Chapter 10

The cafeteria doors swing shut behind us, and Raj is already talking.

Something about his debate club. Something about the debate. Something about how their team is apparently the last line of defense between this school and total intellectual disgrace.

“Our topic is Social Media: The Death of Critical Thinking or the Birth of Mass Awareness?” he says, stretching his arms behind his head.

I nod. “And you’re really excited about this?”

Raj scoffs, offended. “Obviously.”

And then he keeps going, launching into some analysis of why people think they have nuanced opinions but actually don’t—And I should be bored.

I should be deeply bored.

But I’m not.

Because there’s something about the way Raj talks.

Not just what he says, but how he says it. That effortless confidence, that charisma, like everything coming out of his mouth matters. He doesn’t just say words—he delivers them. Like every thought is something worth considering. Like this debate isn’t just a debate, but a fight worth having.

It’s—

I frown.

Why the hell am I thinking so much about this?

I blink, shaking myself out of it, but Raj is still talking, and—

A noise cuts through the air.

A sharp crack of laughter, followed by the unmistakable, electric hum of something brewing.

Raj stops mid-sentence, turning his head toward the commotion.

A crowd.

And in the middle of it—

A blue-glassed guy. I’ve seen him in our class before.

I push forward slightly, stepping closer to the crowd. Raj is right beside me, gaze flicking across the scene, his expression unreadable.

I scan the faces, the body language, trying to figure out what the hell started this. And then I catch it—one of the guys in the back, laughing, nudging his friend.

“He really doesn’t talk, does he?”

I frown.

“Who?”

The guy grins, like he’s proud of finally knowing something”Aman. No one ever hears him talk, anymore. So we just made a little bet—if he will talk or not.”

Raj exhales sharply. “Wow. The depth of human intelligence is truly astounding.”

The guy doesn’t seem to catch the sarcasm. “Right?”

Aman.

Still. Unmoving. Staring down the guy in front of him.

The guy, on the other hand, is not still. He’s pacing in tight, irritated movements, hands gesturing wildly, voice getting sharper with every word.

“You think you’re better than everyone?” the guy spits. “You think you can just sit in your little fucking bubble and pretend like people don’t exist?”

Aman doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak.

The guy steps in closer, jabbing a finger toward his chest. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew exactly what was happening, and you didn’t do a damn thing.”

Aman’s jaw locks.

The guy scoffs, shaking his head. “Of course you didn’t. That’s what you do, right? Nothing. Just sit there, watching, like the pathetic, gutless—”

“Who the hell is that?” I mutter to Raj.

Raj’s arms are crossed, expression blank. “Rohit. Classmate. Asshole. Go on, connect the dots.”

I frown.

And then—someone behind us mutters, just loud enough for me to catch—

“This is about Ishan. Rohit’s brother.”

I glance at Raj, but his expression doesn’t change. Doesn’t flicker.

Rohit steps in again, anger rolling off him in waves. “He was right there, man! Right in front of you! You could’ve done something!”

Aman’s hands twitch at his sides. But his voice, when it finally comes, is steady. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Rohit laughs, but it’s wrong. “Right. Because doing nothing while someone breaks doesn’t count if you pretend you didn’t see it.”

Aman doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. He just says, calm as anything,

“Ishan didn’t need saving.”

Rohit sneers. “No, he just needed someone to give a shit.”

“Okay,” Raj says flatly, from the edge of the circle. “This is getting pathetic”

Heads turn. I turn to look at him too. He’s leaning against a pillar. He looks bored. But there’s tension under the boredom.

Aman looks over. And something shifts.

Not like he’s annoyed.

Like he’s been waiting for that voice.

“Got something to say?” he asks.

Raj doesn’t flinch. “Nah. You’re the one throwing a tantrum and calling it a reckoning.”

Aman takes a step forward. “You think this is about you?”

Raj shrugs. “You’re making it about me now.”

The crowd’s gone silent now. Even Rohit’s backed off, unsure what he just started.

Aman’s jaw is tight. “You don’t know shit.”

“Then enlighten me.” Raj folds his arms. “Because from here? All I see is a guy who’s always angry at the wrong people.”

I shift uncomfortably.

Okay. So that’s happening. And it’s not about Ishan or Rohit for sure.

Aman’s face doesn’t move. But his hands do—clenching, unclenching.

His voice is low. Controlled. But every word hits like a strike.

“You. Don’t. Know. Shit, Mehra.”

Each syllable is carved out. No yelling. Just venom.

Raj doesn’t flinch, but something in his posture tightens.

Aman takes one more step, close enough for the air between them to feel weaponized.

“So maybe stop pretending you’re still the good guy.”

Aman holds his stare for a beat longer. Then turns.

He walks off without another word.

Raj watches him go. Not mad. Not smug. Just… quiet.

No one says anything for a second. Then Raj exhales.

“Well. That was productive.”

And somehow, I know—whatever that was?

It’s not done.

The day’s over, and the three of us are walking toward the school gate, blending into the crowd of students spilling out of the building. The sun is already starting to dip, stretching long shadows across the pavement. Raj and Arya are ahead of me, locked in their usual back-and-forth, their voices carrying over the chatter around us.

“You’re just mad because I got more votes than you, class chose me over you for the student council,” Raj says smugly, giving Arya a light shove on the shoulder.

Arya scoffs, rolling her eyes. “More votes my ass. People felt pity for you. You’re basically a charity case at this point.”

They bicker like this often-loud, unserious, tangled in insults that somehow feel affectionate. It’s familiar now. Almost comforting.

I trail behind them, half-listening. The cold’s sharp today, cutting across the back of my neck. Or maybe that’s just leftover static from earlier-Raj standing too still, Aman’s jaw tightened, their fists clenched.

Their eyes didn’t just meet. They clashed-No expression. No smirks. Just something sharp and brittle hanging between them like broken glass.

Raj hadn’t joked. Hadn’t even blinked.

And Aman? He didn’t look scared. Just… empty.

Something about that silence stays with me. Sticks.

Raj’s phone buzzes, and he glances at it before muttering, “Two minutes,” and veering off toward the side gate without waiting for a response.

Arya and I keep walking. I hesitate, then-too curious, too unsettled.

“You know Aman?”

She snorts. “What, Robot Guy?”

I offer a half-shrug. “Does Raj… hate him?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her face shifts-not surprised. Not confused. Just… tired.

“Yeah,” she says eventually. “Pretty sure they both do.”

I glance at her. “Why?”

Another shrug. “No one really knows. They used to hang out. Not best friends or anything, but… there was a time. Then one day, something snapped. Aman turned into this cold, calculated, no-expression thing. And Raj stopped talking about it.”

I frown. “That’s it?”

Arya kicks at a pebble. “You’d think there was a fight. Or a fallout. Something loud. But no. One day they were in the same room. The next, they weren’t. Just… silence.”

That’s what unsettles me the most. Not the fact that they hate each other. The fact that no one ever talks about why.

Not even Raj.

And knowing him—how loud he is, how he calls people out when they mess up—his silence feels like a secret. Like whatever happened wasn’t just painful.

It was unforgivable.

***

Amit used to get into fights all the time. With his football team, with other guys, with random idiots who looked at him the wrong way. He was always on edge, like he had this endless reservoir of anger just waiting to spill over. Sometimes I wondered if he even needed a reason to fight, or if he was just looking for an excuse.

And then, every single time, I’d be the one helping him sneak into my room so he wouldn’t have to go home and deal with the fallout.

I can still picture it-the way he’d climb in through the balcony, bruised knuckles, blood on his lip, his uniform torn at the collar. I’d be sitting on the floor, sorting through my first-aid kit while he flopped down next to me, stretching his legs out with a dramatic groan.

“Idiot,” I’d mutter, dabbing antiseptic on a fresh cut.

Amit would hiss, jerking back. “Easy, man! That stings.”

I’d roll my eyes, pressing harder just to piss him off. “Yeah, well, maybe stop getting into fights and you won’t have to deal with this.”

“Not my fault,” he’d grumble, tilting his head back against the bed frame. “That asshole started it.”

“They always start it,” I’d say, shaking my head.

Amit would grin, his split lip tugging at the skin. “Because they always deserve it.”

And then he’d start ranting-about whatever idiot had pissed him off, about how the fight went, about how he definitely won. I’d just listen, shaking my head at his dramatics, wiping blood off his face like this was the most normal thing in the world. Because, in a way, it was.

Amit fought. I patched him up. That was how it worked.

That was us.

Amit always exploded. But Raj doesn’t seem like that.

He seems calmer. Gentler.

The engine hums covering the faint sounds of the city outside. I lean my head against the window, but I’m not really looking at anything. My mind is still stuck back there-on Raj, on Aman, on whatever the hell happened between them.

Aman got cold. They used to be friends. Then, one day, they just… stopped.

It keeps looping in my head, over and over, like a song stuck on repeat. I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much. Maybe because I know what it’s like to watch someone change right in front of you.

***

The room is dark.

Not pitch black-just enough. Just the way I like it.

The glow of the streetlights outside is muted by my curtains, flickering faintly through the glass, stretching soft silver across the ceiling. The moonlight pools in uneven patches, shifting when the wind moves the branches outside. It’s quiet. Heavy. The kind of night that presses down on you like a weighted blanket, sinking into your skin, making everything feel slow.

I love this.

The darkness.

The stillness.

The way the world fades when the lights go out.

It’s soothing, like submerging underwater-where everything is muffled, distant, and the weight of reality doesn’t feel so sharp. Where I don’t have to be anything, don’t have to react, don’t have to pretend like I’m fine.

I exhale, my breath barely a sound in the quiet.

My body is tired. My eyes sting. My muscles are loose, heavy against the mattress. But my mind-

My mind doesn’t know what the fuck to do with itself.

I don’t even know what I’m thinking about anymore.

There’s too much to think about.

Everything. Everything.

And yet, no matter how much I try to sort through it, my brain just keeps looping. Circling back to the beginning like some kind of endless maze-where I’ve already walked every possible path, every twist and turn, but somehow, every time I move forward, it still feels new.

Like I’ve forgotten the way.

Like I have to relive it over and over, trying to find an exit that doesn’t exist.

I roll onto my side, staring at the dim sliver of moonlight cutting across the floor.

I should sleep.

But I don’t want to.

I just want to stay here, in the dark, in the quiet, in the in-between-where nothing moves except my thoughts, where nothing changes except the shape of the shadows on the wall.

I’ve spent so many nights staring into the darkness.

After school, after everything, I used to just lie here-watching the daylight fade, watching the last streaks of gold disappear, swallowed whole by the night. I would stare at the wall for hours, blankly, my mind just as empty, watching the shifting shapes that came and went. Sometimes, if I stared long enough, the darkness looked like it was moving. Like it was breathing.

Like it was watching back.

When I was a child, the dark used to scare me. The unknown. The unseen. The space between what is and what could be. I used to imagine monsters lurking, waiting just beyond what my eyes could see.

Now, I don’t see monsters anymore.

Now, I don’t see anything at all.

And that’s worse.

Because darkness isn’t just something you fear. It’s something you learn to live in.

It’s something you stop fighting, something you stop trying to escape. At some point, you realize there’s no use fumbling around, no use stretching your hands forward hoping to find something solid. Because there’s nothing. Just more of the same.

If you’re scared of it, you’ll stay scared forever.

But if you accept it-if you sink into it-then it stops feeling so hard.

That doesn’t mean it’s not scary. That doesn’t mean it’s changed.

It just means I’ve gotten used to it.

It doesn’t feel scary anymore.

But it doesn’t stop being scary either.

Just like life.