Vedika's POV:

I didn't know when liking someone started to feel different from just noticing them.

With Varun, it wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was just... there. A small, confusing warmth that appeared whenever he was nearby. I didn't even know if it was liking.

The cafeteria was loud that day, as usual. Steel plates clanged. Voices overlapped. Someone spilled water and cursed under their breath.

I tied my shoulder-length hair into a loose ponytail before eating, the way I always did. Food felt intrusive otherwise.

Ritika leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"So, Vedika," she said casually, "what do you like the most?"

I didn't look up. "Sour candies."

She blinked. "That's it?"

"The green mango ones," I added. "The really sour ones. The ones you barely find anymore."

She grinned. "You're weird."

"Maybe," I shrugged, finally smiling.

She wasn't asking about candies. I knew that. And she knew I knew.

"So," she continued, pretending to be innocent, "nothing else you like? No one?"

I froze for half a second-long enough for her to catch it.

"I don't like anyone," I said too loudly, shoving food into my mouth.

Ritika laughed. "Relax. I was joking."

She wasn't.

She tilted her head. "So... how are things at home?"

The question landed wrong. Too sudden. Too sharp.

My chest tightened. For a split second, my mind slipped-my mother's smile that morning, stretched thin like plastic. The silence. The way everyone pretended nothing had happened.

I swallowed.

"Hey," I said quickly, forcing brightness into my voice, "when are you getting a boyfriend?"

She lit up instantly. "I already chose."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Your brother."

I stared at her. "He's eight."

"So?" she shrugged. "He's cute. I'll wait."

I laughed despite myself. "You're insane."

She leaned closer. "Tell him to stop blushing whenever I say that."

I pictured my little brother's ears turning red every time Ritika teased him about marriage, the way he hid behind me like I was a shield. The thought softened something inside me.

For a moment, I forgot everything else.

School ended the way it always did-with bells and chaos and people rushing toward their lives. I found my brother near the gate and took his hand automatically.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"Good," he said. "We had math quiz, then drawing competition."

"What did you draw?"

"You," he said simply.

My throat tightened. "Was it nice?"

He nodded seriously. "Very."

I smiled and squeezed his hand. I needed to get home quickly-tuition was waiting, responsibilities stacked neatly one after another.

My mother hadn't come yet.

I checked the road. Nothing.

"Bus?" Ritika asked.

I hesitated, then nodded.

The bus was already overcrowded when it arrived. People pressed in from every direction. The air was thick with sweat and impatience.

I pulled my brother closer, wrapping one arm around him, my hand gripping his shoulder tightly. Ritika stood beside me, fanning her face.

"I hate this," she muttered. "I can't even breathe. And the smell-ugh."

I was about to laugh-

When it happened.

A hand. Against my breast.

I froze.

Another touch-wrong, sudden, invasive.

My breath left my lungs.

I turned sharply, heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.

Nothing.

No one.

Just faces. Backs. Strangers staring past me like I didn't exist.

My skin burned where I had been touched. My stomach twisted into something sharp and nauseating. I pulled my brother even closer, my fingers digging into his arm without realizing.

My mind screamed questions I couldn't answer.

Was it real?

Did I imagine it?

Did it even matter?

I didn't say anything.

I couldn't.

The bus lurched forward, and I stood there-silent, shaken, holding my brother like an anchor-learning something I would never forget:

Sometimes, fear doesn't come with a face.

Sometimes, it comes and disappears.

And it leaves you standing there, doubting yourself.

***

By the time I reached home, my body felt heavier than it should have.

My mother was in the kitchen.

She smiled when she saw us-too quickly. Then I saw her face.

A faint swelling near her cheekbone. Yellowish-purple, like a bruise trying to hide under skin. Her dupatta was pulled higher than usual, almost defensive.

My brother stopped walking.

"Maa?" he asked softly.

She knelt in front of him at once, panic flickering across her face before she masked it.

"Nothing happened," she said quickly. "I just hit the wall."

I felt something snap inside my chest.

Walls don't leave fingerprints.

I looked at her properly then-the way her shoulders were tense, the way she avoided my eyes, the way her voice trembled just enough to be noticeable if you loved her.

I wasn't a child.

I wasn't blind.

My brother clung to her, frightened now, his small hands pressing into her dupatta. She stroked his hair, whispering reassurances, and for his sake, I stayed quiet.

For his sake, I swallowed everything.

"I have tuition," I said after a moment.

She nodded immediately, grateful. "Go. Don't be late."

At tuition, the room felt smaller than usual. Too many students. Too many voices. Too many expectations.

The teacher called my name twice before I realized she was speaking to me.

"Vedika," she snapped, irritation clear.

"What is happening to you these days? You're here, but your mind is somewhere else."

I stared at my notebook. The words blurred.

"You were a good student," she continued. "Now you're distracted, careless. Do you even want to study?"

I wanted to laugh.

Do you even know what it takes to sit still when your life is falling apart?

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

She sighed, disappointed. "Focus. This is your future."

Future.

The word felt hollow.

When tuition ended, I didn't go home immediately.

I walked until my legs hurt, until the noise of traffic swallowed my thoughts. Then I sat down on the roadside, right there-dust, broken pavement, strangers passing without looking.

And I cried.

I cried like something inside me had finally given up.

My chest heaved. My throat burned. I pressed my hands against my arms, scrubbing my skin hard, as if I could erase the feeling still clinging to me-the bus, the touch, the fear, the disgust.

Stop, I told myself.

Stop thinking.

Stop remembering.

But my mind wouldn't listen.

Last night-my parents' voices cutting into each other.

This morning-my mother's fake smile.

The bus-hands I never saw but never forgot.

The bruise-proof I wasn't imagining anything.

I rubbed my arms harder, breathing unevenly, feeling dirty in a way soap couldn't fix.

"I didn't do anything," I whispered, though no one was listening. "I didn't do anything wrong."

The sky answered before anyone else could.

Rain.

Slow at first. Then heavier.

Water soaked into my hair, my clothes, my skin. People ran for shelter. I stayed where I was, crying openly now, rain mixing with tears until no one could tell the difference.

Maybe this way, everything would wash off.

The fear.

The shame.

The anger.

I hugged my knees to my chest, shaking, rain drumming against the road, and for the first time that day, I let myself feel it all.

Because holding it in was hurting more.

Aviyukt's POV:

Rain had softened the city.

The streets looked smaller under it, quieter-like the world had decided to lower its voice for a while.

Veyom and I were walking back from tuition, both of us half-drenched, half-laughing. He held his umbrella wrong on purpose, tilting it just enough to push me into the rain.

"You're the only person I know who enjoys ice cream in this weather," he said, licking the melting edge of his cone. "Psychotic behavior."

"You're eating it too," I shot back, shoving him slightly.

"That's peer pressure," he grinned.

We bumped shoulders, tried to steal each other's umbrellas even though we both had one, laughing loud enough to forget the day.

Then Veyom slowed. "Hey," he said. "Someone's crying."

I didn't hear it at first. Rain can hide a lot of sounds. Then I did-raw, uneven sobs cutting through the steady fall.

She was sitting near the roadside.

Curled in on herself. Soaked. Crying like she didn't care who saw.

My chest tightened before my mind caught up.

"It's... Vedika," I said quietly.

I didn't know how I knew. I just did.

Veyom stopped joking instantly. "What happened to her?"

I didn't answer.

I was already walking toward her.

I didn't think. Didn't plan. I just moved.

Up close, she looked smaller than I remembered. Her shoulders shook violently, hands wrapped around herself as if she was trying to hold something together that kept slipping apart.

I turned to Veyom. "Give me your jacket."

He didn't ask why. Just pulled it off and handed it to me.

I draped it over her shoulders carefully.

She flinched.

"I- I'm sorry," she said immediately, voice hoarse, not looking up. "I'm going home."

"No," Veyom said gently. "It's okay."

She shook her head, still staring at the ground. "I didn't mean to... I'm fine."

She wasn't. "You can cry. It helps. You'll feel lighter."

I couldn't say anything further. My throat felt locked. A thousand questions crowded my head-Are you hurt? Did someone-?-but none of them deserved to be spoken.

So I did the only thing that felt right.

I took my umbrella and placed it in her hand.

Her fingers trembled as they closed around the handle.

"You should go home," I said quietly. "You'll catch a cold."

She nodded, barely.

She didn't look at us. Not even once.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the ground-on our shoes, of all things. As if faces were too much. As if eye contact would break something.

She stood up slowly, clutching the jacket tighter around herself, and walked away.

Veyom and I didn't move.

We stood there, rain soaking through our clothes, watching her until she reached the corner of her street.

"She didn't even ask who we were," Veyom said softly.

I shook my head. "She knew."

We stayed longer than necessary. Longer than normal. Watching until her gate closed behind her.

Veyom glanced at me. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I said immediately.

Not because I didn't care.

Because I cared too much.

I didn't want to imagine what could make someone cry like that. I didn't want to name it. I didn't want to know-because knowing would mean accepting that something terrible might have touched her life, and I wasn't ready for that.

All I knew was this:

Something had broken her that day.

And I was terrified of asking what.

Vedika's POV:

I didn't want to look up.

I already knew who they were.

My Seniors.

Aviyukt, the Head Boy with whom I shared desk for exam. And his friend Veyom.

The most popular boys in school. That's what everyone said about them.

My fingers clenched around my knees as rain mixed with my tears. I felt stupid for crying in public. I felt small.

Embarrassed. Exposed. I kept my head down, staring at their shoes instead-clean, expensive, untouched by the mess

I was drowning in.

Then warmth.

A jacket settled on my shoulders. I flinched. My body reacted before my mind could-like it always does. I shrank back, expecting something else to follow. A hand. A shout. A hit.

Nothing came.

No one scolded me.

One of them said softly, "It's okay."

Another voice-gentler-said, "You can cry. It helps. You'll feel lighter."

No one had ever said that to me before.

A hand pressed an umbrella into my palm. I held it like it might disappear.

"You should go home," he said quietly. "You'll catch a cold."

I didn't look at them.

I couldn't.

But I watched their shoes step back, farther... farther... until the rain swallowed them.

They didn't leave.

They stood at a distance, watching.

I could feel it.

Someone cared enough to stay.

When I reached home, my heart started racing.

"Do you even know what time it is?"My mother's voice hit me before her hand did.

The slap came fast. Sharp. Familiar.

"Why were you roaming around like this?" she shouted.

I cried out, holding my cheek. "Mom... why are you hitting me?"

Her eyes were wild. Tired. Broken.

"I was worried and I love you," she said, grabbing my arm hard enough to hurt. "That's why I'm hitting you."

The words burned worse than the slap.

I looked at her, confused, terrified.

"Papa loves you too," I said softly. "Is that why he hits you?"

Her grip tightened.

She didn't answer.

She shoved me toward my room. "Change your clothes. Come for dinner."

I didn't.

I couldn't.

Later, the door creaked open.

Moksh.

My little brother.

He climbed onto the bed quietly, like he was scared I might break. He placed half a chapati on my palm. A few green beans. One small piece of potato sabzi.

"Eat," he whispered. "Otherwise you'll get weak."

I stared at the food.

Then I broke.

I ate while crying, tears dripping onto my hand. Moksh started crying too, his shoulders shaking.

"Why are you crying?" he asked.

I lied.

"I fell while coming from tuition," I said.

"It hurt."

He frowned. "Where?"

I didn't answer.

Instead, I placed both hands over my knees.

He understood.

He gently massaged them, blowing air like he always did when I was younger. "It'll be okay," he said seriously, like a doctor.

I laughed through my tears.

He kissed both my knees. "See? The pain is gone."

For a moment... it really was.

I helped him with his homework. Read my own notes beside him. Pretended everything was normal.

That night, I lay awake.

Listening.

Waiting.

Praying the walls wouldn't start shaking again.

***

Months had passed. Somehow, the storm of that rainy day, the chaos of tuition, the bus... everything that had broken me, had faded into distant shadows. Life had moved on, as it always does, even if pieces of you refuse to.

Ritika and I sat together, laughing over our lunch, pretending that the last few months hadn't left small cracks in us. I had almost forgotten the rawness of that night, the fear, the tears-but I hadn't forgotten him. Aviyukt. The head boy and his friend, who had quietly handed me his jacket months ago, standing silently as I cried.

I remembered them.

After school one day, I had returned the jacket to him, nervously fumbling with the folds of the fabric. "Thank you... for helping me," I had whispered.

He had just nodded, that calm, unreadable expression on his face that somehow made my heart skip.

Life moved on.

Exams were nearing. Papers piled up. Parents nagged. Tuition consumed the evenings.

And yet... there was this strange, sweet ritual that had begun.

Every day, someone left sour mango candies on my table.

Always the same brand I loved.

Always with a small note: "Don't cry. Just smile."

Ritika had discovered the little messages first and had teased me relentlessly ever since.

"Your secret admirer strikes again," she would whisper, elbowing me. "I swear, Vedika, someone's completely in love with you."

"Ritika! Stop," I'd groan, shoving her lightly. "It's nothing."

But Ritika didn't stop. And today, she had decided: we would find out who it was.

We got to school early, hiding behind the benches, peeking into the classroom. But Moksh hadn't been feeling well this morning, so I had been late. Ritika groaned. "Ugh! We're already almost late. If we miss him... forget it. He's gone for today."

I hurried inside. And then I saw him.

Varun.

He was standing near my table, casually leaning, pretending to check his bag. My heart froze.

"Vedika..." Ritika hissed. "Oh my God. Look! Maybe it's him! He's the one leaving the candies!"

I blinked. "Ritika, stop it. You don't know that."

"Do you see him?" she whispered urgently. "He's sitting right there! Oh my God-he really likes you. I mean, look at him! Who else would be putting candies on your table every day?"

"I... I don't know," I murmured, my cheeks heating up.

I moved to my desk, trying to appear casual, but my eyes kept darting toward him. And then-I caught him looking at me.

He winked.

My stomach did a little flip.

I looked away quickly, pretending to organize my books, but my ears burned, my heart raced, and I could feel Ritika nudging me with her elbow, grinning

like she'd won the lottery.

We both sat there, pretending to focus on our work, but our eyes betrayed us.

I stole glances. He stole glances. And for a few stolen seconds, the world shrank to just the two of us, the faint sweetness of sour mango candies, and the thrill of something new... something soft and dangerous, like the first spark of love.

Ritika muttered under her breath,

"You're blushing like crazy. Admit it-you like him."

I groaned silently. "Shut up. It's nothing."

But it wasn't nothing.

Not at all.