Even the Stars Lied

This book is dedicated to my little brother, Pratap — my life, my strength, my everything. Without his unwavering enthusiasm, this story might have remained unfinished.

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                   Acknowledgement 

A huge thank you to: my parents, Allan and Sybil, for a lifetime of love and support, for reading great books to me when I was young, and for still holding my hand through the things that make me nervous;my brother, Pratap —for always standing by my side.We may not be bound by blood,but some bonds are stronger than bloodand thicker than water.This story would not have been possible without him.His journey reminded me — and hopefully the world —that love can be beautiful, even in its own fragile beauty. To my dear friends, both near and online,and to Dr. Kulsum, my editor —thank you for your unwavering support and encouragement.

CONTENTS 

1.When the World Stopped, We Started

2 .Mask, Glove, and Heartbeat

3.2:00 A.M. Texts

4. Love in Quarantine

5.Rain in the Middle of Summer

6.Our Bubble, Our World

7.Cracks in the Silence

8.The Message I Wasn’t Meant to See

9.Loving Someone Who’s Elsewhere

10.When Goodbye Doesn’t Come With Closure

11.After Him, There Was Rain

12.Even Broken Hearts Still Beat

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"He wasn’t just a chapter—I wrote my whole story in his name.

But some stories, no matter how beautifully written,

are meant to end in silence."

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                              Preface 

We met when the world was falling apart, yet somehow, we felt whole.It was during lockdown—when masks covered our faces but couldn’t hide our eyes, and distance measured safety, not love. In that strange, quiet pause life had handed us, we found each other.He wasn't supposed to be forever.But he became my mornings, my musings, my muse.This is not a fairytale.There is no prince who rescues, no sunset that holds.This is a love story where the ending came too soon—where loyalty was broken,where silence hurt more than words,and where love still lived… in the ache,in the letting go.This story is for anyone who ever gave their all to someone who left with parts of them.It's about the way we rebuild—softly, slowly—after everything beautiful has fallen apart.Because even in heartbreak,there is art. There is truth.There is us.

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 Chapter One: When the World Stopped, We Started

"Aavyan, wake up! It’s 5:45! You need to get fresh and get ready for school!" my mother’s voice cut through the silence like a whistle on a cold morning.I groaned under my blanket, pulling it tighter around me. Before I could even breathe, my father's voice followed, harsh and commanding.

"Do you think life is just about sleeping? Get up and get ready! Always lazy!"

Every morning felt like this. I wanted to scream, but I stayed silent, swallowing my thoughts. I’m not a robot—I’m just a teenager. My parents never seemed to understand that. We were from different worlds, different generations. They wanted discipline, grades, tradition. I wanted to breathe, to be myself.But being myself came at a cost.

I’m only eleven—a kid trying to live by the rhythm of his own heart. But most days, I feel older. Like a soul too heavy for its years, carrying more than it should. All I’ve ever wanted is peace. But maybe peace is too much to ask for. People rarely give you that—not at home, not at school, not even in the quiet moments alone.

Sometimes, I think I sound too grown-up for my age. But the truth is, I’ve seen too much—more than most kids should ever have to. From the moment my life began, it has never really felt...light. I stare at the walls of my room and whisper to myself, “Life is crazy… and so is everyone in it.”Walking toward the school gate always filled me with dread. It felt like walking into a place where I wasn’t welcome. The only comfort I had in school was my teacher, Mrs. S. Rao. She was warm, encouraging, and believed in me. Maybe it was because I was always quiet and respectful, the kind of student every teacher appreciated. I wouldn’t call myself a genius, but I was good in my studies—and sometimes, that was the only reason I convinced myself to show up.

Friendship wasn’t easy. The few people I spent time with wore false smiles. They laughed with me during breaks but mocked me behind my back. In school, being completely alone is impossible. So I played along, accepted their company, knowing deep down that they were not my people.But being myself came at a cost . 

As I was walking up the staircase after assembly with Sauvik, I heard Mark shouting from behind, “Look, she’s walking like a girl!” I turned around and noticed he was whispering something into Nitin’s.      ear.                                                                     "Don’t pay much heed to them,” Sauvik said, clearly unbothered.

“You’re right,” I replied, though deep down, those kinds of comments do hurt — they can even lead to lasting trauma.

We had just a few more steps to climb when a boy named Raheel bumped into us. I was so engrossed in my conversation with Sauvik — and with my usual habit of moving my hands while talking — that I barely noticed. Raheel laughed and said, “Stop acting like a freaking girl, bro,” raising an eyebrow at Mark who was trailing behind us.

“Why don’t we get him a dress too?” Mark added, snickering.

I looked at both of them and said calmly, “Why don’t you both tutor me then?”

Raheel’s face turned red with anger. In a sudden burst, he grabbed me and pushed me against the wall, raising his fist to hit me — but Sauvik stepped in just in time, pulling him back.

“Teachers are here,” Sauvik warned firmly.

Sauvik had always spoken in a firm tone and usually kept his distance. He didn't like clinginess, but he had no filter when it came to speaking his mind.

Raheel let go of my collar and mocked me with a twisted smirk. I could see it in his eyes — his anger was uncontrollable. If he had really wanted to, he could have smacked  me badly, maybe even killed me right there.

“Are you okay?” Sauvik asked, concern written all over his face.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied. But no, I wasn’t fine — not even close. How could I be?

Mark, who had been enjoying the whole scene like it was entertainment, chuckled and said, “The game has just begun.”

Later, during our English class, I could feel Raheel’s eyes on me. He kept staring from across the room, and I knew he was up to something — something big.

"I was unable to concentrate on the lecture, as Mark's words kept playing in my mind—The game has just begun. Am I an object to these people? Something within me stirred with fear. But who could possibly understand everything I'm going through, or realise that it's not just about being bullied—it's about dying from within?"

I wasn’t a coward, nor was I scared of them. I could have fought back—but I chose not to. I wanted to keep a clean record in school. What scared me the most was not being able to be myself. I didn’t want to stoop to their level, no matter how much I burned inside, no matter how many silent tears I cried.I wanted to express how I was feeling... but to whom? There’s no one who truly understands me, no one who knows what it’s like to die every day while still living.

People think school is a place where we learn—but no one talks about the emotional scars it can leave. This is too much for a teenager to carry alone. Our parents believe we’re being educated, but often, we’re being silently, mentally tortured.

"Why were you offline yesterday?" Arnav asked, interrupting my thoughts. He was my bench partner—not exactly a true friend, but he had always shown a certain kind of concern ever since we were in Standard 3. Still, he often turned a deaf ear to what I was going through. Maybe he was scared too—scared of the bullies, just like everyone else.

“Oh, I fell asleep,” I replied casually.

“I texted you about the project,” he added, clearly trying to stretch the conversation a bit more.

“Okay, I’ll check it once I’m home,” I said, not wanting to get into too much detail.

Just then, Sauvik snapped me out of the moment from behind. “Bhai, I’m so bored! Let’s talk about machines and the latest cars!”

I forced a smile. Now that’s not what I like talking about, I murmured to myself.

Before I could say anything, Mrs. Rosemary Das — our fiery History teacher — stormed into the classroom. She was dressed in a blazing red sari, and from the way she marched in, you could tell someone was in serious trouble.

“Raheel!” she bellowed. “Come out, you devil in disguise!”

She was worse than Hitler when she losther temper.

“You bunk my classes, and now you pick fights in school?” she snapped, grabbing him by the ear. “Nothing escapes my eyes. I saw what you did to Aavyan. And I’m not letting you get away with it.”

The entire class turned toward me in stunned silence. Anshuman and Niddhi, from the other end of the room, gestured at me, mouthing, What happened?

I just gave a small nod and whispered, “Nothing serious.”

But deep down, I knew the truth. Raheel was finally getting what he deserved.

Karma has its own timing — and today, it showed up in a 

The bell finally rang — the end of the day and the start of the weekend. As I stepped out of class, Mark, Daniel, and Neil came charging from behind and hit me. It wasn’t just a playful tap — it was a solid, painful blow.

This time, I didn’t let it slide. Something within me roared—if not now, then never. I couldn’t allow myself to be treated like an object anymore. Frustration burned from deep within. The jerks they once mocked me for, the things that made me different—they're dead today.

Anshuman darted after them, and so did Sauvik and I. I yanked open my water bottle, popped the lid, and flung a splash of water straight at them.

They froze — drenched and stunned.I could see Neil was shocked—frozen for a while. Mark looked like he couldn’t tell if it was a dream or reality. None of them had expected this. The other students who passed by were cheering, and for the first time in a long while, I felt good… but not for something like this. My parents never raised me to fight back this way. Not like this.

We left them standing there, stunned and wondering. My group burst into laughter, and I couldn’t help but join in. But you know, sudden scars never truly heal. Happiness may visit once in a while, fleeting and bright—but those scars remain, etched deep within, shadows that linger for a lifetime.

"Like a ballad sung in whispers low,

Joy may sparkle, then fade like snow,

But wounds unseen, they do not part—

They carve their tale within the heart."

Sometimes, tit for tat is the only language some people understand. And sometimes pain makes you forget how to be kind.

“Did you see Mark’s face?” Niddhi laughed as we walked out of the school gate.

“I’ve never run so fast in my life — like I did today chasing those dumb heads,” Anshuman added, catching his breath.

“I could’ve easily landed a fist on those mfs,” Sauvik chimed in, fists clenched. He never filtered his words — always blunt, never caring who heard.

I smiled along with them, nodding in silence. But deep down, moments like these didn’t feel like victories.They felt like slow deaths.Like dying a little each day, while still breathing — until death finally knocks.

As I reached home, my phone buzzed — it was my mother calling. But I was in the washroom, unable to pick up.The moment I stepped out, I called her back.

“What took you so long to answer?” she snapped. My parents never had much patience.                                                      “What is it now?” I replied, too tired to explain or justify anything — because honestly, nothing I said ever really mattered.

“There might be another lockdown,” she said, her voice tense. “COVID-19 cases are rising again. I need you to go out and buy groceries. Stock up on essentials — just in case.”She was panicking. That was her way of loving, I guess.

“Wear a nose mask and go,” she added firmly.

I wanted to tell her to relax, to reassure her that nothing like that would happen — but I guess I preferred keeping my mouth shut.

“Okay, I’ll get everything,” I said instead.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to shake it off — but those sudden flashback moments returned. Mark’s words echoed in my head again: “The game has just begun.”      Something about it stirred fear deep within me.

To distract myself, I headed out to buy all the groceries my mother had asked for. I kept my head down, focused on the list, trying not to let my thoughts spiral.

Later that evening, we were all gathered in the living room watching the news. At exactly 8:00 PM on March 24, 2020, Prime Minister Narendra Modi addressed the nation. He announced a complete nationwide lockdown for 21 days, starting from midnight — to curb the rapid spread of COVID-19.

People were instructed to return to their hometowns, avoid travel, and step out only for essentials. Everything — from schools and offices to transport — would be shut down.

My class teacher, Mr. Basu, had messaged to inform us that school would remain closed due to COVID, and we’d be having online classes instead—which was still okay. Somewhere deep inside, I felt a strange sense of relief. I didn’t have to face those jerks anymore.                                Being home never really made me happy, but at least I didn’t have to pretend. Still, even in the comfort of my own space, I felt like a parrot in a cage—seen, but not heard; colourful, but never free.

Then, the world stopped. And that's ’s when Aaryan Rajput returned.We weren’t strangers.We had been friends at nine, when Aaryan came to visit his cousin who lived in my housing complex. We’d race bikes along the narrow lanes and share candies under the old gulmohar tree, its red petals falling like confetti over our laughter.

But one day, Aaryan left. His cousin moved away. And just like that, the memory faded — like chalk drawings in the rain.Now, at eleven, in the hush of a pandemic, Aaryan was back.

He looked different—taller, cooler, confident. He studied at Bihani Academy, a posh school with elevators and digital boards. But when Aavyan saw him near the garden fence, flipping through a graphic novel, he knew. The soft eyes, the crooked smile—unchanged.

One evening, Aaryan walked up slowly. Nervous."Hey," he said, brushing his hair back. "Can I tell you something weird?" "Okay," I blinked.                                            "I’ve been thinking about you," he said. "More than usual. I think I like you. 

“Umm… like me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. There was a strange twist in my chest, something between disbelief and discomfort. “I don’t really feel anything good about being liked,” I added quickly, trying to retreat from the weight of the moment. I looked away, pretending to be distracted—anything to avoid this conversation.

“You probably don’t understand me, Aavyan.”

I sighed. “Okay then, tell me—what is it?”

“I like you,” he said, his voice steady but soft, “but not as a friend.”

I blinked. “Oh… I guess you like me like a brother,” I said with an awkward chuckle, hoping to brush it off.                                    But his eyes dropped to the floor. The silence between us felt suddenly too loud.

“Hey… what is it, Aryan?” I asked, this time gently, sensing the seriousness behind his stillness.He looked up, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before—fear, honesty, and something else. “I know this might shock you… but I like you as a lover. Not a friend. Not a sibling.”

My heart stuttered. For a second, I couldn’t feel my hands. My thoughts scrambled to catch up with what he’d just said.                   I searched his face for a trace of humor. “Is this… is this a prank or something?” I asked, almost hoping it was.

But he didn’t flinch. “No,” he said calmly. “It’s not. I like you. A lot.”                                      The world didn’t pause—but for me, it tilted. Words failed me. I just stood there, unable to decide whether to run, cry, or stay.

“Aavi…” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I know you’re angry.”I cleared my throat, but the words just wouldn't come. My mouth opened, then closed again.“I…” I began, but stopped.What was I even supposed to say?I didn’t know. I really didn’t.

He took a step back, his voice quieter now. “Just forget what I said,” he mumbled, turning away.

“Hey…” I called out before he could walk off. He paused.

“Yes… we should forget about it,” I said, trying to smile. “We’re still friends.”              He forced a small smile and nodded. “Okay.”But I could see it in his eyes—that flicker of pain he tried to hide. And yeah, it stung a little, too.Still, how was I supposed to like a boy? That just wasn’t me. I was into girls… even though, honestly, they can be a total headache sometimes.                              I stood there, watching him walk away, lost in the blur of my own tangled thoughts. The moment played on repeat in my mind, and I wasn’t sure what confused me more—his feelings, or mine. 

That night, while I was scrolling through YouTube Shorts—since I’m not on any social media—my mind drifted back to everything that had happened during the day. Aryan’s words, his expression, the silence between us… it all replayed like an unfinished scene in a movie I didn’t want to be in.

I wanted to erase myself from his thoughts.  Me and a gay?                                            Never happening, I told myself firmly.       Out of impulse, I opened my WhatsApp and scrolled through my contacts. In my family circle, there was this girl—Arpita. I figured maybe talking to her... maybe even dating a girl would help me forget all of this.          

Hey, I texted .She replied quickly with a hi, but didn’t give me much space to speak. Within minutes, she started venting about every single thing in her life—complaints, drama, chaos.I sighed. This damn thing is not happening.These girls… I swear, I thought. They really are a headache sometimes.

It wasn’t working for me—not the conversation, not the distraction, not the fake sense of control. I ended the chat politely: It was nice talking to you.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t about Arpita. Or Aryan. Or anyone else.                   It was me—lost in a maze I hadn’t asked to enter.

The next day, during the online class, I couldn’t help but think about Aryan—every single second. His words kept echoing in my head, playing on a loop I couldn’t shut off. I decided not to leave my room at all. Everything felt awkward. I didn’t feel like facing anyone.    

Suddenly, a message popped up on my screen. It was from Pritish, a friend from my complex.

“Aaj volleyball kheltay ashbi?”

I paused after reading his text. Should I go… or should I not?

I knew Aryan would be there, and the thought of seeing him made everything inside me twist with awkwardness. But a quieter voice in my head said, Don’t act crazy. Just be normal. Like nothing ever happened.

I took a deep breath and typed my reply:

“Haan re, ami ashbo.”

Then I threw my phone aside and stared at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I was ready to face the evening—and him.

Later that evening, I walked down to the court with my hands buried in my pockets, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible. The usual crowd was already there, the sun dipping low behind the buildings.And there he was. Aryan. His hair messy, his focus sharp.

He was already in the game—jumping, diving, spiking the ball like he owned the court. I couldn’t help but stare. I’d seen him play before, sure… but tonight, there was something different. Confident. Unapologetically bold.

Damn, I thought, he’s actually really good.      I stood quietly by the side for a moment, watching. Something about the way he moved—the power, the ease—left me oddly impressed.But I shook the thought away.I was here to play. Just play.Act normal. Like nothing ever happened.                                    

I joined the game a little late, trying not to draw attention. Pritish tossed me the ball with a grin, and the others welcomed me with the usual teasing. But I could feel Aryan’s eyes on me—or maybe I was just imagining it.

As the game picked up, I got into it. The running, the rush, the sound of sneakers scraping against the court—it all started to drown out the thoughts in my head.

At one point, Aryan and I ended up on the same side. I hesitated for a second when he passed the ball to me—our fingers barely brushed, but it felt like electricity. I avoided eye contact, focusing instead on the ball flying through the air.

“Nice shot!” he said after I managed a decent save.                                                        I nodded quickly. “Thanks.”

We played on. And though I tried to act normal, I could feel the tension between us—soft, unspoken, hanging in the air like a thread no one wanted to pull.

Yet, something inside me had softened. The way he laughed when Pritish tripped, the way he encouraged a younger kid to take a serve, the way he smiled—not at me, just… generally. It was so him. Effortless. Real.

I was supposed to forget him.But why did everything about him feel so hard to erase?

As the sun sank lower, and the lights in the court buzzed to life, I caught myself watching him again—not just as a player… but as a person.And I hated how that made me feel.

The game ended with our team losing by just one point. Everyone was panting and laughing, patting each other’s backs and wiping sweat off their brows. I grabbed my water bottle and sat on the edge of the court, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart—not from the game, but from everything else.

Aryan walked over, his shirt damp with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. He sat beside me, not too close, not too far. For a moment, neither of us said anything. Just silence. The kind that presses on your chest a little.

“You played well,” he said finally, glancing at me.“Thanks,” I replied, not meeting his eyes.He nodded slowly. “I’m glad you came.”

I wanted to say me too, but it caught in my throat.  So I just sipped my water and shrugged a little. “Needed the distraction.”Aryan smiled faintly. “Yeah. Same.”The others started heading out in groups, laughing and pushing each other like nothing had ever changed. Like we were all just kids again.But I wasn’t that same kid anymore.Not after yesterday.Not after him.

As I walked back home alone, the breeze felt cool against my skin, but my mind was burning.

I told myself I wasn’t into boys. I told myself girls were what I liked—even if they were drama and chaos and impossible to figure out.So why did I keep remembering his voice? His words?Why did I feel more seen in one moment of his silence than in hours of anyone else talking?

I shut the door to my room and leaned against it.I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t want to know.Because once I did, I wouldn’t be able to lie to myself anymore.

A month passed somehow, the days blurring together as we played volleyball every evening. He never left my side—his presence haunting every part of me, like my soul unwillingly craving him.

One night, I pictured myself sitting beside him, sharing quiet moments where words weren’t needed — just the comfort of simply being together. In those daydreams, I felt safe, as if the world could slow down just for us.

I woke up suddenly, my heart pounding. What the hell is happening to me? This can’t be true.

I glanced at the clock—1 a.m. sharp

“Come on, Aavi,” I told myself, trying to bring myself back to life. I took a sip of water and crawled back into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead as restlessness gripped me.

I got up again and walked to the window. Closing my eyes, I tried to embrace the cool night breeze, hoping it would calm the storm inside. And then, suddenly, I saw him—clear as day—in my mind. My heart skipped a beat.

This feeling… I paused, searching for words. I glanced at the mirror and smiled softly. I think I’m in love, I whispered to myself.

Everyone bullied me, but since he came into my life, he healed my scars. Something deep inside me wanted him more than I could explain, like my soul was willing to dive through a thousand universes just to find his.

How could I ever tell him what I truly feel?

I tried not to. I fought it. I denied it.

But this heart—this goddamn heart—it just knows what it wants.

And I know, deep down, my soul craves only him.

It was 4:00 PM, and I was still wide awake. I hadn’t slept a minute.

My mom peeked into my room and caught me staring into my science book. She looked shocked—probably because it’s been ages since I opened it willingly. But she didn’t say a word. She just nodded slightly and left.

I sighed and stared at my phone.

Should I text him? Or should I just let it go?

But this feeling wouldn’t let me rest. My fingers moved on their own.

Me: Hi… good morning.

Almost instantly, the screen lit up.

Aryan: Hi, good morning to you too 😊

My heart skipped. I took a deep breath and typed again:

Me: Will you be free at 11?

Aryan: Yes, I’ll be free. Everything okay?

Me: Can we meet downstairs… or in my room?

There was a pause. I could see the "typing..." bubble appear, disappear, then reappear again.

Aryan: Whatever you find best.I hesitated… then added:

Me: My parents won’t be home. They’ve got some work.He replied almost immediately.

Aryan: Even with this COVID situation? They still have to go?

Me: Yeah… can’t be helped. Just let me know.

Aryan: Okay… I’ll come to your room.

Me: Okay. See you then.

I placed the phone on the table, my heart thudding in my chest like it was trying to break free.

A knock on my door.

I froze for a second. My heart was racing again.

I opened it—and there he was.

Aaryan.

For a moment, we just looked at each other. I think he smiled, or maybe I imagined it. Either way, my heart skipped a beat.

“Come in,” I said, stepping aside.

He looked around as he entered. “Nice house,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” I replied, trying to sound casual. “My mom likes everything neat and clean.”        He nodded, walking in slowly, not touching anything, just quietly observing. There was a strange comfort in the silence between us—like neither of us wanted to break the moment too fast.I closed the door gently behind us.

He sat down at the edge of my bed, careful, almost hesitant. I stayed standing for a moment, trying to calm the storm inside me.

“So…” he said, looking up at me, “you wanted to talk?”

I nodded, but my throat felt dry. I grabbed the water bottle from the table and took a sip—more for time than thirst.

“I…”I sat down beside him, just enough distance between us to keep things uncertain.

“I don’t know how to say this,” I finally admitted, eyes fixed on the floor. “But I haven’t been okay. Not really. Not for a long time.”

Aryan didn’t interrupt. He just listened. And that silence—his willingness to just be there—gave me the courage to go on.

“Ever since you said what you felt… I’ve been confused. Not because it disgusted me or scared me. But because… I started thinking.”He turned his head toward me slightly, his expression unreadable.                “I never thought I could feel this way about a guy,” I whispered. “But the truth is… you make me feel seen. Like I matter. Like I’m not some background noise in the world.”   The air between us thickened. His eyes searched mine.“I think,” I paused, heart thudding louder, “I think I’m falling for you.” A moment of silence followed—heavy, electric, and honest.

Aaryan didn’t smile right away. But he didn’t look away either. Then softly, he said,            “I was scared to hope you’d ever say that.”And somehow, that sentence made all the broken pieces inside me shift into place.

A soft breeze filtered through the half-open window. The world outside felt silent, distant — as if it had paused just for us.

He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. Aryan reached out, gently brushing his fingers against mine. Not grabbing. Not forcing. Just being there.And in that single, quiet moment… something changed.                   All the noise — the bullying, the confusion, the pressure to fit into boxes others had drawn — it faded.                                        What stayed was real. Uncomplicated. True.Maybe we didn’t have all the answers. Maybe tomorrow would be messy again.But right then, in that still room, I wasn’t broken.I wasn’t alone.When the world had stopped… we had started.

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Chapter Two: Mask, Glove, and Heartbeat

I never thought silence could be so loud.     It echoed in my room. In my chest. In every corner of my house. Even the walls felt like they were listening — like they knew something had changed.

Outside, the world was still masked. Sanitized. Measured in gloved hands and six feet of distance. But inside me?It was chaos. Raw. Unfiltered. Beating faster than I could control.

I kept washing my hands that morning — not out of hygiene, but out of habit. Nervousness. Like I could scrub away whatever was growing between us.

The mirror didn’t help. It reflected someone I wasn’t sure I recognized anymore.

A boy in a loose T-shirt.Hair messy.Eyes searching.And behind that disposable mask... a heartbeat trying not to betray itself.                                                            That’s when the message came.

Aaryan "You up?"

Just two words, but my pulse stuttered.I stared at the screen.Of course I was up. I hadn’t really slept since yesterday.

I barely had time to type a response when—

SLAM.

The door flung open.

“Always on your phone!” my father snapped from the doorway. “Do you ever stop? Have you seen the time?”

I quickly locked the screen, my heart jumping into my throat.                                “It’s just a message…” I mumbled.

He didn’t care. “Every hour I walk past, you’re glued to that thing. Read a book. Help your mother. Do something useful for once!”I nodded, eyes low, fingers twitching by my side.                                                      He gave a final huff and slammed the door shut.

I sat there frozen — the heat of frustration crawling up my neck. But worse than that was the cold sinking into my stomach.

I hadn’t replied to Aaryan.

Not even a second had passed before the message was taken from me. And now it felt like a lifetime. 

I unlocked my phone, hands trembling. The message still sat there, unread. Waiting.

I hated how desperate I felt over a single text. But when you’ve lived in silence, one person who really sees you…they become oxygen.My fingers flew.

Me: “Yes. I’m up. Sorry. My dad just barged in. Couldn’t reply.”

I stared at the screen like it could speak back.

Then it buzzed.

Aryan:

“It’s okay. I figured. Just wanted to check in.”

“You seemed off yesterday. I hope I didn’t say too much.”

Too much?

He had said everything.

He’d poured his heart out. And now, he was the one worried about crossing a line?

I started typing, then deleted. Typed again. Deleted.

Words were never my enemy. But this…

this felt like choosing between a soft fire and the world’s ice-cold stare.

Me:

“No… you didn’t. You were honest. And I’m glad you were.”

“I just need some time. My head’s a mess.”

The three dots blinked back at me for a while.

Aaryan:

“I get it. Really. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

I read those words over and over. I’m not going anywhere.

But what if I was?

What if I drifted back into the silence I had always lived in — too scared of whispers in corridors, judgments hidden behind polite smiles, families who would never understand? 

What if I stayed where it was safe… and lost the one person who felt like home?I put the phone down and stared at the ceiling.      The fan spun in slow circles, like time wasn’t sure whether to move forward or hold me in this moment.My feelings were real. But so was the world — loud, nosy, cruel.                                                                    I wasn’t afraid of loving him.I was afraid of what the world would do because I did.

I picked up the phone again. The screen still lit with Aryan’s last message:

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I sighed and typed slowly, carefully.

Me:“They haven’t left yet. My mom’s in the kitchen, dad’s on a call. I don’t know when they’ll go.”

The reply came fast, like he’d been waiting for me — like his day paused until I hit “send.”

Aryan:“No worries. I’ll study for a bit. Just text me the moment they leave.”

Me:“Okay… I will.”

Then I added — unsure why, but needing to say it:

Me:“Thanks for understanding. Most people don’t.”

He replied almost instantly.

Aryan:“You don’t have to thank me, Aavi.”

“Just be real with me. That’s all I ever want.”

I held the phone to my chest for a second, breathing in the weight of his words.Be real with me.                                                          But how do you bare your soul in a world that teaches you to hide?

I watched from behind the curtain as my parents moved around the house — my dad still pacing with his laptop, my mom humming while stirring tea.

They had no idea.

No idea that their son was sitting upstairs with a hurricane in his chest and a boy in his heart.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours.Time felt like it had been dipped in glue.            Downstairs, the clinking of cups. The muffled hum of news anchors.My father’s voice, sharp on the phone.My mother’s keys jingling, then silence again.I stood behind the curtain like a prisoner waiting for the gates to open.

And then — like a whisper — the front door creaked.

I peeked through the slit.

Shoes on. Bags in hand.

They were leaving.

The car engine coughed to life, roared, then faded down the lane.

Gone.

I stood there, frozen, palms sweating, heart slamming against my ribcage like it wanted to run out and tell Aryan itself.

My fingers trembled as I picked up the phone.

Me:“They left.”

Just two words — but it felt like I’d stripped off my armor.The three dots danced on the screen like a heartbeat.

Aryan: “On my way.”

I stared at those words until they blurred.The same way my thoughts were blurring — crashing into one another.       Part of me wanted to run downstairs and lock the door.The other part was already standing at the mirror, fixing my hair.          My mind was in a hundred places, but my heart? It was quiet now.Not calm. Not peaceful. Just quiet — like it had finally made its choice.

I glanced at the door.

He was coming.

And I wasn’t ready.

But maybe love doesn’t wait for ‘ready’.

Maybe love just happens, messy and terrifying and beautiful — all at once.

I paced.

My feet knew the pattern by now — window to door, door to mirror, mirror to window again.The clock ticked louder than ever. Every second throbbed in my ears.He said on my way — but why did those three words feel like a thunderstorm inside me?I sat on the edge of my bed, then stood up again.I walked to my cupboard, opened it for no reason, closed it again.I glanced at myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess — but somehow, it suited the chaos I was feeling.

I didn’t want to look perfect.I wanted to look real.On my study table lay a photo frame — an old school group picture.There we were. Back when things were easier. When life didn’t feel like a tightrope walk between truth and acceptance.

There was Aryan — fourth from the left, grinning wide, wearing his tie all wrong.Even back then, his smile had a kind of pull.           I hadn’t noticed it then. But now…Now it felt like gravity.

What are we even doing?

What if this ruins everything?

What if I say something I can’t take back?

I closed my eyes, exhaled.

This wasn’t about a crush.

This was about a craving — to be seen, to be held in a world that always asked me to hide.

And he saw me.A knock.Soft. Once. Then twice.My breath caught in my throat.         He was here.

The knock still echoed in my chest.

I reached for the doorknob, fingers hesitating for half a second before turning it.

And there he was.

Aaryan.

Wearing that same hoodie he always wore on rainy days — blue, slightly frayed at the cuffs.

Hair a little messy from the wind, a notebook tucked under one arm, like this was any other afternoon.

But it wasn’t.

Not for me.

Not for him.

“Hey…” he said, voice soft, eyes searching mine.

“Come in,” I said, stepping aside. My voice cracked a little, and I hated that he probably noticed.

He walked in slowly, like stepping into a space sacred, eyes glancing around, then landing back on me.He didn’t sit. He just stood there — a storm bottled up in calm skin.

“So…” he said, clutching his notebook tighter. “You okay?” I swallowed. Was I ? 

I nodded, but my eyes gave me away. He saw right through it. He always did.

“I know this feels weird,” he added gently, “but I didn’t come here for answers. I came because you… matter to me.”

Silence.

That word — matter — did something to me.I had never heard it said like that before.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, and he slowly followed, leaving a respectable space between us. 

But that space felt electric.

“I’ve been thinking,” I finally whispered. “About everything. You. This. Me.”

I looked down at my hands. “I’m scared, Aryan. Of what people will say. Of what I’ll become. Of losing people I love.”

Aaryan turned slightly to face me.

“You won’t lose me,” he said, firm now. “And what you’ll become… is someone honest with himself. That’s brave, not broken.”

I looked at him. Really looked.                    And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel ashamed of what I felt.

I felt… human.

The air between us was still — like the world had hit pause, like everything outside that room didn’t exist.

He shifted closer — just a little. Not too much.

But enough.Our shoulders brushed.I didn’t move away.And neither did he.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said softly.“But it’s not just a phase. It’s not confusion. It’s… something I feel when you’re around.”

He looked at me, and there was no teasing in his eyes this time — just depth, patience, and something soft that made my chest tighten.

Aaryan reached out — slowly — and placed his hand gently over mine.His fingers didn’t clutch.

They just rested there, like a promise.My breath caught. I didn’t pull away.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he whispered, his voice barely louder than the ticking clock on the wall.

“Not labels. Not answers. Just… let me be here. With you.

His fingers brushed mine.

And my entire world slowed down.

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t pull away.

I just… let it happen.

The silence between us was no longer awkward.It was warm.Safe.

His thumb gently circled over the back of my hand, almost like he was drawing invisible promises there.

You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, eyes fixed on our hands. “Just… stay.”

I looked at him, really looked — at the sincerity in his gaze, the patience written all over his face. No expectations. No pressure.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said softly.

He smiled — the kind of smile you don’t see often in this world. A smile with no filters, no masks.                                                        And then… the sound of a door downstairs.

A key turning.

Footsteps.

I pulled my hand back, heart thudding.

“Shit—” I mumbled, standing quickly.

Aaryan was already on his feet, alert. “Your parents?”

I nodded, pacing toward the window. “They’re back. I didn’t think they’d return this soon.”

He grabbed his notebook, threw on his hoodie, and moved toward the door.

“I’ll go,” he said, already opening it.

I stopped him just as he was leaving.

“Aryan.”

He turned. His eyes — full of questions, full of waiting.

“Thanks for coming.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to say something else… but he just nodded and slipped out.

And just like that, the air in the room felt heavier.

The moment was over. But something real had just begun.

The door creaked open again.

I froze for a second, but it was just my father. He walked in briskly, flipping through files.

“Aavyan, have you seen the red folder with the income tax documents?”

I pointed to the study shelf. “Top rack. Left corner.”

He grabbed it, still distracted. “Got it. Your mother and I have some errands. Won’t be back until late evening.”

That sentence.

It echoed like music in my ears.

I nodded, pretending it was no big deal. “Okay.”

However, my parents never really had time for me due to their hectic work schedules. I was always home alone, and when they were around, they only pretended to play the role of parents — as if they truly cared. But they didn’t. They just left me with my Labrador, Flurry, as though she were my sibling, and I was expected to play with her all day.

He walked back toward the door, then paused. “Don’t be on your phone all day. And finish your science notes.”

“Yeah, yeah…” I muttered, already hearing nothing but the possibilities forming in my head.

The moment the door shut behind him, I swear I almost danced.

I picked up my phone, fingers flying:

Me:They’re going to be late. You can come over.

Three dots.

Then—

Aryan:Omw.

I looked around the room like it needed to be perfect, even though I knew it didn’t matter. I didn’t care about the mess.

I cared about the way my chest tightened and my skin buzzed at just the thought of him being near again.

I left the door unlocked — slightly open — like my heart was already halfway there.

I stood near the wall, trying to breathe normal.

Failing.

And then—quiet footsteps.

A shadow.

And in the next moment, arms.His arms.

Wrapping around me from behind, against the wall.

I didn’t move.I didn’t flinch.

I just leaned back into him — like I’d belonged there all my life.

His breath brushed my ear, soft but sure.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” he whispered.

Neither could I.

Love — it wasn’t a thunderclap.

It was this: his chest pressed to my back, his heartbeat syncing with mine.

It was veins lit with fire, skin burning with something deeper than want — need.

And in that moment, I knew…

This wasn’t confusion.

This wasn’t rebellion.

This was love.

And it had already found its way into my bloodstream.

I turned toward him — our bodies close, touching like two pieces finally finding their place. It felt like two bodies… but one soul.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

He leaned in, whispering, “Why?”

“For hurting you… by avoiding your proposal.”

He held me tighter. “No, you didn’t.”

Just then, a sudden crack of thunder echoed through the sky, and Flurry started barking — loud, sharp, like a never-ending alarm clock.

“Shhh,” he smiled, gently placing his finger on my lips. “I knew you weren’t ready. And that’s okay.”

Before I could say anything more, he lifted me effortlessly and carried me to the bed. I didn’t protest. I didn’t want to. I was lost in his eyes, and just as we settled down, the rain began to fall — like the universe had been waiting to exhale.

Sheets drawn, the soft sound of rain above us, the comfort of closeness… it felt sacred.

“It took me a month to realise,” I whispered. “I’m in love with you. But there wasn’t a single day I stopped thinking about you.”

His forehead rested against mine as he pulled me into a gentle cuddle — the kind that didn’t ask for more, but gave everything.

“What do you think about us now?” he asked quietly.

I looked at him, really looked — into those deep, kind eyes that had waited for me all this time.

“I’m in love,” I said, “with the boy who loved me first.”

He didn’t say a word. He just smiled — the kind of smile that doesn’t need words, that says I’ve been waiting to hear that.

“I’m happy you’re here,” I added. “Happy you’re in my life.”

At that exact moment, Flurry — who must have been sulking at being left out — leapt up onto the bed, landing right between us like a little tornado of fur and loyalty. She wriggled into the center, tail wagging, her eyes looking back and forth between us like we were her chaotic parents.

We burst out laughing.

“She thinks she’s our baby,” Aryan said, ruffling her ears.

“She kind of is,” I replied, resting my head back.

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling. “You know what I love?” he said, tapping on something. “Lata Mangeshkar’s old songs. They just… hit different. There’s something timeless about them.”

He played a track, and we lay there, listening — soft melodies filling the room, the rain still falling outside like our own secret background score.

As the music played, we started scrolling through LGBTQ+ couple videos — stories from across the world. Some silly, some tearful, all beautiful. There was something about seeing people like us, finally free to love without apology, that made the moment feel even more real.

“Should we kiss?” he asked suddenly, glancing over with a half-serious grin.

I laughed. “Only if you're wearing a mask. Corona’s in the air, remember?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Avi, seriously?”

“No need for a mask,” I said, shifting closer. “We can just… feel.”

Our foreheads touched again. No rush. No fear. Just quiet.

His fingers brushed mine again. A promise. A beginning.

We didn’t need to rush anything.

We had time.

We had each other.

And right now — in this messy, unpredictable world — that was more than enough.

We lay there, wrapped in the music and the quiet hum of the rain outside, when suddenly my phone buzzed on the bedside table. I glanced at it — a message from my mom: “Coming home early, don’t stay up too late.”

Panic bubbled up inside me. I didn’t want this moment to end, but reality was creeping back in.

Aaryan noticed the change in my expression. “Everything okay?” he asked softly.

I shook my head. “My parents are coming back early. I think we need to wrap this up.”

He nodded but didn’t move away. Instead, he pulled me closer, his voice barely a whisper. “No matter what happens, Aavi, this — what we have — it’s real. Nothing can take that away.”

I smiled through the nervousness. “Yeah. When the world stopped, we started.”

Flurry let out a small bark, as if agreeing with us.

Just then, a sudden crack of thunder startled us both. I laughed nervously. “Guess the universe is still making noise about us.”

Aaryan grinned. “And we’ll keep making our own music, no matter what storms come.”

We stayed like that for a few more moments — two souls tangled together, fearless and fragile all at once.

Then, quietly, Aryan slipped off the bed and whispered, “I’ll text you later. Promise.”

I nodded, watching him step out, closing the door gently behind him.

I sat there long after Aryan had left, the rain still tapping lightly against the windows like a soft lullaby. Flurry had curled up near my legs, as if sensing the shift in the air, her eyes fluttering closed with the peace only dogs seem to understand.

But I couldn’t sleep.

Not yet.

My heart was still racing, still aching in that sweet, confusing way love does when it’s new and scary and beautiful all at once. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me, tracing my thoughts like shadows on the wall.

He was here.

He chose me.

And I let myself choose him too.

For so long, I had feared what the world would think — my parents, school, society, even myself. But in that moment, when our foreheads touched and silence said everything words couldn’t, I understood something simple but powerful:

Love is never wrong.

Not when it heals you.

Not when it sees you.

Not when it saves you from yourself.

My phone buzzed again — a text from Aryan.

"I didn’t want to leave. I’ll be dreaming of you tonight."

I smiled and replied instantly.

"Same here. Goodnight, Aaryan."

I finally closed my eyes, pulling the blanket around me.The storm had passed — outside and within.And somewhere in the quiet, the world had shifted.Just a little.Just enough for someone like me to finally believe…

I was lovable.

I belonged.

Mornings in lockdown had a strange way of making the world feel suspended — like someone hit pause on everything, but the heart still kept playing.

I woke up late. The sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, painting the walls gold. Flurry was already up, sitting near the window like she was guarding my secrets.

My phone lay next to me, still holding the warmth of last night’s conversation.

No new notifications.

No "good morning" text.And for a moment, I panicked. Had I said too much? Did I ruin it?

I sat up, trying to shake the thoughts away when I heard voices echoing from Aaryan’s house across the complex.

Loud. Familiar.

It was his father.

“Always on that phone! What are you doing all day? You're wasting time! Do something useful!”

The window was slightly open. I could hear everything.

I froze.

I knew that voice — stern, sharp, impatient. The kind that never asks how you're feeling, only what you're doing wrong.

I imagined Aryan on the other side of that voice, shrinking into himself, swallowing his own words just like I used to when my parents pretended to care.

Minutes passed. Then a message finally appeared on my screen.

Aaryan: “Sorry. My dad’s been shouting since morning. I couldn’t text.”

Me: “It’s okay. Are you alright?”

Aaryan: “Yeah. Just… tired. He never listens. I feel like I’m disappearing at home.”

His words clutched something inside me. Because I knew that feeling too well.

Me: “You're not invisible to me.”

There was a pause. Then a voice note.

I played it.

"Aavi... sometimes I feel like you're the only reason I breathe freely. I know we can’t meet every day, and I know this world won’t always be kind to us. But please don’t pull away. I need you to stay. Even if it’s just through this screen."

I stared at the wall for a long time.

What was I so afraid of?

Loving someone who made me feel alive?

Me (typed): “My parents are still home. But I’ll text you the moment they leave. I promise.”

Aaryan: “Okay. Stay close… even if not in person.”

The day passed slowly. Each hour stretching like years. I kept the window open, just in case.

For the air.

For hope.

For him.

And somewhere inside, I knew...

We weren’t just fighting the world.

We were fighting the fear of being ourselves.

But love — even hidden, even behind a screen — has a way of reaching through.

And soon, the moment would come.The door would unlock.The silence would break.And two boys would choose each other again.Not because the world allowed it.But because their hearts already had.

 let me take over her kitchen?” he joked as he plated everything. 

“No,” I smiled. “She’ll probably wonder why the food tastes better than usual.”

We sat cross-legged on the floor, Flurry nestled between us. He served me first, carefully, like he didn’t want me lifting a finger.

“This... this is the first time someone’s cooked for me,” I said after the first bite.

He looked up. “And it won’t be the last.”

Silence settled in, warm and light.

“I’m scared, Aaryan,” I admitted quietly, after a while.He paused, then nodded. “Me too.”“But I don’t want to be scared with you.”He reached out, took my hand, and squeezed it gently.

“We’ll figure it out. Even if the world doesn’t clap for us — we’ll clap for eachother.  

The clock struck 12:30 PM. The silence of the house told me what I needed to know — my parents had left.

Flurry barked once as if announcing freedom. I looked at her.

“Yes, baby. He’s coming,” I said with a grin.

I reached for my phone and typed quickly:

Me: “They’ve left. Door’s open.”

The reply came almost instantly:

Aaryan: “On my way. I’m bringing something.”

I sat cross-legged on the sofa, heart thudding like a drum in a quiet hall. Ten minutes later, there was a gentle knock on the door. I didn’t even say “come in.” I just opened it — and there he was.

No thunder this time. No storm. Just him.

Wearing a hoodie, a mask dangling from one ear, and two grocery bags in hand.

“What's this?” I asked.

“I’m cooking for you today,” he said, smiling. “Chef Aaryan at your service.”

My eyes widened. “You cook?”

“I watch YouTube. That counts.”

We laughed as he walked in and headed straight to the kitchen like he had done this before. Like we had done this before.

He unpacked: eggs, bread, cherry tomatoes, some spinach, and cheese.

“I thought I’d make us something simple — a sandwich and fluffy scrambled eggs with herbs,” he said, already cracking the eggs with practiced grace.

“You’re full of surprises,” I whispered.

“You’re full of reasons to surprise,” he replied without looking up.

While he cooked, I sat on the counter, watching him — sleeves rolled, face focused, brow furrowed like this was a Michelin-star moment. I never knew someone could make flipping eggs look so... intimate.

“Smells divine,” I said.

“Smell’s just the beginning,” he grinned.

Fifteen minutes later, we sat on the floor with our plates. Flurry hovered around, waiting for scraps.

We ate. Talked. Laughed.

And between bites, he said, “You know... this, right now... it feels like the safest place in the world.”

I looked at him — his eyes reflecting the warmth of everything my childhood missed.

“It’s not the food,” I said softly.

“It’s the feeling.”

He leaned forward and touched my cheek. “You make me feel like I belong.”

We didn’t need grand gestures.

This — him cooking, me watching, Flurry chewing a stolen crust in the corner — this was love.

Simple. Honest. Full of heartbeat.

As the clock ticked on and the sun started to bend west, we curled up by the window, music low, heads touching. We didn’t speak much. There was no need.

Love was in the leftovers.

In the silence.

In the way I rested my head on his shoulder and felt the world blur into nothing.

That day, he fed more than just my stomach.

He fed the parts of me that had always been empty — until he arrived.

___________________________________________

         CHAPTER 3: 200 A.M. Texts

The house was asleep.

The world was quiet.

But my mind wasn’t.

It was 2:03 A.M. — and there it was again… the urge to talk to him. Not about anything grand. Just… to know he was awake too. That he was thinking of me the way I was thinking of him.

I stared at the ceiling, the fan humming like a lullaby I couldn’t fall into. Flurry lay curled at my feet, her soft breaths the only proof that someone near me could rest.

I picked up my phone and typed.

Me: “Are you awake?”

The three dots danced almost immediately.

Aaryan: “Always for you.”

My heart fluttered. I sat up in bed, clutching my pillow.

Me: “Can’t sleep. My mind’s loud tonight.”

Aaryan: “Talk to me. Let’s make it quiet together.”

And so, we did.

We texted about nothing and everything.

Me: “Do you remember that first day at volleyball?”

Aaryan: _“When you ignored me completely? Hard to forget.”

Me:** “I was scared. You felt too much like home too soon.”

He didn’t reply for a few seconds. And then:

Aaryan: “And yet, somehow, we built our home from that.”

I held the phone close like it was him.

Like his words could physically hold me.

Me: “Are you happy with me?”

Aaryan: “Beyond. But sometimes I get scared.”

Me: “Why?”

Aaryan: “Because we live in a world that might not be ready for us.”

The silence between texts stretched longer.

Me: “Then let’s build our own world. Even if it’s just in these 2am texts.”

Another pause.

Aaryan: “I love you, Aavi. Every version of you. The scared one. The strong one. The one texting me at 2am.”

I smiled, eyes watering without warning.

Me: “And I love you. Enough to meet you in a thousand lifetimes. Enough to fight the world if it ever comes in between.”

It was then I realized — some love stories don’t need daylight.

They unfold in the still of the night, between sleepy giggles and soul-deep confessions.

I placed my phone beside me and whispered, “Goodnight, my heartbeat.”

He replied with just one word:

Aaryan: “Always.”

I rolled over to try and sleep, but twenty minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

Aaryan: “Hey... I can’t sleep. Can we keep talking?”

A grin tugged at my lips.

Me: “Of course. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Aaryan: “You. Just you. And how much I didn’t want to say goodnight.”

Me: “Then let’s make this night ours, word by word.”

We talked about our dreams, the kind we barely told anyone.He told me he wanted to leave the city one day, live by the mountains, somewhere no one could judge or label us.

Aaryan: “Would you come with me?”

Me: “Anywhere, if it’s with you.”

There was a long pause, then another message:

Aaryan: “I sometimes wonder what our future would be like if the world wasn’t so cruel.”

Me: “Maybe we could just make our own future. One moment at a time.”

Aaryan: “Starting with this one?”

Me: “Starting with this one.”

Aaryan: "Avi... I have this question in mind… will the society that we are living in ever accept us? I only see you, and I want you. No social media, just us in our little small world."

His words were more precious than gold. I could trade a thousand lifespans just to find my way back into him.

Me: "Aaryan… before you entered my life, it felt like a deathbed. I died a little every day. But ever since you came into my life… you brought me a reason to live. I’m not dead anymore. I’m living because you showed me that even if there’s hatred, there’s still love."

Aavi, is there anything I don’t know? Aryan asked.

I paused, tears rolling down my cheeks. How could I possibly explain everything—the way everyone treated me at school?

I stopped typing. My mind was overwhelmed, tangled in so many thoughts. Sometimes, thoughts don’t just fade away; they haunt you. And when they do, it feels like you have to pay a heavy price for carrying them.

Suddenly, a message popped up again.

Aavi, are you there?

“Yes,” I replied softly, trying to hold back my emotions. To steady myself, I got up and went to drink some water.

Aaryan texted back, Are you sure you’re okay?

I took a deep breath and replied, Yes, I’m okay...

Even through texts, it felt like we were truly connecting, as if nothing else mattered.

Then he sent me a picture—two gay couples sitting side by side, watching the stars together in peaceful silence.

I reacted with a heart emoji and replied instantly, I wish we could sit like this under the stars—just peacefully, talking about us.

"You know what, Aavi," Aaryan said, "I'm standing in front of my window, and the sky looks so beautiful tonight."

"Is it?" I replied, a faint smile forming despite the heaviness in my chest.

"Yes," he said softly.

"Okay then, I'm coming to my window too," I responded, pushing aside the curtain and stepping into the moonlight. "Look... there's just one star that's shining."

"I see it too," he whispered.

There was a pause. Then he asked gently, "Can I call you?"

"Yes," I said, my heart thudding with anticipation.

Not even a second passed after he ended the text—my phone lit up with his call.

"Hi..." I answered, my voice low.

"Can you see that star?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," I said, staring at the distant glow in the sky.

"That's the resemblance of our lives," he said. "Even in the darkest sky, there's still one light... just like us."

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “I agree,” I whispered back.

And then, without warning, he began to sing a Bengali song. His voice was soft, raw, and filled with emotion.

I blushed, overwhelmed. For a moment, everything disappeared—the pain, the silence, the distance. It felt like we were together, under that single star, wrapped in a quiet kind of love that needed no explanation.

That one star—our star—became the witness to a feeling too deep for words.

As Aaryan continued singing, his voice flowing like a soft lullaby through the speaker, Aavi stood by the window, staring at that one glowing star in the sky. The night was still, but his mind wasn’t.

Quietly, almost instinctively, he reached for a notebook from the drawer beside his bed and picked up a pen. The pages were half-filled with unfinished thoughts and broken lines—but tonight, something felt whole.

Aavi sat on the floor beside the window, cross-legged, heart beating in rhythm with Aaryan’s song. And while Aaryan sang, unaware, Aavi let the words pour out—raw, honest, from the corners of his heart.

While You Sing

—for Aaryan

While you sing beneath the starry dome,

Your voice becomes my quiet home.

Each note, a thread that pulls me near,

Unraveling silence, shedding fear.

I don’t say much, I barely breathe,

But in my heart, you’re all I need.

You don’t know half the wars I fight,

Yet your soft tune brings back the light.

Your voice, a balm to wounds I hide,

A gentle moon that calms my tide.

You sing, and I begin to dream—

Of us beneath that star’s soft gleam.

No crowd, no noise, no world to chase,

Just you and I, and endless space.

And in that stillness, love takes form—

In your sweet voice, so soft, so warm.

So sing for now—don’t ever know

The tears I let fall, soft and slow.

I’ll keep them safe, I’ll let them be...

As I write this poem you’ll never see.

________________________________________

But after Aaryan finished singing, there was a silence between them—not empty, but full.

Aavi took a breath, heart trembling. “Aaryan?” he said quietly.

“Yes?”

“I wrote something… while you were singing.”

“You did?” he asked, surprised. “What is it?”

Aavi hesitated for a second, then clicked a picture of the poem and sent it to him.

The message read: For you. I just needed you to know what your voice does to me.

A few moments passed. Then came the typing dots. And then a voice message.

Aaryan’s voice cracked gently through the speaker, “Aavi... you just made the stars feel like ours.”

Aavi didn’t reply immediately. His fingers hovered over the keypad, but his heart was already speaking louder than any word he could type.

From the other side of the call, Aaryan whispered again, “Can you hear that?”

Aavi strained to listen—there was a soft wind, the sound of leaves rustling, and faintly... the sound of Aaryan’s breathing.

“That’s the night,” Aaryan said, “holding us together.”

Aavi smiled, tears lining the corners of his eyes. “I’ve never felt more understood,” he whispered.

There was a pause, long and comforting. No need to fill the silence.

Then, almost shyly, Aaryan said, “You know… I never sang for anyone before.”

“And I never wrote anything I dared to share,” Aavi confessed.

The night grew deeper, but neither of them moved away from the window. They stayed like that—silent, connected, with the glowing star between them as a witness. The distance didn’t matter. The world didn’t matter.

Only this—

Two hearts speaking in songs and poems.

Before they hung up, Aaryan said, “One day, let’s find that star in the real sky. And sit together beneath it.”

We will,” Aavi said, his voice steady now. “And I’ll read you a thousand poems more.”

As the call ended and the screen dimmed, Aavi closed his notebook, pressing it gently to his chest.

Outside the window, the lone star still shimmered—quiet, constant, theirs.

As the call ended and the screen dimmed, Aavi closed his notebook, pressing it gently to his chest.

Outside the window, the lone star still shimmered—quiet, constant, theirs.

Birds began to chirp softly, and the night slowly surrendered to morning.

His heart felt full.

His soul felt heard.

Some nights are just made for hearts to whisper.

And theirs—

It never stayed silent again.

___________________________________________

     CHAPTER 4 : Love in Quarantine

The days blurred. It started with a slight fever. A dull ache behind Aavi’s eyes. Then the fatigue came—like his body was slowly folding into itself.

At first, he brushed it off. It’s nothing, he told himself. Maybe the change of weather. Maybe stress. But by the third day, when his voice cracked while talking to Aaryan, and he couldn’t stand without feeling dizzy—he knew something was wrong.

“Aavi, get tested. Please,” Aaryan urged over the phone. His voice was tense, but gentle. “You’re not okay.”

The result came the next morning—positive.

Aavi sat still with the paper in his hand, not sure what to feel. It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. It was more of a sinking loneliness, like the world outside his window had shut its doors to him.

He texted Aaryan: I tested positive. Guess I’ll be locking myself away for a while.

A few seconds later, the screen lit up.

Aaryan is calling...

He answered with a raspy, tired voice. “Hey...”

“I’m coming,” Aaryan said without pause.

“No, you’re not. It’s not safe—”

“I’m coming,” he said again, firmly. “Even if I can’t be next to you, I’ll be close. I won’t let you go through this alone.”

Aaryan was the only one who seemed truly concerned about me. My parents didn’t have the time—or maybe the patience—to sit by my side. If they weren’t arguing with each other, I became the target of their frustration.

Just then, a message popped up on my phone.

Aaryan: Are your parents still home or have they left?

I didn’t have the strength to type. My body ached, and my thoughts felt like static—but somehow, I managed to reply:

Yes, they’re still home.

A moment later, my bedroom door creaked open. My mother walked in, wearing a nose mask and holding a plate of cut fruits.

“Don’t you have work?” I asked weakly.

“Yes,” she said curtly. “I’ll leave in an hour.”

She placed the plate on the bedside table and looked at me with a strange mix of worry and distance. “Come on, have the fruits,” she added—not gently, but in a commanding voice, like she was crossing something off a list.

My father stood behind her for a moment, arms folded. He didn’t say a word. He just looked at me with that same accusing glare—as if I’d invited the virus into our home on purpose. As if I was nothing but an inconvenience.

Then they left, one after the other. No warmth. No real conversation.

Just silence.

I looked down at the untouched plate of fruits and felt the weight settle in my chest again.

Sometimes, a house isn't a home.

It’s just a place where people live in broken pieces, pretending not to notice the cracks.

I felt suffocated from within—like something heavy was pressing down on my chest, not just physically, but emotionally too. My body ached in places I couldn’t explain. My head throbbed with a constant, dull pain that refused to let me rest. I hadn’t imagined that being affected by COVID could hurt this much—not just the fever or the fatigue, but the loneliness that came with it.

More than anything, I just wished my parents would sit beside me… even for a moment. I longed for their presence—not out of duty, but from love. A gentle hand on my forehead, a few comforting words. Something. Anything.

But love, it seemed, had taken a back seat in our home. And I was left to battle this illness with no arms to hold me.

My  fingers trembled as I typed, not from fever this time—but from the weight of what I  truly felt.

I messaged Aaryan:

I feel so suffocated... not just in my body, but in my heart. Everything hurts. I didn’t know COVID would feel like this. And the worst part is… I just wish my parents could sit beside me, just once. I just wish they were more loving. But they don’t even see me. I feel invisible here.

I stared at the screen, eyes burning—not just from the illness, but from holding too much inside for too long.

The reply came seconds later.

Aaryan: I see you, Aavi. I’ve always seen you.

And then—

I’m coming to your window. Just sit there. You don’t have to say anything.

Aavi’s lips curved into the faintest smile. But before he could put his phone down, another message popped up.

Sauvik: I’m bored too, man. Bored of life.

Aavi blinked at the screen. It felt misplaced—jarring.

I typed quickly, Hey, Sauvik. I’m not feeling well right now. I tested positive and I’m trying to recover. I’ll text you when I’m better, okay?

I hit send without waiting for a reply and turned his attention back to Aaryan’s window, just visible through his own.

Another message from Aaryan popped up:

I wish I could just hold your hand. That’s all. Not say anything. Just be there.

I exhaled slowly. Then I typed:

You know, I always thought home meant warmth. Arms. Words of comfort. But here, it’s either silence or arguments. My parents… they don’t know how to love me the way I need to be loved.

Aaryan replied:

Then let me be that warmth for you, even if it’s just from across the window.

I leaned his head against the cool glass, his eyes drifting to the window across the building, waiting for a shadow—Aaryan’s.

I sat by the window, my blanket wrapped around my shoulders, the soft hum of the fan filling the room like a lullaby. The outside world looked still—washed in the pale gold of the late afternoon sun.

And then, as if on cue, Aaryan appeared.

He was standing across the courtyard, just outside his window. Hoodie on. Mug in hand. The light caught the side of his face, casting soft shadows that made him look like a part of the sky itself.

I didn’t wave. I didn’t need to. Aaryan had already raised his hand in silent greeting, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

We  just looked at each other. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be.

Aaryan held up a notebook, flipping it to a blank page, and began to write something slowly, holding it up for me to read:

“I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

I smiled—weakly, but it reached his eyes.

I picked up the tiny Bluetooth speaker Aaryan had given me earlier and turned it on. On the other side, Aaryan did the same.

Within seconds, a shared playlist began to play—a soft, calming instrumental that we had once called “our background music.”

And so we sat there. Two windows apart. The virus between us. But also a thread of something stronger—gentle, unspoken love.

As the playlist continued to play softly in the background, I  leaned deeper into the quiet. My body still ached, but my heart had found a moment of rest.

And then, a soft ping broke the silence.

I glanced atmy phone.

Sauvik: Take care, bhai.

Just as I was beginning to sink into that quiet moment, my mother’s voice broke through.

“Aavi, what are you doing near the window?” she called out sharply.

I turned, startled, and saw her standing at the door with that familiar mix of worry and irritation.

“Go lie down on the bed,” she urged, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I didn’t protest. I didn’t want another lecture. So, without a word, I left the window and quietly did as she said—though a part of me still lingered there, with Aaryan, and the bright morning sun. 

“Okay, Aavi, your dad and I are leaving for work,” my mom said, grabbing her bag. “Don’t do anything stupid… and take care. If you need anything, just give us a call.”

Just give a call, I repeated silently, a bitter thought forming.

Like it’s that simple.

I didn’t know why my parents always made it seem like everything could be fixed with a phone call—as if love, care, or presence could be scheduled between meetings.

But at least Aaryan was there.

He filled in every empty space—every silence, every ache, every moment I felt unseen. Where my parents created distance, Aaryan built bridges. Quietly, patiently… without asking for anything in return.

The door shut behind my parents with a final clack. Their footsteps faded down the stairwell, and soon, the house fell into that familiar silence. The kind that didn’t soothe—it swallowed.

I curled up on the bed, the blanket pulled high, trying to stay warm—not just from the fever, but from the emptiness that filled the room the moment they left.

Then, a soft buzz. My phone lit up.

Aaryan: Are you okay? I saw them leave.

I stared at his message for a long second, already feeling lighter.

I guess so, I replied. They left me with a list of do’s and don’ts and a “just call us” line. Like always.

His typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Aaryan: You don’t have to call anyone. I’m right here.

Then another message followed:

Aaryan: I’m coming to you right now.

My eyes widened as I read the message. My fingers rushed to type a reply.

No, I wrote, it’ll be risky for you. I don’t want you getting affected. Please don’t come.

I hit send.

The message remained unread.

Before I could process the knot tightening in my chest, there was a knock on my door. Sharp. Immediate.

My heart skipped a beat.

Was it really him?

I sat up, dizzy from fever but pulled by instinct. My feet hit the floor, cold and trembling, and I walked slowly toward the door. Every step was laced with disbelief… and a quiet, rising hope.

Another knock. This time gentler.

“Aavi… it’s me,” came the familiar voice from the other side—soft, careful.

I paused, hand hovering above the latch.

Tears stung my eyes.

He came.

He really came.

Even when I told him not to. Even when it was risky. Even when the world told us to keep our distance.

Because sometimes love doesn’t ask for permission.

It just shows up.

I slowly unlocked the door, and there he was—Aaryan, standing just outside, wearing a mask but with eyes full of concern and something deeper, something like tenderness.

“Hey,” he whispered, stepping inside carefully, “I couldn’t stay away.”

My throat tightened, but I nodded, letting him in. He moved quietly, careful not to disturb me too much.

In the small kitchen corner of my room, Aaryan took charge without hesitation. Water boiled on the stove, ginger was sliced thinly, and lemon was cut fresh from the fruit bowl.

“Lemon, ginger, and honey,” he said softly, “your favorite.”

He stirred the tea slowly, humming a tune that I recognized but couldn’t place—something comforting, something like hope.

I watched him, feeling the ache inside ease just a little.

When the tea was ready, he handed me the warm cup with a smile. “For when the world feels too cold.”

I took the cup carefully, the steam curling up and warming my face. The sharp bite of ginger mixed with the tang of lemon was soothing, like a tiny spark of light in the dark.

Aaryan sat down beside me, not too close, but close enough that I could feel his presence.

I took a slow sip of the tea, feeling the warmth spread through me. The quiet between us stretched, comfortable but full of unspoken things.

After a moment, I found the courage to speak.

“I’ve been so lonely… even when they’re around. Sometimes it feels like I’m invisible, or worse, a burden.”

Aaryan nodded softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I know,” he said quietly. “It’s hard when the people who should protect you don’t see the pain you carry.”

A tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly, embarrassed.

But you see me,” I whispered. “You really see me.”

He reached out, a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Always, Aavi. I’m here for you. No matter what.”

Aaryan helped me settle back onto the bed, fluffing my pillow and tucking the blanket around me with care.

“Try to rest now,” he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead.

I closed my eyes, the warmth of the tea still lingering, and the steady presence of Aaryan beside me grounding my restless thoughts.

I felt safe enough to let go — to breathe without the weight of loneliness crushing me.

“Aavi, come on, get some rest,” Aaryan urged softly.

“I’m okay,” I whispered back, my voice small and fragile, like a scared child.

“No, you’re not, my little baby,” he said gently — words I never thought he’d say to me. It was the first time he called me that, and it made my heart tremble.

Without waiting for a reply, he helped me lie down carefully. His hands pressed gently on my head, soothing away the tension, then moved to my legs, easing the ache and pain I didn’t even know I had.

Slowly, sleep crept over me, soft and quiet.

I don’t know how long it took, but when I finally drifted off, Aaryan was still there—holding me gently from behind, a silent guardian in the dark.

I woke up with a start, feeling a hand gently wrapped around me. I turned around slowly, and my eyes met Aaryan’s — wide open, staring at me intently.

I blinked, surprised. Am I dreaming, or is this reality?

“Yes, it’s reality,” Aaryan said with a soft smile that made my heart skip.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, I did,” I replied, feeling a warmth in my chest.

Then, for the first time, I called him by a loving nickname, “Aaru.”

His eyes softened, but I quickly added, “I’m scared you might get infected.”

“Relax, Aavi,” he said confidently. “Nothing will happen to me.”

I glanced at the clock. It was 3 a.m.

“Aaru, please go home and have some lunch,” I insisted, concern creeping into my voice.

Without a word, he stood up and left.

“Are you angry?” I called after him, but he didn’t respond.

He left like the wind—silent, swift, and gone.

Did I hurt him? I wondered, my heart heavy. I knew he wanted to be with me, but my concern for his health always held me back.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Aaryan appeared, carrying a plate of lunch.

“Aaru, what’s this?” I asked, surprised.

He grinned, reaching out to playfully pull my nose. “Ummm… Here’s our lunch. We’re going to eat together.”

We walked toward the dining table side by side. He pulled out the chair for me with a gentle smile and helped me sit down.

Then, with a tenderness that took my breath away, he fed me, one bite at a time.

I wanted to freeze this moment forever. How could I explain this feeling? The way he fed me, the way I got lost in his eyes…

I had always thought that kind of love—the quiet care, the unspoken devotion—was something reserved for opposite-sex relationships. But here we were, him playing the protector, the giver, the one who cared, and me, letting myself be cared for.

Slowly, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on my forehead.

People die longing for the kind of love we share.

How lucky I am—to have a life where someone makes me feel like I’m his entire universe.

We sat there for a while, eating in comfortable silence. The kind of silence that says everything without needing words.

Aaryan watched me closely, making sure I was eating enough, his eyes filled with the kind of concern you only show for someone who matters more than the world.

“You always take care of me,” I said softly, breaking the silence.

He looked at me with that half-smile, the one he gives when he doesn’t know how to respond but feels every word.

“You’d do the same,” he said, reaching for another spoonful of rice and gently feeding me again.

I nodded. “Yes. A thousand times over.”

He looked down for a moment, then up at me again. “You make it easy to love you, Aavi.”

My breath caught. I wasn’t used to hearing that—at least not in a way that felt so real.

I reached across the table and placed my hand on his. “Aaru… you’re the only place that feels like home to me.”

He didn’t reply. He just held my hand tighter.

And in that quiet afternoon, sunlight slipping in through the window and the warmth of food and feeling all around us, I realized:

Love isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s soft hands, shared meals, and being held when you’re falling apart.

As we finished the last bites of lunch, Aaryan stood up to clear the plates, but I held his hand back.

“Aaru… can I tell you something?” I asked, my voice low, trembling slightly.

He sat down again, giving me his full attention.

“I’ve never really said this out loud,” I began, eyes fixed on the table. “But all my life, I’ve searched for a place where I wouldn’t have to hide. Where I could just be… and not feel wrong for who I am.”

He didn’t speak, just held my gaze with such warmth that it melted something inside me.

“You’re that place, Aaru,” I said, my voice breaking. “You’re the only one who sees all of me and doesn’t turn away. You don’t try to fix me… you just stay.”

Aaryan leaned in and wrapped his arms around me tightly—no words, no promises, just presence.

“I won’t ever leave,” he whispered into my hair.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, but this time they weren’t from pain. They were from the overwhelming peace of being truly loved.

And in that moment, I knew—no matter what the world thought, no matter what storms came our way—we had built something sacred. A kind of love that didn’t need explanation. Just two souls choosing each other.

That day, I didn’t just survive another fevered afternoon.

I found something deeper.

A home in a person.

And a love that asked for nothing, but gave me everything.

It’s true that sometimes love doesn’t arrive with grand gestures or perfect timing.

Sometimes, it walks in quietly… with a warm plate of food and eyes that say, “I see you.”

And in that quietness, I knew—

we weren’t just healing from a virus… we were healing parts of ourselves we didn’t even know were broken.

“In your arms, I’ve found both sanctuary and storm. And I’d still choose you, even in all my lifetimes.”

__________________________________________

CHAPTER 5 : Rain in the Middle of Summer

Some storms come to destroy.

Some, to help things bloom.

The fever had begun to fade, but the ache inside me still lingered — not in my body, but in the spaces that had long craved love, softness, and presence.

Recovery wasn’t just about medicine and rest.

It was about feeling safe again.

It was about being seen — truly, deeply seen.

The world outside carried on with its noise, its rush, its chaos. But inside my little room, time felt suspended. Aaryan had unknowingly become my gravity — grounding me when everything else felt uncertain.

Each morning began with his text:

"How are you feeling today, baby?"

Each night ended with a promise:

"I'm here, Aavi. Always."

But that day — that strange, quiet afternoon — the sky did something unexpected.

Rain began to fall. Not heavy. Not wild. Just soft, warm rain in the middle of a blazing summer.

And with it came him.

Soaked. Smiling. Radiating something I still struggle to name.

“Aaru,” I whispered, stunned as I opened the door, “it’s raining... why didn’t you carry an umbrella?”

He just grinned and stepped inside, water dripping from his hair onto the floor.

“Maybe I wanted to feel the rain today,” he said. “Or maybe... I just couldn’t stay away from you any longer.”

And just like that, my heart whispered —

Love has strange timing, but when it arrives, you know.

Even if it’s in the middle of a storm.

Aaryan stood there, dripping wet, his shirt clinging to his chest, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.

Without another word, I reached out for a towel from the chair and gently wrapped it around his shoulders.

“You’re insane,” I murmured, drying his hair softly.

“And you love me for it,” he teased with a wink. I smiled, but deep down I was still overwhelmed. Not just by the rain. Or the fever. But by the way he made everything feel safe.

“Come,” I said, guiding him toward my room. “You need to change before you catch a cold.”

He followed without resistance. I handed him a spare T-shirt of mine. He looked at it, then at me, and smiled.

“You know I like wearing your clothes.”

“I know,” I said softly, watching him disappear into the bathroom to change.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the sound of rain tapping gently on the windowpane. It smelled like wet earth — raw, honest, familiar. When he returned, dressed in my shirt, his damp hair tousled, he looked so effortlessly mine.

He climbed onto the bed beside me and pulled the blanket over us.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging me lightly.

I turned to him. “Yeah... I just didn’t expect today to feel like this. It’s like... the world is quiet, and you’re the only noise I want to hear.”

He smiled, then reached into his bag and pulled out a tiny thermos.

“I made you something,” he said.

He opened it and poured the golden liquid into a cup.

“Ginger lemon tea — just how you like it. For your throat.”

The warmth of the cup in my hands mirrored the warmth in my chest.

I sipped slowly. “Thank you, Aaru.”

He brushed a strand of hair from my forehead.

“Anything for you.”

The sound of the rain, the occasional distant thunder, and the rhythm of our breathing was enough.

“Aaru…” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “Why are you doing all this for me?”

He looked at me, that same soft gaze that always held galaxies.

“Because I’ve waited too long to love you out loud.”

My heart stilled. Then raced. Then melted.

I rested my head on his chest, the room dim and golden from the soft bedside lamp. He took my hand in his and traced gentle lines across my palm with his thumb.

“You deserve love, Aavi. The kind that doesn’t abandon you when you're weak. The kind that stays.”

A small tear slipped down my cheek, but this time, it wasn’t out of pain.

It was out of gratitude.

It’s true that some souls were meant to collide,

not for chaos — but for calm.

And with Aaryan,

I finally knew what it felt like

to come home to a person.

        "In a world full of noise,

         be someone’s silence."

Aaru moved closer slowly, leaning into me before planting a gentle peck on the nape of my neck. My hands instinctively reached for him, pulling him down until he was above me, our bodies pressed tightly together. My fingers tangled in his hair and shirt, holding him close as if I never wanted to let go. He knew I was still healing, but never once did he see me as broken or fragile—never something to push away. Our breaths mingled, hearts racing, as his lips finally met mine. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and searching, like the first rays of dawn brushing the sky. Then it deepened, warmth and urgency flooding through me, a tender yet electric connection that made everything else fade away. 

Our mouths moved in perfect harmony, soft and hungry, exploring every curve and contour. Time slipped away as his lips pressed harder, fingers threading through my hair, drawing me deeper into the moment—an intimate dance that spoke of everything words could never say.

Aaru’s warm breath brushed against my ear as he whispered softly, “I love you, Aavi.”

I was so completely wrapped up in him that all I could think was: I want nothing but him.

“I love you too, Aaru,” I breathed back, my heart fluttering like a secret song.

Then, with a teasing grin, he scooped me up from the bed and pressed me gently against the wall. His eyes danced with mischief as he whispered, “You know, I’ve always had a thing for wall romances.”

We both burst into laughter, the sound light and infectious.

“You’re crazy, Aaru,” I teased, a smile tugging at my lips.

He leaned in, pressing another tender kiss to my neck before whispering, “I’m crazy over you, Aavi—crazy for your love.”

His hand slid around my waist, fingers gently caressing me as our mouths found each other again.

He tasted like fresh strawberries—sweet, intoxicating, and utterly unforgettable.

 The rain didn’t let up; it poured down in heavy sheets, drowning the world outside in a steady roar. Suddenly, my phone rang—Tingggg.

“Aaru,” I whispered, barely able to contain my excitement, “don’t say a word. It’s my mom.”

“Aavi, are you okay?” Her voice was calm but laced with worry.

“I’m fine,” I answered quickly, forcing steadiness into my tone.

“Tonight, your dad and I won’t be coming home. We’re staying at Sundar Mashi’s place. Just warm up whatever’s in the fridge, eat well, and remember to take your medicine.”

“Okay,” I said softly, then hung up.

Aaru’s eyes met mine, and without a word, we both burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up with relief and excitement. Yes—the night is ours.

His family had always been accepting, easygoing, but mine? That was a different story. I came from a strict, conservative world where even the smallest hint of who I truly was would shatter everything. If my parents ever knew I was gay, it wouldn’t just break their hearts—it would break them completely. That fear lingered, heavy and real, under every stolen moment we shared.

_________________________________________

Chapter 6 : Our Bublee Our World 

There are moments in life that feel like they exist outside of time—untouched by the ticking of clocks or the weight of reality. That night was one of them.

The rain had blanketed the city in silver. It wasn’t the kind of storm that roared with thunder—it was quieter, steady, like it was trying to wash the world clean. Inside our little room, the air was warm, fragrant with the scent of old books and Aaru’s cologne, and the dim yellow light wrapped around us like a secret.

We had started calling this space our Bublee. Aaru gave it the name one night when we were curled up together under the blankets, avoiding the world and laughing about nothing. “This is our bubble, our Bublee,” he said, grinning like a child who just named a star. It stuck. And over time, Bublee became more than a name. It became a refuge. A small, fragile world that belonged only to us. 

Aaru lay beside me now, tracing slow patterns on my stomach, his touch so familiar it felt like a second heartbeat.

“This right here,” he murmured, “this is where I feel most alive.”

I turned to him, eyes meeting his. “And most safe.”

But even as I said it, a heaviness pressed quietly against my chest. Because safety—real, lasting safety—was something I had never fully known.