By: Debasish Giri

CHAPTER ONE – “Crashing Waves, Silent Tears”

The silence of the night is broken by the rhythmic crash of the waves—an endless, relentless sound. It almost feels like the ocean is speaking, each wave whispering some ancient truth, some cosmic joke, meant only for those who dare to listen. A sound so powerful, so raw, it feels as though it could strip away every burden, every pain, leaving behind only a strange, fragile sense of hope. The moon hangs low, a quiet, silent spectator, as if it too is waiting for something.

A boy and a girl stand side by side, shadows against the dark canvas of the night. They seem small, almost insignificant before the vastness of the sea. For a moment, they are perfectly still, as if caught in some private universe where time itself refuses to move. But then, without warning, the boy turns to leave. No words are exchanged; maybe none were ever needed. His steps are quick, almost as if he’s afraid of what might happen if he stays a moment longer. And then he is gone, swallowed by the night.

The girl remains, her eyes fixed on the place where he vanished, as if trying to hold onto something that is already slipping away. Her legs buckle, and she collapses to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Tears streak down her cheeks, hot and uncontrollable, falling into the sand below. It’s as if the ocean itself is weeping with her. The moon seems to lean closer, its cold light tracing the lines of her anguish.

“Why…?” she whispers, a question that is more to herself than to the universe. But the universe does not answer; it never does.

Her eyes, still glistening with tears, drift toward the sea. There is something there, something that calls to her—a promise, a challenge, or maybe just the comfort of its endlessness. Slowly, she rises, unsteady but resolute, and begins to walk toward the water, each step heavy with a thousand unsaid words.

21 years ago, Mumbai, India

The summer noon air hung heavy, thick with the stench of exhaust and distant ocean salt. Traffic moved sluggishly, a slow-motion dance of horns, shouts, and muffled chaos. Amidst the haze, a man sat in his car, watching the traffic light as if waiting for a sign—not just for the light to change, but for something beyond this tangled web of metal and sound. The sun bleached the road ahead, casting everything in a surreal shimmer. And yet, he smiled.

From the backseat, his wife’s voice, soft and familiar, broke the stillness. “Could you lower the temperature? It’s getting warm.” Her tone was calm, almost matter-of-fact, like someone commenting on the inevitability of the weather. He nodded and adjusted the dial without a word. The car filled with the gentle hum of air conditioning, and he reached over to turn on the radio. A song drifted through the speakers, one they both recognized but couldn’t name.

For a moment, everything felt perfect in its small, mundane way. The son, tucked into the backseat, was snacking happily, blissful in the knowledge that he had escaped the looming specter of school for a while. The vacation lay ahead of them like a distant island—untouched by the noise and troubles of daily life.

And then, a knock. Quiet but sharp, like the sound of something fragile about to break. His wife turned first, her brow furrowed slightly, her hand already moving to roll down the window. The boy was standing there—small, thin, his face glistening with sweat. His eyes were closed, as though savoring the cool air slipping out of the car, momentarily suspended in a world far removed from the heat and noise surrounding him.

When he opened his eyes, he smiled—an unexpected, almost eerie smile, as if he had discovered something secret.

“What do you need?” his wife asked, her voice gentle, as though she had known him for years.

The boy said nothing. He only held out his hand, palm open, not demanding, just…waiting. The husband glanced at the boy through the rearview mirror, his smile fading slightly.

“He wants money,” he said softly, as if reading an old script.

His wife nodded. “Okay.” She reached into her purse, pulled out fifty rupees, and handed it to the boy through the open window. Their son, sensing the tension shift, leaned forward.

“I want to see, Mom,” he whispered in his small, careful voice, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Alright,” she replied, lifting him toward the window so he could peer out. He leaned out, their gazes meeting—the boy outside and the boy inside. For a moment, they seemed like reflections of one another, existing in parallel worlds.

Without a word, the son extended his hand, offering the boy the snacks he’d been eating. The boy outside hesitated, as though the gesture was something foreign, something from another reality.

“Take it,” the wife urged. “He’s like your brother.”

The boy outside glanced back, toward the subway entrance, where a woman sat watching the scene unfold. Her face was unreadable—caught somewhere between hope and despair. Then, suddenly, her voice cut through the humid air. “Take it!” she called, as though releasing some invisible thread that had bound the boy in place.

He smiled again, but this time, there was something different in his eyes. He took the snack and nodded, the moment dissolving into the noise of the world around them.

As they rolled up the window, the boy outside turned and began walking back toward the woman at the subway. But something felt off. The wife’s hand froze on the window switch. Her eyes followed the boy, her smile fading into a look of quiet unease.

“Wait…” she murmured.

And then she saw it. The woman was shouting, tears streaking down her face. Her words were lost in the roar of an oncoming truck, and before she could react, the woman lunged forward, pushing the boy out of its path.

The woman’s body hit the pavement with a sickening thud, the truck’s wheels grinding forward, leaving a trail of blood and shattered limbs. For a brief moment, time froze—just the sound of the truck’s engine fading in the distance, the smell of burnt rubber mixing with the metallic scent of blood. She had thrown herself at the boy, pushing him out of the way, but the truck had caught her. Her body lay crumpled on the road, motionless, her head severed, and blood began to pool, flowing steadily toward the drain, as if the earth itself was trying to drink it all up.

His wife didn’t scream. Her voice seemed locked somewhere deep inside her, lost. She opened the car door mechanically, as though on autopilot, and ran toward the woman, toward the carnage that had unfolded in front of them. The husband, catching the situation in the rearview mirror, turned to his son, still in the backseat, wide-eyed and silent.

“Don’t get out of the car, okay? I’ll be right back,” he said quietly, trying to mask the rising panic in his chest. He exited the car and followed his wife, who was already kneeling beside the woman’s mangled body, her hands trembling but her face unnervingly calm. The heat from the road seemed to rise around them like a suffocating fog, trapping the horror in the air.

The truck had already sped off, leaving nothing but the crimson-streaked road behind. The boy lay nearby, unconscious, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead. His husband knelt beside him, gently slapping his cheek, hoping for some sign of life. But the boy remained still, his chest rising and falling shallowly.

In a panic, he splashed water from a nearby bottle on the boy’s face, but nothing changed. The boy’s limp form rested in his arms, a small fragile body, impossibly light. He dialed for an ambulance, but the line rang endlessly, a hollow sound that only deepened his sense of helplessness.

He glanced toward the growing crowd surrounding his wife and the body. He pushed through, still holding the boy, cradling him as if he could protect him from whatever had already been set in motion. There, in the middle of the chaos, he saw his wife, sitting on the ground, her dress soaked in the dead woman’s blood. She was holding the body, rocking it slightly, as though she could somehow bring it back to life. Her eyes were distant, hollow.

He called her name, softly at first, then louder. But she didn’t respond, lost in the trauma of the moment, disconnected from reality. She didn’t seem to hear him, didn’t even blink. She was trapped in her shock, and nothing seemed able to pull her back.

He shook her, gently at first, then more firmly. “We need to go. The boy—he’s not waking up,” he said, his voice cracking. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

Slowly, as though rising from deep underwater, she blinked. Her focus returned, though her face was still pale, drained of all emotion. She stood up shakily, her legs trembling beneath her. “Did you call an ambulance?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“They aren’t picking up,” he replied, desperation creeping into his voice.

A man from the crowd stepped forward, his face grave but calm. “You should take the boy to the hospital. It’s only a kilometer away. Don’t wait for the ambulance—you might lose him if you do.”

They didn’t think twice. He carried the boy to the car, carefully laying him in the backseat. His wife climbed in after him, her hands trembling as she pressed a handkerchief to the wound on the boy’s head, trying to stop the flow of blood. Their son, sitting quietly in the front seat, watched the scene unfold with wide, frightened eyes. He had never seen so much blood.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” his wife murmured, but her voice was shaky, uncertain. She wasn’t sure if she believed it herself.

The husband drove fast, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. The hospital wasn’t far, but each second stretched out like an eternity. The sound of the boy’s labored breathing echoed in the car, mingling with the hum of the engine.

They arrived at the hospital, and he rushed to the backseat, pulling the boy into his arms once again. He ran inside, his heart pounding, barely noticing the blood that stained his shirt. His wife followed, their son clutching her hand, his small fingers wrapped tightly around hers. He kept his gaze down, unable to look at the blood smeared across his father’s clothes.

The emergency room staff acted quickly, taking the boy from his arms and placing him on a hospital bed. They disappeared into the emergency room, the doors swinging shut behind them.

For a moment, everything was quiet. The husband stood there, feeling numb, the world around him distant and blurred. The nurse approached him, asking questions—details about the boy, about the accident—but his answers felt mechanical, detached.

He explained the situation as best he could, but the words felt heavy, as if spoken from a dream. The boy was an orphan, a stranger to them, but now somehow entwined in their lives. The hospital staff contacted the local police, informing them of the incident, and the police said they would arrive soon to investigate.

As he stood there, waiting, everything felt unreal, like something out of a story he wasn’t meant to be part of. The boy, the accident, the blood—it all seemed to belong to another world, and yet, here he was, right in the middle of it.

After everything had settled, he walked into the waiting room, where his wife sat with their child asleep in her lap. The harsh lights above contrasted with the quiet stillness of the room. When she saw him, her eyes filled with nervous anticipation.

“How is the child?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with tension. She gently adjusted their son’s head on her lap, careful not to wake him.

He sat beside her, shoulders heavy, and exhaled. “They’ve taken him to the emergency room,” he said, rubbing his temples. “They’ll let us know soon.”

His wife’s brow furrowed. “Will he be okay?”

He nodded slowly, trying to believe his own words. “Yes, sweetheart… God wouldn’t be that cruel.” His voice cracked slightly, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes. He closed them, leaning his head on her shoulder. “Please, God… help him.”

Outside the hospital, police arrived at the scene of the accident. They spoke to witnesses who recounted how the woman had thrown herself to save the child. “Where is the boy?” the inspector asked.

A man who had called the police pointed toward the road. “The family that was there, the one he was begging from… they took him to the nearest government hospital. The boy was bleeding… unconscious.”

“And the truck’s number plate?” the inspector asked.

No one had seen it. The truck had sped off too fast.

The inspector sighed, turning to his constable. “Collect the body, send it for postmortem. We’ll head to the hospital.”

Back in the hospital waiting room, a nurse appeared at the door, her voice clear and authoritative. “Guardian for patient number 32?”

He stood up quickly, heart pounding in his chest, every step toward the nurse feeling heavier, his breath shallow. Please, God… let the boy live. Let him live. His lips moved silently with the prayer, his heartbeat quickening with every step.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said.

“Doctor wants to speak with you,” the nurse replied, her tone professional but not unfriendly.

He followed her down the sterile hallway, each footfall echoing in his ears. His heart raced faster. What if…?

They reached the doctor’s office. He stood before the door, hand trembling as he gripped the handle.

“What happened to the boy?” he asked the moment he saw the doctor. “Did he survive?”

The doctor’s expression softened. He glanced at the man’s blood-stained hands, the tremor in his legs. Without hesitation, he said, “The boy’s conscious now.”

He inhaled sharply, relief flooding his chest. “Thank God.” His voice wavered, and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

The doctor nodded, offering a thin smile. “You did well. You brought him just in time. He’d already lost a lot of blood. We’ll keep him under surveillance for a few hours, but you can see him soon.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words barely forming as his mind spun with relief.

Without wasting another moment, he turned and made his way back to the waiting room. His wife was sitting where he had left her, eyes fixed on the door, waiting for any sign from him.

When he reached her, she stood up, searching his face for answers.

“What did the doctor say?” she asked, her voice trembling with hope and fear.

“He’s okay now,” he said, and for the first time that day, a genuine smile cracked his face.

She exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging as the tension finally drained away. “Thank God,” she whispered, her eyes misting over. She smiled at him, a faint, tired smile, but one filled with relief.

He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly, as if grounding himself in her warmth. After a long moment, she pulled back slightly, her eyes dropping to his shirt. “You’re covered in blood,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a murmur. She hadn’t noticed it until now, too caught up in the fear for the child’s life. “Go wash your hands. Change your clothes.”

He nodded, standing up. “Where are the clothes?” he asked, feeling oddly detached.

“In the car,” she replied.

He walked out to the parking lot, his steps slow, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving behind a deep, bone-aching fatigue. He retrieved the clothes from the car and headed to the hospital bathroom. Inside, the white tiles gleamed under the fluorescent lights, the mirror reflecting his tired, strained face.

He turned on the tap, the cold water spilling over his blood-streaked hands. He scrubbed hard, as if trying to erase not just the blood but the memory of the day’s events. The water swirled pink in the sink, draining away the remnants of the tragedy. But some stains clung to his skin, no matter how hard he rubbed.

He changed into the clean clothes and stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection. he whispered to himself, “Well done.”

He remained standing in front of the mirror, his reflection blurry as tears welled up in his eyes. The fluorescent light overhead flickered slightly, casting a pale glow over his tired face. His hands, freshly scrubbed but still trembling, gripped the edge of the sink. His chest tightened, the weight of everything he had held in until now finally pressing down.

For a moment, he just stared at himself. The man in the mirror looked so unfamiliar, as if the day had stripped away the layers of his usual self. What was left was raw—broken in a way he couldn’t quite define.

And then, without warning, the words slipped out, so quietly they almost disappeared into the sterile air.

“Dad… please forgive me.”

The room seemed to close in around him as his voice cracked, and the floodgates opened. He tried to hold back, but the tears came anyway, silent at first, then shaking his whole body. He pressed his forehead against the cool mirror, the glass fogging slightly with his breath. His hands curled into fists, knuckles white, as he cried like a child lost in a world that no longer made sense.

CHAPTER TWO – “Steps Toward Tomorrow”

A boy sat on the dim side of the roof, his silhouette merging with the shadows as he gazed at the flickering streetlight across the street. The light felt distant, like a promise yet to be fulfilled, casting a soft glow that barely touched him. He was enveloped in the cool night air, his thoughts swirling like leaves caught in an autumn breeze, each one filled with a mix of hope and anxiety.

Lost in the silence, he didn’t notice when a shadow fell beside him. A moment later, a hand rested on his shoulder, warm and familiar. He turned, startled, to see his friend Mahi.

“Hey RAJ , what are you doing up here?” Mahi asked, his voice casual yet tinged with concern.

“Just… sitting,” the boy replied, trying to sound indifferent, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Mahi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes searching for a flicker of honesty.

“Yeah, a bit,” the boy admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground. He felt a weight in his chest, an unshakable sense of uncertainty about the day that lay ahead.

Mahi chuckled lightly, a sound that felt like a balm against the night. “I’m excited. Tomorrow is the start of something new, right? Let’s celebrate! We can grab some Coke and hang out for a bit.”

A small smile crept onto the boy’s face, the tension in his heart easing, if only for a moment. “Okay, let’s go.”

A boy sat on the dim side of the roof, his silhouette merging with the shadows as he gazed at the flickering streetlight across the street. The light felt distant, like a promise yet to be fulfilled, casting a soft glow that barely touched him. He was enveloped in the cool night air, his thoughts swirling like leaves caught in an autumn breeze, each one filled with a mix of hope and anxiety.

Lost in the silence, he didn’t notice when a shadow fell beside him. A moment later, a hand rested on his shoulder, warm and familiar. He turned, startled, to see his friend Mahi.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Mahi asked, his voice casual yet tinged with concern.

“Just… sitting,” the boy replied, trying to sound indifferent, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Mahi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes searching for a flicker of honesty.

“Yeah, a bit,” the boy admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground. He felt a weight in his chest, an unshakable sense of uncertainty about the day that lay ahead.

Mahi chuckled lightly, a sound that felt like a balm against the night. “I’m excited. Tomorrow is the start of something new, right? Let’s celebrate! We can grab some Coke and hang out for a bit.”

A small smile crept onto the boy’s face, the tension in his heart easing, if only for a moment. “Okay, let’s go.”

---

The next morning, sunlight crept into the room, nudging Raj awake. His mother’s voice echoed from downstairs, a steady rhythm of urgency.

“Raj! Wake up! You’re going to be late!”

He blinked at his alarm clock, the numbers blurring into focus: 9:30 a.m. Panic surged through him. Today was important—his first day of college, a threshold he had dreamed of crossing. He jumped out of bed, rushing through his morning routine, the excitement and dread intertwining like vines in his mind.

As he sprinted toward the door, his mother’s voice rang out once more. “At least eat something before you go!”

“Can’t! I’ll grab something at college!” he called back, his voice echoing with a mix of determination and worry.

Stepping outside, he scanned for his father’s old bike, his plan for the day. But it was gone. His heart sank, frustration rising within him. “Ma! Where’s my bike?” he shouted, the edge of anger creeping into his tone.

His mother appeared, wiping her hands on her apron, her expression laced with concern. “Your brother took it; he needed it for coaching.”

Raj clenched his fists, the disappointment bubbling over. “I told him not to use it without asking!”

Without waiting for her reply, he bolted toward the bus stop. The sight of the bus pulling away sent a jolt of panic through him. He sprinted, heart racing, feet pounding against the pavement, desperation driving him. Just as he reached the door, he managed to catch it and pull himself inside.

Panting, he looked for a seat but noticed an elderly woman entering right behind him. Without a second thought, he offered her his spot. She smiled, her gratitude illuminating the dim bus, but Raj stood, breathing heavily, the weight of the day still pressing down on him.

As the bus lurched forward, he stared out the window, the world blurring past in a wash of colors and shapes. His mind raced with possibilities, fears, and hopes all tangled together, creating a symphony of emotions that felt both thrilling and terrifying. Today was the beginning of a new chapter, but the weight of expectation hung heavily in the air.

A few minutes passed, but the bus remained stubbornly still. Raj, growing restless, approached the driver. “What’s going on?” he asked, a mix of frustration and anxiety creeping into his voice.

“Accident on the road,” the driver replied, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Could take an hour to clear.”

Raj glanced at his watch—10:45 a.m. Just 15 minutes left until the college gate closed. Panic surged within him like a tidal wave. He thanked the driver, paid his fare, and jumped off the bus, determination fueling his sprint toward the college.

As he ran, he kept checking his watch, its ticking sounding louder with each glance. In his haste, he collided with someone, both of them tumbling to the ground. Books scattered around them like fallen leaves. Raj quickly gathered the books, handing them back without looking at the other person’s face. He felt a flicker of guilt but couldn’t afford to linger—he needed to reach the college.

With adrenaline coursing through him, he pushed forward, his breath coming in quick gasps. Miraculously, he reached the college gate just in time, slipping through the entrance as it began to close behind him.

“Where’s the first-year B.Com class?” he asked a passing student, his heart racing.

“Second building, room 35,” the student replied without breaking stride.

Raj hurried through the campus, searching for the right building. When he finally found it, he spotted Mahi standing outside the classroom. Mahi was dressed in new clothes, the price tag still dangling from his sleeve, a detail that made Raj smile despite his earlier anxiety.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Raj asked, catching his breath.

“I thought you were coming on your bike,” Mahi replied, a teasing grin on his face.

Raj chuckled, “Well, I don’t have a license yet.”

Mahi laughed, shaking his head. “Exactly. I didn’t want to risk my life just yet.”

They entered the classroom together, finding seats in the back row. The atmosphere was a blend of anticipation and nervous energy. Raj opened his notebook, the pages crisp and blank, a canvas for new beginnings.

As the minutes passed, the classroom filled with chatter and laughter, the air thick with youthful exuberance. Raj took a deep breath, letting the moment wash over him. He was here, finally embarking on this new chapter. He glanced at Mahi, who was busy adjusting his tie, and felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of belonging that eased the tension in his chest.

Suddenly, the classroom door swung open, and the professor entered, a figure of authority amid the chaos. The chatter faded into an expectant hush, and Raj’s heart raced again—not from panic this time, but from the thrill of the unknown.

---

The professor entered the room, his presence immediately drawing attention. “Good morning, everyone,” he began, his voice calm but authoritative. “I’m Parbat, and I’ll be teaching your accounts class. But since it’s your first day, let’s get to know each other a bit. We’ll start with introductions. You—” he pointed to a boy seated near the front, “—stand up and tell us about yourself.”

The boy nervously stood, beginning to speak, “Myself…”

Before he could continue, the professor’s gaze shifted toward the door. There stood a girl, her knee wrapped in a bandage. The air in the room shifted. “Hold on,” the professor interrupted, walking toward her. “What happened to your leg?”

The girl, with a mixture of apology and embarrassment, said softly, “I’m sorry for being late, sir. May I come in?”

The professor nodded. “Come in, but tell me, what happened?”

“I was on my way to college… someone bumped into me, and they just… left.” Her words carried a subtle tremor, not from the pain in her knee but from the moment itself—an accident that felt like a collision with more than just a person.

The professor’s face softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. It looks pretty bad. Did you take any medicine?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice quieter now, as if she wished to blend into the air around her.

“Alright, take care of yourself. Find a seat.” He gave her a brief nod before turning back to the class.

As she walked into the room, searching for a vacant seat, Raj froze. His heart skipped a beat, and in that instant, he recognized her—the girl he had accidentally knocked over earlier. A flood of guilt washed over him as he instinctively ducked his head, trying to hide behind Mahi, praying she wouldn’t recognize him.

Mahi leaned in and whispered, “Dude, what’s up with you? Why are you acting weird?”

Raj didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the floor, trying to make himself as invisible as possible.

The professor’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Hey, you in the black shirt.”

Raj’s heart sank. Mahi nudged him gently. “Bro, he’s talking to you.”

Raj reluctantly lifted his head. “Yes, sir?”

“Give her your seat,” the professor said, gesturing toward the girl who was still scanning the room for a place to sit.

Raj’s mind raced, his pulse quickening. There was no escape now. As he stood up to offer his seat, his eyes flickered toward her, hoping she wouldn’t connect the dots. She accepted the seat with a small, grateful smile, not noticing the turmoil in his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, lowering herself into the seat. Raj nodded, his throat tight, and moved to find another spot, settling into the background, but the weight of that morning stayed with him—each moment magnified, as though the simple act of knocking her down had knocked something loose in him as well.

The girl stood up, her voice soft but clear. “My name is Divya. I passed my 12th with 56%, and I like to sing.”

The professor gave a short nod. “Alright, Divya. Have a seat.” His gaze shifted across the room. “Okay, everyone, that’s enough for today. We’ll start actual lessons tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your first day in college.”

With that, the professor gathered his things and left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Raj felt a knot tighten in his chest as he watched Divya. The guilt was still there, gnawing at him. He needed to face her, to say something—anything. His hands were sweaty, but he finally called out, “Hey, Divya. Hey!”

She turned, her face calm, eyes curious. “Yeah, tell me?”

Raj hesitated, the words caught in his throat. But after a pause, he managed, “Divya… I’m sorry. I was the one who hit you.”

There was a brief silence, broken only by the faint chatter of students filing out of the room. Then Divya smiled softly and said, “I know.”

Raj blinked in surprise. “You know? Then why didn’t you tell the professor?”

Her smile lingered, a quiet understanding in her eyes. “Why would I tell him?”

Raj’s confusion deepened. “You should be angry with me. I mean… please, forgive me.”

Divya shook her head, still smiling. “Raj, it’s okay. To be honest, I was upset at first, but then, when I saw you in class, I understood. You were in a rush, right? Things like this happen.”

Raj, feeling a strange mixture of relief and guilt, asked, “But… does it hurt?”

Divya looked down at her bandaged knee and shrugged lightly. “Yeah, but I took some medicine. It’ll be alright.”

Raj’s heart still felt heavy. “I’m really sorry, Divya. I want to make it up to you.”

“There’s no need,” she said gently, her smile as calm as ever.

Raj, insistent, said, “Please, Divya. I’m asking you. Let me at least treat you to lunch. Today, it’s on me.”

Divya shook her head at first, her expression soft but firm. “There’s really no need, Raj.”

But Raj’s eyes pleaded with her. “Please. I insist.”

Finally, Divya relented with a small laugh. “Okay, Raj. If you insist.”

They both smiled, a sense of lightness finally entering the air between them, as if the earlier tension had dissolved. As they prepared for their next class, Raj couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted—a subtle connection, an unspoken understanding born from an accident that could’ve been worse but ended in a quiet exchange of forgiveness.

At lunchtime, Raj and Divya made their way to the college canteen. The place was buzzing with students, the aroma of food mixing with laughter and chatter. They ordered Chinese food, sitting at a corner table where the noise of the crowd felt distant. As they ate, they talked about their school days—small incidents, funny stories, moments that made them laugh. Raj found himself enjoying Divya’s company more than he expected. She had a way of making everything seem light, even when his own thoughts felt heavy.

When the meal was over, Divya reached for the bill, but Raj stopped her.

“Let me,” he insisted.

“Raj, it’s fine,” she smiled, but Raj was firm.

“No, I promised,” he said, and before she could protest further, he handed over 200 rupees to the cashier. He knew it was all he had left, the money meant for his bus fare home, but he didn’t care. A part of him felt like this was a small way to make up for what had happened earlier.

Divya noticed something in his eyes, but didn’t press him. They left the canteen together, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the campus as they walked back to class.

When the day ended, and they both stepped out of the college gates, Divya asked, “Which bus are you taking?”

Raj replied, “AS4.”

Divya smiled, “Me too. Let’s go together.”

Raj hesitated, glancing down the street, as if searching for something in the distance. “You go ahead, Divya. I… I need some time.”

Divya frowned slightly. “Is something wrong, Raj?”

Raj shook his head and forced a smile. “No, nothing like that. I just need to meet someone. You go on.”

CHAPTER THREE – “Silent Burdens”

Three years had passed since that first awkward encounter in the classroom. Raj and Divya had grown inseparable, riding the same bus to college every day, sharing notes, meals, and dreams. Their friendship had become something deeper—an unspoken connection that went beyond words. They understood each other in a way no one else could. Raj often helped Divya with her studies, while Divya brought lightness into his life, reminding him to breathe and enjoy the small moments. They laughed together, ate street food in between classes, and spent long afternoons at the canteen, talking about everything and nothing at all.

***

Debasish Giri hails from a modest village in West Bengal, India, where he was born into a family facing financial hardships. Despite these challenges, he found solace in the realms of fantasy and storytelling, immersing himself in imaginative worlds that sparked his passion for writing. His life experiences have deeply influenced his work, allowing him to connect with readers on a personal level. Currently pursuing the CFA designation, Debasish remains dedicated to sharing stories that inspire and uplift. His previous works, Shadow of Moonlight and Whisper of Blood Part 1, reflect his journey and the transformative power of imagination. Debasish is enthusiastic about potential collaborations and looks forward to bringing his latest story, Love is Cancer, to readers worldwide.