He loved her in silence.
They tore them apart when the truth surfaced.
Friends vanished. Only one stayed.
Now, 700 kilometers from home, Harsha seeks a fresh start.
New faces. New hopes.
But the smiles fade. The walls close in.
Alone again, for reas...
Harsha was quiet that day. His hands were cold. His face didn’t carry its usual calm.
“They fought again?” she asked gently.
He nodded, eyes distant. “Same things. Every time. I just… I’m so tired of pretending everything’s fine.”
She reached into her bag and took out a small sketchbook. On the first page, she’d drawn two birds on a wire.
(
)
“This is us,” she said. “Perched far apart. But always on the same wire.”
He looked at her with soft eyes. “I don’t want to fall off.”
“You won’t,” she replied. “Even if we’re far, I’ll hold on.”
---
The dream shifted again.
Now they were on the school terrace, on one of the rare days it rained during lunch. No one else had come up. They were both soaked slightly, their uniforms clinging to their backs. The wind tangled her hair and he laughed, gently helping her fix it.
She whispered, “What if someone sees?”
“Then they’ll just see two friends talking.”
She turned toward him. “We’re more than that.”
“I know,” he said. “But no one else has to.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny box. It wasn’t anything flashy—just two simple rings with the same engraved line inside: “Whatever happens, I’m yours.”
They wore them that day.
He on his right ring finger. She on her left.
The only promise they could afford to keep.
---
And then came the hardest memory.
It wasn’t one he relived often.
They sat behind the sports room after school. Harsha’s eyes were red. His hands trembled slightly.
“My mom asked me who is hanshi and why did u draw her ?,” he said.
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“She showed it to my dad.”
Ishwaani’s face paled. “What happened?”
“Everything. Yelling. Threats. I don’t even know how to explain it. They think I’m throwing away my future.”
She looked down. “My parents found out too. They think I’m… distracted. Weak. That I should stop talking to you.”
There was a long silence.
And then Harshan broke.
He buried his face into her lap and let the tears fall.
“I’m not weak,” he said, voice trembling. “I’m just tired.”
Her fingers brushed gently through his hair.
“You’re not weak,” she whispered. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. But even the strongest need someone.”
“I just wanted peace,” he whispered. “Just a little love in all the mess.”
“You had it,” she said. “You still do.”
---
And then, as her hand brushed his forehead, as he lay with his head on her lap, the dream began to blur.
The library shelves faded.
The birds on the wire vanished.
The rain and the rooftops melted into shadow.
But that final warmth—her lap, her comfort—lingered.
He saw her face
---He blinked.
And found himself staring at the ceiling of his hostel room.
His head rested not on her lap, but on his own folded arm, pressed into his pillow.
The ring still clung to his finger.
For a moment, he didn’t move. He let the warmth of the dream linger just a bit longer in his chest.
It had felt real.
Too real.
The way she’d looked at him. The way she’d comforted him.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.
He looked at the ring again and whispered, “Ishwaani…”
There was no reply. Only the cold hush of a hostel at 5 a.m
And somewhere in the quiet air of the early morning, it almost felt like she heard him.
