Alisha

 It was a beautiful morning. I made myself a cup of coffee, savoring each sip as I scrolled through the drafts of my next book. Yes, I’m an author – a storyteller of romantic tales. While sipping my coffee, I also glanced through social media, checking the reviews of my previous book. Compliments always bring me joy, but criticism? Well, it doesn’t bother me anymore. I understand – not everyone will love my stories. Everyone has their own perspective, after all.

As I scrolled absentmindedly, an old post caught my eye—Jayant’s engagement announcement. My breath hitched for a moment. I had already liked the post when it first appeared, yet it resurfaced as if the universe wanted to tease me. My chest tightened. Seventeen years—that’s how long Jayant had been a part of my life. Yet lately, there was a distance between us, a silence that weighed heavier than words.

I let out a soft sigh, my fingers lingering on the screen. But then, I noticed something—his smile. It was still the same. Genuine. Radiant. The kind of smile that once made everything feel a little easier. I placed a hand over my heart, trying to push back the ache rising inside me. Forcing a smile of my own, I whispered softly to myself, “No more sadness. Today is special—and it will stay that way.”

Why was today special? Because I had an interview in the evening—the first live interview. My heart buzzed with a mix of excitement and nerves. But even as I tried to focus on that, a lingering thought refused to leave me—Why did seeing his post still hurt?

Restless, I decided to call Papa. His voice, warm and familiar, instantly comforted me. I shared my excitement about the interview, hoping his words would soothe the flutter in my chest. 

In his typical, caring voice—one that wrapped around me like a warm hug—he said, “You’ve lost so much weight! Come home. I’ll cook your favourite meals myself.”

I laughed softly, my heart swelling with love. “I’m coming home tomorrow, Papa. Remember? Dip’s wedding? I’ll be staying for a week!”

Dip—one of my closest friends—was getting married, and tomorrow, we were having a friends’ reunion. The thought of being surrounded by my oldest friends brought a spark of happiness. An idea struck me—why not call everyone and share both the interview news and wedding plans?

“You’re the best, Papa!” I grinned, blowing him a playful flying kiss. With a tender smile, he caught the kiss and pressed it to his heart, as if he wanted to keep it safe. His simple gesture made my eyes sting with unshed tears—I was so loved, and in that moment, I felt it deeply.

But then, his tone shifted—soft, serious. “Beta… come home. You need to be with us,” he said, the weight of his words settling heavily over my heart.

My smile faltered. Something about his voice—an unspoken concern—shook me. Before I could gather my thoughts, he added quietly, “Jayant will be there too…”

His name. Just hearing it was enough to stir something deep inside me. I swallowed hard, masking my feelings behind a veil of irritation. “Of course, Papa. He’s Dip’s friend too,” I said quickly, hoping my casual tone would hide the knot in my stomach.

I needed to escape the conversation before my emotions betrayed me. “Okay, okay—this is getting too serious. I’ve got things to do. Talk later!” I said, hanging up before he could say more.

I set the phone down, my heart still pounding. Outside, rain pattered softly against the window. I stood there for a while, watching the droplets race each other down the glass. Memories of Jayant—our laughter, our fights, the way he always knew how to pull me out of my darkest days—came rushing back.

Without giving myself time to reconsider, I grabbed my phone and dialled his number.

In single ring he received.

I told him about the interview and plan for Dip’s wedding. His voice was distant, cold even (he has lot of questions and I don't have answered, after hearing of Vijay word and realising his busy and said my thing in rapid mode and hang up the call as soon as possible)—he was still upset with me. And why wouldn’t he be? I hadn’t spoken to him in over four months. But I knew us—17 years of friendship didn’t break so easily. A few words, a little time together, and everything would be back to normal. It always did.

Feeling a little lighter, I started calling the rest of my friends—Rishi, Rahim, and finally Dip.

When Dip picked up, his voice was buzzing with excitement. I congratulated him on the wedding, "band baja taiyar rkhna main aa rahi hu Dhoom machane" (keep the band ready, I am coming to rock) my heart swelling with joy for my friend. In return, he chuckled "we will see" and offered me his typical straightforward advice. “Just don’t talk too much during the interview, okay?”

I laughed, rolling my eyes playfully. “Okay, okay—I got it!”

By the time I hung up, the rain outside had softened to a gentle drizzle. My heart, which had felt so heavy that morning, now felt a little lighter—like the storm inside me was beginning to clear.

By the time I finished my calls, evening had arrived. It was time to get ready. Ramya would be here any minute to pick me up.

Ramya Choudhary—the head of To My Dear, the book publishing company. We’d been working together for years, and somewhere along the way, she had become more than a colleague—she was my friend.

"I'm gonna enjoy every second of my life, Kya pata ye kal ho ya na ho!"

From this moment on, I wanted to savor every second.

I sat on my bed, surrounded by a sea of clothes, wondering what to wear. Something special for a special day. My fingers brushed against a white kurti.

White. Jayant’s favourite colour. Especially in ethnic wear.

Without a second thought, I paired it with straight jeans and big, silver jhumkas. For now, I tied my hair up—I’d let them loose at the studio.

All set. All ready.

I stood in front of the mirror, admiring my reflection. But there was no one in my flat to tell me how I looked. No one to say, "You look beautiful."

That’s what happens when you live alone. But then again, solitude has its perks—it fuels my creativity, gives me ideas for my books.

Taking a deep breath, I whispered to my reflection, "Let’s do this."

Just as I was finishing the final touches to my look, my phone buzzed. It was Ramya. “I’m waiting downstairs,” she said.

I quickly grabbed my essentials, locked my flat, and hurried down the building. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain as I spotted Ramya’s car. Sliding into the passenger seat, I began fastening my seatbelt when—out of nowhere—a hand extended from behind me, holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

The scent of fresh blooms filled the car, making me pause. Flowers? For me?

Curious, I turned around—and there she was, Soumya, (Ramya's little sis, she loves her lot) beaming at me with her signature wide smile.

“All the best!” she said, her voice brimming with excitement—probably more excited than I was.

I couldn’t help but smile back, matching her energy. “Thank you!” I said, taking the bouquet from her hands.

From the driver’s seat, Ramya chuckled, watching our playful exchange.

“Rishi told me to give you these,” Soumya added, her face lighting up with mischief.

That was so like Rishi—always thoughtful, always finding little ways to show he cared. But with Soumya, words were rarely needed. She had a way of speaking volumes through her expressions alone.

Ramya, still smiling, finally chimed in, “Good luck! You’ve got this.”

Her words meant a lot. She had seen me grow—not just as an author but as a person. And in moments like these, her quiet belief in me was a steady anchor. With that, we drove off toward the studio, the city lights flickering like distant stars as the sun began to set. The ride was a comfortable mix of laughter and quiet anticipation, my fingers absentmindedly brushing the petals of the bouquet in my lap.

After thirty minutes, we arrived at the studio. The building buzzed with energy—staff members hurrying around, equipment clinking softly in the background. As soon as we stepped inside, the production crew whisked Ramya away in one direction while another assistant gestured for me to follow them.

Before parting ways, Ramya caught my eye, raising her brows slightly in a silent message— “You’ll do great.”

I smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. With friends like these, how could I not?

A few moments later, a calm, professional voice pulled me out of my thoughts. Ravi, the interviewer, approached with a reassuring smile.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” he said, extending a hand. I shook it firmly, feeling the faintest flutter of nerves creep in. We sat down for a quick pre-interview chat. His easy-going nature helped settle my nerves as he explained the flow of the conversation.

“I’ll mostly ask about your writing journey, inspirations, and upcoming projects,” Ravi said. “But if any question feels uncomfortable, just give me a signal—I’ll handle it smoothly.”

His kindness eased the last bit of tension in my stomach. I nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

A few moments later, the assistant called out, “Lights, camera, action!”

I took a deep breath as the bright lights warmed my face. The cameras blinked red, capturing the moment. I sat up straighter, a smile spreading across my lips.

The interview had begun.

One hour later 

An hour later, I was lost—completely overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

As I stepped out of the studio lights, a single tear escaped my eye, sliding down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away hastily, hoping no one had noticed. But before I could gather myself, Ramya came rushing toward me.

She pulled me into a tight hug, her warmth trying to hold me together. “It’s okay, it’s okay… nothing happened.” Her voice was soft, but I could hear the worry beneath her calmness.

But it wasn’t okay. Not for me. Not after what I had just said—what I had let slip during the interview.

I couldn’t break down here—not in front of so many people. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pushed myself out of her arms and hurried toward the exit. My legs felt weak, but I forced them to keep moving.

The studio staff tried to stop Ramya, pulling her aside to discuss something, but Soumya—bless her heart—didn’t hesitate. She took one look at me walking away and ran after me without a second thought.

By the time I reached the parking lot, the dam inside me broke.

I collapsed against a pillar, tears pouring down my face as uncontrollable sobs shook my body. I cried—cried like a child who had just shattered her favourite toy. My heart ached with the weight of my own words. “What have I done? What stupidity did I just commit?”

Before I could spiral any further, Soumya caught up with me. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around me from behind, holding me tight. Her warmth, her steady presence—it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

She gently patted my back, her voice soft. “Breathe, Alisha… just breathe.”

I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, the storm inside me settled. My tears dried against my skin as reality started sinking in. I sniffled, wiping my face with trembling fingers.

“I messed up… I messed up so badly,” I mumbled, still trying to process everything. “I need my phone—I have to fix this. Where’s my phone?”

Just as I turned to Soumya for answers, I heard Ramya’s sharp voice behind me.

“I have it,” she said, her tone firm. “But first, we need to get out of here.”

Without arguing, the three of us quickly got into the car and drove back to my apartment in complete silence. The bouquet that had once filled the car with joy now felt like a reminder of the chaos I had caused.

The moment we stepped inside, Ramya exploded.

“Your book—” her voice shook with anger. “It’s based on your REAL life, isn’t it? You told me it was fictional! You lied to me, Alisha!”

I froze. My heart pounded in my chest as her words cut through me like a knife.

“You’re selling a real-life story disguised as fiction—your story. The one-sided love you’ve carried for seventeen years… It’s Jayant, isn’t it?” she demanded, gripping my shoulders, as if forcing me to face the truth I had buried for so long.

I opened my mouth to speak—to defend myself—but my voice trembled, fragile and broken.

“It’s not… It’s not my real story,” I stammered, my words fumbling as tears threatened to spill again. “It’s… inspired by my feelings. That’s all. Nothing else.”

But Ramya wasn’t listening. Her anger wasn’t just about the truth—it was about trust. And I had shattered that.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, Soumya stepped between us.

“Di, stop it.” Her voice, usually playful, was now calm and serious. “Alisha’s already in shock from what happened. You’re not helping.”

For a moment, the tension in the room hung thick and heavy—until Ramya finally let out a frustrated sigh and stepped back.

I wiped the fresh tears from my face, my heart aching with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Soumya, always the one to bring reason, spoke again. “All she said in the interview was that she’s loved someone for seventeen years and still does. That doesn’t PROVE the book is about her life. People might assume, but we can control the narrative.”

Ramya’s face softened, her anger beginning to crack under the weight of logic. I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling a faint spark of hope. Maybe—just maybe—we could fix this mess.

Soumya, ever the problem-solver, paced in front of us, her brow furrowed in thought. “We need to get ahead of this before anyone connects the dots. We’ll handle it.”

The three of us sat down, forming a quiet circle around the coffee table, our minds working overtime to find a way out of the scandal I had unknowingly triggered.

But even as we planned, one thing refused to leave my mind—my phone.

It had been buzzing nonstop since we left the studio. I knew who it was.

I could feel it in my gut. Jayant.

If anyone was shaken by my words, it would be him. And I needed to talk to him—to explain before he misunderstood everything.

I glanced at Ramya, silently pleading with my eyes. “Let me check my phone… I need to—”

“No.” Her voice was sharp—unforgiving. “You’ve said enough for today. No more talking to anyone until we fix this.”

Her tone left no room for argument, but my heart was screaming. Because if those calls were from Jayant… I couldn’t let seventeen years of unspoken feelings shatter over a few words I couldn’t take back.

And yet, for now, all I could do was wait—and hope I hadn’t lost him forever.
The room was silent, heavy with tension. None of us spoke—we were too busy processing the chaos I had accidentally unleashed.
I leaned back into the sofa, my mind clouded with a whirlwind of thoughts. Ramya sat beside me; her earlier anger now cooled into a tired silence. The only sound was the distant hum of the city outside.
And then, Saumya—always the one to break the silence—suddenly stood up, her face lighting up with a spark of mischief.
“I have a lot of ideas!” she announced proudly, her hands on her hips like some overexcited strategist.
Both Ramya and I turned our exhausted eyes toward her, our expressions equally suspicious and drained. Whatever she was about to say… it couldn’t be good.
We exchanged a weary glance before, in perfect unison, we said, “A lot of ideas?”
Saumya, unfazed by our lack of enthusiasm, tilted her head with mock offense. “At least hear me out first!” she huffed, glancing at both of us like she was about to unveil a masterpiece.
Ramya and I shared another look—one filled with mutual doubt—and we were just about to shut her down when, without missing a beat, Saumya launched into her plan.
“Okay, here’s what we do:
1. Create another scandal to cover this one.
Something bigger—more shocking—to distract everyone. People love drama, right?
2. Spread a dating rumour.
Alisha, we leak a story that you’re dating someone mysterious. Nothing steals headlines faster than romance gossip.
3. Fast-track the launch of your third book.
We shift the focus by dropping your next book earlier—people will be too busy talking about that to care about this.
4. Edit the live interview.
We cut out the part where you spilled too much—clean, easy, and no evidence left behind.
5. Do some charity work.
Good deeds soften any scandal. Sponsor a cause, make a donation, and suddenly you’re the sweetheart again.
6. Leak a shocking announcement from ‘To My Dear’ Publishing.
Ramya, your company drops some major news—new signings, a big collaboration—whatever steals focus from this mess.
Honestly, Alisha isn’t that famous yet,” she added with a playful shrug, “We just need to control the story before it grows. Easy-peasy.”
When she finally stopped, the room fell into silence again—but this time, the air felt… lighter.
I blinked at her, stunned by the sheer audacity of her plan. Ramya, still processing, pinched the bridge of her nose as if trying to stave off an oncoming headache.
Saumya, on the other hand, stood tall—her eyebrow raised—waiting, hoping one of us would be impressed by her chaotic genius.
I turned to Ramya, half-expecting her to shut down the madness immediately. But to my surprise, she didn’t.
Instead, after a long pause, Ramya exhaled deeply, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this… but some of these might actually work.”
“Told you!” Saumya grinned triumphantly, doing a little victory dance.
I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh—the first real laugh since the interview disaster. As wild as her ideas sounded, there was something oddly comforting about her energy.
Because no matter how big the mess… I wasn’t alone in cleaning it up.
Ramya leaned back against the sofa; her expression now more calculating than angry. She rubbed her temple lightly, her mind already dissecting Saumya’s chaotic plan point by point.
“Okay, let’s break this down,” she began, her voice steady and authoritative—the voice of someone used to handling crises.
“Point one – Creating a fake scandal?” She shook her head immediately. “Too risky. If it backfires, it’ll blow up even bigger than this mess. We don’t need more flames right now.”
Saumya pouted but didn’t argue.
“Point two – Spreading a dating rumour?” Ramya glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. “Impossible. People know you don’t have a boyfriend. Unless you’ve been hiding a secret romance from us too?” Her tone was teasing, but her face remained serious.
I let out a weak chuckle, shaking my head. “No secret romance.” If only she knew the truth.
“Point three – Fast-tracking the book launch?” She sighed. “Not happening. The book isn’t even ready yet, and rushing it will only make things worse.”
I bit my lip. She was right. I hadn’t even finished polishing the final chapters.
“Point four – Editing the interview?” Her voice softened slightly. “I already spoke to the editor. They’re working on it, but damage control takes time. We can’t undo what people already saw.”
I nodded, appreciating her quick action. At least someone was holding things together.
“Point five – Charity work?” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s be honest. No one cares about a feel-good story when there’s drama to devour. It won’t bury this.”
Saumya let out a sigh, slumping back into the couch, her earlier confidence fading.
“Point six – Using my company for a distraction?” Ramya’s tone hardened. “Absolutely not. I’ve worked too hard to risk my company’s reputation for a personal mess. We need a solution that doesn’t drag ‘To My Dear’ into this.”
Silence hung heavy in the room as her words settled over us.
I sat there, amazed—not just by how efficient they were at dismantling every idea, but by how deeply they cared. This wasn’t just about business for them. I mattered. My mess mattered.
And yet, despite their dedication, an uncomfortable weight still pressed against my chest.
Because no matter how much they tried to fix things, there was one person no plan could protect—Jayant.

They continued talking, tossing ideas back and forth—what to post, whom to contact, what angle to spin. But their words began to blur in my ears as the fear crept in.

Would he be hurt by all this?
I swallowed hard, lowering my gaze to the floor as I finally spoke—my voice barely above a whisper.
“We need to do something… something that won’t hurt Jayant.”
The room fell silent. Deadly silent.
When I glanced up, both Ramya and Saumya were staring at me, stunned—as if I had just dropped a bomb in the middle of the conversation.
Ramya’s face twisted into a mix of confusion and suspicion. And when she finally spoke, her tone was sharp—almost accusing.
“Why, Who the hell is Jayant?” Ramya doesn’t know the Jayant personally, she has only heard about him from me.
Her words hung heavy between us, cutting through the tension like a blade.
I took a deep breath, my hands trembling slightly as I pushed myself to stand up—meeting their curious, demanding gazes head-on.
And with a softness I couldn’t hide, I finally let the truth spill out.
“He’s my friend of 17 years…” I paused, the ache in my chest tightening. “…and the person I’ve been in love with all this time.”
The room froze.
For the first time since the interview disaster, Ramya was speechless. And Saumya—for all her energy—simply blinked, her mouth falling slightly open in shock.
There it was. The truth.
And nothing would ever be the same again.

"When It All Began – The First Time I Met Jayant"
It was a usual morning—school prayer time, the air buzzing with the murmured chants of a hundred voices. I stood in line, my hands folded neatly, eyes half-closed, pretending to be focused. But then, he happened.

A 5’7” boy, school uniform slightly messy, hair tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed, stood right in front of me. Something about him felt… different. But it wasn’t his messy hair or his confident posture that caught my attention—it was his EYES.

A deep, warm brown, almost golden in the sunlight—just like my mother’s eyes. My heart twisted. It had only been a month since she passed away, and that familiar warmth hit me like a wave. For a second, I thought I was imagining it. For a brief moment, I wondered if I was hallucinating.

He turned around suddenly, catching me off guard. With a bold smile, he asked, “Friends?”
I froze. I wasn’t the kind of girl people wanted to be friends with—especially after Mom’s death.
I had become an introvert, keeping my head down and focusing on being the topper of my class.
And then came Navin—the boy next door and my father’s self-appointed guard dog. Ever since Mom’s death, Dad had told Navin to “take care of me,” and he had taken that job a little too seriously. I didn’t like the way Navin always hovered around, acting like he owned a part of me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Navin glaring. His voice echoed in my head, "Don’t trust these Section C boys." So, without thinking, I shook my head.
"No," I said softly, rejecting the only person who had tried to cross the invisible wall I had built.

He didn’t look disappointed. In fact, he smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Okay, how about this—if I top my class, you have to be my friend.”
I blinked at him in shock. Was he… serious?
“And,” he added, leaning in a little closer, “when I get to Section A, keep a seat open for me. Right next to you.”
His confidence was maddening. Without waiting for my answer, he turned on his heels and walked off, tossing a wink over his shoulder.

I should’ve ignored him. But I didn’t.

After school, curiosity got the better of me. I followed him. I thought I was being subtle—hiding behind walls, pretending to tie my shoelaces—but of course, he caught me.

“You stalking me, Topper?” he teased, leaning against me.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t stop staring at those familiar brown eyes—the ones that made me feel safe for the first time in months.
From that day on, he became unstoppable. Every day, he found some excuse to talk to me.

“Hey, what did you bring for lunch today?”
“I studied this chapter—do you think it’s important?”
"I have a doubt, will you help me?"
“You look cute today, Aalu.”

Yes—Aalu. My new nickname, thanks to my chubby cheeks. I acted annoyed, but secretly? I didn’t mind. Not when he was the one saying it.

For two months, this became our daily routine. Then came exam results—and he did it. Rank 9—not the topper, but good enough to land him in Section A. (Really he did hard work for this)

I’ll never forget the day he walked into our class. He strolled in slowly, like he had conquered the world, scanning the room with a self-assured grin. And then—he stopped. Right at my desk.

My heart pounded in my chest as I remembered his words—“Keep a seat open for me.” So, I did. I had refused to let Navin sit there, no matter how many times he tried.

Taking a deep breath, I extended my hand and asked the question I had avoided for months—
“Will you be my friend?”

His playful smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Hmm… yeah, sure,” he said, slipping his hand into mine.

And just like that, he became my person.
We spent the entire year sharing that desk—laughing, teasing, studying together. He would sneak bites of my lunch, always praising my dad’s cooking. I felt happy again, and for the first time since Mom died, I wasn’t alone.

But… things changed when 9th grade rolled around.
One day, after school, while we sat on the rooftop watching the sunset, he dropped a bombshell.

“I’m not going to top this year,” he said, voice unusually serious.
I frowned. “Why not?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I miss my friends, Aalu. They’re still in Section C. I want to go back.”

His words felt like a punch to the gut. I wanted to scream, "What about me?" But instead, I forced a smile and nodded. I tried to hide the ache in my chest. He was the only friend I had—and now, I was losing him. But I couldn’t say that. Instead, I just nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

When the exams arrived, I realized just how serious he was. He would answer a few questions and then… stop. On purpose.

Watching him throw away his spot beside me hurt more than I could admit. And during our final math paper, I did something I never thought I would.

I stopped trying too. I only solved enough questions to pass—because if he was leaving, I didn’t want to be left behind.

And in that moment, watching him doodle absentmindedly instead of solving equations, I realized the truth—
I didn’t just like him.
I was FALLING in LOVE with him.

And I was willing to lose everything—even my title as the topper—just to stay by his side.

Meeting Jayant changed a lot of things for me—especially the way I saw myself.
Before him, being the topper meant everything. It was my identity, my way of proving my worth to the world. But he? He didn’t care about ranks or titles.
And after spending time with him, I realized something profound—
"Having knowledge is important, but showing it off isn’t. Being a topper? That’s just a show-off."

My knowledge hadn’t disappeared—I still knew as much as any topper would. The only difference? My marks on paper no longer defined me.
And honestly? That realization felt liberating.
~~~
"You gave up being the topper for a boy? Seriously?" Saumya’s voice pulled me back to reality, breaking the flow of my memories.

I felt a lump in my throat as my eyes welled up with tears. Before I could respond, Ramya raised her hand, stopping Saumya from saying anything further.

In a soft, almost broken voice, I whispered, “Yes… I did it for him.”
Because I knew—his presence meant everything to me.

After my mom passed away, the world felt cold and distant. But meeting Jayant? It felt like coming home. Those days with him—laughing, sharing lunch, studying together—they passed so quickly, like a dream I never wanted to wake up from.

In a way, he became my safe place. My third parent. After my mom and dad, it was him who made me feel cared for.
I swallowed the ache rising in my chest and added, “If he finds out, he’ll feel bad. He’s happy in his life—I don’t want to hurt him.”

Saumya tilted her head and asked, this time with genuine concern, “But… why didn’t you ever tell him how you feel?”

I smiled faintly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I did… so many times. I told him ‘I love you’ in every possible way, but—he never took it the way I meant. To him, I’ve always been just a friend. Nothing more.”

Without missing a beat, Saumya blurted out, “Is he an idiot or what?”( kya chutiya hai woh)

I shot her a sharp look—the kind that could kill. She instantly leaned back, raising her hands defensively. “Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, trying to escape my glare.

I sighed and shook my head. “I even tried to confess properly—twice. But… something always went wrong. It’s like the universe never wanted me to say it out loud.”

Ramya, who had been quiet until now, leaned forward with a calculating look. “If he’s never noticed your feelings, do you really think a dating rumor will hurt him? He might actually be happy that you’ve moved on.”

I paused, her words hitting a raw nerve. “Maybe… but it would hurt him to know I didn’t tell him myself.”

The sound of Ramya’s hand slamming against the table made both Saumya and me jump. “Enough with this ‘he’ll feel bad’ nonsense!” she snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin.

I stared at her, wide-eyed. I’d heard that Ramya could be intense when angry—but seeing it? It was a whole new experience.
Saumya, ever the peacemaker, gently placed a hand on Ramya’s shoulder. “Calm down, di. We’ll figure something out.”

Taking a deep breath, Ramya turned back to Saumya, her voice firm but calmer. “Spread the dating rumour. Ask our friends to help. If we control the narrative, we can bury the interview scandal before it spreads further.”

By the time we finished planning, it was already 3 AM. Exhausted, I finally checked my phone—and my heart skipped a beat.

43 missed calls, 36 from Jayant.
I wanted to call him back. Every part of me ached to hear his voice. But what could I say? That my feelings—buried for years—had just spilled out in a public interview? That the world might know about us before he ever did?

At 3 AM, calling him back felt… wrong. Instead, I sent him a simple message:
“We’ll talk in the morning.”

Ramya and Saumya left soon after, both exhausted—though Ramya’s frustration with me still lingered in the air.
Alone in my room, I curled up on my bed, pulling the blanket tightly around me. Sleep refused to come. My mind was too busy wandering through old memories—of school, of our desks pushed together, of his teasing voice calling me ‘Aalu’, and of the one boy who had made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
And somewhere in those thoughts—I realized…
I wasn’t ready to let him go.
Not yet.

••°°••°°••°°••°°••°°