Chapter 44

The auditorium looms ahead, and I swear to God, it looks bigger than usual.

Like it knows what I did. Like it’s waiting to swallow me whole.

Aman and I walk toward it, my feet moving automatically, but my brain? It’s somewhere else.

Because Raj is going to be there, and I don’t know how to look at him without remembering how he felt —

Nope. No. Not thinking about that.

Focus, Dev.

Just… focus.

Beside me, Aman is quiet. Not unusual, but something about it feels different. Like he’s not just being silent—he’s holding something back.

I glance at him, and that’s when I see it.

The hesitation.

It’s small, almost unnoticeable. The way his steps slow just slightly, the way his shoulders tense, the way his fingers twitch at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to shove them in his pockets. But the biggest giveaway?

His eyes.

He’s staring at the door like it’s something he has to convince himself to walk through.

I stop. Turn fully toward him.

“You okay?”

Aman doesn’t answer at first. His jaw shifts, like he’s weighing whether or not to say it.

Then—very quietly, like it’s something he doesn’t expect to matter—

“People don’t like me.”

He says it like it’s a fact. A truth that he’s lived with long enough to say without flinching.

And suddenly, I forget all about Raj.

Aman isn’t looking at me. His eyes are still on the door, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides.

And something about that makes my stomach tighten.

I open my mouth to say something, anything—but before I can, the door slams open.

A sharp gust of cold air. A blur of movement. And then—

Priya.

She doesn’t storm out, exactly. She doesn’t stomp or yell. But she walks fast, controlled, her whole body tense like she’s trying very hard not to break into a full I need to punch something immediately stride.

I blink. “Uh—hi?”

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even glance at me. Just keeps walking, sharp and furious and done.

Aman and I both turn slightly, watching her disappear down the yard.

There’s a long beat of silence.

Then I hear snickering.

I glance toward the door—

Aditya and Jasir.

Leaning casually against the doorway, looking far too amused.

I cross my arms. “Okay. What the hell was that?”

Jasir grins. “Oh, just Arya committing murder in real time.”

And with that, we step inside.

The air is warm, thick with the usual scent of dust, paint, and whatever questionable snacks people have smuggled in.

And then my eyes find them.

Arya. Raj. Asim.

Standing center stage, deep in discussion.

My heart stumbles.

Raj.

He’s turned slightly to the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable as Arya gestures wildly about something. He looks—normal. Like everything is fine. Like I didn’t completely destroy my own sanity yesterday by kissing him in his car and then saying it all was a mistake.

God.

This was—

Jasir elbows me lightly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I clear my throat, forcing my gaze away. “What exactly happened with Priya?”

Aditya smirks. “Oh, it was beautiful. Arya proposed ending the play with a song.”

Jasir grins. “Priya did not approve.”

I snort. “Of course she didn’t.”

Aditya nods. “Yeah, she did her whole ‘I don’t think that’s necessary, I think the emotional weight of the script is strong enough on its own’ speech.”

Jasir lifts a hand dramatically, shifting into an eerily accurate impression of Arya.

“‘Oh, Priya. Priya, Priya, Priya.'”

Aditya joins in, his voice Arya-perfect—bored, devastating, superior.

“‘See, that would be a valid point… if I were not, in fact, the director of this production.'”

Jasir gasps. “Oh my god, I forgot the best part—she called her sweetheart.”

I choke on a laugh. “No. She did not.”

I glance toward the stage. Arya’s in full director mode, hands flying. Asim’s nodding like a good soldier.

And Raj—

Raj’s gaze flicks to mine.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for my stomach to twist, for my pulse to skip, for me to remember—

Right. Aman.

I tilt toward Jasir. “Hey, don’t you guys need extra hands?”

Jasir blinks. “We’re good, actually.”

“You’re not,” I say. “Aman’s free. Put him to work.”

Aman shifts—just barely. Not quite a reaction, but enough to know he heard that.

Aditya catches on fast. “Yo, you good with numbers?”

Aman looks up, wary. “Yes?”

“Perfect,” Jasir says. “We need a prop inventory guy. Stuff keeps going missing.”

Aman pauses, eyes flicking back to me.

I stare past him like I don’t care how he answers.

Then—

“Fine,” he mutters.

That’s a win.

***

I hop on stage.

It feels too crowded.

Not because of the people.

Because Raj is here. Watching.

His gaze is steady. Unreadable.

I don’t look at him. I can’t.

Not yet.

Arya stands like she’s just won a war and is eyeing new land to conquer.

I clear my throat. “So. I heard about Priya.”

Arya sighs. “Ah, yes. The tragic downfall of a tyrant.”

Asim snorts. “You do realize you just became the tyrant, right?”

Arya whirls. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs. “You could’ve just talked to her.”

Arya scoffs. “I did. She didn’t like my answers.”

Behind us, Raj chuckles.

I freeze.

Still not looking. Still feeling it.

That smirk.

That quiet, smug gravity he carries like it’s nothing.

“Relax, Asim,” Raj says. “Arya was just reminding Priya of the natural order of things.”

Arya beams. “Exactly! See? Raj gets it.”

Raj smirks. “What can I say? Some of us are just built for greatness, right Sharma?”

I hate him.

I hate him because now I’m looking—and there it is.

That lazy, amused smile.

The one that says: I know you’re avoiding me.

The one that says: I remember it all.

The one that says: What are you going to do about it?

I need an out. Immediately.

Luckily, Arya provides one.

She claps a hand on my shoulder, turning to face me fully. “Anyway, I didn’t call you here just to admire my brilliance.”

I latch onto that sentence like it’s my last lifeline. “Oh? Are you sure? Because that sounds like a very you thing to do.”

She ignores me. “You need to go with Raj.”

I malfunction.

“…What?”

She waves a hand. “Raj’s dad is coming. He’s going to the airport to pick him up.”

I blink. “And that involves me how?”

Arya sighs, already exasperated. “Because the tailor’s shop is on the way. You need to drop off the fabric for the costumes, and Raj is already headed in that direction. He’ll drop you off.”

I go completely still.

Raj.

A car.

Again.

My throat tightens. My hands itch. I don’t want to go. But not because I’m angry.

Because I still remember what his mouth tasted like—and how fast I—

“Yeah, no. Not happening.”

Arya frowns. “What? Why?”

Because I’m a coward.

I force a shrug. “Public transport exists.”

Asim snorts. “You’re going to carry all that fabric in a bus?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Arya groans. “Oh my god, just do it for me, Dev.”

I finally glance at Raj.

And the moment I do, I feel something in my stomach drop.

He’s looking at me. Not smirking. Not teasing.

Just—standing there. Silent.

His face doesn’t give anything away at first.

But his hands—his hands clench for half a second, then relax.

I should say something.

I should fix this.

I exhale sharply. “Fine.”

Arya grins. “Great! That’s settled, then.”.

I push off the stage, my steps quick, heading toward the backstage area where the bags of fabric are stacked. My hands move automatically, grabbing the heavy bundles, adjusting my grip. I should be focusing on this—on getting the fabric, on bracing myself for the ride with Raj, on anything that doesn’t involve thinking too hard.

But something makes me slow down.

I shift the bags higher on my shoulder, walking toward them. Jasir notices me first. “You look like you’re about to be mugged for fabric.”

I snort. “Yeah, well, if I don’t return, tell Arya I died a noble death.”

Aditya smirks. “Noted.”

I glance at Aman. He’s already looking at me, brow slightly raised—curious.

I step closer, just enough so only he can hear me

“People will like you, Aman.”

His brows furrow, barely, like he doesn’t understand where this is coming from.

So I hold his gaze.

“They just need to get to you.”

Pause. He doesn’t breath.

“Took me long enough.” I shrug.

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t blink.

His throat bobs like he’s swallowing words, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to.

I just nod, adjusting the fabric bags on my shoulder, and turn to leave.

“See ya later, guys.”

Jasir mock-salutes me. “Try not to get kidnapped.”

“No promises.”

I turn to leave, but just before I step away, I catch it—Aman’s fingers tightening around the clipboard, the way his smile lingers just a little longer.

And somehow, that feels like a win.

***

I should’ve taken the bus.

I should’ve faked a medical emergency.

I should’ve done anything else except sit here, in this car, next to him, as the silence builds like a storm that’s been waiting to crack open.

I shift in my seat, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm against my knee. Raj hasn’t said a word.

I risk a glance at him.

His jaw is tight. His grip on the wheel firm. His expression unreadable.

The streetlights flicker across his face as we pass under them, carving sharp shadows along his cheekbones. His eyes stay on the road, not once flicking toward me.

Something uneasy coils in my chest.

I clear my throat. “So… your dad’s coming today?”

Silence.

I exhale slowly. “I mean he owns all the school branches across the country. So where’d he go this time?”

Still nothing.

A strange, unfamiliar discomfort crawls under my skin.

I shift again, forcing out a laugh, trying to break whatever this is. “Okay, dude, what is happening? Why are you being—”

Raj exhales sharply through his nose, knuckles whitening against the steering wheel.

And then, without warning—

He jerks the car to the side and parks.

The sudden movement sends a jolt through my body. My heart stumbles, my breath catches, and before I can even think of what to say—

Raj turns to me.

And the look on his face?

It’s not the teasing amusement from the auditorium. It’s not the lazy, knowing smirk he usually wears when he’s watching me flounder.

It’s frustration. Raw. Unfiltered. Sharp.

And maybe—maybe even something like hurt.

“What?” I say, defensive, because I don’t know what the hell is happening.

Raj tilts his head slightly, gaze flicking over my face like he’s searching for something. Hands still on the wheel. Shoulders stiff. Then he huffs out a breath and shakes his head.

“It was that painful for you?” he says, voice low but edged with something dangerous. “Coming with me?”

Something tightens in my chest.

“What?” I ask, because my brain is still catching up, still processing the shift in the air, the sudden weight of his words.

Raj lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You didn’t just say no, Sharma. You didn’t just dislike the idea.” He leans in slightly, voice dropping. “You were so against it, you practically recoiled.”

I swallow hard. “I—”

His eyes burn into mine. “That’s how much you don’t want to be around me?”

And God, something achey and terrible lurches in my chest at the way he says it. At the fact that I never once thought he’d take it like this.

I look away, jaw tightening. “I just—”

But I don’t have an excuse. Not a real one.

Raj exhales, shaking his head like he’s so fucking tired of this. “You keep running. And I keep chasing. And I keep thinking—” He stops. Presses his lips together. “Never mind.”

He moves like he’s going to put the car back into drive.

But something in me snaps before I can stop it.

“Thinking what?”

I don’t know why I say it. I don’t know why the fuck I push him when I should be running.

But I do.

And Raj moves fast.

Before I can react, his hand grips the side of my jaw—not rough, but firm, demanding attention—as he leans in close.

Too close.

So close I feel his breath on my lips, feel the heat of him curling into my skin, feel everything inside me splintering apart.

His fingers press into my jaw, tilting my face up, forcing me to look at him.

His voice is lower when he speaks. Quieter. More dangerous.

“I know you want me, Sharma.”

My pulse fucking stops.

I open my mouth—to deny it, to say something sarcastic, to save myself—but nothing comes out.

Because he’s right.

Because he’s so close, and my body is betraying me, leaning into the warmth of his palm, into the pressure of his grip.

Because all I can think about is the last time we were this close. The way he kissed me back like he meant it. The way his hands grabbed me, held me, pulled me closer.

I want him.

I want him so much it hurts.

And Raj sees it.

His gaze flicks down—to my lips, then back up, his breathing slightly uneven now.

For half a second, I swear—he’s going to do it.

I swear he’s going to kiss me again.

His thumb caresses my lips Soft. Slow. Purposeful.

His eyes are burning into mine, too close, too much, and I can’t breathe around it. His fingers curl against my throat, gentle, deliberate, like he’s trying to hold something steady—but I don’t know if it’s me or himself.

And then—he exhales, unsteady. His grip tightens.

“Do you think I don’t want you?” His voice is low, wrecked, like it’s been scraped raw from holding this in for too long. “Do you think I haven’t wanted you this whole damn time?”

My pulse stumbles.

He shakes his head, jaw clenching. “You run from me like I’m the only one who feels this. Like it’s just me, like I’m some idiot chasing after something that doesn’t exist.” His thumb brushes over my jaw, a touch too soft for the way his voice is breaking. “But you want me, Dev.” His gaze drops, flickering to my lips before dragging back up. “You fucking want me, and you can’t even say it.”

My stomach twists. My chest feels too tight, too full, too fucking much.

Raj knows. He sees.

And it’s terrifying.

I can’t move. I can’t do anything except sit here and feel him. His hands, his breath, the way his fingers tighten slightly—like he’s memorizing the way I fit beneath them.

And I—I hate that I want it.

“I think about you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper now. Like a confession, like a wound. “More than I should. More than I want to.”

My breath stutters.

Raj tilts his head slightly, his breath warm against my lips now, so fucking close, too close.

“And I think about what it would be like,” he murmurs, “if you stopped running long enough to let me be with you.”

Something shatters inside me.

The ache is unbearable. Aching, sharp, twisting its way through my ribs. My hands twitch, my skin burns where he touches me, and I don’t know how to survive this.

Because I want it.

I want his hands. I want his mouth. I want the weight of him pressing me down, holding me in place so I can’t run anymore.

And he knows. God, he knows.

Raj shifts slightly, his nose brushing against mine, his lips so fucking close it’s unbearable.

He waits.

He waits for me to do something, to stop him, to pull away.

I don’t.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe.

And that’s when he lets go.

Raj pulls back like I burned him, like he just caught himself doing something irreversible. His hands drop, his shoulders tense, and suddenly, the car feels too cold, too empty.

Then he exhales; shaky, uneven.

And laughs.

A hollow, wrecked thing.

“I can’t do this anymore, Sharma,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. His voice is hoarse, tired, like something inside him just broke for good. “I can’t be the only one fighting for this.”

Something heavy slams into my chest.

I swallow. “Raj—”

He shakes his head. Doesn’t let me finish.

“No,” he says, quieter now. Quieter, but final. “I’m done, Dev.”

Something inside me clenches, sharp and instinctive, but I don’t move. I don’t say anything.

And Raj—Raj just laughs.

Unamused. Wrecked.

“I’m done feeling like this,” he says, voice rough, uneven. “I’m done staying awake at night wondering why you don’t pick up when I call.”

He looks away. His jaw tight. “I’m done being the one who always reaches. Always waits. Always hopes.”

The words slam into me.

I suck in a breath, but it’s like there’s no air left in the car.

He laughs—low, bitter. “Do you know what it’s like? Sitting up at night, replaying every second, wondering if I imagined it all? If I read into every glance, every touch—if I made up the way you looked at me?”

I feel sick. I try to breathe, but there’s nothing in my lungs. Just ash.

“God, I tried,” he says. “I tried to believe you felt it too. I thought… maybe if I just waited a little longer, you’d stop running. That you’d choose me.”

My chest twists, sharp and violent, because that….that isn’t true.

He looks at me then, and there’s something in his expression I can’t stand to see—tiredness, disappointment, something that feels too close to giving up.

I don’t realize I’m reaching for him until he flinches.

Just a small, instinctive movement backward.

Like he’s bracing for another hit.

And fuck–fuck, that hurts.

“Raj,” I whisper. But my voice cracks around it. Because what the hell do I say?

That I’m sorry? That I’m scared?

That I don’t even know how to want someone without breaking first?

He doesn’t look at me. Just stares at the dash.

“I’m tired, Dev.” His voice is low now. Flat. “I’m tired of being the only one fighting for this. Tired of feeling like I’m not enough.”

I shake my head, heart in my throat—because that’s not true.

But I don’t know how to say it.

His eyes flick down—to where my hand is still hovering. Like I might touch him. Like I don’t even know how to do that right anymore.

He exhales. Slow. Broken.

He doesn’t.

He just lets out a slow, breaking breath.

“I can’t do it anymore, Sharma,” he says. “I can’t.”

And that’s when I realize–

this is it.

This is the moment I lose him too.