Every missed chance.

Every near goal.

Then— the moment comes. The ball reaches Shivansh again.

He moves forward with sudden speed, dodging one player, then another, then accelerating toward the goalpost.

Everything around me seems to slow down. The noise fades slightly. My eyes remain fixed on him.

He lifts his foot— Kicks—

GOAL.

The ball hits the net perfectly. For a split second— Silence. Then— Explosion. The crowd erupts into cheers.

Shivika jumps to her feet.

“Yeahhhhhh!!!”

Her happiness is contagious.

I find myself clapping, softly at first, then more firmly, a smile spreading across my face as I watch her celebrate.

The game continues for a few more minutes, but the momentum has already shifted.

And then— the final whistle blows. The match ends.

Shivansh’s team wins.

The entire ground fills with cheers, loud and overwhelming, people shouting, clapping, and celebrating.

The noise presses against me, making me slightly uncomfortable, my senses overwhelmed for a moment.

But I steady myself. Because Shivika is beside me. Because this moment matters. Players gather at the center.

The trophy is brought out. Shivansh lifts it with his team. The crowd cheers even louder.

And then— instead of staying with his team— He turns. And runs. Straight toward us.

Straight toward Shivika. Straight toward us. He reaches quickly, breath heavy, face glowing with victory, holding the trophy with pride.

Shivika is already standing, her eyes shining. I stand slightly behind her, smiling softly.

He moves forward, clearly about to hug her— but she immediately raises her hand, stopping him.

“Bhai, I know you’re excited and happy, but you’re sweating. First go and shower, then come near us.”

He fake glares at her, disbelief written all over his face. “Shivi, what’s this new way of congratulating?”

She lifts her chin proudly.

“My way!”

And I can’t help it. A soft chuckle escapes me. Watching them. Watching this bond. This warmth. This ease.

And for a moment— standing there beside them— I feel something I rarely do. Light. Like for a few seconds— Life is not heavy. And I am not invisible. And I am not broken.

Just… normal.

That feeling lingers for a few heartbeats longer than I expect.

It is unfamiliar, almost fragile, like something that could slip away if I hold it too tightly. I do not move much, I do not speak, and I simply stand there quietly, letting myself feel it without questioning it.

Maybe this is what life feels like for others. Easy. Uncomplicated. Warm. But just as I begin to settle into that softness, the moment shifts again.

Shivansh adjusts the grip on his trophy and looks like he is about to step toward me—toward us—but before he can take that step, Shivika immediately moves forward, blocking his way with the same stubborn confidence she always carries.

“Bhai, I know you want to meet your lucky charm, but first go and shower. I am not letting you near my friend when you’re this smelly.”

Her tone is playful, but firm. For a second, Shivansh just stares at her, clearly unimpressed.

“Shivi…”

There is a warning in his voice, but it holds no real anger. Shivika doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

She simply crosses her arms and looks at him like she has already won the argument.

And somehow— she has. Shivansh exhales, a small breath of defeat leaving him before he nods reluctantly.

“Fine, but don’t go from here anywhere.”

Shivika nods instantly, satisfied. And just like that, he turns and walks away. I watch him leave for a moment before turning back to her, a small confusion settling inside me.

“Ika, why did you address me as his lucky charm? Aren’t you his lucky charm?”

The question slips out naturally, but the moment I say it, I notice the change in her expression.

For a second— just a second— She looks like someone who has been caught. Her response comes quickly.

Almost too quickly.

“What no, Sansuie. I addressed myself as his lucky charm only. Maybe you misheard because of the crowd.”

I nod slowly.

Because her words make sense. Because the crowd was loud. Because maybe I did hear it wrong. But still— something about the way she said it feels… off.

Like there is something she chose not to say. Something she hid. But I don’t ask again. I don’t push.

Because I have learned that not every answer is meant to be asked for.

And not every truth needs to be uncovered.

The crowd around us slowly begins to disperse, the loud energy of the match fading as people leave in groups, still talking about the game, still laughing, still reliving moments.

Shivika takes my hand again, her grip light but certain.

“Let’s go to canteen.”

I glance back toward the ground for a second. “But your brother asked us to wait here.”

She shrugs casually, already picking up both of our bags.

“I will message him to come to canteen. Moreover don’t you think we deserve a party?”

Party. The word alone does something inside me. A small, unexpected excitement rises in my chest.

Because even though I have never been to big parties, never worn fancy dresses, never danced in bright lights—

These small moments… These canteen “parties”… They are mine. They are the closest I have to something normal. Something happy. I nod immediately.

And we begin walking toward the canteen.

The space is already crowded when we reach. Students fill almost every table, their voices blending together into a constant hum of chatter and laughter.

Shivika doesn’t even hesitate.

She goes straight to the counter, comes back with two mango frooties, and hands one to me.

“Let’s sit outside, it’s so packed here.”

I nod, grateful for the idea.

We move outside, finding a quieter corner where the noise is softer, where the air feels lighter, where I can breathe more easily.

I take a small sip of the frootie, the familiar sweet mango taste spreading across my tongue.

And just like that— something inside me relaxes. We start talking. About random things.

Classes. Teachers. Assignments. Little things that don’t matter in the bigger picture but somehow make these moments feel full.

These are the moments I love the most. Not the classroom. Not the lectures.

But this— sitting outside the canteen, holding a simple drink, talking about nothing and everything at the same time.

It’s not that I don’t study at all. We both study, attend classes, but whenever we find time, we come here. College canteen doesn’t have 5 star food, but I love some items they make.

Maybe because this is where I always have my brunch. Yes, I don’t eat breakfast in my house. I am not allowed to eat there anything.

I am not allowed to step in the kitchen in my house. I eat dinner only when my bhaiyu is present, only then I eat my dinner. Or else every day I only eat one meal that is my brunch here.

Here food is cheap and nice too. So I don’t waste a lot of money.

Suddenly— I notice movement. I look up. And there he is.

Shivansh. Walking toward us. This time, clean. Fresh. Wearing a new t-shirt. Still holding the trophy in his hands.

Shivika notices him too and immediately grins.

“Look, bhai came finally after his beauty bath.”

I chuckle softly at her words, my gaze shifting toward him as he comes closer. There is still that same confidence in the way he walks, but now it is softer, more relaxed.

Less of a player. More of a brother.

The moment he reaches us, Shivika stands up instantly and wraps her arms around him in a tight hug.

I watch quietly. Smiling. Because this— this is what love looks like. She leans closer to him and whispers something into his ear.

I don’t hear the words. But I see the effect. His ears turn red. A faint flush spreads across his face.

And for a second— He looks… embarrassed.

I blink softly, curiosity flickering inside me, wondering what she said that could make him react like that.

But I don’t ask. I just watch. Quietly. Because sometimes—

Observing is safer than knowing.

His ears turned red immediately and his face had a small redness too, maybe from the sun’s heat or whatever Shivika said to him.

For a brief moment, he looked nothing like the confident player who had just dominated the field; instead, he looked like someone caught off guard, almost shy, almost… human in a softer way.

Shivika broke the hug and said loudly, “Congratulations bhai.”

Shivansh smiled, the pride still visible in his eyes but now softened with affection.

“Thank you Shivi, for both things.”

I watch them for a second, then instinctively stand up, my posture automatically respectful, the way I have been taught since childhood.

“Congratulation, Shivansh bh—”

Before I can complete the word, Shivika dramatically screams.

“Sansuie!!!”

I flinch at her sudden volume, my brows knitting together as I look at her.

“Hay Ishwar, what Ika??” (Oh God, what is it Ika??)

She immediately throws her arm around Shivansh’s neck possessively. Because of the height difference, he has to bend slightly just so she can rest her arm there, but she doesn’t seem to care at all.

“He is only my bhai not yours.”

Her tone is playful, but there is a childish seriousness behind it that makes me laugh instantly.

“You’re saying as if I am stealing him. I have my bhaiyu too and I love him a lot.”

The moment I say that, my mind flashes to my own brother—his tired eyes, his protective voice, and the way he always stands between me and the world. A soft warmth fills my chest at the thought of him.

Shivika nods firmly.

“Yes, so don’t call my brother your bhai.”

I pout slightly, pretending to be offended.

“Oh look at this girl, you used to say jo mere hai, wo tera hai.” (Oh look at this girl, you used to say whatever is mine is yours.)

She immediately replies with equal drama.

“Yes, but jo mera hai wo tho mera hi rahega na.” (Yes, but what is mine will remain mine, right?)

I shake my head, amused by her possessiveness, before turning my attention toward Shivansh, who has been unusually quiet through all of this.

There is something about his silence that feels… different. Like he is present, but not entirely. Like his thoughts are somewhere else.

I tilt my head slightly and ask him softly, “Then what should I call you?”

He doesn’t respond. For a moment, I think maybe he didn’t hear me.

But then I realize— He is just staring. Not blankly. Not absent-mindedly. But… focused.

On me.

Before I can understand that look, Shivika nudges his elbow sharply. He turns to her with a glare.

“Mara kyu?” (Why did you hit me?)

She crosses her arms.

“Because you were not answering my Sansuie.”

He exhales slightly, almost embarrassed, then finally looks at me properly.

“Can you repeat what you said?”

Before I can answer, Shivika interrupts again, already grabbing her bag.

“First give me money, I am going to buy something for us to eat, then you talk with Sansuie.”

Shivansh sighs but pulls out some money and hands it to her. She takes it happily and leaves without another word.

And just like that— it’s just the two of us. For a brief second, the air feels different.

Quieter. More aware. He gestures toward the bench. I sit. He sits beside me. But he maintains a noticeable distance.

And strangely— I feel relieved. Because I am not comfortable sitting too close to someone I barely know.

Because closeness still makes me uneasy. Because familiarity is something I don’t give easily. I gather my thoughts and ask again, softly this time.

“If I can’t call you bhai, then what should I call you. You’re elder than me so I can’t call you by your name.”

He looks at me for a moment before replying, his voice gentler than I expected.

“Well you call my Shivi with a nickname, I will be very happy if you call me with a nickname too.”

The suggestion makes me uncomfortable almost instantly.

A nickname? Calling him casually?

My mind resists the idea. Because for me, relationships are simple. If someone is my friend’s brother— then he is like my brother too. There is no space for anything else.

And calling him by name or nickname feels… wrong. He notices my hesitation. My silence. The slight stiffness in my posture.

And something in his expression softens.

“It’s okay Sanskriti, you can call me whatever you want.”

Relief washes over me immediately. I nod slightly.

“Then I will call you Shivansh ji. That’s okay with you na?” (Then I will call you Shivansh ji. That’s okay with you, right?)

He smiles. A small, genuine smile. And nods. I return the smile softly.

“Congratulation Shivansh ji.”

“Thank you.”

There is a pause. A comfortable one. Or at least it feels that way to me. But then he leans back slightly and says something unexpected.

“But where is my gift?”

I blink. Confused.

“What gift?”

He looks at me with a playful seriousness.

“Well I won the game, Shivi gave me a gift, and you should too give me a gift.”

My heart drops slightly. Because I don’t have anything. Nothing. No money to spend. No extra things. No way to give something meaningful.

I lower my gaze, my voice turning softer.

“But I don’t have anything to gift you.”

For a second, I feel that familiar guilt again. That inability to give. That feeling of being… less. But he immediately speaks, his tone light.

“Hey, don’t be upset. I have an idea.”

I look up at him.

“What idea?”

He smiles slightly.

“As my gift, just for once, you will agree to me, to whatever I say, whatever I ask for.”

The request makes me pause. Not because it sounds wrong. But because it feels… open-ended. Still, I trust him enough in this moment.

And more than that— I don’t want to disappoint him. So I nod gently.

“Agr mere bus me hua, then I will give you that Shivansh ji.” (If it is within my capability, then I will give you that, Shivansh ji.)

And as I say those words, I don’t realize how lightly they leave my lips, how easily I agree to something I haven’t even fully understood, how naturally I place trust where I usually hesitate.

To me, it feels small, almost insignificant, just a polite response, just a simple promise made in a quiet moment that would fade like all other moments do.

But something about the way that moment lingers tells a different story.

There is a pause after my words, a stillness that stretches for a second longer than it should, as if something unseen has shifted between us, something subtle yet undeniable, like a thread has been tied without either of us noticing it.

I don’t question it. I don’t think about it. Because my life has never taught me to dwell on such things.

For me, it was simple. Just a small agreement. Just a harmless promise.

And then— the moment breaks.

Just then Shivika comes back, balancing a tray in her hands, her expression as dramatic and lively as ever, her presence instantly filling the space with noise and warmth.

“I am back guys, that too with a lot of food.”

Her voice carries excitement, and with it comes familiarity, comfort, and the kind of normalcy I rarely get to experience. The quiet moment I had just shared with Shivansh dissolves instantly, replaced by the ease that always follows when she is around.

I look at the tray.

And then, almost out of habit, I glance at the time on her phone.

The numbers flash in front of me, and immediately my mind begins calculating.Class. Timing. Routine.

The structured part of me wakes up instantly, the part that constantly reminds me of discipline, of rules, of doing everything right so that I don’t give anyone another reason to question me.

I am about to speak, about to say the same thing I always say, about attending class, about not wasting time—

But before the words can even leave my lips, Shivika cuts me off as if she has already read my thoughts.

“No Sansuie, don’t say that we will miss the class. It’s that boring extra history class. We both hate that. It’s better to eat here, rather than attend that class.”

I pause. For a second, the habit inside me resists. But then I slowly nod. Because she is right. That class doesn’t matter.

Not really.

It is just an additional subject, something added to increase overall marks, something that holds no real meaning beyond numbers on paper.

And for once— I let go. I let go of being careful. Of trying to do everything the “right” way. And I just sit.

I shift my attention back to the tray in her hands. And then— I notice. Everything.

My eyes move slowly, taking in each item, each detail, and each choice she made without saying a word.

White sauce pasta.

Honey chilli potato—with less spice.

Coke for all three of us.

For a moment, I don’t move. I just look. Because this is not random. This is not coincidence. This is care. This is attention.

This is someone remembering things I never said out loud.

In these three years, Shivika has quietly learned me in ways no one else ever tried to. She knows what I like, what I avoid, what makes me uncomfortable, what I never complain about but still silently adjust to.

She knows that I cannot eat too much spicy food.

That when I do, my nose starts running, my eyes start watering, and it looks like I am crying or have cold in front of everyone.

And I hate that feeling. I hate that loss of control. So I avoid it.

And today— without me asking— she brought exactly what I like. Exactly what I can eat. Exactly what would make me comfortable.

My throat tightens.

My chest feels heavy in a way that is not painful but overwhelming. My eyes sting slightly. Because people don’t do this.

Not for me. Not without reason. Not without expecting something in return.

But she does. She always does. Without making it a big deal. Without ever saying, “I did this for you.”

Without ever making me feel like I owe her something. And that… That is something I don’t know how to handle.

I look at her, really look at her, and I feel something rise inside me, something warm and unfamiliar, something I have never been taught how to express.

She hands the tray to Shivansh casually and sits down between us, completely unaware of what she has just done to me, completely unaware of the storm of emotions she has created with something so simple.

Then she looks at me again. And she notices. The tears. The ones I haven’t let fall. Her expression changes instantly, her playful energy softening into concern.

“Sansuie, what happened?”

Her voice is gentle now. Soft.

Beside her, Shivansh also looks at me, his gaze no longer casual but attentive, observant, as if trying to understand something he cannot yet name.

For a moment, I feel exposed. Like they can see too much. Like they can see parts of me I have spent years hiding, burying, locking away.

So I do what I always do. I hide it. I shake my head quickly.

“Nothing Ika. Why didn’t you bring your favorite Chole Kulche?”

I redirect. I deflect. Because it is easier. Because explaining this feeling would mean admitting that I am not used to being cared for.

And that is not something I want to say out loud. She smiles immediately, taking my question as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Because you don’t eat them, and…”

I already know. There is more. There is always more with her. I wait.

“And I told you last time when I had it, they gave me uncooked Kulcha. I got my money back, now never I am going to eat it from here.”

I nod, holding my smile steady, holding my tears back. Because I know— that is not the real reason.

But I let her say it. Because this is how she protects me. And this is how I accept it. Without making it heavy. Without making it emotional.

We begin eating. The food tastes simple. But it doesn’t feel simple. It feels… full. Because it is not just food. It is thought. It is care.

It is something that makes me feel like I belong somewhere, even if it is just for a little while. We talk while eating. Random things. Unimportant things.

The kind of conversations that don’t change the world but somehow make it easier to live in. And for those moments— I am not thinking about my house. Not thinking about my father.

Not thinking about the words that wait for me there. I am just… here. Present. Living.

The rest of the day passes as it always does. Classes. Notes. Teachers speaking while students half-listen.

The routine continues, pulling me back into its familiar rhythm, slowly fading away the warmth of the canteen moment.

By the time the second last class ends, the clock reads 4:15 pm.

And immediately— that awareness returns. Time. Distance. Safety. This is my boundary. The line I never cross.

I pack my bag quickly, my movements practiced, efficient.

“I’ll leave now,” I say softly.

She nods.

“Message or call me when you reach.”

I nod back. A small smile passes between us. And then I turn. And I leave. The college fades behind me with every step I take.

The noise disappears. The laughter fades. The warmth dissolves. The roads feel different now. More crowded.

More watchful.

The sunlight softens, stretching shadows across the ground, reminding me that evening is approaching.

My steps quicken. Because I know what comes with evening. I know the kind of silence it carries.

I know the kind of eyes that follow when the light fades. The walk feels longer. Heavier.

Each step carrying me closer to a place I do not want to return to. But I keep walking. Because I have no other choice.

Step by step. Breathe by breathe. Until finally— my house appears in front of me. The gate stands there.

Still. Unmoving. Just like always. But something is different today. I slow down.

My steps losing their certainty. My breath catching slightly. Because someone is standing there.

Someone who breaks the usual emptiness of that gate.

Someone unexpected.

My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. My heartbeat quickens.

And something inside me whispers—

Another drama awaits at house. And it is not going to be easy.

____

So guys that’s it for today. I want you all to live and experience her life that's why I wrote this chapter.

Hope you like it, please leave your feedback in the comment section.

As for them meeting, it will be happening soon guys. 

See you all soon, till then do follow me on my Instagram.