Chapter 55

The applause hits like a wave. Loud, overwhelming, impossible to hide from.

My body’s still humming from the guitar strings. My fingers ache slightly, but it’s a good ache—the kind that tells you something real just happened. Something irreversible.

I blink against the lights, squinting into the crowd. And that’s when I see them.

My dad—frozen. Mouth slightly open, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

My mom—hands pressed together, eyes glassy, clapping like her heart is breaking in the best way.

And Raj.

Raj’s smile isn’t wide. It’s small. Gentle. Proud. Soft.

And for some reason, that’s the one that knocks the wind out of me.

I stumble offstage in a haze, the heat still crawling under my skin. Everything feels too loud, too much.

Backstage erupts.

“A WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT—” Arya tackles me, nearly knocking me into a stack of rolled-up backdrops.

“You—you were the secret weapon?! You absolute cryptid! I would’ve kicked Mayank’s ass out of the skit weeks ago if I’d known—”

I mumble something that’s probably “Thanks,” but it comes out like a stunned wheeze. People are crowding around—teachers, juniors, people whose names I don’t even know.

It’s too much.

The adrenaline is crashing, and suddenly, I really, really need to pee.

“Bathroom,” I mutter, slipping past Arya, who’s still yelling at someone about betrayal and poor talent management.

I head toward the back exit of the auditorium, the hallway quiet now that most of the fest is winding down. The corridor is dim, buzzing with leftover energy and scattered wrappers.

And then I hear footsteps behind me.

“That was hot.”

I turn.

Raj is standing there, hands in his pockets, smile lazy and way too pleased with himself.

I blink at him. “You’re not subtle.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t know I had to be. Not after that performance. Whole auditorium’s in love with you.”

I roll my eyes, ears burning. “I literally just played two songs.”

He steps closer, grin widening. “And looked good doing it. If I knew you were hiding this, Sharma—”

I raise a hand and cut him off. “Nope. Stop. Not now. I need to pee. Go flirt with someone else.”

He laughs as I duck away, and I feel his eyes on my back the whole way down the corridor.

It’s stupid how light I feel. Like I’m floating.

The fest is nearly over now. The campus is mostly deserted. A few stalls are half-dismantled, the stage empty, music playing low through the scattered speakers. The night feels… softer.

I push into the washroom. Pee. Turn the tap on at the sink, splash water on my face. My pulse has finally slowed. My reflection doesn’t look broken. Just… flushed. Alive.

Then my phone buzzes.

I glance down.

Rohan.

The screen glows with his name.

Again.

Second time today.

I let it ring. I can’t touch it. Won’t. I shove it back in my pocket, heart suddenly in my throat again. The weight of before clawing up the back of my spine.

I step out into the corridor and stop cold.

No.

No. no. no.

Rohan.

Aryan.

They’re there.

Leaning against the far wall like it’s just another school night.

My legs go numb. The hallway tilts.

Rohan’s smile curves—familiar. Cruel. Like nothing’s changed. Like I’m still the same boy they left bleeding in the washroom.

And just like that—

The stage.

The applause.

Raj’s smile.

It all vanishes.

And I freeze.

Rohan’s the first to speak. Of course he is. He always is.

“Been calling you for days, Sharma,” he says, voice casual, like this is just some friendly reunion at a college fest. “Thought maybe you were busy. Thought maybe you forgot where you came from.”

Aryan grins beside him, hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket. He’s bigger than I remember. Or maybe I just feel smaller.

“I didn’t forget,” I say. My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. “I just didn’t pick up.”

Rohan laughs, and it’s that same laugh—the one that always meant something was coming. Something bad. Something I’d have to pretend didn’t hurt.

“Yeah, figured that,” he says. “So we came to you.”

He takes a step forward. I don’t move.

“Thing is… we need some money.”

I blink.

“What?”

“You live in–what, that posh housing thing near the lake?” He tilts his head. “Come on. You can spare a little.”

“I don’t have it.” I say it fast. Too fast. I already feel the sweat gathering at the back of my neck. My fingers twitch at my sides.

Rohan raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be like that. We’re not asking for much. Just… a little help from our old friend.”

I shake my head. “I said I don’t have it.”

Aryan snorts. “You forget we know everything about you?”

Rohan grins again, meaner now, “Should I send that popular video to your dad? Has he seen it yet? Bet he’d love it.”

The world stops.

My blood turns to ice.

He taps his phone screen with one thumb, like he’s bored. Like this isn’t a loaded gun he’s waving at my life.

“Remember that one?” he says, almost sweet. “Your little breakdown in the washroom? Your face when Vikram grabbed you like you wanted it?”

He shrugs. “You went viral, Sharma. We should’ve monetized that shit.”

My lungs squeeze so tight I can’t breathe.

My dad.

I just saw him clapping. Proud of me.

And now—now Rohan’s holding that over me like a goddamn noose.

“I’ll call him right now,” Rohan says casually, raising the phone. “Still have his number, remember? Got it that day at the bus stop. Nice guy.”

My vision tunnels.

“No–” I lunge before I even know what I’m doing.

My hand grabs for his phone.

He jerks it back and laughs, but I’m already clawing at it, heart in my throat, panic screaming in my skull.

“Give it to me—Rohan, give it to me—”

“Chill the fuck out!” Aryan barks, and then there’s a shove, hard, against my chest.

I stumble back into the wall. My shoulder slams into the tiles.

Pain spikes up my arm.

“Still the same little bitch,” Aryan mutters. “Didn’t even learn how to fight?”

I can’t think. I can’t move. The hallway feels like it’s shrinking. The air thickens, clogs my throat.

Rohan waves the phone in my face like he’s dangling meat over a starving dog.

“You want it?” he sneers. “Beg.”

My hands are shaking. I press them to my sides to hide it, but it’s too late. They’ve already seen it. That I’m trembling. That I’m frozen. That I’m not the boy onstage with a guitar anymore. I’m the one who cried in a bathroom stall, blood in his mouth and shame choking every breath.

“Come on, Sharma,” Rohan says. “Show me that old Dev again.”

I can’t breathe.

I can’t—

Then I hear it.

“Get the fuck away from him.”

Raj’s voice.

It slices through the air like a warning shot.

Rohan turns just as Raj storms into the corridor—no hesitation, no fear, just motion.

And then it’s chaos.

Raj grabs Rohan’s collar and slams him back against the wall so fast it doesn’t even look real. Aryan lunges for him, but Raj doesn’t flinch—he twists, ducks the hit, and swings back.

I stumble back, hands over my mouth, knees locked.

The sounds—they’re too familiar. Fists. Grunts. A body slamming into a wall.

My ears ring.

No, no, no—this isn’t happening again.

Because I’ve seen this before.

Amit, blood on his knuckles.

Amit, in the middle of the courtyard, yelling for them to stop.

Amit, dragging Vikram like a man possessed.

Amit, getting dragged away by teachers while I stayed silent.

Amit, expelled. Gone.

Amit, punished for saving me.

Amit, taken away before I could even say thank you.

Not again.

Please, not again.

If I lose Raj,

I lose the only person who ever looked at me like I wasn’t broken.

And I can’t survive that again.

They don’t stop.

Rohan shoves Raj again, and Aryan’s fist crashes into his ribs. Raj staggers but doesn’t fall. Of course he doesn’t. He never does. He fights like someone with everything to prove.

But there are two of them. And only one of him.

I’m still frozen. The past screaming in my ears. Vikram’s laugh. Blood in my mouth. Silence afterwards.

Dev, just stay down. Keep quiet. Don’t get involved.

But Raj isn’t staying down.

Raj is fighting for me.

And I–

I can’t watch this play out again.

I won’t.

I lunge forward, no plan, just instinct. Grab Aryan’s arm. Try to drag him back. “Get off him!”

He swings without even looking. Hits me across the cheekbone.

My vision flashes white. The floor tilts. I hit it hard.

Everything blurs. My mouth tastes like metal. I try to crawl, my hand clawing the tiles.

“Get off him,” Aryan growls. “Go crawl back to your little closet.”

Rohan moves toward me. He’s still holding the phone. His hand’s bleeding.

“Should’ve kept quiet, Sharma,” he mutters. “But you never learn.”

Raj roars–actually roars–and throws himself forward. He slams Rohan into the wall with a sound like something cracking.

“You don’t touch him,” he snarls. “You don’t even look at him.”

Raj’s voice shakes the air, and for a second—even Rohan stumbles like he wasn’t ready for the rage in it. Like he didn’t expect Raj to mean it.

Aryan grabs Raj from behind, tries to yank him off, but Raj spins fist connecting square with Aryan’s cheek—

And I hear the wet crack of it before I see the blood.

Aryan reels, stumbling back.

Rohan lunges next. They’re swarming him.

And I—

I’m still on the ground.

Coughing. Trembling.

Every breath comes wrong. Too fast. Too shallow.

This is happening again.

This is just like before.

I’m going to lose him. I’m going to watch it happen. Again.

I press my palm to the ground like it’ll stop the spinning.

But it’s not spinning.

I am.

Raj grunts–stumbles; Rohan shoves him hard.

He hits the wall. Cracks his elbow. Aryan’s already moving back in.

They’re going to ruin him.

They’re going to take him away from me.

And I can’t—

I can’t let that happen again.

My hand scrambles for my phone, nearly drops it. I barely manage to slide the screen open. My fingers are not working, they’re shaking too hard. I stab my thumb into the contact.

It rings.

One. Two.

“Hello?”

“Dad—” My voice breaks. “Dad please—”

He hears it. He hears it.

“Dev? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No, no…it’s not me, it’s Raj…they’re hurting him, I can’t—”

“Where are you?” His voice sharpens. “Dev, where are you?”

“Behind the auditorium. Please…Dad, please come. I can’t—I can’t lose him too.”

There’s a pause. Just for a breath.

Then: “I’m coming. I swear to God—I’m coming.”

I drop the phone. I can’t hold it.

I force my body to move. Push myself up. I’m dizzy, useless, but I move.

Raj is still swinging. Still standing. But he’s tired. They’re wearing him down.

And for a second…just a split second; he looks back.

His lip is split. Blood on his teeth.

But his eyes…his eyes find mine.

He’s fighting for me.

He’s fighting because of me.

Because he thinks I’m worth defending.

Because he chose to stay.

And if they break him, they break the only good thing I let myself want.

Footsteps.

Thudding behind me. Fast. Heavy.

Then—

“Get the fuck away from my son!”

My dad’s voice tears the air open.

He runs past me, doesn’t hesitate.

He grabs Aryan by the collar, yanks him off Raj with a strength I’ve never seen in him. Not even when he was angry.

This is different.

This is protective.

Rohan turns; His eyes widen. tries to speak, tries to lift his phone. His hands fumbling—

“I’ve got something you should see–”

But my dad’s already on him.

He slaps the phone from Rohan’s hand—hard. It hits the ground, skids across the concrete.

“You think I care what’s on that screen?” His voice is thunder. “You come near my kid again and I swear, I’ll bury you in lawsuits so deep your grandkids will need a lawyer to crawl out. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll make sure you disappear so far off the map your trust fund won’t even find the bar you’re bleeding in.”

Rohan stares at him, stunned.

“I don’t know who you are,” Dad says “but my son’s already survived worse than you. You don’t get to hurt him. Not now. Not ever. Lay a finger on him—or anyone else—and I swear, your family would wish you never had a finger.”

He steps between me and them. Hands shaking. Breathing like a storm.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

Rohan doesn’t move. Not for a long second. Then he scoffs soft, pathetic and walks. Aryan limps after him, blood still trailing from his mouth.

They’re gone.

Just like that.

I sink back against the wall.

And then my dad kneels. Places a hand on my shoulder.

I flinch but I don’t pull away.

He’s here.

He showed up.

I turn toward him. My throat is raw. My chest is shaking like my ribs forgot how to hold me together.

And then I fall into him.

I don’t even think about it. I just collapse into his arms like a kid. Like someone who’s been holding their breath for years and forgot they were allowed to exhale.

I feel his arms wrap around me. Tight. Protective. Real.

And I break. Not violently. Not with noise. Just this quiet, shaking kind of break, like everything I’ve been holding together for too long is finally crumbling.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

I don’t even know what for.

For freezing?

For not being okay?

For not calling sooner?

For making it his problem?

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

He pulls me closer. Presses his hand to the back of my head.

“Don’t be.” His voice cracks. “God, Dev, you don’t ever have to say sorry for this. Not for this.”

“I didn’t know who else to call–”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes red.

“You called me,” he says. “That’s what matters. You called me.”

I nod, swallowing down the sob in my throat.

“I’ve got your back now,” he says, firm. “No matter what. You’re not alone in this, Dev. Not anymore.”

I close my eyes, press my forehead to his shoulder.

My dad’s hand finds my shoulder. Strong. Grounding. Real.

“Let’s go home, Dev,” he says. His voice is calm now. Calmer than mine will ever be again. He says it like it’s that simple. Like home is still a place I remember how to walk to.

I nod. My legs move on autopilot, hollow, aching. But then–

Raj.

Still standing there. Blood drying on his lip. Shirt torn. Bruise swelling below his eye.

And suddenly it’s too much.

The image slams into me like a memory I’ve been holding underwater for too long:

Amit, panting. Bleeding. Being dragged away.

Me—silent. Watching it happen.

Not fighting.

Not screaming.

Just watching.

Because I thought if I stayed still, it wouldn’t be real.

But it was. And I lost him.

And now Raj—

Raj who fought.

Raj who showed up.

Raj who should not have had to.

He turns slightly, like he might leave, like this whole thing might dissolve into another memory I’ll never get closure for.

My body moves faster than my mind.

“Don’t go,” I say, my voice cracking like glass under foot. I lurch forward, hand out, gripping his wrist hard. “Please, don’t fucking go.”

His eyes widen.

I don’t let go. Not this time.

“I didn’t stop it last time. I didn’t hold on. I let them take him—” I suck in a breath, shaky and sharp. “I lost him and I didn’t do anything.”

The panic rises sharp and hot in my throat.

“I can’t lose you too. I can’t—I swear to God, Raj—if you walk away now, I will never forgive myself.”

And then, softer. Barely a breath.

“Don’t leave. Don’t go, please.”

For a moment, he just looks at me.

Not confused.

Not scared.

Just… wrecked.

Then he steps in.

No hesitation.

His hand cups the back of my neck and pulls me into him. My forehead hits his shoulder. His arms wrap around me. He doesn’t care who’s watching.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, close to my ear. “You’re not losing me.”

His voice is low, steady, the kind of steady that makes you believe it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sharma. Even if you try to run. Even if you break again. I’m right here.”