Chapter 28

I’m lying on my bed, laptop open, papers scattered around me in what can only be described as a half-assed attempt at responsibility.

The document in front of me is blank except for the title: Agave Americana – Report.

That’s it.

No content. No research. Just an empty white screen staring back at me, judging me for the academic failure I am.

I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face.

I was supposed to be working on this, I really was. But instead, I’ve been stuck in the same spiral of useless thoughts for the past twenty minutes.

Because of course—Aman.

Aman, who picked the plant for us. Aman, who knew its name, its uses, its ability to survive months without water.

It was made to endure, he had said. I don’t know why that’s still sitting in my chest.

Like he wasn’t just talking about a plant.

I exhale, leaning back against my pillow. I should stop overthinking this. Aman is just weirdly into botany. That’s all. Nothing to analyze. Nothing to obsess over.

And yet– I glance at my phone, tempted to text him.

Ask him what exactly he meant. Ask him why he looked at me like that when he said it.

Ask him—

My phone rings. I nearly drop it on my face.

Raj.

I frown. Raj never texts. Sometimes I wonder if his phone even has the messaging feature. When he needs something, he just calls out of nowhere, fully expecting the universe to accommodate him.

I answer, still thrown off.

“Hello?”

“Ah, my favorite struggling biologist picks up. I was beginning to think you drowned in a pile of leaves.”

I roll my eyes. “What do you want, Raj?”

“Wow, cold. No ‘Hey Raj, how’s life? How’s the weather? Do you miss me?'”

“Raj.”

“Dev.”

“It’s past midnight.”

“Oh, I know.” There’s a smirk in his voice. “I also know you’re not sleeping.”

I scowl at my laptop. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point. If you’re awake and being a nerd, the least you can do is keep me company.”

“You sound desperate.”

“And you sound lonely.”

I pause. The line goes quiet for a second, then—

“Sorry, was that too flirty? Should I dial it back? I just don’t want you to feel neglected, darling.”

“Goodbye, Raj.”

“Sharma, no—wait, wait, wait—”

I sigh, shifting my phone to my other ear. Raj is insufferable.

“Why are you even calling?”

“Can’t I just miss the soothing sound of your voice?”

“No.”

“Fine. It’s Arya. And Sid.”

I blink. “What about them?”

“They’re my groupmates for this stupid assignment. Which means I’ve been forced into being a front-row spectator to Arya’s slow and painful descent into madness.”

“Oh god.”

“Exactly.” Raj sighs dramatically. “You should’ve seen her today. One brush of Sid’s hand on her shoulder and she looked like she was going to start composing poetry on the spot.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “She’s unhinged.”

“She’s an experience,” Raj corrects. “And Sid? He’s the most oblivious man alive. You’d think someone would have told him by now—subtly, aggressively, with a neon sign—anything. But no. He walks around completely unaware, like a puppy being worshiped by an entire temple.”

“Sounds like you’re suffering.”

“Oh, immensely,” Raj sighs. “It’s tragic, really. Here I am, a victim of circumstance, forced to listen to Arya’s dramatic inner monologue while Sid remains completely, hopelessly unaware.”

“I feel bad for you,” I say, grinning. “But also, not really.”

“That’s cruel, Sharma. I thought we were in this together.”

“We’re not even in the same group.”

“Excuses.”

I shake my head, flipping my pen between my fingers. “You’re handling it fine. Besides, you love watching chaos unfold.”

“Not alone,” Raj says. Then, a pause. “I just think you should be suffering with me.”

“Oh? Is that why you called?”

“Yes,” Raj says, shameless. “You were in danger of being productive. I had to save you.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t hang up.

There’s a comfortable silence. Not the awkward kind, not the forced kind—just the kind that happens when you don’t need to fill the space.

I glance at my laptop screen again. The document is still empty. My thoughts are still a mess.

But for some reason, I don’t feel as overwhelmed anymore.

“Hey, Sharma?” Raj says after a while.

“Yeah?”

“I like talking to you.”

I freeze.

It’s casual. Effortless. Like he’s saying it just because it’s true, not because he expects a response.

I swallow, shifting against my pillow. “You like talking in general.”

“True. But I like talking to you more.”

My fingers tighten around my phone.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Before I can overthink it—

“Anyway,” Raj says, stretching. “It’s late. Should probably let you go.”

“Yeah,” I say automatically, but I don’t actually want to hang up.

Neither does he.

I can tell.

Because he doesn’t hang up immediately.

The line stays open for just a second longer than it needs to. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s seeing if I’ll say something to keep him on the call.

I don’t. But I also don’t say goodbye. And neither does he.

Eventually, the call ends.

And I’m left staring at my phone, wondering what the hell just happened.

***

The front door clicks shut.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Dad had said before leaving.

Like this is normal. Like he’s been waiting in the car for me my whole life.

I sigh, staring down at my half-eaten breakfast, dragging my spoon through it like if I push things around long enough, maybe I’ll find my appetite again.

Mom sits beside me. She doesn’t speak right away. Just reaches over, fingers curling around my wrist, a quiet, steady presence.

“Dev,” she says gently.

I don’t look at her. “I know.”

“Do you?”

I shake my head. “Mom, don’t.”

“He’s trying.”

I let out a sharp, breathless laugh. “And that’s enough? After everything?”

She exhales. “No. But it’s something.”

“Seventeen years,” I say, voice flat. “Seventeen years of silence. Seventeen years of feeling like I didn’t exist to him. And now, because he’s ‘trying,’ I’m supposed to just… what? Let him in? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

“No,” she says softly. “You don’t have to pretend. You don’t even have to forgive him.”

That makes me pause.

I glance at her, frowning. “Then what do you want me to do?”

She looks at me for a long time, eyes warm, thoughtful.

Then she says, “I want you to decide what you need to heal, and I want you to give yourself permission to take your time getting there.”

I don’t say anything.

She squeezes my hand. “Dev, forgiveness isn’t a door you open for someone else. It’s a weight you put down for yourself. And right now? You’re still carrying everything he never gave you.”

My throat tightens.

“Would you?” I ask suddenly.

She blinks. “What?”

“If you were me,” I say, tilting my head slightly. “Would you forgive him?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

For a moment, just a moment, something flickers across her face—something old and quiet and heavy.

Then, she smiles. But it’s the kind that knows too much, the kind that has seen all the ways love can fail.

“I think,” she says, “if I had been given a choice… I would have wanted him to earn it first.”

I stare at her.

And somehow, that makes more sense than anything else ever has.

***

The air inside the car is not tense, but not exactly relaxed either.

It’s just… there.

Like a conversation waiting to happen but never quite starting.

Dad keeps both hands on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He doesn’t try to fill the silence. Doesn’t clear his throat awkwardly or attempt forced small talk. He just drives, like he’s giving me space to exist beside him without expectation.

I stare out the window, watching the city blur past, fingers idly tapping against my knee.

And then—

“Lag ja gale…”

The familiar melody spills softly from the radio.

A slow, haunting voice. A song that feels like mist over old memories.

I don’t think. I reach for the volume knob and turn it up.

Dad glances at me briefly. Not surprised, just… noticing.

“You like this song?” he asks.

I hesitate. I don’t know why I turned it up. Maybe because it was too quiet in here. Maybe because I didn’t want him to think I was sitting in his car unwillingly.

Or maybe because—

It was Amit’s favorite. I don’t say that, though.

Instead, I shrug. “It’s nice.”

Dad hums, nodding slightly. He lets a few seconds pass before he says, “Your grandfather used to play this all the time.”

I blink, turning to him. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He exhales lightly, like he’s remembering. “Had an old record player. This song, ‘Woh Shaam Kuch Ajeeb Thi’—those were his favorites. Used to play them every Sunday morning while reading the newspaper. Your grandmother hated it.”

I snort. That makes sense.

“Too slow,” Dad continues, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She said it always made her feel like we were living in a sad movie.”

I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head.

For a moment, it’s almost… easy.

Just two people sharing a song.

The melody swells, the words lingering in the air—shayad phir is janam mein mulaqaat ho na ho…

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so easy anymore. Because I can hear it in another voice.

Amit, leaning against my desk, humming absentmindedly as he scrolled through his phone. Amit, drumming his fingers against the table to the rhythm. Amit, telling me—

“This song is a masterpiece. I don’t care how old it is, it’s magic.”

I swallow, fingers tightening slightly against my knee.

“Your grandfather used to sing along sometimes,” Dad says, oblivious to my thoughts. “He didn’t have a good voice, but he didn’t care. I thought it was embarrassing back then.”

I glance at him.

“And now?” I ask.

He breathes in, slow. “Now, I miss it.”

I look away.

Outside, the world keeps moving.

Inside the car, the song plays on.

***

The moment I step into the classroom, I know something is wrong.

Arya is fully collapsed onto her desk, sprawled out like she’s been struck down by fate itself. Raj? Sitting beside her, sipping his coffee, looking entirely unbothered. If anything, he looks… amused.

I pause at the doorway. Take in the scene. Then:

“Do I even want to know?”

Raj doesn’t even look up. “Our dear Arya has suffered a great loss today.”

Arya groans, dragging a hand over her face. “Don’t speak of it, Raj. The wound is fresh.”

“Right,” I say flatly. “What happened? Did the cafeteria finally stop selling that overpriced iced tea you like?”

Arya lifts her head just enough to glare at me, then slams it back onto the desk dramatically.

“HE’S TAKEN. TAKEN, DEV.”

I blink. Look at Raj for context.

Raj, smirking: “Sid. Priya. Together. In love. Tragic, really.”

“You spoke to Sid like, five times,” I point out.

“IRRELEVANT,” Arya snaps.

Raj chuckles. Arya collapses again.

I should move on. Let them spiral. But instead, something comes back to me—a memory from last month.

“You know, Arya used to think Priya liked you.”

Instant silence.

Arya slowly lifts her head, turns to Raj, and narrows her eyes.

“Oh my god. True.”

Raj—who was perfectly relaxed a second ago—stiffens. His eyes flick to me first. Not Arya. Not anyone else. Just me.

“That was never a thing,” he says quickly.

I raise an eyebrow. That was fast.

“Oh?” Arya leans in. “Because I distinctly remember you two having some very intense debates.”

“Yeah. Because she in our debate team,” Raj mutters.

“And because you liked the attention,” she grins.

Raj scoffs. “Please. Priya is… smart, confident. Sure. But that doesn’t mean—”

He stops. Blinks.

Then glances at me again, just for a second like he’s checking something. “—doesn’t mean anything,” he finishes, quieter.

He glances at me again.

Then swallows whatever he was about to say.

Arya catches it too. Her eyes narrow. “You’re being weird.”

A pause.

Then—his voice softer, almost careful:

“I just didn’t want it to sound like I was… into her. Ever.”

He doesn’t rush the words. Doesn’t look at Arya.

Just… meets my eyes.

A beat.

“Because I’m not. I don’t like her.”

And he holds them.

Not long. Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Like he wants me to hear it right.

Like he wants me to know.

I look away first.

And he says nothing else.