🥀CHAPTER 5

Ishika Arora

It’s been a week since Siddhartha and I finally crossed that line we’d been dancing around for the last year and a half. A week since we confessed what was so painfully obvious to both of us but that we had never dared to say out loud. He loves me, and I love him. Simple. And complicated. But it’s ours.

Now, as we stand outside his apartment building, I feel no hesitation. No apprehension. Just the familiarity of Siddhartha beside me and the excitement of finally seeing a side of him I’ve heard so much about but never experienced firsthand.

"Well, here we are," he says, turning to look at me with that easy grin. I’ve seen it a thousand times, but it feels different now. It’s a smile that says more than words ever could. "You sure you're ready to see the mess that is my apartment?"

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you seriously telling me you’re messy? I find that hard to believe.”

Siddhartha laughs, the sound so natural and unforced. He leads the way inside, and I follow, my gaze shifting from the building to the interior of his space.

His apartment isn’t what I expected.

It’s cozy, warm, the kind of place that feels lived-in, yet not overwhelmingly cluttered. There’s a minimalist charm to it—clean lines, simple furniture—but it’s clear this place has personality. It’s him, somehow. His scent lingers in the air, a mix of his cologne and something more, something distinctly him.

Siddhartha hangs his keys on the hook near the door, then gestures toward the living room. “Make yourself at home.”

I glance around, noting the large windows that let in the soft glow of afternoon sunlight. The walls are painted a soft gray, adorned with a few abstract paintings I can’t quite interpret. A plush beige couch sits opposite a television, and a few low bookshelves line the walls. But what catches my attention is the collection.

“Whoa,” I murmur before I even realize I’ve said it.

Siddhartha follows my gaze, and I can see the playful glint in his eyes as he steps beside me.

“Ah, you noticed,” he says, his voice teasing.

“Noticed?” I chuckle, stepping closer to the shelves. "How could I not? It's like a shrine to Pokémon in here."

And it really is. I didn’t think anyone could have more Pokémon plushies than I do, but Siddhartha is giving me a run for my money. The shelves are practically overflowing with them—rows of colorful, soft creatures, all carefully arranged. There are Pikachu, Eevee, Charmander, Squirtle… and then, right in the center, is a massive collection of Chikorita.

I blink.

"Is that… just Chikorita?" I ask, a smile tugging at my lips.

Siddhartha looks a little sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe I have a soft spot for Chikorita."

I laugh, crossing my arms. "A soft spot? This looks like a full-on obsession. There are at least a dozen Chikoritas here. Did you buy them all in one go, or did you just… keep finding them?"

Siddhartha grins, the usual cocky confidence in his expression, but there’s a hint of something softer, something more vulnerable. "Well, I have a thing for grass-type Pokémon, okay? They're cute, they're chill, and Chikorita's just… it."

“You know,” I tease, “I always thought you were cooler than this, but seeing you with all these Chikorita plushies? Kind of ruins the mystery.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Oh, really? And here I thought you’d find my Chikorita collection endearing.”

“Endearing?” I let out a small laugh. "You know, I thought I was the only one who was obsessed with collecting Pokémon plushies. Guess I was wrong.”

“I mean, who wouldn’t want a cute, grass-type starter on their shelf?” He gestures toward the rest of his collection. "They're like tiny, cuddly reminders of the good times. Plus, they're comforting, don't you think?"

I can’t help but smile at that, at how... authentic Siddhartha is in this moment. He doesn’t have to put on any act around me. He's not afraid to be a little dorky. It's almost like he’s letting me into a part of him I didn’t know existed. And I like it. I like it a lot.

“Okay, I’ll admit,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “They’re kind of adorable. Maybe I’ll start collecting them too, and we can have a little competition. Who has the biggest collection?”

Siddhartha smirks. “That’s what I thought. You’re already hooked.”

I roll my eyes but can’t hide my grin. “I can’t even believe you have all these. I’m honestly kind of impressed.”

“You should be. It’s a rare sight,” he says, a bit smug. “I mean, who else has a Chikorita plush army?”

I glance at the plushies again, noticing a few are a little worn out, some have frayed edges where they’ve been hugged a little too much. “I’m guessing these aren’t just for decoration. Do you actually… sleep with them?”

Siddhartha’s expression doesn’t change, though I can see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I do. What about it?”

I blink, then burst out laughing. “You do sleep with them! I can’t believe you. That’s too cute.”

“I told you,” he says, holding his hands up in mock defense. “You’re the one who walked into my apartment and started judging my plushie collection. Now you know the truth.”

I shake my head, still grinning. "I just… never expected this. You, Mr. Serious and Mysterious, with an army of adorable, huggable plushies. It's like a secret side of you I never knew about."

"Well," he shrugs, "I’ve got a lot of layers. Maybe you'll discover more as time goes on."

I smile softly at that, my heart fluttering a little. The way he says it, so nonchalantly, like the idea of me sticking around and getting to know him more is something he looks forward to. It makes me feel like we’re not just two people who confessed their feelings, but two people on the edge of something bigger. Something more.

“Alright, enough with the Chikorita talk,” he says, crossing his arms and giving me a teasing look. “You came here to visit, not to roast my plushies. Want something to drink?”

I nod, still smiling. “Sure, I’ll take some water.”

He heads into the kitchen, and I glance around the apartment again, my eyes landing on a few more things. A guitar propped up against the wall. A few comic books strewn across the coffee table. A neatly organized desk, the top covered in notebooks and papers—probably his work or ideas for his projects. The place feels… comfortable, familiar. Like he’s not trying to impress anyone. Like he’s just being himself.

And somehow, that makes me feel even more at home here than I expected.

Siddhartha comes back with a glass of water and hands it to me. “Here you go,” he says, and I take it, our fingers brushing lightly as I accept it.

"Thanks," I say softly, looking into his eyes for a moment. I want to say more. I want to tell him how much I appreciate this, how much it means to me to see him in his space, surrounded by all these little pieces of who he is. But instead, I just smile.

He smiles back, and in that moment, everything feels easy. Natural. Like we’ve known each other for years—because we have. But now, things are different. And I’m excited to see where this new chapter will take us.

“Don’t judge me too harshly for my plushie obsession, okay?” he says, his voice playful but sincere.

I grin. “I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try my best.”

He chuckles, and the sound wraps around me like a warm blanket. Maybe I don’t need to say anything more right now. Maybe we’re already saying everything we need to, just by being here together.

And as I sit there in his apartment, surrounded by his Pokémon collection, his presence filling up the room, I realize that this feels just right. Just like us.

The air between us settles into something comfortable, something intimate. I sip my water, my eyes occasionally flickering back to the shelves where the Chikorita plushies seem to stare back at me, their innocent faces almost too sweet. The quiet hum of the apartment creates a soft backdrop to the warmth of the moment, but then, as if on cue, Siddhartha breaks the silence.

He walks over to his stereo, scrolling through the playlist on his phone. I watch him, curious, unsure of what he's about to choose. His fingers pause over the screen, and then, with a satisfied smile, he hits play.

The familiar, soothing sound of Kishore Kumar’s "Ae Mere Dil Ke Chain" fills the room.

I blink in surprise, my gaze snapping to Siddhartha. The mellow, romantic melody washes over us, and I immediately recognize the song. It’s an old classic, the kind of timeless tune that tugs at heartstrings and makes you want to close your eyes and drift away in its beauty. But what really surprises me is that Siddhartha, of all people, has chosen it. This song feels like something from another era, not the kind of music I’d expect him to play.

He turns back to me, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You know this one, don’t you?" he asks, already moving to stand beside me.

I nod, my heart unexpectedly light. "Of course, who doesn’t? It’s one of my mom’s favorites."

Siddhartha raises an eyebrow. "Really? I didn’t know you were a fan of old-school Bollywood songs."

I grin, feeling a sudden spark of connection, like we’ve just discovered another thing we share. "I didn’t say I was a fan, but I can appreciate the classics. And my mom? She loves this one. She’d play it on repeat back when I was a kid."

His grin widens, and before I can even process what’s happening, he holds out his hand, his expression playful. "Well, if you know it so well, then how about a dance?"

I stare at him, momentarily caught off guard. "A dance? Here? Now?"

Siddhartha’s grin grows wider, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Why not? This song is about love, about feeling free. No better time than now."

I laugh, the sound light and carefree. "You really think you can pull off a dance in the middle of your living room? With me?"

He shrugs casually, but there’s something warm in his gaze, something that makes me want to say yes. "I’m not asking for a full-on performance. Just… a little fun. Come on, Ishika. It’ll be fun."

I hesitate for only a second before I place my hand in his, feeling that familiar flutter in my chest as our fingers intertwine. It’s like everything else fades away for a moment. The song plays on, the melody wrapping itself around us, and I let him lead me to the center of the room.

Siddhartha pulls me close, and instinctively, my body follows his movements. He’s not a professional dancer—far from it—but there’s a relaxed ease in his steps. It’s more about the feeling than the form, and somehow, we fit together like we’ve been doing this for years.

As we sway gently to the rhythm, the lyrics of the song fill the space between us. "Ae mere dil ke chain, chain aaya…" The words are sweet, wistful, and they make the whole world outside feel far away.

Siddhartha laughs, clearly having fun with this. His voice, low and slightly teasing, breaks the silence. "I hope you're ready to have your heart stolen by my amazing dance moves."

I chuckle, my lips curving into a smile. "I’m not sure I’m prepared for the full force of your ‘amazing moves.’ This feels more like a slow-motion disaster."

He grins at me, and for a second, I swear the room feels even warmer, like our laughter is echoing off the walls. "Trust me, this is top-tier dance material."

We continue swaying, our movements less coordinated but more comfortable with each passing second. Every time I think I’ll step on his foot or trip, he adjusts, guiding me smoothly with his hand on my back, his other hand holding mine firmly. There’s no rush, no expectations, just the carefree joy of the moment.

As the song plays on, I catch a glimpse of Siddhartha’s face—his features softened, the usual teasing edge replaced by something more genuine. He looks relaxed, at peace. I realize, in that moment, how rare it is to see him like this.

We’re laughing now, more than dancing, as I try to mimic his exaggerated moves. Every now and then, I step too far, and we stumble, catching each other in a shared moment of clumsy grace. There’s something undeniably perfect about it.

I pull back slightly, shaking my head in mock disbelief. "Okay, okay, I think you’ve officially turned me into a believer in your dance skills. Who knew you had it in you?"

Siddhartha chuckles, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "I told you. I’m full of surprises."

“You really are,” I say, my voice softer, the weight of the words settling between us. For a moment, everything feels perfectly aligned—like we’re in this together, completely in sync with the music, with each other.

The song continues, the sweet sound of Kishore Kumar’s voice echoing softly around us. We stop moving for a second, just standing there in the middle of the room, our laughter fading into a comfortable silence. The song is almost over, but it feels like it could go on forever.

Siddhartha leans in slightly, his voice low but playful. "Alright, ready for the grand finale?"

Before I can answer, he spins me around—one swift move that catches me off guard. I laugh, caught up in the sudden whirlwind of it, but it’s not dizzying. His grip on me is steady, and as I come back into his arms, we finish the dance with one final, slow sway, both of us grinning like fools.

As the last note of the song lingers in the air, we both stop, just standing there for a beat, our chests rising and falling in sync with the gentle rhythm of our laughter.

“I think that was pretty perfect,” I say, my voice light, teasing, but undeniably happy.

Siddhartha smiles, his eyes softening as he looks down at me. "You’re right. It was perfect."

For a moment, neither of us says anything. We just stand there, not needing words to fill the silence.

And in that instant, I realize: sometimes, it’s the most unexpected moments—the ones that seem small, almost silly—that turn out to be the most meaningful.

🕛

Present time

I sit in the driver’s seat of the car, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. My breath is shallow, and my chest feels tight as I try to process what just happened. How dare Siddhartha talk to my son after all these years?

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to calm myself. But the images flash before me—Siddhartha’s familiar face, his easy smile, the way he seemed so comfortable talking to Ishaan. After everything that happened, I never expected him to just approach us like that. Like nothing had ever changed. Like it had all been forgotten.

I can’t get rid of the anger bubbling inside me. Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to talk to Ishaan like they were old friends, like he had any right to do so?

Beside me, I hear the soft, hiccupping sobs of my son. Ishaan is clutching his newly purchased Chikorita plushie to his chest, his little hands trembling as he clings to it for comfort. His face is streaked with tears, and he sniffles between sobs, looking up at me with a mix of confusion and hurt.

I want to reach over, pull him into my arms, and reassure him. I want to tell him that it’s okay, that I’m here, and everything will be fine. But for a second, all I can think about is the anger swirling inside me.

Ishaan doesn't need to deal with this. He doesn't need to be part of the mess I’ve made.

My grip on the steering wheel loosens, and I inhale deeply, trying to shake off the tension in my body. When I open my eyes again, I look down at Ishaan, his little face scrunched in distress. My heart aches for him, and suddenly, the anger towards Siddhartha feels far away.

I gently place my hand on Ishaan’s trembling shoulder, my voice softening. “Hey, hey, sweetheart,” I murmur, my words as soothing as I can make them. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just a misunderstanding. You don’t need to cry.”

Ishaan’s tiny sobs don’t stop right away. He presses his face into his Chikorita plushie, squeezing it tightly as if it could protect him from the hurt. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “Mama… you told me not to talk to strangers… but… but he’s… he’s not a stranger, right?”

I can feel the weight of his confusion, the little crinkle of his brow, the uncertainty. He’s only four, and the world is still so big and complicated for him. And I—I—was the one who taught him to be wary, to be cautious. But here I am, sitting next to him, angry and upset, when he’s just trying to make sense of everything.

I swallow hard, pushing my own feelings down so I can focus on him. My voice is gentle as I speak, making sure my words reach him. “Ishaan, sweetheart, I’m really sorry if I scared you. You’re right. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that sometimes, Mama has to be extra careful. There are things... things you’re too young to understand.”

He looks up at me then, his little face still tear-streaked but calmer now, his eyes wide with that innocent trust that only a child can have.

I pull him close, my arms wrapping around him protectively. He clings to me without hesitation, his Chikorita plushie still tightly in his hands. I kiss the top of his head, feeling the warmth of his little body against mine.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” I whisper, my voice breaking a little. “I didn’t mean to make you feel scared. You can talk to anyone you want, okay? But sometimes, people come into our lives when we’re not ready for them, and Mama just gets scared.”

Ishaan sniffles again, but this time his sobs are quieter, more controlled. I can feel him relaxing into my arms, his tiny fingers still clutching his plushie but not so desperately anymore.

“Promise?” he asks, his voice small but earnest.

I smile softly, pulling him back a little so I can look into his eyes. “I promise, Ishaan. It’s okay. Mama’s got you. And I’ll always keep you safe, I promise.”

He sniffles one more time, then wipes his nose on his sleeve before finally letting out a shaky little giggle. “Chikorita’s gonna protect me, too, right?”

I laugh softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Of course, Chikorita’s a tough little Pokémon. He’ll protect you when Mama can’t.”

Ishaan’s face lights up with a grin, and for the first time since we left the store, he seems like himself again. He hugs his Chikorita plushie even tighter and buries his face in its soft green leaves, a small smile curving his lips.

“Okay,” he says, nodding solemnly, as if deciding that everything is all right again.

I give him one last squeeze, my heart swelling as I watch him. "Good boy. Now, how about we head home? We’ve got all our groceries, and I think we both could use a little break."

He nods enthusiastically, his eyes already sparkling with excitement again. “Yay! Can we have ice cream when we get home?”

I roll my eyes playfully but nod. “Sure. You can have ice cream. But only if you promise to finish your veggies tonight.”

Ishaan giggles, his little arms wrapping around my neck as he snuggles into me. "Deal!"

With that, I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace settle over me. I start the car, the engine humming to life as we pull out of the parking lot, the sound of Ishaan’s soft chatter filling the space around us. The tension from earlier feels distant now, and I focus on the road ahead, my mind clearer.

As we drive home, I glance at Ishaan in the rearview mirror. His smile is wide and genuine, his Chikorita plushie still clutched tightly to him.

~•~

🥀 Chapter 6

Siddhartha Roy Kapoor

The sun is starting to dip behind the towering buildings of IIT Bombay, casting long shadows across the green lawns. The campus is filled with the usual hustle and bustle of college life, students moving in every direction, some heading to the mess, others to their classrooms, and some like me, just hanging around, waiting for friends.

I’m sitting on the cool grass beneath a large banyan tree, leaning against its gnarled trunk, trying to ignore the rising heat of the late afternoon. My back is sore from studying all morning, and my mind is craving a break. I’ve been waiting for Abhishek and Harsh for what feels like forever now. But instead of pacing around or checking my watch every five seconds, I’m... staring.

Staring at her.

Ishika.

I don’t even try to hide it. I’ve been sitting here with her for the past half hour, chatting and laughing about anything and everything. But now, I’m distracted. Completely, utterly distracted.

She’s sitting right next to me, her knees pulled up to her chest, her back slouched comfortably against the tree, her gaze focused on her phone as she scrolls through something. Every now and then, she looks up, catching my eye. And every time, I feel that familiar flutter in my chest. She gives me that teasing smile, the one that always leaves me fumbling for words.

It’s been about a month since we officially got together. Yeah, I know, a month isn’t exactly a long time, but it feels like an eternity. After knowing each other since our second year of college, things finally clicked between us. Madam spared glance at me after being friends for this long .

I often wonder how this happened?

Was she attracted to me from the start ? Or she grew on me . If it’s the second one , I really wanna know what made this flirty girl interested in a guy like me .

She’s playful, full of life, and always one step ahead of me in every conversation. And me? I’m the one who’s constantly trying to catch up, to keep up with her quick wit and charm. I never thought I’d be the one caught off guard by someone like her. But here I am, lost in her every glance, every word.

She glances at me, catching my eye for the third time in a row. Her lips curve into a smile—mischievous, playful, knowing. Damn it. I can feel my face flush, and I quickly look away, pretending to focus on something else, anything else.

I take out my phone then open the lock screen . I scroll randomly on my phone . Not even knowing what I was looking for .

But I know she’s enjoying this. I can feel it.

"So, Siddhartha," she says, her voice light and teasing, breaking the silence between us, "What do you think my kids will look like ?"

As soon as I hear her words a sudden cough left my mouth  . I choke on nothing but air .

The question is out of nowhere, and it takes me a moment to process it. Kids? I blink, trying to make sense of what she’s asking. My mind races, my eyes darting over to her to make sure I heard her correctly.

"Kids?" I repeat, slightly thrown off.

She nods, a sly smile curling on her lips. "Yeah, my future kids . You know my next generation , my offspring . What do you think they’d look like?"

I try to keep my cool, but my heart is already pounding in my chest. Kids? She’s asking about kids? My stomach flips as I imagine it. Us. Together. Our kids. I can’t even wrap my head around it. But wait .

Oh my God , She didn't even say our kids . This sly of a woman saying " her " kids . What the hell , she even mean by her kids . Does she think I've some fault in me or what . Or does she still think , she'll have arranged marriage at the age of 28 .

Then I glance at her . And realization drawn in me . This little penguin of a woman is trying to make fun of me .She’s still watching me intently, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

Okay . Bring it on . I'll not back off .

" your kids definitely be stubborn. Like mother like kids. I bet your stubbornness won't let other qualities dominate it " I say looking at her intently .

I can see the challenge in her eyes, and I know she’s not going to let this go that easily. "Stubborn?" she repeats, raising an eyebrow. "

She then laughs, a sound that makes my heart do a little flip. "Oh, I’m definitely not stubborn. I’m just... determined," she says, her eyes locking with mine, a gleam of mischief in them. "But I think my kids would definitely have my looks, don’t you think?"

" you do know right kids mostly go after father , in terms of looks " .

She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. “So you're telling me , my looks won't be dominated but my stubbornness will dominate? . Oh boy , that's not a nice thing to say to your girlfriend you know. Who knows, when this stubbornness starts to think about the word that starts with B "

I chuckle, unable to hide the warmth spreading through me at the thought of it. " Mujhe daraneka tarika thora casual hain  [ your way of threatening me is casual ] . But I'm an honest man , I'll not back off from truth . "

She looks at me while raising her one eyebrow as if saying " one more word mr. And you'll be back to single " .

Silly her . Doesn't she know, everyone in this campus knows Ishika Arora is not into cringe stuff like constant breakup - patchup things . I'm no exception .

" And there's another truth too "

" another? "

" yeah . All these while I was talking about your kids . But if we talk about our kids . Then they'll surely be a carbon copy of yours . After all my genes wouldn't even dream of defeat your genes , let alone dominate them. They'll be happy being roaming behind you , just like I do . So rest assured, our kids would look and behave just like you " .

As soon as I say this , I see her light wheat-ish tone cheeks flares up and embraces light pink hue .

" This girl can blush huh " I think while I'm physically unable to look away from her .

" mic drop sid . I'm speechless " A laugh erupts from her lips as she looks away from my eyes .

She nudges me , her smile widening. “ Finally You’re learning from your best friend huh . Keep it up . " She winks at me . Now my cheeks warms up too .

I laugh again, but this time, it’s not quite as natural. She’s so close now, her shoulder almost touching mine, her breath warm against my skin. My pulse picks up as I realize how much I want this—want us. It’s crazy to think about our future, but the way she’s looking at me, the way she’s so comfortable with me, makes me wonder if this could be real.

Before I can say anything else, the sound of footsteps interrupts us. I glance up, momentarily startled, only to see Abhishek and Harsh walking towards us, their usual banter and loud laughter filling the air. They’re obviously not in a rush, strolling over as if they’re taking their sweet time.

Ishika straightens up, the spell between us broken as she stands and waves them over. “Finally, you guys show up,” she calls out, her tone playful.

Abhishek looks between Ishika and me, his eyes narrowing in that way he does when he’s about to say something annoying. “Well, well, well,” he says, his grin wide. “What’s this? Siddhartha, are you too busy staring at your girlfriend to notice we’ve arrived?”

I feel my face heat up. Damn it. I wasn’t even trying to be that obvious. But Abhishek is always one to point out the obvious, especially when it comes to me and Ishika.

Harsh , last one of us best friend tro , who’s been a little quieter, elbows Abhishek with a grin. “I think it’s cute, man. I bet , you’ve been staring at her for the last half hour while waiting for us . Don’t even try to deny it.”

I glance at Ishika, who is now holding her phone up to show something to Nidhi, who’s walked up behind Harsh. She’s trying to supress her laughter or trying to tease Ishika . Either way, I’m still caught off guard, my face flaming at the realization that they’ve all been watching me.

“Seriously, man,” Abhishek continues, his voice teasing, “It’s been a month, and you’re still acting like you’re in the ‘getting to know each other’ phase. You both know each other for more than one and half year now.”

I shoot Abhishek a glare, but it’s hard to keep up the act. I know he’s right. I’ve been staring at Ishika, my mind lost in the conversation we were having . It’s just... it’s new. And I’m still not used to it seeing her blush at my words .

Harsh claps me on the back, his voice low but playful. “It’s cool, bro. We’ve all been there. Just don’t get too caught up in the dreamy-eyed phase. We'll have our finals soon , then internship "

I can’t help but laugh at that. Harsh has a point. I mean, she’s not just my girlfriend—she’s everyone’s friend. She’s always been there for all of us, and even though I’m still figuring out how to be her boyfriend, I know that we’ll all make it work.

I glance back at Ishika, who’s talking animatedly to Nidhi, her laughter filling the air. She’s so effortlessly at ease with everyone, and that’s one of the things I love about her the most.

I turn back to Abhishek and Harsh, both of them grinning at me like they’ve just won some bet. “Alright, alright. I get it. No need to rub it in,” I mutter, trying to act annoyed but not quite pulling it off.

Abhishek just shakes his head, his grin only widening. “ a treat to restuarant will shut us up . What say Harsh "

Harsh nods his head . I sigh and give up . These two best friend of mine will someday make me broke .

" Alright guys , Sid here will treat us today " . Harsh announces  . Ishika looks at us and arches her eyebrows. As if to tease me knowing why this sudden announcement of treat.

" What I've gotten myself into " thinking this exact thought I go along with the group , trying not to look at her again at the restuarant. But obviously failing miserably.

                                       🕛

                               Present time

Sitting on driver's seat of my black sedan a past memory came rushing back to my mind .

" Turns out her words were never uttered to tease me . She wanted her kids and she got them " . A chuckle left my mouth thinking this .

It's been 6 years sid . 6 god damm years .

So what if you bump into her and ... and her kid today. Let's focus on your current---

The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the silence, dragging me back to the present. I glance at the screen. It’s Harsh.

"Where are you?" I answer, my voice still laced with the weight of the thoughts I was just drowning in.

“Beside you,” Harsh responds, his voice full of amusement.

I turn my head, and sure enough, there he is, stepping up to the car, looking like he’s just finished his morning run, a playful grin plastered on his face.

He slides into the passenger seat, his eyes immediately catching the plush toy sitting on the dashboard— the Chikorita plush.

“Chikorita, huh? You do know right you'll turn 30 next year ” he teases, poking at it, clearly having a laugh at my expense.

I roll my eyes, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “Shut up,” I mutter, but I know he's just enjoying the moment.

He laughs and tosses himself into the seat, getting comfortable. “So, where’s Abhishek? We’ve been waiting for him forever.”

I glance at the time—he’s late. Again.

“Classic Abhishek,” I grunt. "We planned this for weeks, and he still manages to be late. Who will believe he's the damm one who always nudges us saying to free our schedules once he's free . "

Harsh chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeah, man. He always manages to keep us waiting."

We share a frustrated, amused look. It’s like clockwork—Abhishek’s tendency to show up fashionably late after practically begging us to free our schedules.

"Let's just curse him now," I say, the words slipping out before I even think about it. Harsh chuckles again, and we both start listing off a series of mock curses, laughing at how predictable Abhishek has become.

On the back of my head I wanna, share about today's incident with Harsh and Abhishek. But I refrain myself. I'll do that at end of the day . Not now .

Just as I’m about to say something else, the sound of heavy knocking on my dar door reached my ears .

Without looking for Harsh's response I looked beside me and my eyes widened.

" Wtf "

🥀 chapter 7

6 years ago

Ishika smiles as she walks through the crowded market, her hands filled with shopping bags, but there’s one small, carefully wrapped gift that she’s holding close to her chest. The excitement in her heart is palpable, though she’s careful not to show too much of it. She knows that today’s gift will make Siddhartha’s day, and that thought alone fills her with warmth. She’s been waiting for this moment all week, planning everything down to the smallest detail.

It’s a small, crocheted keychain—a little Chikorita. She knows how much he loves Pokémon, and ever since he mentioned his favorite one was Chikorita, she had gone out of her way to find someone who could make it just for him. A cute little plush, its soft green body adorned with a tiny leaf on top, and its expression full of innocence and charm. It’s exactly how Siddhartha would imagine Chikorita to look in real life—playful, yet determined.

The market is busy, but Ishika doesn’t mind. She’s used to the chaos. The stalls are full of fresh produce, vibrant flowers, and handmade crafts. She navigates through the crowd, weaving past people, her eyes scanning for Siddhartha.

Finally, she spots him near the park entrance, standing by a small food cart. He’s waiting, his gaze distracted, unaware that she’s sneaking up behind him.

Her heart skips a beat. She feels a rush of joy as she approaches him, and she can’t resist the urge to surprise him.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me,” she teases, her voice light and playful.

Siddhartha turns around, his face breaking into a grin when he sees her. His eyes light up, and for a moment, the world around them fades. It’s as if it’s just the two of them in this small corner of the bustling market. He takes a step forward, reaching out to her.

“How could I forget you?” he says with a mock pout, though his eyes are full of affection. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Ishika laughs softly, handing him the small wrapped gift. “I got something for you,” she says, her smile widening.

He takes it, his curiosity piqued. “What is it?” He gently unwraps the paper, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the gift. When he finally pulls it free, his expression softens in surprise.

It’s the Chikorita keychain.

His eyes widen, and he looks up at her, his voice filled with wonder. “You—did you make this? It’s... it’s perfect!”

Ishika shakes her head, her cheeks turning a light pink. “No, I didn’t make it, but I found someone who could do it. You always talk about how much you love Chikorita, and I thought it’d be the perfect gift.”

He holds the little crocheted figure in his hand, running his fingers over its smooth, soft surface. The keychain’s tiny eyes seem to sparkle under the sunlight, and for a moment, he’s caught in the delicate details. He lets out a small chuckle. “This is amazing. Thank you, Ishika. Really.”

Ishika beams at his reaction. “I’m glad you like it.”

Siddhartha looks down at the keychain once more, a fond smile curling on his lips. “It’s more than I could’ve ever asked for.” He slips it onto the chain of his bag. “Now Chikorita can be with me wherever I go.”

Ishika watches him for a moment, feeling a quiet happiness settle in her chest. She’s happy that he’s happy. She can tell that the gift means something more than just a simple gesture—it’s a connection, a bond, a shared understanding.

“I’m glad it means so much to you,” she says softly.

They stand there for a moment, just enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company. But then, as they begin to walk through the park, something changes. The lightheartedness that had filled the moment begins to fade as Siddhartha, distracted by the keychain, takes a misstep.

His foot catches on a small rock hidden beneath the grass, and for a split second, time seems to slow. He stumbles forward, his balance failing him as he reaches out instinctively to catch himself. But the ground comes up too fast, and his body crashes to the dirt with a dull thud.

“Ishika!” he exclaims, his voice sharp with surprise and pain. He winces, his hand scraped badly as it lands against the rough earth. His right hand, the one he uses most often, is now covered in dirt and blood from a nasty gash running across his palm.

Ishika gasps and rushes to his side, her heart racing with worry. She kneels beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she assesses the damage. “Siddhartha! Are you okay?” she asks, her voice full of concern.

Siddhartha looks up at her, wincing. “I... I’m fine. Just a bit of a scrape,” he says, trying to brush it off. But Ishika isn’t fooled.

“You should’ve been more careful!” she exclaims, her tone sharp as she helps him sit up. “How did you not see that rock? You’re always so careless!”

Siddhartha winces, more from her words than the pain in his hand. He glances down at the blood staining his palm, his mouth twisting into a small frown. “I wasn’t paying attention, okay?” he mutters, clearly embarrassed.

Ishika sighs heavily, her frustration melting into worry. She quickly pulls out a small handkerchief from her bag, wrapping it gently around his hand to stop the bleeding. Her eyes are soft but firm. “You can’t just rush around without thinking, Siddhartha. What if you hurt yourself worse next time?”

Siddhartha is silent for a moment, looking down at his hand, feeling the sting of the scratch and the weight of her words. He doesn’t argue, knowing she’s right. He’s often too reckless, too caught up in the moment to consider the consequences.

But then, after a moment of silence, he looks up at her, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, Ishika,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Ishika softens at his apology, her frown easing. She reaches out to touch his shoulder gently. “I just don’t want you getting hurt, Siddhartha. You mean too much to me for that to happen.”

Siddhartha gives her a small, rueful smile. “I know, I know. I’ll be more careful next time. I promise.”

But as Ishika helps him to his feet, she can’t help but scold him one last time. “You better be, or I’ll start wrapping you in bubble wrap,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood.

Siddhartha chuckles, his usual playful demeanor returning. “That wouldn’t be so bad. At least I’d be safe.”

Ishika shakes her head but smiles nonetheless. “I’ll make sure you’re wrapped in safety, then. But seriously, you need to be careful. No more falling down rocks, okay?”

Siddhartha nods, looking down at his hand. “Yeah, no more falling down. I’ll be more careful, I swear.”

Ishika looks at him for a moment, her eyes soft, the playful scolding replaced with a deep affection. “I’m glad,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

He looks back at her, his expression earnest. “Don’t worry, balike,” he says with a grin. “From next time, Chikorita will protect me.”

Ishika laughs, the tension in her chest dissolving. She reaches over and gently adjusts the keychain on his bag, making sure it’s secure. “Well, I guess if anyone can protect you, it’s Chikorita.”

Siddhartha beams, his playful spirit returning full force. “Exactly. Chikorita never lets me down.”

Ishika shakes her head fondly. “Let’s hope so. Because if Chikorita can’t keep you from tripping over rocks, I’ll have to step in again.”

Siddhartha chuckles, but this time, there’s a softness in his voice. “Thanks, Ishika. I guess I’m lucky to have you—and Chikorita—watching out for me.”

Ishika smiles warmly at him. “Always.”

🕛

Present time

As the car hums smoothly down the street, Ishika’s grip on the steering wheel tightens again, but this time, it’s not because of the anger she had felt earlier. It’s a different kind of tightening, an unfamiliar ache that seems to settle in her chest. She looks over at Ishaan, his little face now calm, his eyes shining with that innocent joy she’s missed for the last few moments. But as she glances at him through the rearview mirror, she can’t help the thought that creeps into her mind, bitter and unwelcome.

Ishaan is an exact copy of Siddhartha.

Ishika lets out a bitter scoff.

"Out of all the words you've told me , the biggest lie was our kid would be a replica of me . "

~•~

Ishika walks up to the door, juggling the grocery bags in one hand while holding Ishaan’s small hand with the other. She’s tired but happy after a long day of shopping. Ishaan chatters beside her, excited about the new toys he picked out, his voice a steady hum of joy as they approach their apartment.

She unlocks the door and opens it, expecting the usual quiet of their home. But the moment she steps inside, the warm scent of freshly brewed tea hits her, and her eyes widen in surprise. There, sitting at the kitchen table with her mother, is Nidhi.

Nidhi looks up, her face breaking into a smile as she takes in Ishika's startled expression. Her dark hair is loose, and she’s dressed casually, a stark contrast to the formal attire she’d worn before leaving for her business trip.

“Nidhi?” Ishika says, her voice rising with surprise. “You’re back already? But... you were supposed to come after a week. And weren’t you going to your relatives’ house with your parents?”

Nidhi laughs softly, setting her teacup down and standing up from the table. “Well, plans changed. I missed you guys too much. Thought I’d surprise you.”

Ishika, still holding the bags, steps forward and pulls her best friend into a tight hug. “You’re unbelievable. I can’t believe you’re here.”

Ishaan, who’s been standing quietly by his mother’s side, looks between them with a confused yet amused expression. “You two are acting like you haven’t seen each other in years,” he says, an eyebrow raised.

Ishika chuckles, stepping back from the hug, “It’s long time okay ,"

Nidhi winks at Ishaan and teases, “It’s been a whole week, Ishaan! How could we not act like we’ve been apart forever?”

Ishaan’s face lights up as he reaches into his bag and pulls out his new Chikorita toy. He holds it up with pride. “Look, Nidhi Masi, my new toy!” he says excitedly.

Nidhi laughs, leaning down to get a better look. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one? That’s a great find!” she says, ruffling his hair.

Without waiting for a response, Ishaan suddenly wraps his arms around Nidhi’s waist in a big hug. “I missed you, Nidhi Masi!”

Nidhi laughs warmly and hugs him back. “I missed you too, little champ.”

Ishika watches the scene with a soft smile, feeling the warmth of the moment.

" Ain't you were supposed to visit some relatives with Nikhil ? " Ishika asks.

"He didn't go actually. He had some urgent work so he took the flight yesterday. It's not a long trip though. He's coming home tomorrow evening ".

Nidhi replies and Ishika makes an "O" with her mouth acknowledging her words.

Ishika's mom looks at Nidhi with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling with kindness. "So, Nidhi, will you stay here tonight, or are you heading back home?" she asks, folding her hands in her lap.

Nidhi grins and shakes her head. "I'll stay here tonight, if that's alright , Garima aunty . I don't want to be a trouble," she says, casting a playful glance at Garima. "I’m not troubling you, Garima Aunty, am I?"

Garima laughs softly and shakes her head, "Of course not, dear. You're welcome here anytime. You know that."

Just then, the sound of the door creaking open echoes from the hallway, and Ishika’s father, Devranjan, steps inside. He pauses for a moment when he sees Nidhi, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Nidhi! You're back already?" he says, his deep voice full of surprise and warmth. "It's good to see you."

Nidhi stands up from the table, her smile widening. "Hello, Uncle Devranjan ! It’s isn't been too long ."

Garima gestures toward the two of them, a pleased smile on her face. "Nidhi is staying here tonight," she informs him with a casual tone.

Devranjan raises his eyebrows  . "You're really a good woman, Nidhi, . You have a life ahead full of respect and achievements " he says, shaking his head. "I don’t understand why you’re still friends with her . "

Saying this he goes towards the stairs not before telling Ishaan " I've bought the wooden pencil you asked for , shaanu . "

The thick air of awkwardness cut through by Ishaan’s excited voice .

" Yeah !!!!!! "

~•~

𝗗𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴

Nidhi is sitting on the floor of Ishika’s cozy living room, her legs tucked beneath her as she watches Ishaan,  eagerly building a tower with colorful blocks. The soft hum of the evening wind brushes against the windows, and the distant chatter of streetlights fills the quiet space. Ishika is in the kitchen, humming to herself while preparing dinner, leaving Nidhi and Ishaan to entertain themselves.

Ishaan giggles, knocking over the tower with a playful swipe of his hand. "I did it, Nidhi!" he exclaims, his eyes sparkling with pride.

"Uh-oh," Nidhi says, trying to hide her smile. "You knocked it down. Now, we have to build it again."

Ishaan, always quick to find a new game, grabs a handful of blocks and starts stacking them with renewed determination. Nidhi watches him with a fond smile, lost in the simple joy of the moment.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door interrupts the peace. Ishika’s dad, a tall man with a welcoming grin, rises from the couch and walks toward the entrance.

"Who could that be?" Ishika’s dad mutters to himself, opening the door with a creak.

Standing outside is a man Nidhi doesn’t recognize. He’s holding a bouquet of red roses, his face uncertain but hopeful. “Is this for Nidhi?” he asks, his voice tentative.

Ishika’s dad, ever the polite host, nods and gestures for the man to hand over the bouquet. "Yes, come in. I’ll get Nidhi."

As Nidhi hears the exchange, her heart skips a beat. She stands up, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, and walks toward the door. Ishika’s dad hands her the flowers with a smile. "These are for you, Nidhi."

Nidhi glances at the bouquet, its rich red petals almost glowing in the soft light of the room. “Oh, this must be from Nikhil,” she murmurs, her mind already picturing her fiancé’s apologetic face. She’s been angry at him for the past few days, frustrated with the distance that’s grown between them. Maybe this is his way of making things right.

Ishika, who has been watching from the kitchen doorway, raises an eyebrow and grins mischievously. "Aww, look at that! Nikhil is trying to win you over with flowers. Does he know how mad you are at him?" She teases, walking over to Nidhi with a smirk.

Before Nidhi can respond, Ishaan lets out a delighted squeal. He jumps up and down, his hands clapping excitedly. "Flowers! Flowers for Nidhi! Yay!" he yells, clearly thrilled by the sight of the bouquet.

Nidhi can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. She holds the flowers up to her nose, pretending to sniff them dramatically. "Mmm, so sweet," she says, but her mind is still swirling. She wonders if Nikhil is really trying to make amends, or if it’s just formality for him ..

Ishika’s teasing continues as she sidles up to Nidhi. "Looks like that good for nothing fiance is doing something good " she says with a wink.

Nidhi rolls her eyes playfully. "Don’t start, Ishika," she warns, but her smile betrays her. Deep down, she’s a little touched by the gesture .

Ishaan gives one last jump of joy before running off to continue his block tower building, leaving Nidhi standing there, the bouquet in her hands, a small smile forming on her lips thinking about Nikhil's sweet gesture

~•~

The bouquet delivery guy steps down from the porch, his hands still fumbling with the empty vase, the last of the flowers placed gently inside. He makes his way back toward his car, unaware of the figure watching from the shadow of the nearby building. The air is thick with the evening stillness, broken only by the soft clinking of coins as a masked person steps out from the shadows, approaching the delivery man with purposeful silence.

"Did everything go smoothly?" the masked figure asks, their voice low and steady, yet carrying an unmistakable tone of satisfaction.

The delivery man, startled, turns to face the voice but relaxes when he sees the masked figure’s hand extended with a crisp bill. "Yes, sir. She got them. Just like you asked," he replies, still processing the exchange. He takes the money with a quick nod, already retreating to his car.

The masked figure watches him leave, eyes lingering on the building where the bouquet had been delivered. A soft smile curls beneath the fabric of their mask, their gaze fixed on the window, where laughter still echoes faintly from inside.

"They don't know, do they?" the masked man murmurs to himself, speaking as though sharing a secret with the wind. "How beautiful  you truly are , even when you're caught up in the simplest moments. That innocence... It’s the part of your that draws me closer with every passing day."

There’s a brief pause, as if the figure is savoring the thoughts. Then, with a light laugh, they turn on their heel, disappearing into the night with a final whisper, carried only by the breeze.

“I'll be waiting, my little star... and we'll meet again soon, whether you want it or not .”

The figure vanishes into the darkness, leaving only the quiet hum of the evening wind behind.

🥀 chapter 8

Siddhartha Roy Kapoor

We share a frustrated, amused look. It’s like clockwork—Abhishek’s tendency to show up fashionably late after practically begging us to free our schedules.

"Let's just curse him now," I say, the words slipping out before I even think about it. Harsh chuckles again, and we both start listing off a series of mock curses, laughing at how predictable Abhishek has become.

On the back of my head I wanna, share about today's incident with Harsh and Abhishek. But I refrain myself. I'll do that at end of the day . Not now .

Just as I’m about to say something else, the sound of heavy knocking on my dar door reached my ears .

Without looking for Harsh's response I looked beside me and my eyes widened.

" Wtf "

I blurt out, my mouth hanging open, caught off guard. His face is flushed, his hair a mess, and his breathing is heavy, as if he’s been running for miles. He’s clutching the side of the car as if he might collapse any second.

“Abhishek?” Harsh’s voice is low, laced with curiosity and concern. I catch him looking over at me, his brow furrowed.

I don’t say anything, still trying to process what’s going on.

Abhishek, leaning down to peer through the window, gives me a wild-eyed look, eyes wide with an odd mix of exhaustion and frustration.

“Lower the damn window,” he says, voice hoarse, but there’s a strange grin on his face, as if he’s both annoyed and amused by something.

I do what he asks, rolling the window down slowly, my gaze never leaving him. The moment the glass lowers enough, Abhishek leans in, practically gasping for air.

"Wtf are you doing Abhi ! " Harsh's words resonate in the car as he gaps at Abhishek.

“Can you just let me get in first?” He huffs, wiping sweat off his forehead, looking like he’s just run a marathon. “I’m not about to explain all this with my face pressed up against the damn window.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, already annoyed that he’s keeping us in suspense. But at this point, what else can I do but let him in?

“Alright, get in,” I say, giving him a nod.

Abhishek doesn’t need to be told twice. He opens the door and slides into the car, flopping down in the seat beside me with a deep sigh. The smell of his cologne mingles with the sweat and the lingering scent of airport air—his chaotic energy unmistakable.

Harsh leans forward, looking between us with curiosity. “What the hell happened to you? You look like you’ve run a marathon or something.”

Abhishek looks over at him with a tired grin. “Close enough,” he says, exhaling dramatically. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, the mess of it only adding to the absurdity of the situation. “I swear, I could have just given up and walked home after all that.”

I glance at him, my impatience kicking in. “Abhishek, what happened?” I ask again, my tone sharper now. “Why are you so late?”

He sits up a little straighter in the seat, his body still heaving with deep breaths as he wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He stares out the window for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“Alright,” he says, his voice steadying, but there’s a flicker of embarrassment behind his words. “So, as you guys know I was coming home via flight after attending that award show last night "

Harsh and I , we both nodded our head . " So after landing here I took my trolley bag and was coming towards the check out door , That's I bumbed into a guy "

I glance at Harsh, who’s listening intently, waiting for the punchline.

“This guy,” Abhishek continues, “ He was looking so off . I could tell this as even after I apologized for bumping into him , he didn't react well . He just looked at my face . Then I asked him if he was okay or not . At first he was just staring at me . But then I asked him again , that sir are you okay . "

"Speak faster dude , why are you narrating like some daily soap drama " Harsh actually told Abhishek what I was planning to say .

Abhishek rolls his eyes and continues  " This time that guy visibly panicked and his breathing started to elaborate . After seeing him like that I also panicked. I thought maybe I hurted him physically after bumping into him . I started to console him and took him to side and gave him water . "

"Where's Jay in this whole scenario. Didn't you take Jay with you . He's your secretary cum bodyguard right" Harsh again said what was on my mind.

" You interrupt me again and I'm leaving this topic here " Visibly annoyed Abhishek tells Harsh and he shuts his mouth up .

" Jay just a little away from me . He was talking to someone about my next project. I can’t tell you now about that . After getting finalized maybe I can tell you guys about it " Me and Harsh forms a 'O' with our mouth .

" Anyways, so that guy he completely broke down infront of me . "

"Hain?" [ what ! ]

"Yeah , he broke down stating how he's cheating the woman he loves and the woman he is engaged with . And then started to tell me about his love life"

I blink, not quite following him. “Wait, what? His love life?”

Abhishek nods vigorously. “Yeah, exactly. So, this guy starts pouring out his heart to me, talking about how he’s madly in love with this girl , he met just 3 months ago . But he can't be with her as he's already engaged with his fiance . His fiance supported him in his lows. But he can't seem to feel the emotions he's feeling for the new girl , for his fiance . That guy looked completely exhausted to be honest. As if he was battling a huge war . "

Abhishek sighs then continues " He at last asked me what he should do "

"He asked you that . 'You' the fvkboy of this trio who changes woman like goddam Pokémon during some battle "

I exchange a glance with Harsh, both of us couldn't control us anymore and laughed while imagining the scenario. It's like asking some goddam alcoholic about becoming a sage.

Abhishek shrugs, looking unbothered by the situation. “Pretty much. At this point, I can’t really leave him hanging, right? He looked really messed up . So I gave him advice like don't get tied to a marriage only because of gratitude or respect you feel for other person . Cause after some time when you won't feel love towards her or attracted to her , you would start to feel suffocated. Neither you'll be nor you'll let her become happy "

Abhishek pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing, “I told him, ‘Look, man, don't get me wrong , gratitude’s important, but it’s not a foundation for a marriage. You gotta ask yourself if you’re actually in love with her, or if you’re just holding on to the comfort of what you’ve built together.’ sometimes love isn’t a straight line. You don’t always get to pick who you feel it for, and you can’t just ignore the feelings you have. But at the same time, you can’t just flip-flop between two people, stringing both of them along. It’s not fair to anyone.”

Harsh, still trying to stifle his laughter, nudges me. "So, you basically told him to follow his heart, huh? Sounds like something you'd 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 say."

Abhishek glares at him, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. " Well just because, I'm not a marriage material and no strings attached kinda guy , doesn't mean I know nothing about relationships okay . Coaches don't need to play in the ground to master the game "

He says with his usual cockiness whereas me and Harah try to control our laughter. But fail anyways . Abhishek looks visibly more annoyed.

" Yaar ,  guys !!! Why you two always laughing"

I then control my laugher somehow and raise an eyebrow. "That’s some deep stuff, Abhi. You actually giving relationship advice? Who are you, and what have you done to our friend?"

Abhishek chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. But honestly, I felt for the guy. It’s easy to get tangled up in emotions. I don’t think he was trying to be a player or a bad guy. He was just... confused."

Harsh leans forward, his curiosity piqued. "And did he take your advice?"

Abhishek shrugs again. "Not sure. He thanked me, but you know how it is. People don’t always listen when it comes to their own heart. They get caught up in the mess of it all. But I tried. I told him, ‘At the end of the day, you’re the one who’s gotta live with your decision. So, don’t make it because you feel guilty or obligated. Make it because it’s what feels right for you, no one else.'"

I nod thoughtfully. "That’s solid advice, though. Doesn’t matter how much drama surrounds it—if you’re not true to yourself, it’ll catch up to you."

Abhishek leans back in the headrest , a more serious look crossing his face. "Exactly. Relationships aren’t supposed to be this constant tug-of-war. If you really care about someone, you have to make sure you’re giving them the whole you, not just bits and pieces."

We’re all sitting in my car now, the engine humming softly, and I can’t help but think about what Abhishek just said. I glance at him, watching him tap his fingers against the dashboard absentmindedly. He’s been unusually serious today. Normally, he’s the one cracking jokes, making us laugh with his over-the-top antics, but today... I don’t know, something feels different.

The silence stretches a bit longer before Abhishek breaks it with his usual casual tone. “Alright, enough about all this serious stuff. We’re supposed to be having a boy’s day out, remember?”

Harsh scoffs, leaning back in the seat, his arms crossed. “That’s right. Enough talking today" He turns to me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what do you wanna do, Siddhartha? If it's only Abhishek and I then we must've gone to some bar but what can we actually do without you throwing a fit about the place not being ‘proper’ enough?”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement on my face. Harsh’s comments never really offend me, but he’s definitely the one who likes to push my buttons. “I’m not throwing any fits,” I retort, adjusting my rearview mirror. “I’m just particular about things. It’s not the worst to not soend entire day in bar.  I've some standards okay.”

Abhishek chuckles from the front seat. “Standards? More like a whole checklist of do’s and don’ts.”

I’m about to respond when Abhishek continues. “So, what’s the plan for today, then? We could grab some drinks and go to Harsh's apartment, but…” He glances at me through the rearview mirror. “We all know that’s off the table with Siddhartha here.”

Harsh lets out a fake gasp. “Oh, no. The man of steel doesn’t drink. Whatever will we do?”

I shoot him a side-eye, but he’s just playing around. “Can we not make a joke out of everything?” I ask, a bit tired of the same old teasing.

Harsh laughs, and Abhishek smirks, clearly enjoying the banter. “Alright, alright. No drinks. So, what are we gonna do instead? Golf?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Golf? Really?”

Harsh nods enthusiastically. “Golf’s perfect. No need to worry about alcohol or anything. Just a good time with the boys.”

Abhishek nods too, his expression lightening. “I’m down. I haven’t played in months. Plus, I need to redeem myself after that embarrassing loss last time.”

“Last time?” I ask, amused. “You lost to me and Harsh continuously two times, remember?”

Abhishek gives me a look. “That was a fluke. You know it.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I reply, half-laughing. I’m definitely up for some golf. It’s been a while since we’ve had one of those laid-back afternoons where it’s just us, no drama, no responsibilities—just a few good swings and maybe some playful competition.

I start the car, the engine purring to life as I pull out of the parking lot. The city’s streets blur by, and I feel the usual sense of calm wash over me as we head towards the golf course. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and the weather’s perfect—just the right amount of sun without being scorching hot. The kind of day that’s made for golfing.

We get to the course in about twenty minutes, the sprawling green lawns of the golf club stretching out ahead of us. The place is quiet, peaceful—exactly how I like it. The air smells fresh, and there’s a light breeze rustling through the trees. I park the car near the entrance and cut the engine.

“Alright, guys,” I say as I get out of the car. “This is going to be fun. But if any of you mess up my swing, I’m seriously considering leaving you behind.”

Harsh immediately grins. “Don’t worry, Sid. I’ve seen your swing. I’ll make sure not to get in the way.”

Abhishek chuckles as he grabs his golf bag from the trunk. “Oh, this should be good. I’m ready to watch you two try to take me down.”

We head inside the club, paying for our rounds and getting our clubs. The place is quiet, a few people walking around, but nothing too crowded. It feels like a private retreat, and for the first time today, I feel like I can just breathe and enjoy the moment without any distractions.

As we make our way to the first hole, Harsh suddenly turns to me. “You know, Sid,” he says, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “I think you’re the kind of guy who takes this game too seriously. I bet you’re already planning your strategy.”

I roll my eyes. “I just like to play well. That’s all.”

Abhishek, already unrolling the sleeve of his shirt, laughs. “Yeah, well, I’m just here to have a good time. Let’s see if you guys can keep up.”

We reach the first tee, and I take a moment to assess the hole. It’s a par 4, with a slight dogleg to the right. The fairway looks inviting, but it’s the trees along the side that will make things interesting. Perfect for a little competition.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” I say, holding up my driver. “We’ll make this interesting. Whoever loses this round buys drinks—no exceptions.”

Abhishek and Harsh exchange a quick glance before both nodding in agreement. I smile to myself. They always fall for that. It’s the little stakes that make everything more fun.

Abhishek tees up first, taking his shot with all the flair he can muster. He lines it up, takes a deep breath, and then—whack—the ball soars into the air, landing perfectly in the middle of the fairway.

“Not bad,” I say, impressed. “But let’s see if you can keep it up.”

Harsh steps up next, looking slightly more casual but still determined. He swings and—whoosh—the ball slices left, barely staying in bounds. He groans as it lands in the rough.

“Ha!” Abhishek laughs. “Guess who’s buying drinks?”

Harsh just shrugs, unbothered. “It’s just a warm-up shot.”

I step up to the tee and take my time, focusing on my grip and stance. Golf’s all about precision, and I’m not about to let them mess with my concentration. With one smooth swing, I hit the ball. It goes straight down the fairway, the perfect shot.

“Alright, alright,” Abhishek says, impressed. “Looks like Siddhartha’s still got it.”

I nod, keeping my focus. The next few holes go by quickly, with Abhishek and I trading shots back and forth. Harsh, on the other hand, is a wildcard—he’s either hitting straight shots or completely losing control. But that’s part of the charm with him. He’s unpredictable, and it makes things interesting.

As we play through, the banter continues. The occasional trash talk, teasing, and quick jokes make the game feel less like a competition and more like a good time. By the fourth hole, I realize something: this is exactly what I needed. Just a simple day with my friends, no pressure, no stress. Just us, enjoying the game, making memories.

By the end of the round, we’re all exhausted but happy. I’ve won, of course, but it doesn’t really matter. We’ve all had our fair share of good shots and bad ones, but in the end, it’s the time spent together that makes it worthwhile.

As we walk back to the clubhouse, Abhishek claps me on the back. “Well played, Sid. You’re as good at golf as you are at giving life advice.”

I smirk. “I told you, I don’t mess around.”

Harsh, despite his loss, is still grinning. “Alright, alright. I’ll buy the drinks. But only because I’ve been outplayed.”

We all laugh as we head inside, ready to relax and unwind after a day that ended up being much more enjoyable than I thought. Sometimes, it’s not about the destination—it’s about the people you’re with along the way. And today, with Abhishek and Harsh, I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend my time.

Just like this , It's almost 7pm now . We grab some take out from Abhishek's favorite restaurant and go towards the beach.

~•~

Harsh , I and Abhishek sit near the beach . In my hand there's a can of regular coke . Harsh and Abhishek keep sipping through their 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 cokes . The slow breeze coming from the sea touches our hairs, making them flow like strands of silk in the wind. As we stand there, the salty air embraces us, the soft whispers of the ocean playing with our hair. Each of us feels the cool touch of the breeze — our hair, wild and untamed, dances with the wind . The atmosphere around is surprisingly peaceful. There isn't much people around us . Even those who are here , they also prefer to be silent while watching the wave crashing on the shore only to retreat, gathering strength once more to repeat the process. The silence seems to reflect the tranquility in the face of such relentless, yet beautiful, repetition.

I was the first one to speak. My low voice , cut through the air like knife.

" I ... I met 𝘩𝘦𝘳 today. "

I can feel them frowning . But I keep my eyes on the crashing waves .

"Who? " Abhishek asks.

"𝘏𝘦𝘳 ." I say , my voice barely above a whisper. " before meeting you guys , I saw 𝘩𝘦𝘳 . "

" what " they say in union as my words seem to sink in their mind .

" I saw her with her kid today . Fvk . She's a mother now . " I chuckle dryly. " I accidentally bumped into her kid today . She yelled at me harshly as if I was trying to steal her son"

" That btch~ "

" Abhishek! " Before he could complete his words I say his name . I look at him and by the corner of my eyes see Harsh rolling his eyes.

" I still don't understand why it preaks you if any of us uses curse words at her . It's been god damm 6 years Siddhartha. 6 long years . Why can't you just have a drink with us , curse her and then look around yourself. You'll find plenty of women drooling over you. " Abhishek say this to me whereas Harsh agree with him . " He's right Sid ".

" It's not because of 𝘩𝘦𝘳 that I'm not settling down. You two very well know why I don't wanna date someone or marry. " I say through my greeted teeth while looking away from them.

" You're rich as fvk Sid. N number of women would still be ready to date or marry you even after you turn 60 . "

"And after that what Harsh , after few years what would be result of that union. Nothing. Just a meaning less survival. So why to waste anyone's time like this "

A groan leaves Abhishek's mouth whereas Harsh let out a curse.

" You know what Siddhartha, you are a coward. A fvking coward. There she living her life peacefully and here you . Dwelling on the aspect of your life which won't be more than just a pebble on your path , if you wear the right god damm glasses. But no , Mr looks at the pebble like it's mountain everest. " Harsh's bitter words resonate in my head and clench my fist .

"Harsh-"

"You do realize like Siddhartha, you can always adopt a child . So what if you can't bear one for yourself. Me and Harsh both know how your treat your younger siblings . Especially the twins . If you can love them then-"

"Life is not always a competition Abhi . Just cause I saw someone having the life I want . Doesn't mean I'll go out of my way to fill my life the same ".

" You're not even taking any efforts to improve your life Sid ."

"I was talking to you guys so that you could listen. But guess what , you want to become some tedex---"

That’s when the buzzing starts in my pocket cutting my words half way . My phone vibrates against my thigh, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glance down and see her name on the screen—Swarna. Swarna Arora , my personal secretary  .

I frawn as it’s too late, for her to call me and she’s usually not one to call at this hour unless it's too urgent . But I've already checked tomorrow's schedule. There shouldn't be any major changes for her to call me.

I shrug off my shoulders and picked the phone up.The second I hear her voice, I know something’s wrong.“Sir,” she says, her voice sounding shaky, desperate, like a thread about to snap. “Sir, please , come to my house … please sir.”

I feel my stomach drop. “Swarna?” I can hear the panic in her breath, sharp and uneven. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and then I hear a sound that makes my heart race: a door slamming, then a loud, violent thud, followed by the sound of something—someone—banging against it.

“He’s here, Sir,” Swarna says, her voice breaking, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “H, he’s… he’s here, banging on my door. He’s yelling at me, screaming, and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, Sir. He… he’s not going away, and I can’t take this anymore. Please, please come here.”

I don’t even register what’s happening around me. My mind is already racing, a hundred thoughts flying through my head, but all I can focus on is the tremor in her voice, the fear.

“Are you in living room Swarna?” I ask, my voice coming out harsher than I intend, my body already moving, the world around me blurring as I try to make sense of what’s happening. “ Lock the door, place something heavy infront of it , don't panic . I’m coming now.”

“I—I don’t know if I can keep him out much longer,” she whispers, and I hear another thud against the door, the sound of it rattling in its frame. My chest tightens. “Please, Sir, hurry. I’m scared. I’m really scared.”

“I’m coming,” I say, my heart pounding in my ears. " I’m on my way.”

I end the call without another word, and the world shifts under me. Everything becomes a blur of motion as I shove my phone back into my pocket, my body already in motion, moving toward the car. I don’t even realize that I’m not saying anything to Abhishek or Harsh until I hear their voices behind me.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Abhishek asks, his tone suddenly serious, his easygoing demeanor replaced with something else—concern, maybe.

I don’t turn around, my thoughts too consumed with Swarna’s voice. “It’s Swarna,” I mutter, not looking back. “someone is outside her apartment. He’s threatening her.”

Harsh’s footsteps falter for a moment, and I can almost hear him processing what I’ve said. “Shit, man. You need us to come with you?”

I shake my head, not slowing down. “No, I need to get there now. I’ll handle it.”

I don’t wait for their response. I'm too worried for her to wait for their responses. I run to my car and sit in it . I start the car . Long forgotten my previous worries.