Off Script

8

Shubman didn't say a word after Ishan's sentence. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he drove in silence, eyes burning with everything unsaid.

Two lanes before University, he pulled over sharply.

"We're here," he muttered coldly.

Ishan didn't reply. He opened the door quietly, stepping out. He didn't look back.

As soon as the door shut, Shubman's hands flew off the wheel and slammed down onto it—BANG. The sound echoed in the car.

"FUCK!" he yelled, hitting it again.

His breath came in short gasps now, the weight of everything finally crashing down on him.

"I fucking love you, Ishan," he said to no one, his voice breaking. "You idiot—I LOVE YOU."

His head dropped against the wheel.

"I can't watch you like this," he whispered. "I can't see you break yourself every day for someone who doesn't even deserve to take your name."

Tears welled up and spilled over, falling freely down his cheeks.

"It hurts, dammit. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you."

He pounded his hand against the steering one last time, then gripped it again, knuckles white.

"You don't even see it," he whispered.

The silence swallowed him.

And outside, Ishan was already halfway down the street, hugging himself tightly.

Both of them falling apart in their own separate hells.

Shubman wrapped his knuckles tightly, the rough bandages barely concealing the sting underneath. The antiseptic hadn't done much, it still throbbed. But he needed to be here.

He pushed open the theatre room door.

"Sorry for being late," he said, voice low.

The director barely looked up. Just nodded and gestured toward the group.

Shubman's eyes scanned the room quickly.

And there he was—Ishan.

Hunched, shoulders tight, voice trembling as he clung to Shreyas's arm.

"Sorry Shrey... please. I shouldn't have. I should've replied, I just-"

Shreyas didn't even look at him. "You didn't reply to my text last night."

"I... I slept, I'm sorry," Ishan whispered, his eyes glossy already.

"Don't ever go to your chachu's house again," Shreyas snapped under his breath. "Stay at your own damn home."

"Promise... I won't. I promise. Please, please forgive me," Ishan pleaded, desperation coming out of him.

Shubman stood frozen, just a few feet away. Watching it all. His fists clenched tighter by reflex.

He's treating him like a fucking criminal for falling asleep.

"Fine. I'll think about it," Shreyas said, shrugging him off.

And that was it. Like mercy had been granted.

Shubman's teeth ground together. His jaw locked. His blood boiled.

He had to look away—he had to. Because one more second and his self-control would snap.

All he wanted... was to walk over there and punch Shreyas until he couldn't talk down to Ishan ever again.