The scooty's engine hummed low as I rode home through Pune's quiet streets, her warmth still clinging to my skin like a ghost I couldn't shake—her touch on my shoulder, her smile lighting the dark, that hug pressing deep into my chest. Happiness bubbled inside, sweet and real, but underneath lurked this gnawing ache, emotionally unsatisfied. Emotions are bastards like that—they grab you tight, then demand more, more, always hungry, never full.
Confused, heart pounding wild, I pulled over and dialed Pushkar. "Bro, everything's spinning. Meet me?"
He laughed sleepy. "You guys still not home? We all crashed hours ago!"
I chuckled through the fog. "When love hits, na, even time sacrifices its own clock."
"Come to my terrace," he said. "Spill it."
I revved up, reaching his place fast. Leaning on the railing under stars, I paced. "I don't wanna go home, man. Something's wrong with me—what's happening?"
He sat cross-legged, listening as I poured it out—every detail: the terrace dance, her song, the near-crash grip, her care, that final hug. "What's this mean? Gayatri's my best friend, but I see her in my arms, dancing close, i told him everything what happened..."
Pushkar cut in sharp. "Bro, you're in love. Straight up."
I stared, mind reeling. "Does she feel it too?"
He sighed, honest. "Gayatri is innocent, pure heart, and Girls show affection—playful vibes, hugs, dances. But that doesn't scream love. She danced to lighten things, slipped in advice: study hard, don't waste life. She's looking out, not falling and she was just making things light nothing much."
"Brooo!" I groaned. "She danced so close—I still feel her warmth, her touch lingering like fire."
He shrugged. "Normal friend stuff. Even Sneha danced with me once—not big deal."
"See your face?" I shot back. "She's got Kaustub. Why'd she love you?"
"Abe, then it's just affection?" he pressed.
"Thats what i am saying, Affection's part of love!" I insisted, heart desperate.
He slapped his forehead, exasperated. "She's your best friend—don't ruin it proposing now. You'll regret wrecking the friendship."
I paused, his words sinking heavy. He was right—maybe.
"In friendship, hugs, dances, laughs—all normal," he said.
"And kisses?" I blurted.
He blinked, confused. "Kiss is... okay sometimes, but that doesnt mean love."
"See you says, Everything okay? kiss, hug, dance and Even... sex?" I dropped the Alibag night bomb—everything, raw.
Pushkar froze, eyes wide, shocked silent. "Huh? What? The trip?!" He processed slow, jaw dropping. "Damn... now it clicks. Yeah, that changes things."
Pushkar thinks and says: "But proposing direct? It'll trash," he warned. "Patience, bro. I'm happy for you—for her too. She's my friend too; you two look perfect, naturally made for each other. But focus on—career, studies first. She likes you, but also straight up warned you: get serious or lose her. No matter how deep her feelings, if you blow 12th, ignoring your future? She won't accept. No any girl will accept."
I reeled. "12th matters that much? I Thought life ends after 10th."
He grabbed my shoulders. "Life begins after 12th, idiot.
His words hit like thunder, cracking my denial. Doors slam shut without it, i realised—colleges, dreams, everything. Gayatri explained it clear, now i realised i wasted half a year-plus spiraling. Too late? Nah—realize now, grind hard. She wants to see that innocent boy, she is in love with that me?
Time slipped fast—months gone in chaos, 12th looming like judgment. Was it too late? Or just i realised now that i am too late? Now i got what gayatri why gayatri was explaining to me, she wanted to build the man worthy of her light? Heart heavy with truth, I nodded slow, the night air cool on fevered skin. For the first time, regret turned to fire—resolve burning bright. Gayatri's warning echoed: time waits for no one. Mine started now.
That night on Pushkar's terrace, something cracked open inside me—like a long sleep ending, eyes blinking into harsh light. I realized: no more games. Time to get serious. But when reality hit full force the next morning, staring at my desk... God, the mess. Incomplete assignments piled like mountains, notes scribbled half-hearted and faded, final HSC exams creeping closer like shadows.
My English teacher—she was the college principal too—hadn't even let me take the test yet. No assignments submitted? No seat for finals. And it wasn't just one: four subjects, each needing five solved exam papers. Twenty papers total. Five days if I spaced them, but crammed together? Impossible. Did I really leave all this behind? Panic clawed up. Finally, I give up. Done. Set.
But then my oral test loomed—no passing that, no finals at all. HSC slipping away like sand. I scrolled numbly, and there—Gayatri's Instagram selfie her that Red saree hugging her soft, cute and adorable, eyes sparkling like they whispered my name. Her voice echoed in my head from the birthday party terrace: "Get serious, or lose everything" Not for me or my future but i can try for her. At least for her, fight once. Win it all.
I deleted Instagram. Cut off everything—phone silent, friends' chats muted, world shut out. Dove headfirst into the papers. Nights bled into mornings, days into nights—no food, barely water, just pencils scratching, brain frying on formulas and essays. Eyes burning, hands cramping, stomach growling ignored. Those days were hell—harder than surviving a desert, thirst raging, no oasis in sight. Stuck in paper storms, searching for a way out, one solved sheet at a time. Gayatri's red-saree smile burned in my mind, my anchor. For her. Exhaustion hit like waves, but I pushed—surviving, grinding, fighting back from the edge. This wasn't just study; it was redemption, one desperate page at a time. Somehow, with friends pitching in last-minute—some of my friends scribbling notes, others sharing solved sheets—I clawed through the mountain. All twenty papers slowly but hardly done, sweat-stained and shaky, after all days and night but finally finished. Except one subject. That beast rejected my work twice saying its "Incomplete!" the teacher barked, hurling it back. Heart sinking, I reworked it again and again night and days, after endless night, pencils snapping, eyes blurring. Finally, submission day: I waited around 1 hour for submission and finally, i handed the file over, palms sweaty.
They flipped through, faces stone. Then—bam!—the teacher slammed it on my head, forceful, papers exploding everywhere like shattered glass. Sheets fluttered to the floor amid stares from the whole class. "Still incomplete!" they shouted. My hard work, scattered like trash. Anger boiled hot—fists clenched, ready to slap, to storm out screaming fuck this i gonna slap and go. But I swallowed it, voice tight. They tossed me fresh papers grudgingly. Oral test next—in the principal's cabin for English, her eyes drilling me as I stammered answers. Then one by one, test papers solved, permission granted. Finals seat secured. Barely.
Final exams crashed in. My body wasted away—weight dropping fast, dark circles carving hollows under eyes, life turning brutally real. But after exam paper's but those nights locked it in: words, formulas, essays branded into my brain like fire. Each exam day, I walked in a ghost, pen flying, problems crumbling under my grind. Closer to the finish line, step by aching step. In my subconscious, a vow burned: "Finish, then propose Gayatri, Make it real."
To be continued....