[Scene 1: The New Normal - College Life, Day 1 ]
The library was the same.
Same wooden tables. Same smell of old books and floor polish. Same window where the 500 rupee note had flown 6 months ago.
But everything else was different.
Rahul walked in with his cane. _Tap. Step. Tap. Step._ The sound echoed. Every head turned. Whispers started like wildfire. _"That's him." "Malhotra." "He's walking." "Who's the girl?"_
Isha walked next to him. Not behind. Not ahead. Next. Her blue kurti was the same one she'd worn that day. She didn't do it on purpose. She just liked it.
They stopped at their old table. The one by the window. Where it all started.
Tanya's group was already there. Tanya looked up. Forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Rahul! You're back! We saved your seat!" She gestured to the head of the table. The king's chair.
Rahul looked at the chair. Then at Isha. Then back at Tanya.
"No thanks," he said. His voice was calm. No arrogance. No anger. Just... done. "We'll sit here."
He pulled out a chair for himself. Then, surprising everyone including Isha, he pulled out the chair next to him. For her.
Isha's eyes widened. The whole library gasped quietly. Rahul Malhotra. Pulling a chair. For a girl. For _her_.
She sat down. Slowly. Like the chair would burn her.
Tanya's smile cracked. "Oh. Okay. So... we're all one big group now?" Her voice was syrupy. Fake.
Rahul opened his textbook. Didn't look up. "No. There is no group. There's just me and Isha. Studying. You can sit wherever you want, Tanya."
It wasn't cruel. It was final.
Tanya's face went red, then white. She grabbed her books and stormed out, her minions scrambling behind her. The library exhaled.
Silence for 10 seconds. Then Rahul said, without looking up from his book, "You okay?"
Isha was still processing. "You... you just ended her. Socially."
He shrugged. "She ended herself 6 months ago. When she watched you walk into the rain." He finally looked at her. "Besides, I told you. MY group. It's just you. And you don't like her. So she's not invited."
Isha didn't know what to say. So she said nothing. Opened her economics book.
For 2 hours, they studied. In silence. But it wasn't awkward silence. It was... comfortable. Like they'd been doing this for years.
Rahul would get stuck on a problem. He'd slide his notebook to her without a word. She'd solve it, slide it back. No "thank you". No "you're dumb". Just... teamwork.
Once, his cane slipped from the table and clattered to the floor. Loud. The whole library looked.
Before Vikram, who was standing outside, could rush in, Isha was already under the table. She picked it up. Handed it to him.
Their fingers brushed. For a second.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Tab mein add kar diya," she muttered back.
He snorted. A real laugh. "You're never letting that 500 go, are you?"
"Nope," she said, smiling at her book. "It's my retirement plan."
And just like that, the ice broke. Not with a grand gesture. But with a joke. About the 500. The thing that started all of it.
[Scene 2: The Tutoring Deal - Friendship Rules ]
"Your grades are shit," Rahul said bluntly. It was 3 days later. They were in the Malhotra House garden. He was doing his physiotherapy exercises. Leg lifts. Isha was "supervising" because Dr. Mehta said he skips reps when alone.
Isha threw a pebble at him. It bounced off his good leg. "Excuse me? I'm top 10 in class."
"In your scholarship class," he corrected, wincing as he lifted his leg. "In the real world, aka my class, you're barely passing Economics. I saw your midterm. 51%. That's embarrassing."
"My professor hates me!"
"No, your professor hates your answers. Because they're wrong." He stopped, breathing hard. "Look, I'm bored. Sitting at home, doing leg lifts, watching you judge my form. Teach me something else. Let me teach you Economics."
Isha blinked. "You... want to tutor me?"
"Don't make it weird," he grumbled. "I need something to do that isn't 'Rahul Malhotra, the tragic hero'. And you need to not fail. Mutual benefit. That's what friends do, right? Help each other?"
_Friends._ He said it. Out loud. For the first time.
Isha's heart did a weird flutter. She ignored it. "Fine. But no 'you're dumb' or 'my dog could do this'. If we're friends, you're not allowed to be mean."
He held out his hand. To shake. Like a business deal. "Deal. No mean. Just facts. If you're wrong, I'll say 'that's incorrect, Miss Sharma'. Professional."
She shook his hand. His grip was stronger now. Almost normal. "Deal. And if you're bossy, I'll say 'stop being a Malhotra, Mr. Malhotra'."
"Fair."
And so it began. Every evening, 5 PM to 7 PM. The Garden Tutoring Sessions.
He was a brutal teacher. But a good one. He didn't give her answers. He'd ask "Why?" until she figured it out herself.
"You're not dumb, Isha," he said one day, frustrated after she got the same concept wrong thrice. "You just think you're poor, so you should be bad at rich people subjects like Economics. That's stupid. Money and brains aren't related."
She stared at him. No one had ever said that to her.
"Then why did you call me 'charity case'?" she shot back before she could stop herself.
He froze. The word hung between them. The first time either of them had said it since that day.
His face fell. "I... I was an idiot. An insecure, angry idiot who thought putting you down would make me feel taller. It didn't. I'm sorry."
It was the first time he'd said sorry. For that. Directly.
Isha didn't know what to do. So she threw her pen at him. "'Incorrect, Mr. Malhotra'. Apology accepted. Now explain Opportunity Cost again. Without being a jerk."
He picked up the pen. And smiled. A small, real smile. "Yes, Miss Sharma."
That's when she knew. They were friends. Real ones. The kind who could talk about the worst thing he ever did to her, and move past it.
[Scene 3: Her World, His World - Crossing Lines - 650 words]
"You've never had golgappe?" Rahul looked horrified.
It was a Saturday. One month into their "friendship". His leg was better. He only used the cane when tired. He was going stir-crazy in the house.
Isha was helping him walk in the garden. "No. Why would I? 30 rupees for 6 pieces of water? Waste of money. I can eat 2 roti in that."
He stopped walking. Looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Isha. That's illegal. We're going. Now."
"Rahul, you can't! Your leg! The media! Your dad!"
"My dad's in Dubai. My leg is fine. The media can watch me eat golgappe. Let's go."
"Where? Your 5-star hotel?"
He grinned. The old, dangerous, fun Rahul grin. "No. Your world. You pick the place. Best golgappe in the city. I trust you."
Isha's heart stopped. _Your world. I trust you._
She took him to the stall near her old hostel. The one she'd walked past for 3 years, never able to afford.
The golgappe wala, an old uncle, almost fainted when Rahul Malhotra, in a 20,000 rupee shirt, showed up.
"Ek plate," Rahul said. Then looked at Isha. "No, do plate. She's paying."
Isha choked. "I am not! You said you're trying my world!"
"And in my world, friends split the bill or treat each other. You treated me to your world. I'm treating you to golgappe. Fair?"
She couldn't argue with that logic.
They stood there. On the street. Rahul Malhotra, cane leaning against the cart, eating golgappe and making a face.
"So spicy!" he gasped after the first one. Eyes watering.
"Baby," Isha laughed. She took her dupatta and dabbed his mouth before she could think. Then froze.
He froze too.
The golgappe wala uncle looked away politely.
Isha pulled her hand back like it was burned. "Sorry! I... force of habit. You had... aat... aata..."
"Aata on my face," he finished for her. His voice was weird. "It's okay."
They ate the rest in silence. But it wasn't bad silence. It was... charged.
After, walking back to the car where Vikram was having a heart attack, he said, "Okay, your world is good. Spicy. But good. 9/10. Would get aata on my face again."
Isha hit his arm. "Shut up."
He caught her hand. Not hard. Just... caught it. Looked at her. "Next week, my world. You'll hate it. But you have to try. Friends' rules."
"What's your world?"
He smirked. "Opera."
Isha groaned. "I knew it. Torture."
He was still holding her hand. Neither of them noticed. Or maybe they did, and didn't let go.
[Scene 4: The Nightmare - Why Friends Matter ]
It happened 2 weeks later. 2 AM.
Isha's phone rang. Unknown number. She picked up, heart pounding.
"Miss Sharma?" It was Vikram. His voice was shaking. "Can you... can you come? Chhote sahab... he's..."
She didn't let him finish. Threw on a jacket over her night-suit and ran. Vikram had a car waiting at the gate.
Rahul's room was dark. He was on the bed, sitting up, drenched in sweat. Shaking. His good hand was clawing at the bedsheets. His eyes were open but unseeing.
"Rahul?" she whispered.
He didn't hear her. He was shouting. "No! Isha! Get back! TRUCK! TRUCK!"
He was reliving it. The accident. In his dream.
Vikram stood at the door, helpless. "He gets them sometimes. Since last month. Doctors say PTSD. We... we can't wake him. He gets violent if we touch him. Last time he threw a lamp."
Isha's blood went cold. _Because of me. He has nightmares because of me._
She walked to the bed. Slowly. Sat on the edge. Didn't touch.
"Rahul," she said. Clear. Loud. But calm. Like she used to in the ICU. "It's Isha. You're safe. You're in Malhotra House. The truck is gone. I'm okay. See? I'm right here. You saved me. Remember? You won."
His shouting lessened. Turned to muttering. His eyes were still wild, but they were looking for her.
"Isha?" he gasped.
"Here," she said. She took his shaking hand. It was ice cold. "I'm here. It was a dream. Just a dream. You're okay. I'm okay."
He gripped her hand. Like a drowning man. His breathing was ragged. "You... you were under it. I couldn't... I couldn't get to you..."
"I wasn't," she said firmly. "You got to me. Before the truck. You pushed me. I'm alive. Because of you. Feel my hand? I'm warm. I'm alive."
Slowly, very slowly, his breathing evened out. The wildness left his eyes. He looked at her. Really saw her.
"You came," he whispered. Like he couldn't believe it.
"You called," she said simply. "Or Vikram did. Same thing. Friends come. That's the rule, remember?"
He didn't let go of her hand. "Don't... don't go. Just... stay till I sleep? Please?"
His voice was so small. So broken. Not Rahul Malhotra. Just Rahul. A 23-year-old boy with nightmares.
Isha kicked off her chappals and sat on the bed properly, back against the headboard. "I'm not going anywhere, idiot. Sleep. I'll be here."
He laid down. Still holding her hand. Within 5 minutes, his breathing deepened. He was asleep. But he didn't let go.
Isha sat there all night. Watching him. This boy who had everything, but had nightmares because of her. This boy who was her best friend.
And she knew, with a certainty that scared her, that she would sit here for 100 nights if he needed.
Because that's what friends do.
[Scene 5: The Definition - We Are Just Friends ]
"Are you dating Rahul Malhotra?"
The question was from Priya, Isha's old hostel roommate. It was lunch break. 2 months after the nightmare night. Isha and Rahul were sitting under their tree, sharing Isha's tiffin. Rajma-chawal. His request. He said 5-star food was "boring".
Isha choked on her roti. Rahul calmly thumped her back, took a sip of water, and handed it to her.
Priya and 5 other girls were standing there, phones out, clearly recording.
Rahul looked up. Unbothered. "No," he said simply. "We're not dating."
Priya's eyes gleamed. "Then what are you? Because you live in his house. You eat together. You went for golgappe. He held your hand. Last week you were at the opera and you fell asleep on his shoulder. There are photos."
Isha's face went red. She _had_ fallen asleep at the opera. It was 4 hours of screaming. Rahul hadn't woken her. Just let her sleep and told everyone to be quiet.
Rahul put his roti down. Looked at Priya. Then at the phones.
"You want a label?" he asked. His voice wasn't angry. It was... teacher voice. Like he was explaining Economics. "Fine. I'll give you one."
He stood up. Used his cane, but he was steady.
"Isha Sharma is my friend," he said. Clear. Loud. For the phones. For the crowd. "She was not my friend 7 months ago. I was cruel to her. I thought she was a charity case. Then I did something stupid to prove I wasn't all bad, and I got hurt. She could have left. She had every right to. She owed me nothing."
He looked at Isha. She was looking down, embarrassed.
"But she stayed," he continued. "For 6 months. She wiped my mouth when I couldn't. She listened to me scream from pain. She yelled at me to walk. She holds my hand when I have nightmares about saving her life. She taught me that 30 rupees golgappe tastes better than a 3000 rupee dinner if you're with the right person."
He turned back to Priya.
"So no, we're not dating. Dating is for people who are trying to impress each other. I don't need to impress Isha. She's seen me piss in a bottle. She's seen me cry. And she's still here."
He sat back down. Picked up his roti.
"We're friends. The kind who don't keep tabs anymore. The kind who choose each other. Every day. Without a 500 rupee note telling us to."
He took a bite. Chewed. Then added, "And if anyone has a problem with that, they can discuss it with me. Or with MY group. Which, as of now, has 2 members. Me and her. And we're full."
He looked at Isha and winked. "Correct, Miss Sharma?"
Isha was crying. Again. But this time, they were good tears. She nodded, unable to speak.
Priya and her gang walked away. The video was already online. #JustFriends #MYGroup #RahulxIsha was trending.
Isha finally found her voice. "You... you didn't have to do that."
He shrugged, stealing a piece of achaar from her tiffin. "Yes I did. Friends' rule #5: Defend your friend from stupid people with phones."
"There are rules?"
"Yep. I'm making them up as we go. Rule #1: No tabs. Rule #2: Split the golgappe bill. Rule #3: Stay for nightmares. Rule #4: Opera is mandatory torture. Rule #5: Defend from idiots." He grinned. "We're good at it."
Isha laughed. Through her tears. "We're good at it."
And they were.
Not lovers. Not yet. Maybe never. But friends.
The best kind. The kind forged in rain, blood, guilt, and 6 months of rajma-chawal.
The kind that lasts. ..
Author Note :-
This chapter explores friendship born from trauma and healing. Real friendship is based on mutual respect, trust, and support, not on debt or obligation. The characters are fictional adults making their own choices. PTSD and nightmares after accidents are real and serious. If you or someone you know is struggling with trauma, please seek help from a qualified mental health professional. You don't have to carry it alone. Healthy relationships, whether friendship or romance, never involve keeping 'tabs' or owning another person. Everyone deserves to be chosen, not bought. Read responsibly ❤️.
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