For the next two days, Ananya felt like she was living inside someone else's body—walking, breathing, attending lectures, taking notes—yet nothing truly felt real. Her mind kept drifting back to the rooftop, to the way Arav had looked at her, as if he had swallowed five years of pain and didn't know how to spit it out.
He hadn't explained anything.
He hadn't said why he disappeared.
He hadn't said who he had become.
He only said: Stay away from me.
As if she was danger. As if she was the storm, not him.
But even while he was pushing her away, there was something in his voice… a tremor… a softness… like he was holding a hundred unsaid words behind his teeth.
And that was what hurt the most.
Not the silence. Not the distance. But the fact that he still cared… and refused to admit it.
By the third morning, she lost patience with her own thoughts. She stood in front of her mirror, tying her hair slowly, observing her tired eyes.
"Enough," she whispered. "You're not a ghost. You're not invisible. And he doesn't get to shake your entire world just because he reappeared."
Her voice was firm. Her heart wasn't.
Still, she dressed up for college with a little more care than usual. A soft navy kurti, her silver earrings, a touch of kajal—nothing dramatic, but something that reminded her she was still alive, still here, still deserving of answers.
When she stepped out, there was no one under the banyan tree.
Good, she told herself.
But something inside her sank anyway.
THE DISTANCE HE CREATED
At college, the whispers had already started. News travelled fast when a boy like Arav appeared after years of disappearing—the kind of boy who left behind rumors and returned with even bigger ones.
In the canteen, she overheard two girls talking.
"I heard he dropped out early, no explanation."
"My cousin said he moved to Mumbai. Fell into some bad crowd or something."
"No yaar, someone else said his father sent him abroad."
"A abroad? That wild looking boy?"
"Exactly. Doesn't fit."
None of their stories matched. None of their voices held the truth.
And none of them knew that the boy they were discussing was once Ananya's entire world.
When she walked past their table, she felt eyes on her, lingering longer than they should.
She hated that feeling.
She hated even more that she still cared what Arav was doing while she sat there pretending everything was fine.
During the lunch break, Riya leaned over their table and whispered, "Don't turn around."
Ananya stiffened. "Why?"
"He's sitting behind you."
Her stomach tightened.
She didn't have to turn; she felt him. The awareness ran through her skin like electricity. The shifting of his weight on the chair, the dip in the air when he leaned forward, the sound of his fingers tapping lightly on the metal table.
He was close. Too close.
Her pulse picked up.
Riya nudged her gently. "Do you want to leave?"
Ananya swallowed. "No."
It wasn't bravery.
It was anger mixed with longing mixed with the ache of not knowing what he wanted.
Slowly—almost painfully—she turned.
He wasn't looking at her.
He was staring ahead, his jaw clenched, his brows drawn tight. But there was a stiffness in his shoulders, like he knew she had turned. Like her gaze had brushed across his skin.
Their eyes didn't meet. Not even once
Yet her chest felt full, heavy, stinging, as if she had run straight into a wall built with five years of unfinished feelings.
HE SAW WHAT HE SHOULDN'T HAVE
After classes, she walked toward the main gate with Riya, trying to distract herself with anything—assignments, presentations, even gossip—anything but him.
Then she saw a third-year boy lean casually on a parked bike and call out—
"Ananya!"
She stopped. Riya stopped. The boy jogged toward her with a nervous smile.
"Um… if you're free this weekend," he said, scratching the back of his neck, "I wanted to ask if we could… you know… have coffee?"
Riya was already smirking.
Ananya felt awkward but answered gently, "I… I'll think about it."
He nodded eagerly. "Sure, take your time!"
He left. Riya punched her arm. "See? College boys are noticing you finally."
"Shut up," Ananya muttered, fighting a smile.
But when she turned to head toward the auto stand, her smile died.
Arav was standing on the opposite side of the road.
His bike helmet dangled from his hand.
His eyes— God, those eyes— were locked directly on her.
Not soft. Not unreadable. Not indifferent.
But sharp.
Possessive.
Angry.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he watched the boy disappear down the lane. His stare didn't move away once. Not when she looked confused. Not when she looked back at him helplessly.
He stood there like he wanted to walk across the road and drag her away from the world.
But he didn't move
He didn't come closer.
He just watched.
And then—very slowly—he turned around and walked in the opposite direction.
Her heart twisted so painfully she couldn't breathe for a second.
THE MISTAKE
That night, she replayed the moment again and again. His expression. His silence. The way he had looked at her like she had betrayed him by simply existing.
She sat on her rooftop, hugging her knees.
"He left me," she whispered to the empty sky. "He doesn't get to feel jealous."
But logic had nothing to do with love. Or heartbreak. Or whatever twisted connection they still had.
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
One new message.
Her breath got stuck when she saw the name.
Arav.
The first message in five years.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
> "Don't go out with him."
That was it. No hello.
No explanation.
No apology.
Just a command.
Her fingers tightened around the phone. A hundred replies stabbed through her mind.
Why do you care?
You told me to stay away.
You don't get to decide anything for me anymore.
Where were you for five years?
Why now?
But she typed something brutally simple.
> "You don't have that right."
She hit send.
Her heart pounded as she waited—one minute, two minutes, three.
Then—
Typing…
Typing…
The blinking dots disappeared.
Reappeared.
Disappeared again.
Five minutes passed.
Nothing came.
And that silence hurt more than any message he could've sent.
THE NIGHT HE SHOWED UP AGAIN
At 10:13 pm, someone climbed the rooftop stairs.
She knew the sound instantly—heavy steps, slightly uneven, as if he was still getting used to the weight he now carried.
Ananya stood up with her heart in her throat.
He appeared in the dim moonlight.
No anger this time. No cold expression. Just eyes filled with something raw… something human… something painfully vulnerable.
"Arav," she breathed.
He stayed near the stairs like he was afraid to come closer. Or afraid she'd push him away.
"I didn't mean to command you," he said quietly. "I just… reacted."
She crossed her arms, trying to sound firm. "That doesn't explain why you care."
His eyes flickered. "I don't want you getting involved with anyone because of me."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It does," he whispered. "You just don't know the full story yet."
"Then tell me."
He exhaled slowly. "It'll hurt you."
"And disappearing didn't?"
His face twisted like her words hit where it hurt most.
He took a few steps forward, stopped halfway, then closed the distance fully until he stood only a breath away from her.
"Seeing someone else ask you out…" he said softly, his voice breaking at the edge, "I thought I could handle it."
"You couldn't," she whispered.
"No," he admitted, "I couldn't."
Their hearts were beating in the narrow space between them.
She forced herself to ask the question she had been avoiding.
"Do you still… feel something for me?"
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
Then, in a voice so fragile it almost shattered the night:
"I never stopped."
Her breath trembled.
"But I'm dangerous to be around now," he added, stepping back suddenly. "I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't—"
She grabbed his wrist before he could turn.
"Stop running."
He froze. Completely.
The tension in his shoulders shifted into something else—fear, longing, grief… she couldn't tell.
"I don't know what happened to you," she said, her voice softer now. "But you don't get to disappear again. Not without telling me the truth."
He stared at her hand holding his wrist.
Slowly—almost painfully—he lifted his gaze.
"You really want to know?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"It'll change everything."
"Arav," she whispered, "everything already changed the day you left."
He closed his eyes. The fight left his body. The walls he held up so tightly seemed to crack.
And when he opened his eyes again…
there was no boy left in them.
Only a man carrying a story he had never told anyone.
He took a deep breath.
And finally—
after years of silence—
he said:
"The reason I left… started with the night I almost died."