Author's Note:

The first three chapters take us back to their teenage years-when she was 16 and he was 18. This brief backstory is meant to help you understand their past and the emotions that shape what comes next. I hope you enjoy this journey with them.

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Vedika's POV:

It was still night when the noise woke me.

Not a scream-worse. The kind of sound that crawls through walls and settles in your chest. Angry whispers. A chair dragged back too hard. A bottle clinked against the counter. The clock on the wall glowed 4:00 a.m. like it was judging us.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake my brother. He was eight, small for his age, sleeping with his fists curled near his face. I slept beside him every night. Not because I needed him-but because he needed me.

My throat was dry. I told myself I was only going for water.

The house felt different at night-smaller, tighter, like it was holding its breath. As I reached the hallway, the voices sharpened. My heart started pounding so loudly I was afraid they would hear it.

My mother was crying.

"You came home drunk again," she said, her voice shaking. "Do you even know what time it is? Where were you? Who were you with?"

My father laughed. Not embarrassed. Not guilty. Just amused.

"Why do you ask the same stupid questions every night?" he said. "It's my life. I can go wherever I want."

"You were with her," my mother said. "Don't lie to me. She's young-twenty years younger than you. Do you have no shame? Your daughter lives in this house."

"Don't teach me shame," he snapped. "And don't bring my daughter into this. You're the one who can't keep a man happy."

Something hit the table. Hard. I flinched.

"I gave you everything," my mother cried. "My youth, my body, my life. And this is what you do? You humiliate me?"

"Humiliate?" he scoffed. "Look at yourself. Always crying. Always complaining. If I'm with someone else, it's because you pushed me to it."

"That's a lie," she said. "You hit me, you insult me, and now you blame me for your affairs?"

There was a sharp sound-skin against skin.

I froze.

"Lower your voice," he growled. "Or I'll make you regret it."

"Go ahead," my mother sobbed. "Hit me again. That's all you know how to do."

"Don't provoke me," he shouted. "You think I don't know about you? Acting pure, but who knows what you do behind my back."

"How dare you," she said, her voice breaking. "I live for this family. For our children."

"Then remember your place," he said coldly. "You depend on me. Without me, you are nothing. If you don't like it, leave."

"And the children?" she whispered. "What about them?"

Silence.

Then, "They'll learn how the world works. Just like you should have."

I stepped back before my knees gave out.

My hands were shaking so badly I couldn't even hold the glass of water. I went back to the room, each step heavy, like I was carrying their words on my back.

I climbed into bed and wrapped my arms around my brother. He stirred, murmuring something in his sleep. I pulled the blanket over his ears, covering him-protecting him from a world that was already trying to break us.

I cried without making a sound.

This is what fighting does to children. It teaches us fear before courage. Silence before truth. We learn how to read moods, how to stay invisible, how to survive.

I held my brother tighter.

For him, I would endure.

For him, I would stay quiet.

But for myself, I made a promise-one I repeated again and again in the dark.

When I turn eighteen, I will leave this house.

I don't know where I'll go.

But anywhere will be better than here.

***

Morning arrived like nothing had happened.

That was the worst part.

Ma was in the kitchen, hair neatly braided, bangles clinking softly as she stirred the dal. Her eyes were swollen if you looked closely-but no one ever looked closely.

My mother went through a lot in her life. When she had me, she was already facing many challenges. After that, she experienced two miscarriages before finally having my brother, Moksh.

She smiled at me the way she always did, like the night had been erased.

"Wake your brother," she said gently. "You'll get late for school."

Her voice didn't shake. Mine did.

I nodded and went to the room. My brother was already awake, rubbing his eyes, asking if he could skip school because his stomach hurt. I knew that stomach ache. It lived somewhere between fear and confusion.

"You'll be fine," I said, forcing a smile as I fixed his tie. "I'll pick you up early."

He nodded, trusting me the way children do when they have no other choice.

Ma packed our lunch like she always did. Roti folded perfectly. Sabzi not too spicy. As if order in small things could hold the house together.

I watched her from the doorway and wondered how someone could survive by pretending. How she could swallow her pain every morning and serve it quietly to everyone else.

By the time I stepped out of the house, my chest already felt heavy.

School was loud. Alive. Too alive.

Ritika found me near the gate, waving like the world had been waiting just for her.

"Vedika!" she grinned, looping her arm through mine. "You won't believe what happened yesterday-"

She talked. I listened. Or pretended to.

Her laughter was contagious. Somewhere between the corridor and the staircase, I felt the weight in my chest loosen. Not disappear-but ease. School had that effect. It didn't fix you. It distracted you.

We reached our classroom together.

Chaos.

Paper bullets flew across the room-rolled sheets snapping against desks, boys shouting, laughing, ducking. Someone yelled, "Headshot!" Another desk shook as someone climbed onto it.

And then we walked in.

Everything stopped.

Every single boy turned.

For a second, the silence was louder than the noise before.

Then-

"Oooo, Varun!" someone sang.

"Vedika's here!" another laughed.

"Control your heart, Varun bhai!"

Heat rushed to my face.

I glanced instinctively toward Varun. He sat two rows back, ears red, staring very hard at his notebook like it had personally betrayed him.

Ritika leaned in, whispering, "They'll never let you live in peace."

I smiled. A small one. Practiced.

"Good morning, ma'am," the class chorused as the teacher entered, order snapping back into place.

I sat down, opened my notebook, and focused on the board.

For a while, it worked.

Equations replaced memories. Chalk dust replaced voices. The night faded-just enough.

But somewhere between the second period and lunch, I caught myself wondering how easy it was for people to joke, to tease, to laugh-when some of us were carrying entire wars inside our chests.

I straightened my spine.

I had learned one thing already.

At home, you survive by staying quiet.

At school, you survive by smiling.

***

Adiyukt's POV:

Assembly mornings were always loud before they officially began.

Shoes scuffed the ground. Whispers travelled faster than the breeze. The sun hadn't fully risen, yet the school already felt awake-too awake.

I stood at the front row, blazer straight, badge of School President pinned neatly to my chest. Twelfth grade. Eighteen. Old enough to be trusted with responsibility, young enough to still feel nervous about things I couldn't explain.

Veyom stood beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes wandering shamelessly. Loud, cheerful, impossible to miss.

"Bro," he murmured, nudging my arm, "this assembly is wasting premium people-watching time."

I ignored him. Mostly.

Monica-Head Girl-stood on the other side, clipboard in hand, already annoyed. She liked rules the way some people liked control. Clean lines. No exceptions.

A teacher stepped forward, clapped once for silence. "Uniform inspection today. Proper ties, polished shoes, trimmed nails. Monica, you'll check the boys. Aviyukt, you'll check the girls."

There was a murmur. A few raised eyebrows.

The teacher added sharply, "No partiality. That's the rule."

I nodded. Monica shot me a look that said don't mess this up.

Rows began to move, one by one. I checked quietly-ties straight, nails clean, ID cards visible. Most girls avoided eye contact. Some smiled nervously. Some looked bored.

Then I reached the tenth grade row.

My steps slowed before I realized it.

My heartbeat changed.

There she was.

Vedika.

She stood straight, hands folded, eyes lowered-not out of arrogance, but caution. Like someone who had learned that attention could be dangerous. The morning light touched her face softly, and for a second, the noise around me faded.

Her eyes were the first thing that always caught me. Deep. Honest. Her nose-slightly sharp, perfectly imperfect. Lips pressed together, like she was bracing for something.

I swallowed.

"Your... nails," I said, my voice betraying me with its hesitation.

She flinched-just a little-then lifted her hands. Her fingers trembled.

They weren't cut properly.

My gaze flicked to her collar.

No ID card.

Her breath hitched. Fear crossed her face quickly, practiced, like she knew exactly what forgetting things could cost her.

I could have written her name down.

I could have warned her.

I did neither.

I simply nodded.

"That's fine," I said quietly, already stepping away.

Her eyes snapped up, shock written clearly across her face. She hadn't expected mercy. That realization hurt more than anything else.

I moved on to the next girl, but I felt it-Veyom's stare from across the ground. He had seen everything.

By the time assembly ended, my nerves were shot.

Veyom caught up with me near the corridor, grinning like he'd just won something. "You didn't say anything," he said. "About the nails. Or the ID."

I shot him a warning look.

He laughed. "President saab," he teased, "since when do rules bend for tenth graders?"

I didn't answer.

He leaned closer. "You're a total lover boy, you know that?"

I groaned. "Shut up."

But as I walked away, I glanced once-just once-toward her class.

Vedika was already seated, still staring at her hands like she didn't trust them anymore.

And I knew then-

This wasn't just a crush.

This was something that would demand care.

***

Some memories don't knock.

They just arrive-quiet, uninvited-and suddenly you're not where your body is anymore.

I was standing in the cafeteria with Veyom, listening to him ramble about nothing important, when my eyes found her without permission. Like they always did.

Vedika.

And just like that, the present loosened its grip.

*******

Eleventh grade.

Her ninth.

The exam hall smelled of ink, fear, and polished desks that had seen too many nervous hands. I was already seated when the invigilator brought her to the bench beside mine.

She looked... lost.

Not scared-just confused, like she had walked into the wrong version of her day. Her brows were scrunched together, lips slightly parted as she scanned the question paper like it had personally offended her.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Then everything else followed.

Her hair-tied too loosely, strands slipping free every time she scratched her head in frustration. Her nose crinkling when she didn't understand something. The way she made faces at the paper, as if it might suddenly feel guilty and give her the answer.

I should have been focused.

I wasn't.

She shifted in her seat.

Thud.

Her knee brushed my thigh. Her legs are shorter then mine.

I froze.

She didn't even notice.

She was too busy fighting with a math problem, mumbling under her breath, tugging at her hair like the solution might be hiding there.

Again.

Another unintentional hit.

My pen paused mid-air. My heartbeat didn't.

She leaned forward, then back-elbow brushing my arm this time.

"Oh-sorry," she whispered finally, glancing at me.

Just for a second.

That was all it took.

I didn't know what it was. I still don't. But something tilted inside my chest, like a switch flipping without warning. I forgot the questions. Forgot the time. Forgot where I was.

I only knew one thing.

I wanted to look at her.

Not talk.

Not touch.

Just look.

She made a small face when she got stuck again-tongue peeking out slightly, eyes narrowed at the paper like she was negotiating with it. It was ridiculous.

And it was everything.

I asked permission to go to the washroom without understanding why. Cold water against my face. My reflection staring back at me like it had secrets.

What is happening to you?

I didn't fall in love that day.

I understood it.

*********

"That's it?" Veyom scoffed now, dragging me back. "That's why you love her? She makes faces and hits you by mistake?"

I glanced at him.

"She's beautiful," I said simply.

He rolled his eyes. "That's it? That's your big reason?"

"No," I said. "That's the smallest one."

Because how do you explain a beauty that doesn't try to be seen?

A beauty that exists even when someone doesn't believe in it themselves?

"She's... real," I added quietly. "And I can't believe someone like that exists."

Veyom studied me for a moment. Then smirked. "You're gone. Completely gone."

Maybe I was.

***

The cafeteria buzzed with noise-plates clattering, chairs scraping, conversations overlapping. I sat with my classmates, laughing when required, nodding when expected.

Vedika sat a few tables away.

I didn't look.

Not because I didn't want to.

Because I wanted to too much.

Then I heard her name.

"Vedika."

My jaw tightened before my mind caught up.

Varun.

A tenth grader. Loud. Careless. His friends circled him, nudging, whispering, laughing.

"You have a crush on her, right?" one of them teased.

"Just ask her," another said. "What's the big deal?"

Veyom leaned forward, interest sparkling. "So," he said casually, "what do you like about her?"

My foot connected with his shin under the table.

Hard.

He bit back a laugh.

I stood up.

Varun looked at me immediately-eyes widening.

"Why are you sitting with twelfth graders?" I asked, my voice calm but firm. "Go sit with your classmates. Focus on your studies. Boards are coming."

He swallowed.

"This love drama won't help you," I continued. "You're too young to waste time pretending you understand feelings."

Silence.

Varun nodded quickly and stood up without a word, gathering his tray and leaving.

Veyom burst out laughing the moment he was gone. "Wow," he said. "That lecture came straight from the heart."

I shot him a look.

"You're jealous," he added, grinning.

Maybe.

Or maybe I just knew something he didn't.

That some people don't fall in love loudly.

Some of us just stand back-

And look.

Later, heard something-I wish I had known this sooner: she loved sour mango candies.