Aryan's POV
The classroom was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed into your ears and made your thoughts too loud. Afternoon light filtered through the blinds, cutting across the desks in soft golden slashes. I was standing by the last bench, clearing up the remains of lunch—our lunch. Mine and Aarohi's. She hated the cafeteria, said it was too loud, too crowded, too fake. So we came here. Same place, same time, every day.
It had started to feel… safe. Familiar.
Until now.
Meera leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed tightly across her chest like she was holding something back. Her gaze flicked between me and the tiffin box I was closing.
"She's not here," she said quietly.
I didn't look up. "I know."
"She left early. I saw Ratan pick her up."
I gave a small nod, sealing the lid shut with more force than necessary.
"Are you going to her?" she asked.
I paused. The question landed heavier than it should have. "Why does it matter?"
"Because it does," she snapped, stepping further into the room. Her voice lowered again. "Because you always go to her."
"She needs help, Meera. You know that better than anyone."
"I need help too," she said, almost too fast. "But no one notices. No one cares if I fall apart. You never look at me the way you look at her."
I finally looked at her. Her eyes were burning, but not with anger. With something worse. Loneliness. Desperation. Longing.
"Meera…"
"I've been there for you," she said, taking another step. "Every single time you broke down over her. Every time you didn't understand her. I stayed."
"I never asked you to," I said, the words coming out colder than I meant.
She flinched like I'd slapped her. "No, you didn't. But I did anyway."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through bone.
"I'm tired of being the background, Aryan," she whispered. "Of being the girl you confide in but never choose."
She was standing right in front of me now, and before I could say anything—before I could step away or breathe—her hands were on my face and her lips were on mine.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It wasn't romantic. It was chaotic, frantic—like she was trying to stop time, or rewrite the story in a single second.
I didn't kiss her back.
I couldn't.
My mind had frozen, torn between everything I knew and everything I didn't want to believe.
And then—
I heard it.
A sharp inhale.
We both turned.
The door was half-open.
And there she was.
Aarohi.
Standing in the hallway, the light behind her casting her shadow into the room like a ghost.
She looked like she'd been punched in the stomach.
The lunchbox she held in her hands slipped through her fingers and hit the floor with a metallic thud, spilling rice and dal across the tiles.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Just her eyes—wide, wet, and impossibly hurt—locked on mine.
"Aarohi—" I stepped forward instinctively.
She backed away like I was fire.
And then—she ran.
Gone before I could move, before I could breathe.
The door slammed shut behind her.
I turned to Meera, who looked just as stunned as I felt. Her lips were trembling now, whatever strength she had crumbling in real time.
"What did you do?" I whispered.
Her face twisted. "I—I just… I didn't want you to go to her. Not again."
I stared at her. "So you kissed me?"
She didn't answer.
My chest felt tight. I couldn't tell if it was guilt or rage or heartbreak—maybe all three.
"You knew she'd be here," I said, the realization dawning slowly. "This was our place. You knew she'd come."
"I thought maybe today she wouldn't—" Meera started, then stopped. "I didn't plan it like that, I swear."
But it didn't matter. Because Aarohi had seen.
And the look in her eyes… I'd never forget it.
Like something inside her had shattered.
Something fragile and real.
I rushed past Meera without another word, yanked the door open, and sprinted into the hallway.
Empty.
The echo of her footsteps was already fading.