The rain hadn’t stopped for hours. It felt like the sky was at war with the earth itself. Thunder followed, echoing like a god screaming, and a storm swept through, shaking even the roots of trees.

  Amidst the chaos, somewhere along the swollen riverbank, a boy ran — carrying a thick rope, soaked and heavy. He didn’t care about the mud splashing under his feet, or the rain, or the storm. His eyes were fixed on the girl near the river. The frayed rope in his hand — he clutched it like his life depended on it. And he ran, straight toward the raging river.

  Behind him, someone was tying the other end of the rope to a tree — a tree that thrashed wildly in the grip of the wind. He worked fast, tense, his breath caught in his throat. Even when the tree threw him down again and again, he kept trying, glancing toward the girl in between.

  She stood near the river’s edge, searching for something. Rain dripped from her fingers as she held one hand over her eyes. Her body shivered, giving out now and then, but she held herself upright, forcing her eyes wide open. She was watching — watching for something in that maddened river.

  Then suddenly—

  “There! There!” she screamed, pointing into the current.

  A shadow surged up — just for a moment — then disappeared beneath the water.

  The rope flew from the boy’s hand like a harpoon.

  “John! Grab it, man! Hold tight!” he yelled.

  Out in the middle of the river, a shape fought against the current.

  One arm tangled in the rope, the other wrapped around something — someone — clutched to his chest like a final prayer.

  But his hands were already exhausted from the long struggle.

  The rope slipped from his grip like butter.

  The river dragged him down, like it was inviting him to explore its bottom.

  He tried to rise. Failed.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then — with a violent kick — he surfaced again.

  One arm looped in the rope, the other holding the body even tighter.

  “Don’t let go, please—!” the girl screamed, stepping closer as water touched her feet.

  “Pull…! Pull with everything!”

  The boy at the tree leaned back, muscles burning, face twisted with effort.

  The struggle felt endless.

  Two minutes. Maybe three.

  Finally — a heaving, drenched figure collapsed onto the shore. Gasping. Coughing. Shaking.

  Even then, he tried to pull the body he’d brought from the river closer to him.

  It was a person. A girl. Around their age.

  He laid her in his lap. She didn’t move. Her eyes were shut.

  He looked down at her.

  His hands were still around her.

  His friends were around him.

  The rain still fell, as if it had no intention of stopping.

  He tried to shield her from it. He hugged her tight.

  Then suddenly — he felt it.

  She wasn’t breathing.

  A strange silence stretched inside him.

  Like someone had turned down the volume of the world.

  And then came the cold.

  It seeped into him from the girl in his arms.

  For the first time, he felt fear wrap around his chest like rope.

  For the first time, he felt like he was drowning —

  ...and he hadn’t even left the shore.

  Thunder. Screaming. Cold water.

  A rope slipping from frozen fingers.

  The moment she stopped breathing—

  John gasped, shooting upright.

  His head slammed lightly against the desk as his eyes snapped open. His breath came in short, quick bursts.

  He was still in the classroom.

  The late morning light cut through the half-drawn blinds, dust dancing in the sunbeams. The droning voice of the professor was still echoing across the room, reading from some slide on “Urban Ecosystems and Anthropocentric Adaptations.”

  Half the class was asleep. The other half wished they were.

  John wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to keep still. His heart was racing. His neck was damp. His fingers were clenched into fists against the desk — like they were still holding a rope that wasn’t there.

  He didn’t look up. Not even when the bell rang and chairs screeched across the floor as the students stood to leave.

  “Jo?”

  A hand slapped his shoulder.

  He blinked, finally turning. It was Varun, his roommate and unofficial pain-in-the-neck. Behind him was Rehan, always yawning and carrying two bags like he lived at college.

  “You alive or dreaming of women in water again?” Varun said, smirking.

  “Shut up,” John muttered.

  “Come on, let’s go to the canteen. Before the morons from mech get there first.” Rohan pull john up from his seat

  The corridor buzzed with life — echoing voices, wet walls stained with years of rain, and the soft mechanical wheeze of a dying vending machine.

  John walked quietly among it all.

  The world moved, talked, laughed — but his mind still clung to the cold silence of his dream.

  That rope.

  That breathless girl.

  That stillness.

  Beside him, Rehan scanned the canteen. “There — corner table.”

  Without waiting, Rohan strode forward and called out, loud enough for half the canteen to hear:

  “Sheelechi! Three strong teas, one samosa, one pazhampori, and one parippuvada for our dear Gandharva!”

  From across the room, a voice snapped back: “Keep it down, I can hear you!”

  A middle-aged woman brushed past them, half-smiling. “But my dears, you’ll have to wait. There’s a queue.”

  Rohan gave her a grin. “Oh come on, sis… we’re busy people, high-profile lives, y’know?”

  “Then buy it like the others,” she said with a playful glare. “No royal treatment today, my dear sirs.”

  John chuckled softly. “Let it be, Sheela. Rohan will go.”

  Rohan crossed his arms dramatically. “I don’t do queues. I walk up, charm the counter, and walk back like a king.”

  “Then go, Your Highness,” Sheela said under her breath, turning away.

  Rohan followed, muttering something about food injustice.

  Varun nudged John, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re quiet.”

  John didn’t answer right away.

  “You gonna tell me,” Varun continued, “or keep pretending you’re fine?”

  John smiled faintly, avoiding eye contact. “It’s nothing. Just... didn’t sleep well.”

  “Then I’m Iron Man,” Varun said, leaning closer. “Come on, Jo. What’s eating you?”

  “I’ll tell you,” John said, looking toward the counter. “Let me stall a bit longer.”

  Rohan returned, tray balanced on one hand like a practiced waiter. “Behold the feast.”

  “You even took the tray?” John raised a brow.

  “What am I, an octopus?” Rohan set it down with flair.

  Varun picked up the pazhampori, giving it a doubtful shake. “This is... tragic.”

  “I’ll tell them to give you gold-plated fritters from tomorrow,” Rohan deadpanned. “Eat what you have.”

  Then Rohan glanced at John. “You spaced out again?”

  “With his eyes open?” Varun followed John’s gaze, then spotted her.

  “Oh,” Varun muttered. “It’s the new one.”

  “Which new one?” Rohan turned.

  A girl with piercing blue eyes passed by with her friends — graceful, unbothered, like the whole world slowed for her steps.

  Rohan groaned. “Not again, John…”

  John looked away, caught. “What?”

  “You’re doing that look,” Varun said.

  “Don’t have any hope,” Rohan shook his head, still chewing. “That’s a first-year girl. New admission. Speaks six languages. Does kathak. Probably meditates in the Himalayas. If you add it all up, it’s a full-on no. You won’t get her.”

  “How do you know all that?” John asked.

  “Why do you think I stand at the admission counter every year in the rain, acting like I'm from the student council?” Rohan replied.

  “To flirt with girls,” Varun said.

  They all laughed. The moment lightened.

  But John’s gaze drifted back to where she now sat — head tilted, listening to her friends, her fingers tracing the rim of her steel tumbler.

  “I’m gonna own that kathak,” John murmured. “I want those blue eyes.”

  “Sister… a burger,” one of the girls at the next table called out — the one sitting beside the girl with the blue eyes.

  John’s gaze followed the sound before his mind could catch up. His eyes, still quietly shadowed from the morning’s dream, brightened — just a flicker — like a memory coming into focus.

  She wasn’t even looking at him. Still, he felt it — that invisible pull, that strange stillness between seconds. As if something ancient had paused inside him to listen.

  Around them, the canteen had quieted. Most of the lunch crowd had disappeared. A few children still lingered at the water tank. One student slept in a chair by the far wall, face buried in a book. The only people left were his friends, the girl with the blue eyes, and her group.

  Without a word, John stood.

  Rohan raised an eyebrow. Varun opened his mouth — but John lifted his hand, signaling them to hold their questions. His eyes stayed on the counter as he walked.

  He moved like someone distracted. Or like someone who had already decided something.

  “Sheelechi,” he called gently as he reached the counter, slipping behind it like he belonged there.

  She didn’t even look up. “Hmm? What now, John?” she muttered, grabbing a burger from the shelf behind her. “Want another tea or—”

  Before she could finish, he leaned slightly across the counter, offering his most innocent grin.

  “Sister, you’ve been running around all day,” he said smoothly. “Why don’t you sit for a second? I’ll take this one.”

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  She paused, looked at him, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You? John Abraham? Offering help?”

  He gently took the plate from her hand.

  She narrowed her eyes at him like a mother catching her child suspiciously quiet.

  “You… John Abraham… are offering to help me?” she asked, crossing her arms.

  “I’m just feeling helpful today.”

  “You’ve been in this college two years. I’ve seen you. You only lift a finger for two things: a fight… or a girl.”

  John raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Now that’s hurtful.”

  She leaned closer, eyes scanning the other table. “So which one is it this time?”

  He didn’t answer. Just smiled — that same faint, unreadable smile — and turned to walk away.

  She called after him, half-worried, half-amused: “Don’t cause trouble, Jo!”

  John didn’t answer. He was already walking, the burger in hand, a plan — or maybe a wish — already forming in the space behind his eyes.

  He approached the table with a quiet confidence, the burger balanced neatly on the plate, his steps calm and deliberate — like every movement had a purpose.

  He stopped just beside the girl with the blue eyes and placed the tray down with careful grace.

  The girls looked up mid-conversation, surprised. Confused.

  “Madam,” he said with a tilt of his head, “your order.”

  A pause.

  Then he added, with a grin playing at the corner of his lips, “And as a tip… may I have your name?”

  For a second, none of them spoke.

  All three girls blinked. The girl with the blue eyes narrowed hers — not annoyed, but clearly guarded.

  “I didn’t order that,” she said coolly.

  John shrugged, unfazed. “And I’m not a waiter in training. But here we are — destiny’s weird.”

  She looked at him a little longer this time, studying him. Not smiling. Not frowning. Just… reading.

  “Who are you?” she asked at last.

  He leaned in slightly, voice dropping a tone like he was unveiling a secret.

  “John Abraham,” he said. “Possibly your senior.”

  The girl beside her tilted her head, squinting in recognition.

  “Wait… from CE? John Abraham from Computer Engineering?”

  He offered her a mock salute. “So my fame precedes me.”

  Before she could reply, the blue-eyed girl cut in smoothly.

  “Then you’re not my senior. I’m in BM.”

  Her voice was precise. Controlled. She didn’t say it to dismiss him. She said it to correct the record.

  John was about to respond when the third girl leaned toward her friend and whispered — audibly enough to be heard:

  “Hey Aaradhya… isn’t this the guy our seniors warned us about?”

  John raised his eyebrows, amused.

  “Aaradhya,” he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. “Beautiful name.”

  Then his eyes flicked toward the whispering girl, sharp but still smiling.

  “And don’t worry. I’ve heard worse. I only bite when provoked. And I rarely eat humans.”

  A small silence followed — not awkward, but unsure.

  He gave them one last grin, a mix of charm and mischief, then looked directly at Aaradhya.

  “See you around.”

  And with that, he turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, not looking back.

  Behind him, three girls stared at his retreating figure — quiet now, their expressions caught between curiosity, caution…

  …and something else they didn’t yet have words for.

  “Another one, huh?” Varun asked as they stepped into the flat, kicking off his shoes with a sigh.

  “I don’t know,” John replied with a half-smile, throwing himself onto the couch. “Maybe the only one.”

  “Oh no.” Varun dropped his bag next to the table and gave him a skeptical glance. “I know you way too well to fall for that.”

  “I’m serious, Varu…” John said, quieter now. His voice lost the playfulness, replaced by something else — something honest. “She’s… different.”

  Varun let out a long breath as he dropped into the chair nearby. “Jo… it’s been two years since the accident. Two years since that night. I don’t know who you were before — hell, even you barely remember that. But since then? I’ve watched you. The fights. The flings. The walls you built behind your jokes.”

  He looked at John directly. “You’ve dated so many girls, man, I lost count ages ago. What’s different about this one? Aaradhya. What makes her anything more than a moment? And don’t say ‘the eyes.’”

  John lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, thinking.

  “She’s not the prettiest. Remember that Punjabi girl? And she’s not the most talented either — not like that girl from Tamil Nadu who danced like fire.” He smiled faintly. “But still… she has everything. Beauty. Talent. Grace. Something in the way she carries herself. That… look in her eyes.”

  He closed his own for a second, voice turning distant.

  “It’s like something I’ve seen before — in dreams maybe, or memories I’m not even sure are real. I don’t know.”

  Varun said nothing.

  John kept going. “After the accident, you were the first person I saw. The first thing I remembered. Nothing else came back. Everything else felt… empty. So I laughed. Fought. Flirted. Just to drown out the nightmares. And the depression they left behind. None of it worked. Not really.”

  He looked at Varun now, and for once — he didn’t hide.

  “But with her? It feels different. She feels different.”

  Varun leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but serious. “You sure she won’t run? If you wake up screaming again in the middle of the night? If she ever sees that… look in your eyes?”

  John didn’t answer.

  “Can you tell her the truth?” Varun pressed. “The parts you won’t even tell Rohan?”

  There was a pause.

  “Probably not,” John whispered. “I don’t know.”

  He rolled onto his side, voice hollow but steady.

  “My past is a mess. We searched. And what did we find? Just a bunch of money and no answers. You were there.”

  He took a breath. “I don’t want her to know any of it. But I still hope… if she ever does, she won’t run like the others.”

  Another pause. He smiled faintly to himself.

  “Or maybe… I just won’t let her.”

  “I’ve been waiting three weeks, Aaradhya—come on!”

  John’s voice cut through the late-afternoon bustle of the college corridor.

  She didn’t even glance at him. Just kept walking, her bag slung over one shoulder, her pace steady.

  “I don’t have anything to say,” she said flatly.

  John followed, matching her stride.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s all I have.”

  Her tone sharpened — colder than he expected.

  John moved in front of her, blocking her path, forcing her to stop. His face was still half a smile, but his voice dropped low — something boiling underneath.

  “Aaradhya.”

  He grabbed her hand, not harshly, but firmly enough to make her look up.

  “Don’t play with me.”

  His voice trembled slightly, caught between control and the edge of losing it.

  She stared at him.

  Her jaw clenched.

  “You want to know why I won’t talk to you?” she asked, her voice rising.

  “This is why.”

  “What?” he blinked, confused.

  “You’re short-tempered. You’re always angry. You fight, you flirt — it’s like there’s no off switch in you.”

  She stepped back, shaking her head.

  “I don’t want to be another name on your list, John. Another girl who made the mistake of thinking you’d stay the same when the crowd disappeared.”

  He stood still, stunned into silence. Her words hit something he didn’t know he left open.

  “Just give me one reason,” she continued.

  “One real reason to believe that I won’t just end up as background noise in your chaos. That I’m not just another phase. Another distraction.”

  She turned away, ready to leave again.

  “If I stop fighting,” John called out.

  “If I stop flirting. If I change—will you talk to me? Will you at least answer my call?”

  She stopped. Slowly turned back, arms crossed.

  “You can’t.”

  “What if I do?”

  She stared at him, eyes calculating — guarded but curious.

  “Two weeks,” she said finally.

  “No fights. No flirting. No drama. Do that, and I’ll pick up.”

  A pause.

  “Nothing more?”

  “Just that. Prove you’re not all talk.”

  John smirked faintly, but this time… there was no cockiness behind it. Just quiet determination.

  “Wait for my call.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Varun asked, blinking in disbelief as he stepped out of his room.

  John was moving furniture. Like… actually moving it. Rearranging the hall, sweeping corners, dusting bookshelves.

  Varun narrowed his eyes. “You’re… cleaning?”

  “I’m just making sure she won’t hate anything here,” John said calmly, adjusting a painting on the wall like he was staging a gallery.

  Varun sank into the chair John had just set in place. “Okay, but dude… isn’t this a little overkill for a visit?”

  “Oh, forgot to mention,” John said, without missing a beat. “She’s moving in.”

  Varun blinked. “Okay.” Then — his brain caught up.

  “Wait — what?”

  John stopped, finally turning to face him.

  “My girlfriend,” he said, as if stating something obvious. “Aaradhya. She’s vacating her hostel today and moving in. With me. Into my room.”

  Varun just stared at him.

  “Nope. Still not computing.” He stood up, grabbed John by the shoulders, and sat him down. “What did her parents say?”

  “They don’t know yet.”

  John said it like he’d just said he forgot to text someone back.

  “No — absolutely not. That’s bad,” Varun said, waving his hands. “That’s nuclear-grade bad. It’s only been six months!”

  “Exactly,” John replied. “That’s a long time.”

  “Bro,” Varun exhaled, pacing a little. “Six months is not long. Six months is… pre-season. Six months is the trailer. You don’t move someone in during the trailer!”

  “I didn’t convince her,” John said with a shrug. “It was her idea.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “She said if she stayed here, she could help me sleep better. Y’know — nightmares. We were talking. One thing led to another…”

  “And it ended with her moving in?”

  “Yep. Decided last night.”

  Varun ran a hand down his face. “I’m either losing my mind, or you’ve both already lost yours.”

  John didn’t respond — just tossed Varun the car key.

  “She’s on her way. You’re picking her up. I’ve got stuff to finish here.”

  “What — wait, what?! Why me?”

  “You have a license. And a vehicle. And a best friend tag.”

  “At least let me change, you psychopath!” Varun shouted as John herded him toward the door.

  “No time. You’ll be in the car. She won’t care.”

  “I didn’t even brush! I’m in a sleeveless tee and—”

  “Then don’t talk. Just nod and drive.”

  John shut the door behind him with finality.

  Varun looked at the key in his hand. Then at his outfit — a pair of half-crumpled shorts and a college fest T-shirt with a coffee stain.

  He sighed.

  “…At least he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him,” Varun muttered to himself as he hit the elevator button. “That’s gotta count for something.”

  “Ichaayo…”

  A soft voice broke the stillness.

  John lay on the sand, eyes half-closed, watching the sky turn shades of faded gold. The beach was empty — or at least it felt that way. Just the two of them.

  He didn’t look up.

  Just hummed in response.

  “Umm.”

  The girl sat beside him, just out of reach. Her back to him. Her hair swayed in the gentle sea breeze, dancing with the wind.

  “Why don’t you ever take me with you?” she asked quietly.

  John blinked.

  “You wanna come?” he asked, still not lifting his head.

  “I’d love to.”

  But her voice glitched.

  The final word repeated — stretched, distorted, like a line from an old recording looping.

  “I would lo… lo… love to…”

  He sat up suddenly.

  The beach was gone.

  The sky above had shifted to a rich gold. The air smelled like earth after rain. Around him stretched a vast field of green, wild and rolling under a sky torn by wind. Tall grass swayed violently, almost sideways — as if the entire land itself was breathing hard.

  And in the center of it all —

  A woman knelt in front of him.

  He was a child again.

  Small. Barefoot. Wearing a white tunic that danced in the storm. His breath caught in his throat.

  She was brushing the hair from his eyes. Her face was shadowed, but her voice was soft — heartbreaking in its tenderness.

  “Would you love to come back, son?”

  The wind howled behind her, yet the words were clear.

  He opened his mouth to answer—

  But before he could speak, the wind howled again.

  Suddenly, a different voice, sharp and broken, echoed through the storm.

  “Big brother!”

  The voice came from far across the field. A different child’s voice.

  High-pitched. Panicked.

  “Why won’t you come back? Even you hate me now!”

  John turned toward the sound, heart pounding, suddenly out of breath.

  He wanted to scream.

  To run.

  To say No! I don’t hate you—

  But his voice wouldn’t work.

  His legs wouldn’t move.

  And the field began to shatter—

  like glass hit by a bullet.

  Light split into a thousand shards around him, and the wind became a scream,

  John jolted upright, breath ragged, chest heaving like he'd run a mile. His eyes were wide, searching the dark — not for light, but for answers.

  “Jo…”

  Aaradhya stirred beside him. Her voice was soft, sleep-cloaked.

  She reached out, gently placing her hands on his trembling shoulders.

  “You dreamt again.”

  He didn’t speak at first. Just sat there, panting, sweat glistening across his neck. Then a tired hum rumbled from his throat.

  “Hmm…”

  He grabbed the water bottle from the bedside table, twisted off the cap with shaky fingers, and emptied it in one go.

  Aaradhya didn’t move. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder as he drank.

  “It’s getting worse,” she murmured, sadness touching every word.

  “Worse? No,” he said finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Frequent? Yes. Different? Definitely.”

  He exhaled slowly, then turned slightly, wrapping one arm around her.

  His fingers found hers in the dark and held tight.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Mmm-hmm…”

  She hummed, nuzzling into his shoulder.

  “I don’t care about losing sleep.”

  There was something fragile in her voice. Not fear. Not frustration. Just… a quiet ache. The kind that only comes from loving someone who's haunted by things you can’t see.

  They sat there like that — no more words, no more explanations — as the night carried on around them.

  Outside, the city fall into deep slept.

  “Aaradhya, don’t be a bitch!”

  Varun’s voice echoed down the apartment hallway, frustrated and sharp.

  Aaradhya stood by the door, her bag packed and ready, eyes red from the weight of too many held-back tears. Her hand tightened on the suitcase handle, knuckles white.

  John sat on the living room sofa, unmoving. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers interlocked. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak. His face was blank, unreadable.

  “Tell that to your friend,” Aaradhya snapped, voice cracking but still furious.

  “I was ready to go against my entire family for him. I was ready to burn bridges. And all I asked was honesty!”

  She turned, pointing a trembling finger at John.

  “But he just keeps being… him.”

  Varun threw up his hands.

  “What now? What the hell did he even do?”

  “I’ve lived with him for a year, Varun. A year,” she said, the anger in her voice buckling under sorrow.

  “I risked everything—hid it from my parents, lied to them. Because I love him. Because I believed in him.”

  She turned to John again, eyes pleading now.

  “But even now, he’s still keeping secrets from me. Still carrying something he refuses to share. How am I supposed to keep standing beside someone who keeps walking ahead with his back to me?”

  The anger finally broke into silence—into a soft, aching cry.

  John didn’t respond. Didn’t even lift his head.

  The room fell into a stillness so loud it felt like it might crush them all.

  Varun stepped forward, voice low.

  “Aaradhya… you know how he is. If you move out now—”

  John raised his head slightly, catching Varun’s eyes.

  Just a look.

  A warning: Don’t.

  But Aaradhya was already halfway out the door.

  “Tell him,” she said, without turning around,

  “Tell him he knows where I’m going. And if he ever decides to actually let me in — to be honest, to be real — he can come find me.”

  She stepped into the corridor.

  “Also tell him,” she added, swiping at her eyes, trying to hold her composure as she pulled her trolley behind her,

  “that his degree’s over. He needs to stop running and start building something. A job. A plan. A future.”

  A beat of silence. The sound of the elevator door opening. Then closing.

  She was gone.

  The flat suddenly felt hollow. The kind of quiet that came only after someone had taken something essential with them.

  Varun stood at the threshold, staring at the spot where Aaradhya had stood just moments before.

  “Jo…” he said quietly.

  John was still in the same position, elbows on knees, hands now hanging loose. His lips curled into a soft smile — not smug. Not cruel.

  Just… tired.

  “Let her go,” he murmured.

  “It’s for her own good.”

  And that smile — that half-formed, fragile smile — stayed on his face like something unfinished.

  Varun slowed as he reached the middle of the office walkway, pausing between rows of glass capsule rooms — little transparent cubes glowing under cold fluorescent light. The hum of air vents and distant keyboard clicks filled the silence like static.

  Through the glass, he spotted John.

  Slouched in his chair. Head tilted back. Eyes half-closed. He looked like someone trying to rest… but failing at it.

  Varun sighed and pushed the door open with a muted click.

  “Jo.”

  John stirred, blinking himself back into the present.

  “Hey,” he said with a tired smile. “How was the tour?”

  “Exhausting,” Varun muttered, pulling out the chair across from him and slumping into it. “But not as exhausting as whatever the hell’s going on with you. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

  John just smiled faintly, gaze distant.

  “Just… thinking.”

  Varun leaned forward slightly. “About her?”

  John didn’t answer — but he didn’t deny it either. That same weary smile lingered on his face. Half amusement, half ache.

  “Kinda,” he murmured.

  Varun studied him for a moment. “If it’s only ‘kinda,’ why do you look like a ghost in an office chair?”

  No answer.

  John leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers loosely interlocked. There was a shadow in his eyes — not dark, just… hollow. That tiredness that sleep doesn’t fix.

  “Nightmares?” Varun asked, voice softening.

  John nodded, once.

  “Still happening?”

  “They never really stopped,” he said. “They just get… quieter sometimes.”

  Varun exhaled and looked away. “I’m tired of saying the same things.”

  John tilted his head. “Like what?”

  “That pushing Aaradhya away was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.” Varun gave a small laugh. “And you’ve done some pretty dumb shit, man.”

  John let out a slow breath — part laugh, part defeat.

  “I know.”

  Varun leaned back, looking at his friend.

  “You remember what you told me once? ‘She won’t run away… I won’t let her.’”

  John’s smile faded.

  “She didn’t run,” he said softly.

  “No,” Varun agreed. “You made her leave.”

  John nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

  “Then why are you still struggling with it?” Varun asked. “You chose this.”

  “I did,” John whispered. “But love… has a strange way of turning on itself. If she’d stayed, maybe I’d be better. But she would’ve suffered. The nightmares. The stress. The guilt I can’t hide.”

  He looked up at Varun with tired eyes. “She needs peace right now. Space. Focus. Her career. I didn’t want to be another weight on her shoulders.”

  Varun shook his head, smiling sadly. “Everything about you is weird and dramatic, Jo.”

  John chuckled under his breath. “Then let’s do something even weirder.”

  He stood up, reaching into the drawer and grabbing his car keys.

  “Let’s go see her.”

  Varun blinked. “But… she doesn’t want to see you.”

  “She won’t,” John said, already walking toward the door. “I just want to see her. From a distance.”

  Varun stood up too, dragging his bag behind him. “Like always…”

  “Yeah,” John said quietly. “Like always.”

  Affection wrapped in silence. A broken heart pretending to heal.

  A pathetic attempt by a nobody —

  to remember what was once everything.

  but maybe, the most honest.

  Every word you read keeps the shadow alive.

  Black