Chapter 17

Raj has been insufferable all week.

I mean, he’s always insufferable, but this week? This week has been something else.

Every single conversation, every passing moment, every second he has existed in my general vicinity-has been about the debate.

“The opposition is weak, but we must remain vigilant.”

“This isn’t just a battle of words, Dev. This is a war.”

“You will be there.”

That last one wasn’t a suggestion.

Raj had cornered me yesterday, voice all low and serious like he was about to ask me to donate a kidney. He didn’t even give me the option to say no-just informed me of my moral obligation to show up. Like attending his debate was some kind of national duty.

And now, here I am.

In the auditorium. At 9 AM.

Like an idiot.

I push through the heavy double doors, and the first thing I hear is Arya’s unmistakable voice.

“Dev, you made it,” she says, patting my shoulder like I just survived a war. “How does it feel to be held hostage by Raj’s god complex?”

I sigh dramatically. “Painful. Humiliating. I should be financially compensated for this.”

“Right?” Arya gestures grandly to the half-filled auditorium. “Look at this. A gathering of poor, unfortunate souls forced to witness Raj in his full glory. We are but casualties in his quest for validation.”

I glance toward the stage, where Raj and his team are gathered, all deep in discussion. Raj is gesturing wildly, his usual dramatic self, while the others nod along like he’s delivering a TED Talk instead of overanalyzing a school debate.

I raise an eyebrow. “Is he giving a motivational speech?”

Arya smirks. “Oh, absolutely. This is his moment, Dev. His entire existence has been leading up to this.”

I shake my head. “God help us all.”

Arya sighs, crossing her arms. “Anyway, since we’re going to be here for an eternity, let’s at least entertain ourselves.” She leans in conspiratorially. “So. Raj’s team. Let’s rank them based on hotness.”

I blink. “That’s your priority right now?”

“It’s always my priority,” she says solemnly.

I gesture toward the stage. “Alright, go on, then. Enlighten me.”

Arya narrows her eyes, scanning the team like she’s about to make a scientific breakthrough. “Okay, so first up, we have Karan-tall, good hair, dimples. Strong start. But…” She tilts her head. “Might be too into philosophy. Like, he definitely owns a copy of The Republic that he’s never actually read.”

I nod. “Pretentious hot.”

“Exactly.” She shifts her focus. “Next, Sahil-decent jawline, good voice, but once said, ‘Capitalism is a necessary evil’ unironically, so automatic deduction of points.”

I wince. “Tragic.”

“And then we have Priya-actual goddess, smartest person on this stage, the only reason this team has a chance.” Arya pauses, then sighs dramatically. “And yet… in love with Raj.”

I choke. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” Arya shakes her head. “She defends his bullshit. Like, actively.”

“Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Exactly.”

I glance back at the team, where Raj is now dramatically adjusting his blazer, probably gearing up to say something obnoxious. “And Raj himself?”

Arya makes a disgusted face. “Absolutely not. No way. He’s like… a walking headache in human form.”

I smirk. “That’s a strong reaction.”

“It’s a reasonable reaction,” she corrects. Then, after a beat—”But I will admit he looks good in that blazer. Unfortunately.”

I gasp. “Arya. Is that… a compliment?”

“Shut up, Dev.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but before I can respond, my gaze shifts.

Across the auditorium, sitting alone, is Aman.

Same posture as always. Bag slung lazily over his shoulder. Unbothered. Detached. But here.

I don’t know why I notice him, but I do.

I lift a hand. Wave.

He doesn’t wave back.

But he does acknowledge me.

Just a slight nod. Barely anything.

And yet, that’s all it takes. Because this has been… our thing, apparently.

Wave. Nod.

No words. No actual conversation. Just these small, silent acknowledgments in hallways, in classrooms, across campus.

Somehow, it’s enough.

At first, when I had waved at him in the cafeteria. He was taken aback. Nope.

He was shocked.

Like he didn’t expect someone to wave at him. See him.

But slowly when I kept doing it. He started responding with tiny nods.

“Did you just wave at Aman?” Arya asks, watching the interaction with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah.”

“And he just—” she mimics a slow, subtle nod.

“Yeah.”

Arya squints. “What is that?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just… how we communicate now.”

Arya stares at me like I just told her I’ve started speaking Morse code. “That’s so weird. You two are so weird.”

“Thank you for your valuable input.”

“You’re welcome.”

Before she can interrogate me further, there’s movement on stage.

Raj’s team is gathering, their discussion growing more animated. The opposing team hasn’t arrived yet, but Raj already looks like he’s preparing for battle. His eyes are sharp, his stance confident, his entire presence radiating self-importance.

I exhale. “He’s going to be unbearable after this, isn’t he?”

Arya groans. “You have no idea.”

I sink into my seat, watching as Raj straightens his blazer one last time, expression unreadable for once.

The debate hasn’t even started. And somehow, I already know–this is going to be a lot.

Raj is in his element.

I mean, if there was ever a situation designed specifically to inflate his ego to maximum capacity, it’s this one.

The stage is set. The teams are seated. The audience is half-bored, half-curious. And Raj? Raj looks like he was born for this.

I, on the other hand, am slumped in my seat, already regretting every choice that led me here.

Arya sighs beside me, propping her chin on her palm. “Kill me now.”

I smirk. “Come on, it’s educational.”

“So is watching grass grow.”

The moderator clears their throat, and the opening statements begin. The opposing school’s first speaker, a guy who definitely owns a pocket watch and says things like “let’s circle back to that,” stands up.

“We live in an era of digital noise,” he starts, voice deep, calculated. “One where misinformation spreads faster than truth. Where opinions masquerade as facts. Where people no longer think, but instead, consume.”

Arya immediately scribbles something onto a notepad and shoves it at me.

“This guy writes poetry about AI taking over the world, I just know it.”

I bite back a laugh. Raj, of course, has been waiting for this moment his entire life.

“While my opponent makes an eloquent case for fear-mongering,” Raj says smoothly, standing up, “he fails to acknowledge that social media isn’t just a tool for misinformation-it’s a revolutionary platform for awareness.”

He paces slightly, voice steady. Confident. “Movements have been born on these platforms. Oppressed voices have found power. If we’re discussing social media’s impact on critical thinking, we must also acknowledge how it has dismantled gatekeeping and allowed knowledge to be shared freely.”

The debate keeps going, each side throwing counters, shifting momentum back and forth. Raj’s team is winning. Not just in argument strength, but in energy.

Even I have to admit-he’s good. He’s really good.

But I’m only half-listening. The other half of my brain is drifting-half-focused on the way the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, the hum of quiet murmurs from the audience, the rhythmic pattern of rebuttals.

I glance at Aman again.

Same posture, same detached expression.

He’s listening. But only just.

Kind of like me.

I exhale, turning my attention back to the debate, just in time for the opposing team’s leader to stand up.

And the shift is immediate.

This guy isn’t just debating. He’s commanding the room.

“I hear all this talk about movements and awareness,” he says, voice slow, deliberate. “But awareness without consequence? That’s not justice. That’s public execution.”

Raj raises an eyebrow. “Explain.”

The guy smirks slightly. “We talk about social media like it’s a revolution. But what happens when it decides to destroy someone? When people don’t care about the truth, only the spectacle?”

Something in my gut tightens.

Raj leans forward, intrigued. “That’s an interesting take.”

“Is it?” The guy tilts his head. “Or is it just true?”

And then the shift happens.

Not suddenly, not with a bang, but with something worse.

A slow, creeping tension. The kind that seeps into the room before anyone even realizes it’s there.

The opposing team’s leader adjusts his mic, leans forward slightly, and-smirks.

That’s the first sign.

That smirk.

Like he knows something the rest of the room doesn’t.

Like he’s about to drop something that won’t just be a debate point-it’ll be a wound.

His voice is calm. Steady. A little too casual.

“Of course, we could sit here and discuss theoretical consequences all day. But we don’t need hypotheticals, do we? We’ve all seen it. The damage. The destruction. The lives shattered by social media’s unfiltered reach.”

Raj tilts his head, intrigued. “Give us an example, then.”

And the guy-he smiles. And the he shifts his focus and looks into my direction briefly.

At me.

“Oh, I think some of you already know one.”

My breath catches. Did I imagine that?

The air around me feels different. My seat feels too solid. The auditorium lights too bright.

“All it takes is one moment, one mistake, one scandal-and suddenly, your life isn’t yours anymore. It belongs to everyone. Your face spreads. Your name becomes a headline. And what happens next?”

My fingers dig into my palms.

No.

“You become a joke.”

No.

“A story for people to tell. A rumor. A cautionary tale.”

I can’t breathe.

Raj straightens slightly.

The guy’s eyes scan the audience-slowly, deliberately-before landing somewhere near me.

He knows.

I know he knows.

“It’s happened in places just like this. To people sitting right here.”

And just like that, the entire room shifts.

Not loudly. Not obviously. But the energy cracks-a subtle, barely noticeable ripple of recognition passing through the audience. A few people exchange glances. Some shift uncomfortably.

Not everyone knows.

But some do.

And I feel all of them.

The weight of their eyes. The distant echoes of laughter from years ago.

The rumors. The whispers. The way my name was dragged through dirt, turned into something ugly.

The video.

That day.

Everywhere.

I can’t be here.

I push back my chair, the sound loud against the floor. Arya’s head snaps toward me, confusion flickering across her face.

“Dev?”

I don’t answer–

Can’t.

I move before I can think-before my body betrays me, before my face gives me away.

Out of the row. Down the aisle. Through the heavy auditorium doors.

And when I finally step into the hallway-

I gasp for air like I’ve been drowning.

The air is too sharp.

It cuts at my lungs, thin and cold and not enough no matter how hard I try to breathe it in.

The hallway stretches too long in front of me, too empty, too open. The sound of my own footsteps echoes back at me, proof that I’m still moving, still here, still real-but I don’t feel real. I feel watched. Even out here, even away from the murmurs, the half-turned heads, the slow realization crawling through the auditorium like poison.

It’s going to happen again.

They’re going to know.

They’re going to see me differently-not as Dev Sharma, not as just another student, not as a person-but as the story.

The rumor.

A mistake to be laughed at behind screens. A memory passed between people who don’t even remember the details but know enough to make it a joke.

My hands shake. My ribs feel locked. The walls seem too close, pressing in, and-

I need air.

I push forward, barely aware of where I’m going, stumbling into the open courtyard just outside the building. The world is muted, the muffled hum of distant voices barely reaching me. The sky stretches overhead, pale blue with clouds that look too soft, too indifferent to the fact that my entire body is in freefall.

I press a hand to my chest, fingers curling over fabric, trying to force my lungs to work.

But the panic isn’t stopping. It’s growing.

And then–

I feel it.

A presence. Standing close.

Not too close, not crowding, not pressing in, but just… there. A quiet weight in my space.

I don’t have to look. I already know. Aman.

He doesn’t say anything. Of course, he doesn’t

He just stands there.

And somehow, that’s worse.

I squeeze my eyes shut. If I open them, if I look at him, it’ll make this real.

I hear a sound-something soft, something light. A plastic cap twisting open.

Then—

A hand. Not touching me. Just… holding something out.

I force myself to blink, to pull my gaze up from the cracked pavement, and there it is.

A water bottle. I don’t move.

Aman exhales, barely a sound, and gives the bottle one short shake. Just enough to say, Take it.

I do.

The plastic crinkles slightly under my grip. I uncap it, bring it to my lips, and take a slow sip.

The water is cold. It slides down my throat, heavy and grounding, something real in the middle of all this static.

My breathing is still wrong-too quick, too uneven-but the sharpest edges of panic are dulling, just slightly.

Aman lowers himself onto the edge of the courtyard steps beside me. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough to exist in the same space.

The silence stretches, thick but not uncomfortable.

And then, quietly-

“People don’t matter.”

I flinch. His voice is calm. Flat. Unbothered.

But it feels like a hammer to the ribs.

I swallow. My throat is raw. “They do, though.”

Aman tilts his head, gaze unreadable. “Why?”

I blink at him, because what kind of question is that?

“Because—” My voice cracks. I exhale, shaking my head, fingers still clenched around the water bottle. “Because they just do.”

Aman leans forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “Why would it matter what they think or know?” His voice is steady, no judgment, no hesitation. “You know your truth. That’s enough.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Try telling that to literally anyone else.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care what they think either.”

I stare at him. “That’s great for you, Aman. Some of us don’t get to just… shut the world out like that.”

“Sure, you do.” He says it so simply, like it’s obvious. “You just don’t want to.”

My fingers tighten around the bottle. “You don’t get it.”

Aman watches me for a moment. Then, finally—”Maybe not.”

I scoff, shaking my head, but my breath is slowing. The world is settling around me again.

The silence returns, but this time, it’s… different. Less crushing. Less sharp.

Aman shifts, reaching for the water bottle. I let him take it, too tired to argue.

He screws the cap back on and just sits there. Neither of us speaks for a while.

I swallow, my throat still raw. “Do you—” My voice cracks. I exhale sharply, trying again. “Do you know about it?”

Aman doesn’t ask what I mean. He doesn’t even blink.

He just watches me, quiet, unreadable. Then-

“Why does it matter?”

I flinch. “Because—” I stop, shaking my head. “Because if you do, then—”

“Then what?” Aman tilts his head slightly. “You think it changes something?”

I stare at him, my fingers curling around the water bottle, skin damp with condensation. “Doesn’t it?”

Aman exhales, long and slow. “Not for me.”

That– That throws me.

I shift, my breath still uneven. “So you do know.”

Aman doesn’t confirm or deny. Just leans forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “Would it make a difference if I said yes?”

I hesitate.

“See?” Aman says, voice calm, steady. “You already decided how people will look at you. You think you know what’s coming. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re not. But if you let that decide how you exist-” He shrugs. “You’re making it easy for them.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. So I should just pretend nothing happened?”

Aman shakes his head. “No. Just stop giving people more power than they deserve.”