Chapter 31
I wake up to the sound of my laptop’s fan wheezing like it’s on life support.
For a second, I don’t move. My brain is still in sleep mode, struggling to process where I am, what time it is, and why my laptop is currently overheating itself to death.
Then I shift slightly, and—oh.
Right. The botanical garden report. The most boring assignment in existence.
I squint at the screen, which is still open to a half-written paragraph about “the ecological significance of native plant species in urban spaces.”
Thrilling.
I slam the laptop shut. Then groan and flop back onto my pillow.
It’s Sunday.
A day of rest. A day meant for sleeping in, ignoring responsibilities, and generally pretending life doesn’t exist.
I close my eyes again. Five more minutes. Then my phone buzzes.
I grab it blindly and squint at the screen. No notifications. No missed calls. No urgent texts. Just the time.
And then—
Oh.
Oh shit.
Raj and Arya are coming over today. My whole body freezes.
For half a second, my brain refuses to process it. Then—it launches into full panic mode.
Because Raj. Is. Coming. Here.
TO MY HOUSE.
IN LESS THAN AN HOUR.
I shoot upright, suddenly wide awake, my pulse skyrocketing. I shove my blanket off and practically throw myself at the window.
Outside, the street is drenched in gold.
The sun filters through thin, lazy clouds, casting an orange glow over everything. The pavement is still slick from last night’s storm, puddles reflecting the sky like shattered mirrors. The air looks crisp, fresh, almost untouched. Like the whole world just woke up and decided to start over.
And I would appreciate all of this a lot more if I wasn’t currently having an existential crisis.
Because last night, Arya had been spamming our group chat.
Something about helping her finish the stupid script she’s supposed to submit tomorrow.
And somehow, that conversation had ended with:
Arya: Let’s just do it at Dev’s place.
Raj: 10 AM then.
Arya: Perfect.
And that’s it. No asking. No warning. Just Raj and Arya inviting themselves over like they pay rent.
I stare at my phone. Then at my room. Then at myself.
And then—I fucking bolt.
Because Raj. Is. Coming. Here.
Which means:
1. I have to look human.
2. I have to make sure my house doesn’t look like I died in it.
I race to the bathroom, nearly tripping over my own feet in my rush.
I slam the door shut. Turn on the sink. Splash water on my face.
Look at myself in the mirror. And immediately regret it.
My hair looks like it lost a fight with a tornado. My t-shirt is wrinkled beyond recognition. I look like I’ve been dragged through several lifetimes of suffering.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
I brush my teeth at the speed of light, throw water on my hair, and then—the clothes dilemma.
I rip open my closet.
Okay. Casual. Cool. Not trying too hard.
I grab a hoodie. Too warm.
I grab a plain shirt. Too plain.
I grab a nicer shirt. Too obvious.
I pause.
Then mentally slap myself.
This is Raj.
Raj, who wears his uniform blazer like he’s walking a goddamn runway.
Raj, who would roast me for existing if he knew I was overthinking this much.
Raj, who doesn’t give a shit what I wear—except that’s a lie because he totally does.
I exhale sharply. T-shirt. Jeans. Done.
I pull them on, glance at the clock—9:42 AM.
Eighteen minutes.
Okay. Cool.
I can do this.
I totally have this under control.
I head downstairs, still feeling like I’ve barely woken up properly, still half-aware that my brain is overthinking the entire situation.
It’s not a big deal. Raj and Arya are coming over. We’ll work on the script. That’s it.
So why do I feel like I’m waiting for something to explode?
I step into the living room.
Mom is on the couch, talking into her phone, her voice softer than usual. There’s a warmth in it, a quiet patience, the kind she only ever uses when she’s talking to Grandmother.
I recognize the tone before I even hear the words.
“—I know, Ma,” she says, one hand pressed lightly to her temple. “Yes. I’m taking care of myself. Yes, I’m eating properly.”
A pause.
A long suffering pause.
Then—
“No, I’m not sick. It’s just the weather changing. You always say that when I cough.”
I smirk a little.
Grandmother’s trademark weaponized concern. She could hear a person sneeze once and declare them on their deathbed.
Mom’s eyes flick up, and she finally notices me standing there.
I hesitate for half a second—because I don’t usually announce things like this. But before I can change my mind, I just say it.
“Raj and Arya are coming over.”
Mom blinks.
Then tilts her head slightly, like she needs a second to make sure she heard me right.
It’s subtle, but I catch it—the small shift in her expression, the flicker of surprise before she schools her face into something more neutral.
Because it’s been a long time since someone called “friends” has come over.
She doesn’t say it out loud. Doesn’t make a big deal of it.
But then—she smiles.
Soft. Warm.
Like she doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to push, but also doesn’t want to let this moment pass unnoticed.
“That’s nice,” she says, voice gentle in a way that makes me want to look away. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”
I nod, already turning toward the kitchen because I suddenly need to be anywhere else.
***
I pace.
Not in an obvious way. Not like those anxious, sweaty guys in movies who practically carve tracks into the floor. No. This is casual. Normal.
I check my phone. Not because I’m waiting for a text. Just… in case.
I glance at the mirror in the hallway. Not because I care how I look. Just… to make sure I don’t look like someone who cares how he looks.
I frown. My hair is fine. My shirt is fine. Everything is fine.
So why the fuck does it feel like it isn’t?
They’re just Arya and Raj. They’re always Arya and Raj. Loud, chaotic, constantly bickering like an old married couple. There’s no reason for my palms to feel weirdly clammy, or for my chest to feel like it’s holding something too tightly.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair, then freeze because—
“Sweetheart,” Mom says from the dining table, amusement laced in every syllable, “if you fix your hair one more time, they’re gonna fall off your head. Have mercy on them.”
I jerk my hand down immediately. “I wasn’t—”
Mom just looks at me. The soft kind of look that says she’s noticed everything and is holding back laughter for my sake.
I scowl. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course not,” she agrees too easily, sipping her tea. “That’s why you’ve checked the door three times in the last five minutes.”
I open my mouth. Then close it.
And then—
Ding-dong.
Oh, shit.
I jump for the door before I can stop myself.
Mom definitely notices because I hear a soft chuckle behind me. Betrayal.
I yank the door open, and—
Oh.
Arya, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow like she knows I was waiting. Raj, standing beside her, looking entirely too himself for my peace of mind.
I swallow.
I’ve mostly seen Raj in our dull, regulation-mandated school uniforms—blazers worn like they belong on a runway, ties loosened with practiced nonchalance. But today—
A black t-shirt.
Sleeves snug around his arms.
Effortlessly tousled hair.
Smirk already locked and loaded like he knows he looks good and has decided to be an asshole about it.
“You’re staring,” Raj drawls.
I blink. Fuck.
Arya snickers, shoving past me into the house like she owns the place. “God, this is historic. Dev Sharma, speechless.”
“I’m not—”
“Dev,” Raj says, stepping forward just slightly, just enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne. “Are you going to let me in, or should I make myself comfortable on your porch?”
I hate him.
I step aside aggressively. “Come in before I change my mind.”
Raj grins, brushing past me.
And maybe, for just a second, my heartbeat trips over itself.
Maybe. But it’s definitely not a big deal.
Arya steps in first, looking around with genuine, undisguised curiosity.
Then—
“Damn. You’re rich too?”
I blink.
Raj, standing just behind her, smirks. “I know, right? We should start making him pay for our lunches.”
I glare. “It’s a normal house.”
Arya raises an eyebrow. “Dev. You have an actual living room aesthetic. That’s not normal.”
I sigh. “Please shut up.”
Mom appears from the hallway, smiling as she wipes her hands on a dish towel. “Welcome, you two. Make yourselves at home.”
Arya, grinning: “Oh, I plan to.”
Raj, already making himself at home by inspecting a photo frame on the shelf: “Nice place, Mrs. Sharma.”
Mom gives me a Look. A knowing one.
“Dev was very restless this morning,” she says. “Kept checking the time. Very concerned about how he looked.”
NO. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. I freeze. Arya’s grin grows dangerous.
Raj turns to me slowly, and I already know.
The look.
That stupid, flirty, I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing look.
He tilts his head, smirking like he’s just unlocked a secret.
“Oh? Was he?” he says, voice far too entertained.
I die instantly.
“Okay, we’re going,” I say loudly, grabbing Arya’s arm and shoving her toward the stairs. “We have work to do. No distractions. No talking.”
Arya, laughing as I physically push her along: “Oh, I’m talking about this for the rest of my life.”
Raj, still smirking as he follows: “You don’t have to be shy, Sharma.”
I hate everything.
***
Arya throws her notebook onto my desk like it personally offended her.
“This is a nightmare,” she groans, flopping onto my floor with the energy of a woman who has suffered greatly. “Why did I do this? Why did I pitch this? Why did you morons let me win?”
Raj, lounging comfortably on my bed like he owns it, flips a page in her script with zero urgency.
“You’re asking us why you’re dramatic?” he says, not even looking up. “Arya, this is just your natural state.”
I sigh. “Both of you shut up.”
Raj smirks. “Make me, Sharma.”
I hate him. I hate him so much.
I grab a pen and chuck it at him. Raj dodges without effort, the bastard.
Arya groans louder. “Focus! I have to submit this script tomorrow, and I need genius input. Someone tell me it’s groundbreaking.”
“It’s fine,” I say, flipping through the pages.
Raj, still looking far too comfortable on my bed, hums. “Needs work. But not bad.”
Arya throws a pillow at him. “You both are useless.”
Raj catches it midair, completely unbothered.
I roll my eyes, flipping through her script, letting their voices fade into background noise for a second.
And then—
Something shifts. It’s subtle.
Not a big, obvious moment.
Just—a feeling.
Like something is off.
Not wrong, exactly. Just… out of place. Like I’ve walked into a familiar room and noticed that someone rearranged all the furniture. The shape of it is still the same, but it doesn’t sit right anymore.
Raj throws an arm behind his head, casual, comfortable, completely at ease.
And that’s the problem. Because that was Amit’s spot.
Amit was the one who used to sprawl across my bed like he had nowhere better to be. Amit was the one who would shove my pillow under his head and steal my blanket, grumbling that my room was always too cold.
Now, it’s Raj.
I don’t know when that happened.
I don’t know why I let it.
I shift slightly, fingers twitching against my knee, the urge to say something rising before I even know what the hell I want to say.
Raj tilts his head toward me, raising an eyebrow. “You okay, Sharma? You’re staring.”
I blink. My pulse stutters, the weight of the moment crashing in all at once.
I force out a laugh, shaking my head. “I was just wondering how long it’ll take before you start demanding your own drawer in my closet.”
Raj smirks. “Oh, please. I am already planning to claim half your room.”
He’s joking. He doesn’t know what I’m thinking. He doesn’t realize that something has shifted, that something feels like it’s been rewritten while I wasn’t looking.
And maybe that’s the worst part.
That it doesn’t feel wrong to him.
That it’s only me who notices.
I shake it off. Push it down. This is nothing.
It has to be nothing.