Aadhya's POV
Traitors.
Absolute. Shameless. Traitors.
One second they were screaming "Dheeraj! Dheeraj!" like he was their long-lost king… and the next second—poof—the moment Vivaan stood up as the winner, they all switched sides like someone flipped a damn light switch.
Clapping.
Cheering.
Laughing.
As if they weren't just betting against him five minutes ago.
"Wow…" I muttered under my breath, folding my arms. "Loyalty died here today. Rest in peace."
I didn't move.
Didn't clap.
Didn't join them.
Let them celebrate their "king."
I stayed right where I was.
With Dheeraj.
He was still sitting on the floor, back resting against the bench, breathing heavy. His chest rising and falling slowly. His face… God.
Bruised.
A small cut near his lip.
Forehead slightly bleeding.
And that tired look… not just physically tired—but something deeper. Like defeat had weight, and it was sitting on his shoulders.
I hate that look.
I hate when people look like that.
Quietly broken.
I sighed and got up, grabbing my bag.
"Wait here," I murmured, even though he wasn't going anywhere.
I pulled out my small emergency kit—because yes, I am prepared for chaos—and took out cotton and dettol.
I sat beside him again.
Carefully.
Slowly.
I soaked the cotton and reached out.
"You don't have to do this," he said, pushing my hand away slightly.
His voice was low.
Tired.
But still… distant.
"But it's bleeding," I said, frowning. "It'll get infected."
"It's just skin," he replied dryly. "It'll heal."
Oh my God.
Why are boys like this.
I stared at him for a second.
Then without warning—I pressed the cotton on his forehead.
"Ah—" he winced instantly.
"Exactly," I said flatly. "That's called pain. And infection hurts more. So sit quietly."
He didn't argue after that.
Just closed his eyes.
And let me.
For a moment, everything felt… still.
No shouting.
No chaos.
No idiots.
Just silence.
I gently cleaned the wound, careful not to press too hard this time. His breathing slowly steadied, but I could still see the tension in his jaw.
He wasn't just hurt.
He was… thinking.
Lost somewhere.
I placed the cotton aside.
Didn't want to annoy him more.
So I just sat there.
Beside him.
Quiet.
Not saying anything.
Sometimes words feel… unnecessary.
After a while, he spoke again.
"Can I ask you for a favor?"
His voice was softer now.
Almost hesitant.
I nodded.
"Yeah."
He paused.
Then said, "Can you… put my shirt on?"
Oh.
Right.
I picked up his shirt from beside him.
Carefully draped it over his shoulders.
He didn't move much.
Just sat there while I adjusted it and buttoned a few buttons for him.
It felt… strangely normal.
Like this wasn't the same guy who was punching someone five minutes ago.
Like this was just… someone tired.
Someone human.
"There," I said quietly.
He nodded slightly.
Then slowly stood up.
For a second, he stumbled.
Just a little.
Instinctively, I reached out to hold him—
"I'm fine," he said immediately.
Not rude.
Just… firm.
Polite distance.
I withdrew my hand.
"Okay."
I didn't insist.
I get it.
Losing hurts.
Not just the body.
Ego too.
And sometimes… people don't want help.
Not because they don't need it.
But because accepting it feels worse.
So I didn't push.
I just… walked beside him.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Just there.
A presence.
He walked slowly.
Each step careful.
Controlled.
We reached outside the school.
He stopped a taxi.
Opened the door.
Before getting in, he glanced at me.
Just for a second.
Like he wanted to say something.
But didn't.
Then he got inside.
And left.
I stood there.
Watching the taxi disappear into the road.
And then… I turned around and started walking home.
Alone.
But not really.
Because somewhere in my head, I kept thinking—
Sometimes people don't need advice.
Or sympathy.
Or sweet words.
Sometimes… they just need someone to sit beside them.
Quietly.
Without asking questions.
Without making it a big deal.
Just… being there.
Like a silent proof.
That they're not alone.
And maybe—
That's enough.