I'd spent the last two days pretending he didn't exist.
And maybe I'd started believing it myself.
It was easier that way.
Easier to walk past him in the corridor without looking.
Easier to eat alone at the mess while he sat three tables away.
Easier to talk to anyone, anyone but him.
Aarav didn't try much either.
He just… watched.
Like someone standing outside a glass wall, close enough to see, too far to touch.
At coaching, things were quieter.
Shivi had started walking beside me more often, sometimes with a smile that lingered a bit too long, sometimes with a question that didn't need answers.
She was sweet, genuine.
The kind of girl anyone would fall for easily.
I tried.
I really did.
When she brushed her hair behind her ear and smiled, I smiled back.
When she asked if I wanted to grab coffee, I said maybe.
But somewhere between her laugh and my forced smile, something inside me stayed silent.
That silence had a name, I just didn't want to say it.
That evening, I sat by the window, staring at the rain as it painted the city grey again.
Aarav was behind me, humming something faintly while typing on his laptop.
I didn't turn to look.
I couldn't.
Every sound he made, a sigh, a chair creak, a hum, kept pulling me back to a place I'd tried to bury for four years.
A place where trust felt like betrayal and affection turned to guilt.
By the next morning, I'd made up my mind.
I couldn't stay here anymore.
Not with him.
Not with the ghosts of what we once were.
So I went straight to the warden's office after class, filled out the request form for a room change.
The paper felt heavier than it should have, like I was signing away something I didn't even own anymore.
When I came back, Aarav was standing near the gate.
He saw the form in my hand - the one with my name scribbled at the bottom , and his expression flickered for just a second.
Not shock.
Not anger.
Just… something quiet.
Something that looked like regret but died before it reached his eyes.
He didn't say a word.
Neither did I.
We just walked past each other, two strangers sharing the same roof, pretending not to notice the silence screaming between us.
That night, his phone kept lighting up on the table.
Vishesh.
Again.
And again.
The name glowed like poison in the dark room.
Every ping, every vibration clawed at old wounds.
He still talked to him.
After everything.
The same Vishesh who'd smiled while twisting the knife deeper.
Who'd looked me in the eye that day and said ...
"Aarav won't believe you, piece of shit. He knows what you really are. You should just disappear and save us the trouble."
And I had begged ....
"Aarav, trust me… I didn't do it. I swear I didn't."
But he hadn't said anything.
Not a word.
And his silence had hurt worse than the insult.
Now, four years later, that silence was still between us.
Unchanged.
Unforgiven.
Every time I saw that name flash on his screen, it reminded me why I couldn't stay.
Why love - if this was love - only felt like a wound reopening.
I pulled the blanket over myself and turned away from him.
He was still sitting on the edge of his bed, scrolling aimlessly, pretending to be fine.
Maybe he really was.
Maybe he'd moved on.
Maybe I was the only one still haunted by what was gone.
Whatever it was, one thing was certain -
Our story wasn't breaking apart.
It had already broken years ago.
It's strange how silence can grow louder than words.
It's been four days.
Four days since Aveer last spoke to me.
At first, I thought he was just being moody again, that maybe the argument with Arsh, or something else, had messed up his mood. But now…
Now it feels like he's building a wall.
Brick by brick.
And I'm the reason he needs it.
Every time I tried to start a conversation ..
"Had lunch?",
"Need notes?",
"Want to go out for chai?"
he'd just nod, or not look up at all.
And I'd stand there, waiting for something that never came.
The room felt smaller with every passing day.
Two people, two beds, and miles of silence stretched between them.
I even tried the small things, the unnoticed kind of care.
Brought his favorite chocolate one evening, left it on his table.
He didn't touch it.
Next day, I left some snacks I got from mess - untouched again.
Maybe he really didn't care anymore.
Or maybe I'd already lost the right to care.
Somewhere between trying and failing, I just… stopped.
Maybe this was better.
Maybe forgetting him completely was the only way to stay sane, like I did for the past four years.
So I buried the thoughts, the guilt, the flashes of his eyes when he looked hurt.
I told myself I was done.
Exams were coming up, and I tried to focus.
Tried being the key word.
Because even as I read, I kept noticing things I shouldn't have,
like the stack of documents on his table for room change.
He was serious this time.
He was really leaving.
And I couldn't do anything.
Didn't even know what I should do.
Maybe this was how it was meant to end, something that never really began.
That night, I couldn't study.
So I went to Arsh and Aman's room instead.
They were preparing for the same test, and their room was full of noise and laughter, the kind of chaos I desperately needed.
But even there, my mind was elsewhere.
"Bro, what's up with you two?" Arsh asked. "You and Aveer were finally talking like normal people. What happened now?"
I didn't answer.
Because honestly, I didn't know.
How do you explain something you don't understand yourself?
Aman joined in, "You sure you didn't fight again? Because man, that tension in your room is thick enough to choke on."
I just gave a half smile. "It's nothing. Just exams."
But it wasn't nothing.
It was everything.
When I came back later, Aveer wasn't in the room.
His side of the bed looked cleaner, emptier.
The umbrella Shivi gave him was gone too.
His phone buzzed ; a notification lighting up the table.
Shivi: "Take care of yourself, idiot ."
I don't know why that stung.
Maybe because I wasn't the one who knew how he was anymore.
Maybe because someone else cared and I had no right to.
I looked at his side of the room once more.
The coldness between us felt heavier than it had ever been.
Everything was falling apart.
But maybe it was never built right in the first place.
Some stories don't shatter in a moment -
they fade quietly, until love starts sounding like silence,
and silence feels like goodbye.
Morning came quietly. Too quietly.
The kind of silence that feels like the end of something you don't want to name.
Aveer was still asleep, half-curled under his blanket, face soft in the pale light sneaking through the window.
For a moment, I just stood there, watching him breathe.
He looked peaceful.
Maybe that's why I couldn't wake him.
I didn't deserve to.
I had exams and practicals today, and by the time I'd return, he'd be gone, room emptied, bed clean, memories packed away like dust swept under the mat.
I left a small note on his table.
It read -
"Goodbye, Aveer. I hope I won't bother you anymore, or be the reason for your sadness again."
Pathetic, right?
But it was all I could say without choking on guilt I couldn't explain.
Before leaving, I glanced at him once more.
Something in me wanted to say don't go.
To reach out, shake him awake, ask him to stay.
But I didn't.
Instead, I leaned closer, hesitating, and pressed a quiet kiss to his forehead.
"Goodbye… and I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Sorry for everything I did or didn't do."
I turned away before my heart could betray me.
The door clicked shut behind me, soft but final.
The sound made Aveer stir awake.
He blinked, the room still fogged with sleep, and noticed the folded note resting near his pillow.
He didn't touch it right away, just stared.
The paper looked harmless, but something about it made his throat tighten.
He unfolded it slowly, reading the words twice, maybe thrice, as if they'd change by looking harder.
But they didn't.
Hours later.
The exam hall buzzed around me, but my head wasn't there.
Every question I wrote looked like Aveer's name hiding between the lines.
Every blank space echoed the silence we'd built.
I should've been focused, but I wasn't.
Even when Arsh said, "Let's go out after practicals, bro , maybe a bar?"
I said yes.
Maybe guilt needed noise to drown itself in.
The music at the bar was loud. The laughter louder.
But none of it reached me.
Even with a drink in my hand, I felt more empty than drunk.
By the time I left, it was 10 p.m.
The air outside was heavy, the kind that smells of rain but never falls.
I walked back to the PG, head buzzing, not from alcohol but from everything I hadn't said.
The door creaked open. Lights were off.
I didn't bother switching them on.
There was a shadow sitting on the edge of the other bed, Aveer's bed.
For a second, I thought I was imagining things.
But the quiet breathing confirmed it.
He was still here.
"Why didn't you leave?" I asked softly.
No answer.
Just stillness.
"Did you forget something?" I tried again.
Still nothing.
He was there, but his silence filled the whole room.
I didn't push.
Didn't have the strength to.
So I just sat down on my bed, close enough to feel the weight of his presence in the dark.
After a long pause, I picked up my guitar.
The strings were cold against my fingers, but familiar.
A song rose, quiet, hesitant, the one i used to hum back in the village.
"Kya ishq hi wo paap hai, jisse duniya dare?
Agar hai paap bhi to hum, phir bhi wo paap hi kare."
My voice trembled halfway through.
The tune carried me - carried us - back to that summer long ago.
A time before cities, before hurt, before we even knew what it meant to lose someone.
Back when life was small, yet infinite.
The world then was just the narrow lanes of our village, muddy paths after rain, ponds that reflected the sky, and the mango trees that hid us from scolding voices.
We didn't need anyone else.
We had each other.
We were non blood related cousins but more close than any relation known to the world.
I still remember the first time Aveer dragged me to the pond behind his house.
He was all energy, all laughter, that boy.
"Come on, Aarav! You're too slow!"
He ran barefoot through the grass, his school shirt half untucked, eyes shining like he owned the sun.
I remember standing there, panting, pretending to be annoyed. "You'll slip and fall, idiot."
And he grinned, that wide, stubborn grin. "Then you'll jump to save me, right?"
And I did.
Every single time.
We spent entire afternoons there, splashing water, racing dragonflies, lying on the grass till the world blurred around us.
He'd fall asleep sometimes, head on my shoulder, mumbling stories that made no sense.
And I'd just… watch.
Because even then, before I understood it, I liked watching him more than I liked anything else.
At night, we'd climb the narrow staircase to the terrace, carrying one worn-out mattress and a shared blanket that barely covered us both.
The stars always looked brighter from there, or maybe they just looked brighter in his eyes.
He'd start humming random tunes, asking, "Aarav, what do you think happens after we die?"
And I'd shrug, teasing, "You'll probably come back as a mosquito, just to annoy me again."
He'd laugh, swat my arm, then go quiet again, the kind of quiet that feels safe.
Sometimes, he'd trace constellations in the air. "That one's you," he'd say.
"And that's me. Always next to each other, even if we're far apart."
Back then, I didn't realize how much weight those words carried.
Back then, I thought forever actually meant forever.
The villagers used to tease us , "Aarav, when you both grow up, you'll marry other girls and forget each other."
And Aveer, without missing a beat, would puff his chest and shout, "Then I'll marry Aarav!"
He'd grab my hand and pull me close, laughing so freely it made even the old aunties smile.
I'd laugh too, but something in that laughter always felt too real to be a joke.
We didn't know what it was back then , love, friendship, or something nameless that existed between both.
We just knew that nights were warmer when we slept side by side.
That mornings felt incomplete without seeing each other first.
When I stayed at his house during vacations, his mother used to smile seeing us together.
"Tum dono toh ek saath hi bade hue ho," she'd say.
And maybe she was right.
Our childhoods were stitched together ; laughter, fights, secrets, everything.
He used to bring me breakfast even before eating himself.
We shared one plate, one bed, one dream - a world where nothing could touch us.
But that world cracked slowly.
The day it all broke, I still remember Aveer's face.
His eyes were something else that day
He kept saying -
"Trust me, Aarav. I didn't do it, i didn't. Please, you know me."
And I stood there, silent.
Because I didn't know what to believe.
Or maybe I was too much of a coward to choose.
That silence… it ruined everything.
It turned laughter into distance, and affection into regret.
And even now, after years, the echoes of that silence still follow us, through every word we don't say, every look we avoid, every moment that feels like both punishment and memory.
The strings of the guitar trembled under my fingers as the song ended.
But the sound of that summer lingered - Aveer's laughter, the rustle of leaves, the splash of pond water, the whisper of forever.
A forever that we both believed in.
A forever that didn't survive growing up.
The strings went silent.
The last note trembled in the air before dying away, taking with it the last fragments of that summer.
A sound pulled me out of it - small, shaky, real.
A sob.
I turned my head slowly.
The shadow on the other bed was trembling.
Aveer's head was bowed, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath he tried to hold back.
The same boy who once laughed without fear now looked like he was breaking under it, he was crying.
those tears weren't just about the past.
They were about me.
To be continued...