Chapter 35

The entire school is buzzing with the kind of chaotic energy that only comes once a year—Independence Day Fest preparations.

Banners are being painted in the hallways, aggressive in both color and student arguments. Booth registration is happening near the library, and people are bargaining for stall placements like they’re land barons in a capitalist dystopia.

I should be worried about my botany presentation tomorrow, but I’m not. It’s basically done. I just need Aman’s final files, slap them onto the last slide, and pretend I know what I’m talking about. Which is basically my entire academic strategy.

Instead of being remotely productive, I’m sitting under The Tree.

Raj is next to me, cross-legged, flipping through a philosophy book so dense it could double as a murder weapon. I, on the other hand, am hunched over my notebook, sketching out a masterpiece titled “Giraffe Having an Existential Crisis.”

A granola bar lands on my notebook with a soft thud.

I blink. “Did you just throw food at me?”

Raj doesn’t even look up. “It’s a snack. Eat.”

I poke at it suspiciously. “You realize I’m not a stray cat, right?”

Raj flips a page. “Then stop acting like one and eat.”

I take an ungrateful bite, chewing dramatically to prove a point. Unfortunately, it’s annoyingly good. Which is even more annoying because now I can’t complain.

The campus hums around us. Debate club is locked in a heated argument over food stall pricing, and Raj—being a student body member—should probably care. But instead, he’s sitting here, flipping through his book like he’s a scholar who has transcended mortal concerns.

I nudge him with my foot. “What are you actually doing for the fest?”

Raj finally looks up, stretching like he’s carrying the burden of civilization.

“Scheduling. Logistics. Crowd control. Basically, I make sure everything runs smoothly.”

I stare. “That sounds aggressively boring.”

Raj shrugs. “It is.”

“Then why do it?”

He flips another page. “Looks good on job applications.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Raj smirks, lazy and effortless. “And yet you are sitting next to me.”

I consider leaving purely out of spite. But standing requires effort, and the sun is at the perfect level of warmth. So I sigh dramatically, defeated by my own comfort.

For a while, we just sit. The school buzzes like a beehive around us. Then, almost absently, I ask, “So, what was the fest like last year? Anything worth looking forward to, or am I about to suffer through hours of forced patriotism?”

Raj hums, shutting his book. “Depends. If you enjoy watching Arya absolutely destroy her dignity, then yeah, last year was fantastic.”

I snort. “What did she do?”

Raj shifts, leaning back on his elbows. The sun catches in his hair, making it look unfairly golden.

“She was in the play,” he says. “We both were. Arya was Rani Lakshmibai—sword, war cries, the whole deal. I was the British general.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You played the villain? Fitting.”

Raj grins. “Arya made it her personal mission to actually kill me on stage.”

I smirk. “Did she succeed?”

“Almost,” Raj sighs dramatically. “She was giving this big speech—fire in her eyes, sword in her hand, the whole crowd on edge—and then, right before she could strike me down… she took one step too far.”

I blink. “She fell off the stage?”

“Directly onto Sid.”

I laugh, because of course. “Was he okay?”

Raj waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Caught her like a Bollywood hero. Whole thing was disgustingly cinematic. And that, my friend, is why Arya has an eternal, tragic crush on Sid.”

“She’d rather die than admit that.”

Raj’s smirk softens. “Yeah.”

His voice drops slightly. A shift.

“That’s the thing about Arya,” he says. “She’ll always fight for things, but when it comes to love? She never thinks she’s allowed to just… want.”

I glance at him, caught off guard.

It’s rare to see Raj serious. But when he is… it does something to me.

Something quiet. Something unsettling.

I look away. “You think if Sid was single, she could have a chance?”

Raj hums. “I think she could. If she stopped pretending she didn’t want him.”

He keeps talking. Something about Arya trying to swordfight him backstage with a broom.

And then he stops.

His gaze flickers downward. And before I can process it, his hand moves.

A touch. Barely there.

The rough pad of his thumb grazes the corner of my mouth. I go completely still.

The world snaps into sharp focus.

A pause.

Raj’s eyes meet mine. His fingers are still there. His thumb presses just slightly against my lip—a lingering touch, a hesitation.

And then—he drags it across, slow.

Deliberate.

My pulse stumbles. My grip on my notebook tightens so hard the page crumples.

Raj blinks, like snapping out of something. And then—just like that—he grins. Flicks the crumb off his thumb.

“You had something there.”

I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

Raj stretches, unbothered. “Anyway—Arya tried to fight me for real that night. Said I ‘ruined her honor’ or whatever. Absolute menace.”

He laughs. I stare.

The ghost of his touch burns.

Raj nudges my foot. “You okay, Sharma?”

No.

Absolutely not.

I nod.

***

The auditorium is alive with voices, scripts shuffling, and the sharp, unmistakable energy of competition. Students hover near the stage, waiting for their turn, some nervously murmuring lines, others sizing up their competition. And at the center of it all—Arya Kapoor, standing like a warrior before battle.

Aditya, the poor soul in charge of this circus, sighs. “Arya, we agreed—”

“No. No auditions for the angel.” She raises a hand as if shutting down divine intervention itself. “I created her. I am her.”

A few murmurs of amusement ripple through the crowd. Priya, seated at the judges’ table beside Raj, shifts slightly. “It’s not exactly fair,” she says, voice light but pointed.

Arya barely spares her a glance. “Life isn’t fair, Priya. But my play? My rules.”

A small smirk tugs at Raj’s lips. Priya notices. Her fingers tighten around the pen in her grip.

Aditya, exhausted, waves her off. “Fine. Arya is the angel.”

Arya grins. “Obviously.”

Asim, leaning back lazily in one of the front-row chairs, tilts his head. “So does that mean I automatically get cast as the love interest?”

Arya narrows her eyes. “That depends. Can you act?”

A slow, infuriating smile spreads across Asim’s face. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The auditions begin. Students cycle through the stage, reading their lines with varying degrees of success.

The casting falls into place after that. People cheer, chatter, discuss rehearsals. The auditorium is loud, buzzing with post-audition chaos—students celebrating, arguing, already planning rehearsals. The energy is everywhere. And I can’t focus on any of it.

Because across the room, Priya is laughing at something Raj just said.

Not just a casual laugh. A different kind. Too quick, too eager—like she’s trying to pull him back toward her. Like she’s done it before.

And Raj—

He doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t pull away either. Just stays there, posture easy, fingers tapping absently against his clipboard like he’s not even thinking about it.

But I am.

I don’t even know why I’m looking. Why I can’t stop looking.

Then, she touches him.

Just a quick brush of her fingers against his wrist. A fleeting, delicate thing. A test.

And Raj—

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t react.

It’s barely anything. A moment. A fraction of a second. But something inside me twists so fast and sharp I almost feel it physically.

I drag my gaze away too quickly, like I wasn’t watching in the first place. Like I don’t feel the sudden, ugly knot of something clawing at my ribs.

It’s nothing. It means nothing.

Priya is with Sid. She has Sid. It shouldn’t even be a thought in my head. But it is.

I don’t know what I was expecting Raj to do. I don’t know why it bothers me that he didn’t move away.

Or why it bothers me even more that he let me see it.

I exhale sharply. Stop.

It’s nothing.

Then—Raj glances up and his eyes find mine.

A second too long.

A flicker of hesitation. A moment of awareness, like he knows exactly what I just saw.

Like he wants to correct it.

His smirk falters—not enough for anyone else to notice, but just barely enough for me.

Like he doesn’t want me to get the wrong idea.

But what even is the wrong idea? What even is this feeling crawling under my skin, making my hands curl into fists against my knees?

I look away first. And it shouldn’t feel like losing.

But it does.

***

People are leaving in groups, heading for the exits, laughing, arguing.

Arya is probably waiting for me somewhere, but I don’t care.

I just need to get out. Shake this off.

I push off my seat, ready to disappear into the crowd. Away from whatever the hell that was.

But then—

“Hey—”

Raj’s voice. Close. Too close.

I turn—just as Priya steps in front of me.

“Raj.”

Smooth. Effortless. Like she’s been waiting for this moment. Like she knows exactly how to place herself between us.

Like she’s done it before.

Raj shifts, caught mid-step, like he wasn’t expecting her to be there. Like he wasn’t expecting me to be leaving.

For a second—just a second—his eyes flick to mine. There’s something unreadable there. A hesitation, a split-second delay, like he’s trying to decide what to do.

And then—he doesn’t.

He just stands there. Doesn’t move away. Doesn’t cut her off. Doesn’t follow.

And something inside me burns. I don’t hear what she says next. I don’t care.

Because suddenly, my whole body is too tight, my skin stretched too thin, my pulse hammering in my ears like I’m losing a fight I wasn’t even supposed to be in.

I exhale sharply, forcing my voice even. Unbothered. A lie.

“I have somewhere to be.”

Raj’s head snaps toward me, his mouth parting like he wants to say something.

Too late.

I turn before he can. Before I can see if he even would.

I don’t give Priya a second glance. But just as I step past them, I feel it—Raj watching me, the air between us too charged, too wrong.

Like he wants to stop me. Like he won’t.

And that?

That pisses me off more than anything. So I keep walking.

Out of the auditorium. Out of whatever weird fucking moment just happened.

Out, before I have to admit that it bothered me.

I don’t care.

I don’t fucking care.

That’s what I tell myself as I push through the hallway, jaw clenched so tight it aches, shoulders stiff, moving faster than I need to.

I don’t care about whatever the hell that was back there.

About Priya’s laugh, about the way she leaned in, touched him, looked at him like—

I exhale sharply. Stop.

It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Priya is with Sid. She has Sid.

It shouldn’t even be a thought in my head. Even if she didn’t have a boyfriend? Why would it matter?

Why does any of this matter? It shouldn’t.

It doesn’t. And yet—

It does.

Why the hell does it?

I make it outside before I even realize I’ve left the building, the heat pressing against my skin like a slap. The main gate looms ahead. I stop near the edge of the crowd, dragging a hand through my hair, pulse still too fast.

This is fucking stupid.

I shouldn’t be thinking about any of this. I have actual things to do.

Like my botany assignment.

Like literally anything else.

Right. That. The actual thing that matters.

I pull my phone out, thumb hovering over my contacts before hitting Aman.

The phone barely rings twice before he picks up.

“Library.”

I blink. “What?”

“I’m in the library.”

I sigh. “You could start with a normal hello, you know.”

Silence.

Then, a flat, “Hello.”

I roll my eyes. “Never mind. Did you bring the drive?”

A pause.

Then—”Forgot.”

I press my fingers against my temple. “Aman.”

Nothing. No defense. No explanation. Just Aman being Aman.

I sigh. “Fine. Come to the main gate. We’ll go to your place. You give me the drive, I go back home and actually finish this thing.”

Another pause. Then—

“…Okay.”

That’s it. One word. A reluctant yes, but a yes nonetheless.

“Great,” I mutter, hanging up.

And now, I wait.

I lean against the railing, watching people filter in and out of the gates, talking, laughing, living their lives without this weird, tight feeling in their chest.

Raj was—

Fuck.

I inhale sharply. Nope. Not going there.

I force my gaze down, kicking at a stray pebble like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. I just need to focus. Aman will be here soon, I’ll get my stupid files, I’ll go home, I’ll—

“Sharma.”

I freeze. I don’t have to look up to know who it is.

Raj.

Of course.

I exhale slowly, forcing my face into something neutral before turning to him. “What.”

Raj stands a few feet away, hands stuffed in his pockets, his usual effortless confidence just slightly off. His shoulders aren’t as relaxed, his stance not as lazy, his smirk—missing.

Like he knows.

Like he knows what I’m thinking.

Like he doesn’t want me to think it.

I cross my arms. “Something you need?”

His jaw tenses. “You left.”

I blink. “Observant.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You didn’t say anything.”

Something sharp, something hot, something petty rises in my chest before I can stop it. I scoff. “Didn’t know I owed you an announcement.”

His fingers tighten around the strap of his bag, knuckles flexing. Like he’s holding something back. Like he wants to say something he won’t.

“Dev.”

My pulse stumbles.

I hate that.

I hate the way my name sounds in his mouth. Like he’s trying to fix something that isn’t even broken.

Like he actually cares.

I exhale sharply, forcing a laugh. “Relax. I just had somewhere to be.”

Raj doesn’t look convinced. I hate that too.

Silence.

A loaded kind. The kind that presses into your ribs and doesn’t let up.

I saw you.

You saw me.

And now we’re pretending it didn’t mean anything.

Raj shifts, watching me like I’m some kind of puzzle he hasn’t solved yet.

I don’t give him the chance.

“Why are you even here?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to.

Raj shrugs, too casual. “Was looking for you.”

My stomach twists.

I hate that too.

I don’t answer. I can’t. I just flick my gaze toward the main gate, like I can summon Aman through sheer willpower.

And then Raj follows my gaze.

His expression shifts. Just slightly.

“Waiting for someone?”

I force a shrug. Like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t matter. “Yeah.”

His eyes flick to me again, studying. Too much.

And then Aman steps through the gate.

Raj sees him.

And something in his face shuts down.

The shift is instant. Like a door slamming shut. His posture stiffens, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for something. His expression smooths into something flat, unreadable, distant.

Except I know better.

Raj isn’t unbothered. He is bracing.

Aman’s eyes flick between us, catching the tension like it’s something solid, something heavy enough to press into the air between us. But he doesn’t say anything. He never does.

He just stops a step away, hands in his pockets, gaze steady in that way that always makes me feel like he already knows what’s in my head before I do.

I exhale sharply, forcing myself to stay neutral.

Raj’s gaze flicks between us, sharp, unreadable. But then—something shifts.

The way his fingers tighten around the strap of his bag. The way his stance changes—just slightly.

The way he swallows, like there’s something stuck in his throat.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

Enough that I feel it.

I should say something. A normal goodbye. A casual nothing. But my mouth stays shut, because I know if I open it, my voice won’t come out the way I want it to.

So instead, I turn.

Aman moves with me, effortless, like this was always the plan. Like he never doubted I’d go with him. We step toward the main road, toward the rickshaws waiting just outside the gate.

Raj doesn’t stop us but he doesn’t leave either.

I can feel it.

His gaze pressing into my back, heavy, unwavering.

Like he’s willing me to turn around. Like he’s expecting me to.

I don’t.

The driver asks where we’re going. Aman tells him. I slide into the seat first, Aman next to me.

And then—

I make the mistake of looking back.

Raj is still there. Standing at the gate, hands in his pockets, his knuckles white where they grip the strap of his bag.

The sun casts long shadows across his face, but it doesn’t hide the way his jaw is tight, clenched, holding something in.

Watching. Not moving. Not stopping me.

But not letting go, either.

And in that split second—it’s not just frustration on his face.

It’s something worse.

Something like hurt. Something like loss.

Like he’s waiting for something. Like he hates this. Like he hates me for this.

And then—the rickshaw pulls forward.

And Raj disappears behind me.