If someone had asked Ananya what hurt more — the five years of silence or the five seconds it took to see him again — she honestly wouldn't know what to answer. Because both felt like different kinds of burning.
The entire way home, her legs moved automatically, but her mind stayed stuck at the banyan tree. Every step replayed his face… but older, sharper, harder. Every breath carried his voice — the same voice she used to hear during boring classes, during fights, during stupid dare games.
But today, that voice felt like a stranger's.
"Stay away from me."
Who says that after confessing love? Who says that after disappearing for half a decade? Who says that after being her whole childhood?
Her heart kept punching itself, like it didn't know how to settle.
When she reached home, her mom didn't even look up from chopping vegetables. "You're late."
Ananya tried answering normally, but her throat closed. "Traffic," she whispered.
It sounded pathetic, even to her.
She went straight to her room and shut the door quietly, breathing out the air she'd been holding since she saw him. She dropped her bag on the bed and sat down on the floor instead, pulling her legs close like she used to when she was little and scared of thunderstorms.
Except today, the storm wasn't in the sky.
It was inside her.
Her phone vibrated. Riya.
Riya: "Reached home? Want to call? I'm bored."
Ananya stared at the message but didn't reply. How was she supposed to explain to someone that the boy who ruined her nights had suddenly decided to ruin her evening too?
She lay back on the cold tiles, the fan whirring above her. For a moment, she closed her eyes.
And everything went back — five years ago — to the exact moment her world started cracking.
FIVE YEARS BEFORE
One day before he vanished
It was a stupid evening. Just an ordinary Thursday. She had finished her homework early for once, and Arav had texted her:
Arav: "Rooftop?"
Ananya: "Bring chips."
Arav: "You only want me for food."
Ananya: "And?"
He came anyway — because he always came.
He climbed the stairs with his usual noise, kicking pebbles, humming randomly, trying to scare her by shouting "BOO!" even though she never got scared.
He dropped the chips packet beside her. "There. Now act like you like me."
She rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder. "Don't flatter yourself."
He didn't hit back. He just looked at her for a second longer than he usually did.
It was subtle. Easy to miss. But now, when she replayed it, it felt like a warning. A goodbye wrapped as a normal day.
They sat on the ledge eating chips, talking nonsense — teachers, exams, the girl who had confessed to him last week.
Ananya had teased, "So? What did you say? Going to break her heart gently or just run away like a coward?"
He had gone quiet.
Too quiet.
"I told her I don't want anyone right now," he said finally.
"Right now?" she asked.
He threw a chip at her face. "Shut up. Don't interrogate me."
She laughed, but something in his tone wasn't playful.
He sighed and rested his head against the wall, staring at nothing. "Ananya…"
"Hmm?"
"Do you ever feel like… your life isn't really yours?"
She frowned. "No?"
He rubbed his forehead like he was tired. "Lucky you."
She didn't know what to say, so she shoved the last chip into his mouth to shut him up. He almost choked and started laughing. And she laughed too.
It felt like nothing could go wrong.
But that was the last normal moment she ever had with him.
BACK TO THE PRESENT
A loud honk outside snapped Ananya back. She sat up and wiped her face roughly even though she wasn't even sure if she had cried or not.
She hated how memories came uninvited.
She hated how they felt more real than today.
She stood, paced the room, then sat again, then stood again. Everything inside her was restless, like her heart wanted to run somewhere and hide at the same time.
Her phone buzzed.
Riya: "Anu?? Where are you lost?"
Ananya typed slowly.
Ananya: "He came back."
The typing bubble from Riya popped up in a second.
Riya: "HE WHAT???"
Before Ananya could respond, Riya started calling.
Ananya cut the call immediately.
She didn't want to talk.
Didn't want advice.
Didn't want comfort.
She just wanted to feel nothing for one minute. Just one.
But of course, that wasn't happening.
She walked to the mirror and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were swollen, her hair messy, her expression exhausted.
"Why now, Arav?" she whispered to herself. "Why come back after teaching me how to be okay without you?"
The next second, her phone beeped again.
Unknown number: "You reached home?"
Her breath stopped.
Every cell in her body recognized the way he typed — short, blunt, no punctuation except when necessary. He used to text her exactly like this.
Her fingers trembled as she typed back.
Ananya: "Don't text me."
She waited. The three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
And then—
Arav: "Okay."
That single word hurt more than an argument, more than silence, more than anything he could've said.
Because it was too simple.
Too calm.
Too… controlled.
The old Arav would've fought back.
Would've argued.
Would've called her until she answered.
Would've come to her house and climbed the damn gate if needed.
This Arav?
He just said "okay."
She threw her phone on the bed and covered her face with both hands.
She felt alone in a way she hadn't felt in years. Because loneliness hits different when the one person who made you feel less lonely stands just a few streets away — but feels a thousand years apart.
Later that night
Dinner was quiet. Too quiet.
Her mom kept talking about vegetables being expensive and how Ananya needed to focus more on her studies, but Ananya barely heard anything.
Her mind kept repeating the same question:
What happened to him in those five years?
When she went back to her room, the night outside was cold. The streetlight kept flickering like it was trying to say something to her.
She pulled out the old notebook — the one she pretended she didn't keep, the one filled with stupid doodles and even stupider confessions she never told him.
She flipped through pages until she found the one she had written on the night he left.
"I'll forgive him when he comes back. But only if he comes back soon. Not years later. Not when I'm someone else."
She closed the notebook quickly, feeling her throat tighten again.
Suddenly, there was a soft clink against her window.
Her heart stopped.
She slowly walked to it and pushed it open.
A small pebble lay on the sill.
Her breath hitched.
She looked down.
He was standing there.
Under the streetlight.
Hands in his pockets.
Head tilted up, eyes on her.
Arav.
The boy who left.
The man who returned a stranger.
The wound she never healed.
The comfort she still craved.
He didn't smile.
She didn't either.
He lifted his hand, silently asking if he could come upstairs.
Ananya stared at him for a long second. A very, very long second where her heart and mind fought like enemies.
Finally, she shook her head.
"No," she mouthed.
His jaw tightened, but he nodded once — the same painful "okay" he had texted.
He didn't argue.
Didn't ask why.
Didn't insist.
He just turned and walked away.
And watching him walk away — again — hurt more than the first time.
Because this time, he was close enough to touch.
Close enough to pull back.
Close enough to hold.
And she still let him go.
The moment she closed the window, she knew one thing clearly:
Running from him wouldn't be easy.
Because he wasn't the same Arav who used to follow her around.
He wasn't the boy who used to wait at her gate.
He wasn't the teenager who used to fight with her and then bring chocolate to apologize.
This Arav was different.
And whatever changed him…
was coming for her next.