Chapter 27

The sun is too bright, the air is too humid, and the only thing stopping me from throwing myself into a bed of ferns and calling it a day is the fact that Arya is already suffering loudly enough for the both of us.

“Who decided this was a good idea?” Arya groans, dramatically wiping imaginary sweat from her forehead. “Botanical gardens? Really? Are we being punished?”

“Yes,” I say. “For the crime of choosing biology.”

“I hate this subject.”

“You chose this subject.”

“Against my will.”

“That’s not how choices work, Arya.”

Before this can turn into a full-blown Arya vs. The Education System rant, our teacher—Mrs. Rao—claps her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, listen up!” she calls. “This isn’t just a trip to admire nature—” (which, judging by Arya’s sigh, was her exact plan), “you’ll be working on a field report.”

A collective groan ripples through the students. Mrs. Rao ignores it with the cold efficiency of someone who has spent years crushing teenage hope.

“Each of you will pick a plant that interests you,” she continues. “You’ll study it, classify it, and prepare a report on its properties, uses, and ecological significance.”

I glance at Arya. She mouths kill me now.

“You’ll be working in groups of three,” Mrs. Rao adds, scanning a clipboard. “I’ve already assigned your groups, so don’t even think about switching.”

Another groan. Another pointless hope-crushing.

“This is your fault,” she hisses.

“I literally did nothing.”

“Exactly.”

***

Aman.

Ishan.

And me.

Yup, you heard me. That’s my group.

Aman is standing a few feet away, looking completely unbothered, arms crossed, face blank as ever. Ishan, on the other hand, is leaning against a tree, inspecting his nails like he’s about to file them out of sheer boredom.

Fantastic.

I glance over at the other team, where Arya looks like she’s about to die. Because Sid is walking toward her.

I blink. “What the—”

She has been assigned with Raj and Sid. Siddharth Roy, captain of the football team, Arya’s biggest crush.

The entire school knows it. Except Sid, of course.

“Malfunctioning,” Ishan mutters beside me.

And yeah, that’s exactly what’s happening. She is malfunctioning. Fully. The girl who once stared down a teacher for calling her ‘too aggressive’ is now nodding at Sid like he’s the President and she’s a citizen who just got randomly selected for a government interview. Raj looks five seconds away from choking on his own laughter.

“This is embarrassing,” Ishan comments, shaking his head. “I almost feel bad for her.”

“You don’t,” I say.

“I don’t,” he agrees.

Sid reaches them, and Arya straightens so fast she looks like she’s been electrocuted. The moment he speaks, she laughs—too loud, too unnatural, like she’s being held at gunpoint.

Raj grins, leaning in slightly. “You okay there?”

“YES,” Arya says, voice slightly unhinged.

Sid looks mildly alarmed.

I exchange a glance with Ishan, who just lets out a low whistle. “Oh, this is a disaster.”

But I have bigger problems.

I walk to Aman, who hasn’t reacted to any of this.

His gaze is fixed on a distant point, his posture as still as ever. But I know him well enough now to catch the small things—the way his fingers are curled slightly, the way his shoulders are just a little too stiff.

He’s tense.

Because of Ishan.

They haven’t spoken since… well. Since everything. Since Aman stood by and watched while Ishan got torn apart. Since Rohit went after Aman for it. Since this tension settled between them like an open wound, never acknowledged, never healed.

I exhale.

I’m not a therapist. I don’t even know how to talk about my own issues, let alone fix anyone else’s. But Aman is my… well.

Are we friends?

Whatever. He’s something to me. And I can’t just ignore this.

I walk over to him. “Aman.”

He barely moves, just shifts his gaze slightly toward me. “Hm.”

I glance at Ishan, who’s still watching Arya’s social destruction. Then back at Aman.

“Ishan,” I say carefully. “Have you—”

“No.”

I pause. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Aman looks at me, deadpan.

I sigh. “Fine. Have you talked to him?”

Aman doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze flickers, barely, to where Ishan is still standing.

“No.”

That’s it. That’s all I get.

I rub a hand down my face. “Great.”

Aman shifts slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, after a moment—”Why?”

I frown. “Why what?”

“Why do you care?”

I blink.

“Because you’re my friend. Because I don’t want this day to turn into an awkward, unbearable mess. Because—”

I glance at Aman, at the way his jaw is set a little too tight, his shoulders a little too stiff. And I realize… this isn’t just about me not wanting to deal with tension.

Aman is avoiding Ishan.

And not even the casual or indifferent kind of avoidance. He’s deliberately choosing not to look, choosing not to engage, choosing not to react.

And I know that look.

Because it’s the same way I avoid my father.

I exhale. “Because I can literally feel the awkwardness between you two from here? Because I don’t want to spend this entire trip in silence, watching you and Ishan ignore each other like divorced parents at a PTA meeting?”

Aman exhales through his nose, which, for him, is basically an emotional breakdown.

Then—

“Doesn’t matter.”

I open my mouth to argue, but—

“Oh, look,” Ishan says, stepping up beside me. “Bonding time. Am I interrupting?”

Aman goes completely still.

I try not to groan. “Ishan—”

“I mean, by all means, continue. It’s so cute how you two do this whole ‘Aman only talks to Dev’ thing. Warms my heart, really.” Ishan smirks. “I’m starting to feel left out.”

Aman doesn’t even look at him. “Then leave.”

His voice is calm. Quiet. But sharp enough to cut.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Okay, wow. We’re really going for full hostility today.”

Ishan turns to me. “Oh, sorry. Should I be nice? Because last time I checked, Mr. Selective Mute over here didn’t exactly step in when I was getting my ass handed to me.”

Aman doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. He just stares.

I shift uncomfortably.

This is bad.

I look between them, something heavy settling in my stomach.

This isn’t just tension. It’s something deeper. Something sharp.

And the worst part? Aman isn’t defending himself.

He is just standing there.

And I don’t know if that’s guilt or exhaustion.

But before I can say anything else—

“Arya’s about to self-destruct,” Ishan announces.

We all turn—just in time to see Sid reach out and casually touch Arya’s shoulder.

Arya short-circuits.

Ishan whistles. “RIP Arya.”

Sid, still completely unaware, continues talking while Arya is visibly trying to stay conscious.

Raj, who has been watching all of this with the kind of amusement only he is capable of, leans in slightly. To say something.

“YES,” Arya replies too loud, voice slightly unhinged.

Sid looks mildly alarmed.

“Should we help her?” I ask.

Ishan shrugs. “Or should we let her crash and burn for our own entertainment?”

“She’s my friend.”

“She’d let you suffer if it were you.”

“…Fair point.”

Arya, now aggressively nodding at whatever Sid is saying, is seconds away from losing it.

And honestly? We let it happen.

I shake my head, finally turning away. “Come on, we actually have an assignment to do.”

Ishan scoffs. “You sound like a responsible student. I’m concerned.”

“Shut up and walk.”

The three of us move toward the garden paths, the air thick with the damp scent of leaves and freshly watered soil. Sunlight filters through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns onto the ground.

I look around, scanning the area for a plant that doesn’t look aggressively boring. A lot of them do.

Beside me, Aman walks with his usual quiet ease—hands tucked into his pockets, gaze flickering over the greenery with something that isn’t quite interest, but isn’t indifference either.

Ishan? He’s already mildly inconvenienced by existing in nature. “We better not have to touch any bugs for this,” he mutters.

“You’re in a botanical garden,” I say. “The bugs live here. You’re the guest.”

“They should respect guests,” Ishan says. “Where’s the hospitality?”

I ignore him, pausing near a plant that actually looks… interesting.

The leaves are long and pointed, thick and waxy, with a dark green shade that deepens toward the center. The edges have sharp little thorns, but the plant itself looks strong, unmoving. There’s something about it that makes me pause.

Before I can say anything, Aman speaks.

“Agave Americana.”

I blink, turning to him.

He’s standing closer now—just slightly, just enough for me to notice.

“It’s used for making fiber and medicinal extracts,” he continues, not looking at me, but at the plant. “It can survive months without water.” A pause. Then, softer—”It was made to endure.”

I swallow.

Made to endure.

Something about the way he says that last part settles in my chest.

I glance at him, wondering if he meant something more.

I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. And then—

“Wow,” Ishan says, stepping up between us. “You two are so cute. Should I leave? Is this a plant-themed date now?”

Aman exhales through his nose. Which, by now, I’ve learned is his way of saying I regret every life choice that brought me here.

I roll my eyes.

“No, really,” Ishan continues, grinning like the little shit he is. “It’s adorable. Aman, you’ve never explained plants for me. Is Dev that special?”

“Ishan—”

“Yes.” Aman replies calmly. Too calmly.

I freeze. That was… not what I expected. Not even close. Ishan blinks, like he was ready to laugh but forgot how. And Aman? He just keeps looking at the plant, like he didn’t just break something open and walk away.

Ishan actually blinks, clearly expecting a different answer. “Wait, what?”

Aman doesn’t clarify. Doesn’t look at either of us. He just turns back to the plant, as if that one word wasn’t a complete disruption of reality.

And I?

I have no idea what the hell just happened.

***

Aman drifts ahead of us, walking at his own pace. His fingers brush against a few leaves here and there—not carelessly, but like he’s testing their texture, feeling the weight of them.

He stops near a cluster of flowers and kneels slightly, tilting his head as if examining something up close.

I stay back under the shade of a large tree with Ishan, who has taken shelter with zero shame, aggressively scrolling through his phone.

“You don’t like plants?” I say.

Ishan doesn’t look up. “Nope. Why suffer when there’s shade?”

I lean against the tree, watching Aman.

There’s a certain way he moves when he’s alone—quieter than usual, but not in a closed-off way. Like he’s simply used to existing in his own space.

It’s different from how he is around people.

Because around people, Aman doesn’t just walk. He keeps distance.

I’ve never actually seen him talk to anyone except for Arya sometimes and even with her, his words are limited. He observes more than he engages.

And yet… He’s here.

Helping me. Speaking to me. Standing close enough that I can feel the shift in air when he moves.

I think back to what he said earlier.

“Yes.”

I exhale slowly, trying to make sense of it.

Maybe Ishan was just being dramatic. Maybe Aman didn’t mean anything by it.

Maybe I’m reading too much into things.

But the truth is, I’ve never seen Aman actually be someone’s friend.

And yet, here he is, always kind to me. Why?

I tear my gaze away from him and turn to Ishan, who’s still aggressively typing something on his phone like he’s fighting for his life.

“Alright,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Why do you hate Aman?”

Ishan doesn’t even look up. “I don’t hate him.”

“You’re literally annoyed by his existence.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same as hate. I find Raj annoying too. I don’t hate him.”

“Raj is objectively annoying.”

“You’re my bestie now.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, so if you don’t hate Aman, why are you always pissed at him?”

Ishan finally stops scrolling, tilts his head back, and exhales through his nose.

I wait.

He clicks his phone off and slips it into his pocket, then crosses his arms. “Fine. You wanna know why?”

“Yes, that’s why I asked.”

“Alright,” he says, glancing toward Aman—who is still in his own world, skimming his fingers across a fern, seemingly untouched by the rest of the conversation.

But I know he can hear us. He just doesn’t turn.

Ishan scoffs. “Classic.”

And then—

“It was last month.”

His voice shifts, something sharper beneath it. I don’t say anything. Just listen.

“I was in the washroom,” Ishan continues, his tone casual—too casual. “There were these guys. You know the type. Macho, wannabe alpha male bullshit. The kind who think ‘real men’ don’t wear bright colors or talk with their hands or, god forbid, laugh a little too loudly.”

I already don’t like where this is going.

I stay quiet.

“They started saying shit,” Ishan says. “You know. The usual. Asking me if I was ‘one of those guys’ or if I just liked ‘acting like a girl.’ If I’d ever actually been with a girl, or if I was too busy looking at guys.”

I feel something cold settle in my stomach.

Ishan’s voice stays even, unreadable. “I was alone. No one else was in the washroom. Just me and them.”

A pause.

Then—”Until Aman walked in.”

My eyebrows lift slightly.

“He walked in,” Ishan repeats. “Saw me. Saw them. And you know what he did?”

I already know.

But I let him say it.

“He walked past me, used the sink, and left.”

Aman doesn’t turn. But his hands are in his pockets now. Not casual. Not relaxed. Like he’s hiding something there. Like if he keeps them still, he won’t give himself away.

I watch him anyway.

“He didn’t laugh,” Ishan says. “Didn’t join in. Didn’t say anything at all. Just—nothing. Like I wasn’t even there. Like none of it was happening.”

His voice is steady, but I see it—the way his fingers dig into his arm, pressing just a little too hard.

I exhale.

“You think he should’ve stepped in.”

Ishan lets out a short, sharp laugh. “No, Dev. I think he shouldn’t have ignored it like it was fucking background noise.”

Silence.

Aman still hasn’t turned.

But something shifts.

It’s small. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

The way his shoulders tense—like he’s bracing himself.

The way his eyes pause—like there’s something he wants to say but won’t.

The way his posture stiffens—like he’s holding back a reaction he doesn’t want us to see.

I don’t know what he’s thinking. If he even cares. If he regrets it. Or if he’s just used to letting things happen.

“That’s why you’re mad at him,” I say.

Ishan shrugs. “Yeah. Because he’s an asshole.”

“Maybe,” I say slowly, still watching Aman. “Or maybe he was scared.”

Ishan scoffs. “Aman? Scared?”

I don’t respond immediately.

Because I don’t know.

I don’t know why Aman helps me but didn’t help Ishan. Why he talks to me but ignores the rest of the world.

Why he’s standing there silent, still—but not unaffected.

All I know is– Aman finally turns.

And for a split second, I see it.

Not coldness. Not indifference.

Something else.

Something tightly controlled.

His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I swear there’s something unspoken in it.

And then—just like always—he shuts it down.

His face smooths over, his body relaxes, and it’s gone.

Like it was never there to begin with.

I don’t know what I was expecting.

But suddenly, I feel like I know even less about Aman than I thought.