It's 11:58 p.m.; considering she promised her sister she would be up at 6 for their morning workout, she should be asleep. But sleep is evading her.
The reason?
The date that is flashing up at her mockingly from the digital clock on her bedside table, telling her that there's less than two minutes remaining till the eighth anniversary of the most important day in her life.
It's not entirely abnormal for her to stay up late on the 18th of October. In fact, not once in the past seven years has she actually gone to sleep on the 18th itself, always staying up long enough to see the date change.
But this year, she doesn't think she's got much of a reason to be staying up; the phone call she usually gets isn't coming this year, she's well aware of that. Yet some part of her can't help but hope that it will, can't help but believe that, after nearly a decade, their little tradition means enough to him that he won't dismiss it.
As the seconds tick by though, the hope dwindles. As she has multiple times that day, she readies herself for disappointment, telling herself that too much has changed between them for their tradition to hold. Try as she might though, she can't manage to silence the voice in the back of her head telling her not to give up on him, that he might just surprise her.
The most annoying part is that, not only can she not get the voice to shut up, she actually believes it. Because, no matter what, he's never let her down. It doesn't matter if they're fighting, doesn't matter if they haven't spoken in weeks, if she needs him, he's there for her. And, right now, she needs him. Because it'll be the 19thof October in less than a minute and she doesn't want to have to start off their day without him, isn't sure that she's physically capable of it.
Which is why, as the seconds tick past, midnight drawing closer, she finds herself reaching for her phone, unlocking it in a hurry and dialling his number.
There's thirty seconds left of the day when the phone starts to ring.
Twenty seconds left and she's really starting to give up hope, no longer able to believe.
Ten seconds and, as much as she hates to admit it, she starts to feel tears build behind her eyes because if he's not picked up yet, he probably won't and that's a reality she just doesn't want to face.
Five seconds and she pulls the phone from her ear, about to hang up, not wanting to hear the call go to voicemail.
And then, right as the clock strikes midnight, the ringing stops and her heart does too for a second when she sees the words 'call connected' on the screen instead of 'call forwarded.'
A shaky breath escapes her as she puts the phone back to her ear, relief filling her whole body as she hears his voice – relief so strong that the words he says don't register in her brain and she has to ask him to repeat himself.
He chuckles before he speaks again and she can all but see the expression on his face. 'I said, open your door,' he tells her.
'I'm not gonna open it to find a clown waiting for me, am I?' she questions as she throws back the covers and swings her legs over the edge of the mattress.
'Oh my God Al, that was one time!' he exclaims with a laugh.
'It was three in the morning, I opened my door and the clown from It is stood outside. Complete with the creepy as hell smile. I have been scarred for life Dhawan.'
'Okay, okay, fair point. I promise, no clowns this time.'
'There'd better not be. Or the next time you open your door, you'll find a spider the size of your head,' she mutters, walking down the stairs and through the sitting room to the front door.
There's silence on the other end of the line, which she assumes is probably because he's making a hasty phone call to tell the clown to get away from her door as fast as possible – the thought makes her grin a little.
But, when she pulls the door open, she's proved wrong. 'Surprise,' he says, and she hears it twice: once through the phone and once directly from the man stood in front of her.
For a moment, she freezes, her brain unable to comprehend the image her eyes are sending.
And then she's moving to close the distance, unsure whether her free hand is rising to pull him towards her or to slap him right up until the second she finds herself in his arms, both of her own wrapped around his neck as she buries her head in his shoulder.
His arms wrap around her tightly, pulling her into him and letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
They stand like that for a minute, both of them letting themselves enjoy the feeling, allowing themselves to breathe.
And then she pulls back, just enough to look at him, and unwraps her arms from around him. He whines playfully and she lifts a hand again, only this time, she actually does slap him – albeit gently. 'What was that for?' he asks, lifting one hand to rub at his cheek, tightening his other arm around her as he does.
'Like that even hurt you,' she scoffs.
'Not physically, but it did. In here,' he counters, gesturing towards his heart.
'You are such a drama queen!' she exclaims, hitting him on the chest.
'Ow yaar! That one actually did hurt,' he complains, moving his hand to rub at his chest.
'Aww, bicharo. Want me to kiss it better?' she teases with a laugh. But, when he doesn't answer, the mood changes from light and playful to something else entirely. Her gaze moves down to where her hand still rests on his chest – beside his, which has gone still – and then slowly back up to meet his eyes. She's not really surprised at what she finds when her eyes lock with his; in the decade they've known each other, they've both grown used to moments like this. Moments where they stop hiding behind the witty banter, drop the masks and let the truth show, no holds barred.
Even if it wasn't something she was fully expecting to happen the minute she saw him stood at her door, by now she is so well-versed at reading him that she can hear his thoughts in the silence, can understand the words he won't give voice to from the way his hand slides a little lower on her back and his head dips towards hers, can tell his desires from the way his breath hitches ever so slightly.
And if all of that wasn't enough to send heat flooding through her body, the way he's looking at her sure as hell is. His eyes are dark, trained on her with such intensity that she thinks it's a wonder he doesn't set her on fire, his gaze heavy in a way that is all too familiar.
Despite how well she knows the feeling of being pinned by that gaze, the effect on her is still the same as it was the first time; all of a sudden, her mouth is dry as a desert and her heart is pounding like she's just run a marathon. Somewhere, in some far corner of her brain that still holds on to a shred of logic, she knows that she should probably turn away, break the spell the moment has cast over them. But logic has no place here, between them. So she doesn't.
Instead, without breaking eye contact, she moves his hand out of the way and lifts her head, pushing herself up until she can brush her lips over the spot. Given the fact that she'd slapped him over his heart, she can feel the way his heartbeat picks up with the action, hear his pulse thundering.
She also hears it even out as she finally drops her gaze, feel it slow as she rests her forehead against his chest, her eyes closing as she does.
He lowers the hand that had still been hovering by his chest, lets it rest on her shoulder a moment before slowly letting it travel across her back and up the nape of her neck to tangle in her hair as he lets his head drop until his nose is pressed into her hair, inhaling the familiar smell of her shampoo.
Neither of them wants to be the one to speak first, to break the silence; they are both happy to enjoy it, to revel in the feeling of coming home after so long away.
But, after minutes that feel like years, Alia finds that she has to; she needs to give voice to her thoughts, the ones that have been weighing down on her for the past few days. 'I didn't think I'd hear from you this year,' she whispers, hoping that if she keeps her voice soft, he won't notice the way it cracks a little.
Of course, that hope is in vain because she's Alia and he's Varun and that's not how they work.
He hears it, the way her voice breaks from the emotions she tries so hard to hide, and he feels his heart break a little with it. 'I told you,' he murmurs, gently running a hand over her back, 'no more broken promises.'
She nods meekly against his chest before lifting her head and putting a little space between them. 'That was before though.'
'Before what exactly?'
'Before... before we fell apart again.'
'Did I miss something? Because I don't remember us falling apart again?' he questions, raising an eyebrow. She sighs and shakes her head, unsure of what to say to him. 'You're gonna have to explain this one to me Al.'
'You know what I'm talking about Vee. Deny it all you want but things have changed between us. I thought that meant that maybe...' she trails off, realising how much the words that were about to leave her would hurt him as her brain catches up to her mouth.
'Maybe what? Maybe I'd forget the most important day of our lives? Maybe I'd forget our day? Or maybe it wouldn't matter to me this year?'
'I don't know. I just – I thought with things being different between us, this would be too, I guess,' she admits, tone apologetic, before hastening to add to the statement, lest he think she wants him to leave. 'But not because I want them to be or because I don't want you here. I'm glad you're here.'
'I'm glad I'm here too,' he tells her with a smile, one that tells her he understands, that she doesn't need to apologise. 'So, what are we going to do now?'
'Now... now we do what we always do.'
'What? Watch a really bad film and remember the really good times we had making it?' he asks with a laugh.
'Exactly. It'll be even more fun to take the mick out of ourselves when we aren't doing it over the phone.' And if the grin that accompanies her words makes his heart skip a beat... well, that's something he'll keep to himself.
***
Nearly three hours later, they're lounging on her bed, snacks spread out around them, fondly recalling moments and days long since passed. 'Do you remember that time in Kashmir? I think it was the second or third night that we were there. And everyone was sat in the common area, chilling with like a million blankets and hot drinks and then you came down, dressed for the cold in two hoodies, a scarf, hat and gloves and just walked straight through the room and out the door. Because it was snowing and, despite how much you hate the cold, you love being outside in the middle of a snowfall.' She smiles as he narrates the memory, recalling what came next all too well.
___
The world is so much quieter when it snows, she thinks. People don't rush to get where they're going – if they're even going anywhere – the trees are sluggish at best as their bare branches move in the lazy wind. Even the animals are near silent as they scavenge for scraps and dig up their winter stores.
She prefers it this way really. Enjoys seeing everything look untouched, the white blanket that covers the earth looking so much like a blank canvas that it makes her think that just about anything is possible; the world is full of possibilities, she just has to figure out how to draw the picture she wants.
What she likes the most, though, is the way it feels. Like a lazy Sunday afternoon. Specifically, that time where you're not still half asleep and not yet dreading Monday morning. That point in time when you are at peace – so very much at peace that you find it very difficult to be annoyed by anything. Even the tell-tale crunch of a boot in the snow behind you or the eyes of your friend/sort-of-maybe-boyfriend on your back as he tries and fails to stealthily follow you.
'You can stop hiding VD,' she calls out without so much as turning her head.
'How long have you known I was there?' he asks as he makes his way towards her.
'Pretty much the entire time,' she admits, laughing softly as he makes a disgruntled sound. 'When are you going to learn you can't sneak up on me?'
'When you explain how you always know it's me.' As he speaks, he wraps his arms around her from behind, smiling as she relaxes into him.
'The same way you always know it's me,' she states, like it's the simplest thing in the world.
'Does that mean you love me then?'
'What?'
'That's why I always know it's you. Because I love you in a way I don't love anyone else. Which makes it easy to know when you're near me because I don't feel that way with anyone else.'
She goes silent for a long moment and he worries that maybe he said too much. After all, they haven't even defined this weird thing they've got going on between them yet, haven't decided whether they're an item or just friends who occasionally make out.
But then she turns in his arms, pushes herself up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his and that's all the response he needs.
___
'Do you ever miss it?' she asks, pulling herself from her memories.
'Being a newbie actor who's not got a clue how things work? Absolutely not.'
'You know that's not what I meant.'
'Yeah, I know,' he sighs, deflating a little as the air escapes him. 'Do you really want me to tell you the truth?'
Her immediate thought is yes, of course I do. But the way he asks it makes her rethink, makes her wonder if she really wants honesty from him in that moment. If she can handle it. Because, all this time, she's told herself that, despite their mutual decision to end things, he misses her as much as she misses him; it's the only way she's ever been able to make sense of them. Of the way they keep coming back to each other, the way they act with each other, the flirty banter and the intimate moments.
Realising that that might not be the truth, it hurts like hell. But she knows it'll hurt worse to hear it from him, knows that she doesn't have it in her to handle that. Anything is better than that, she decides. Even hearing exactly what she wants to hear and knowing it's a lie.
So, she changes her answer in the second before it leaves her tongue, telling him to lie to her. And she sees the understanding in his eyes, knows that he sees through her joking tone and forced smile to the turmoil swirling inside her.
It's because of that look in his eyes that she knows he's not joking when he answers.
'If I have to lie to you,' he begins, looking down at the mattress because he simply cannot look at her as he makes this admission; 'then I would say no. I don't miss it. I don't miss spending our free time together. I don't miss walking through the snow with you. I don't miss the way everyone teased us or the way you'd blush whenever I told you I love you. I don't miss being able to hold you and kiss you whenever I felt like it or the way you'd use me as a chair even when there was an actual seat available. And I definitely do not miss falling asleep with you in my arms or waking up next to you. Not one bit.' His voice is so very soft and yet, somehow, he manages to make it softer still as he speaks again. 'And there absolutely is not a very large part of me that very much would like it if you'd let me stay till the morning, just so I could at least do one of those things once more.'
She sits in stunned silence for a long moment and he stays still, staring resolutely down at the bed, his whole body tensed as he waits for her to say something. The seconds drag on forever and his heart is pounding in his chest, anxiety slowly but surely wrapping him up in its twisted vines, winding around him till it has him in a vice.
And then, just when he thinks it might strangle him, she speaks. 'I'll clear off the bed, you get the lights and do something about your clothes cause I'm not sleeping next to you if you're wearing jeans.' It takes a minute for her words to register in his brain, but, when they finally do, he's quick to do as told, afraid that if he takes too long, she'll change her mind.
***
When he wakes in the morning, it's still dark out. The clock on her bedside table tells him it's not even six a.m. yet, meaning that he's had less than three hours of sleep. His eyes burning and he wants nothing more than to close them again, than to settle down more comfortably into the pillows and blankets, wrap his arms more securely around Alia and drift back off to sleep but he knows that he can't. Because, if he does, he won't be able to make himself leave when he wakes again.
So, with a heavy heart, he carefully extricates himself from the girl who is cuddled up to him and gets out of bed, ignoring the way every single part of him screams at him to stay.
As quietly as he can, he crosses the room to the chair he'd draped his clothes on and pulls them on, struggling a little in the dark but managing to get dressed without waking the peacefully sleeping girl. Grabbing his phone from the dresser, he taps the home button and points the screen at the floor, using the faint light to navigate to the door.
It is only when he has a hand on the doorknob that he lets himself look back, his heart shattering as he sees the disgruntled expression on Alia's face as she moves a hand on the bed, searching for him.
He tries to open the door and walk away, he really does. But he can't tear his eyes from her and, when he sees her face go from disgruntled to concerned to slight panic, he finds that he can't make his feet move in the right direction.
Instead, he walks back over to the bed, sitting down at the edge and taking her hand in his, gently running his thumb over her knuckles as he waits for her to wake. He suspects it won't take long for her to wake - it never takes long for her to wake after he leaves the bed – and he's proven right.
Not even five minutes later, her eyes open and she looks around blearily for a minute, blinking until she clears the sleep from her eyes. It doesn't surprise him in the least that her face falls when he finally comes into focus for her. 'Tum ja rahe hain?' she asks, trying unsuccessfully to keep her dismay from slipping into her voice.
'I...' he trails off, unable to translate any of his thoughts into words. Lucky for him, she doesn't need him to.
She pushes herself up, leaning on her elbow, and pulls her hand from his, moving it to rest on his cheek briefly, just long enough to get him to look her in the eye, before she nods, letting him know she gets it. 'I'm sorry,' he whispers all the same.
'What for? At least we got to spend a little time together, right?' He nods, but there is something in his eyes that tells her he doesn't entirely agree. 'What is it?'
For a second, he considers lying to her, telling her it's nothing, just the nostalgia hitting him – along with a realisation that they're getting old. Anything that will let them laugh it off and move past it.
But he knows that he can't. That there's nothing he can say to her that will convince her. Sure, she might play along, say she believes him, but they'll both know the truth. And besides, he's so very tired of lying to her, of hiding from her, hiding from the one person who truly sees him.
He lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a brief moment before speaking. 'I just wish things could be different. I wish I didn't have to go so soon.' Or at all, is what he doesn't say, even if he knows she'll hear it anyway.
'Me too Vee. But this is the way things are now.' She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, her body deflating as she lets it fall again, betraying the fact that she isn't nearly half as unbothered by that fact as her voice suggests.
'It doesn't have to be.'
It's her turn to sigh at that, scrubbing a hand over her face and sitting up completely. 'Not this again,' she groans.
'I told you last time, I'm not going to give up. Not until you accept that there is a chance.'
'But there's not Varun. We had one, yeah. But we were stupid, we listened to everyone else instead of ourselves and let go of it. Do I regret it? Absolutely. Does that mean that I think we can have another one?' she pauses, weighing her words carefully before continuing; 'I want to. So badly. But, after everything we've been through... I don't know anymore. And I don't know how you think we can.'
'Why don't you get it Al? It's because of that, because of everything we've been through that I think we can, that I know we can. After everything we've been through, we keep finding our way back to each other. Doesn't that mean anything to you?'
She opens her mouth but closes it again almost immediately, shaking her head and exhaling sharply. 'That's not what I said.'
'Isn't it?' She glares at him, every trace of emotion other than annoyance disappearing. 'That's the real reason we wouldn't work. Because you don't believe that we can. Because you've given up on us.'
'Don't you dare.'
'Why? Because you don't like being told your own truth?'
'Because that's not the truth!' she yells. 'I'm not the one who gave up on us Goddamnit! You are. You gave up on us years ago and only now, when I'm finally ready to move on, do you decide that we still have a chance!'
'Right. Because I'm the one who said we needed to take a break? I'm the one who decided that maybe everyone else was right? That we were too young to be moving so fast? That we hadn't experienced enough of life to know what it was we were feeling? That was me, right?'
'I didn't hear you disagreeing with me.'
'Because I know you Alia. I knew you wouldn't listen to any kind of reason then, knew that my only option was to wait, to try and make you understand later. And I have been trying but you haven't been listening. Because you already had your mind made up then. You'd decided that we were done, and everything you've said, every single time you told me that you wanted another chance, that you wished we could find a way to make it work, it was just you trying to convince yourself of that. Nothing more.'
She shakes her head, tears building in her eyes and spilling over faster than she can lift a hand to wipe them. 'You don't know what you're talking about.'
'Don't I?' he asks. But the words are nothing more than a whisper. They have no heat to them, none of the anger or frustration they were both brimming with just a minute before. He can't be angry anymore, not when there are tears streaming down her face like that; he's never been able to stomach seeing her cry, especially not when he's the reason.
Before he can make the conscious decision to, his hands are reaching up to cup her face, thumbs gently stroking over her cheeks in an attempt to wipe away her tears – an attempt that doesn't help much but does make the tears slow a little. 'I'm sorry,' he whispers for the second time, leaning forward until his forehead leans against hers.
She shakes her head, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. 'What for? You're right. I'm the one who gave up, and all this time I've been blaming it on you instead.'
'I didn't mean it Al, you know I didn't. I got caught up in my own anger and I said things before I could think-'
'You may not have meant it but that doesn't make it any less true.'
'No. Maybe you were the one who decided to take a break but you never gave up, not really. I gave up Al, in ways you never did. I let you think I moved on, put on an act so convincing that I actually started to believe it myself. At least you never tried to lie to yourself.' She scoffs but can't find any words to refute his.
'I'm so tired of this Vee,' she says instead. 'I can't do it anymore.'
'Do what?' he asks, voice breaking as his heart hammers in his chest.
'This. Whatever this is that we're doing. Going back and forth. Being friends and then not, getting close and then ending up back here, falling apart again. I don't have the strength to keep doing it.'
He lets out a breath and nods. 'Okay.' A sob tears itself form her throat but she quickly cuts the sound off, choking it down as she nods as well.
'That's it then,' she mumbles.
'What?'
'That's it. This is our last goodbye.'
'No! That's not –' he cuts off with a frustrated groan, pulling himself away from her and running his hands through his hair. 'You know what? Now I really am giving up. Here I am, thinking that we're finally on the same page about this and turns out you're in a completely different chapter.' She looks at him, eyes wide and he reaches for her again. 'Alia, you drive me insane, both in a good way and a bad one. But I love you and, no matter how much I try, I can't change that. Though, I've realised that I really don't want to change it either.'
'What do you want then?'
'Isn't that obvious?' She shakes her head, still looking at him with those doe eyes and he laughs. 'Arre pagli, I want you. I have always wanted you and I always will. No matter how much I try to make myself love someone else, I can't. I'm done trying to.' Her brow creases and he can see her thoughts going a million miles a minute. 'But I'm not going to keep trying to convince you either; I don't want you to agree with me just because you're tired of fighting with me. I want you to agree because you want this as much as I do.'
'I do want it. I was never lying about that.'
'Then why fight me so hard?'
'Because it terrifies me,' she murmurs. 'Because, when we were together, I was the happiest I have ever been. But I was an idiot and I lost that. And the thought of having it back just to lose it all over again... I don't think I'll survive that kind of pain.'
'You really are crazy if you think I would ever let go of you again.' As his words sink in, she realises that it's all been for nothing, that the fear, the fighting, it was all pointless. Because he's right. The fact that they keep coming back to each other means everything.
She makes the decision to stop fighting him and then she decides to stop thinking at all, to just act and she throws herself towards him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in his chest. He catches her easily, hand smoothing over her back as she cries into his shirt. 'It's okay. I got you,' he soothes, understanding that she needs to let out these tears, all the ones she hasn't let herself shed over the years. 'I got you and I'm not letting go.'
'Promise?' she whispers, barely loud enough to hear.
'Promise,' he affirms. 'You're stuck with me now Bhatt.'
'I can think of worse things,' she says with a half laugh, pulling away from him and wiping her tears, looking up at him with hope in her eyes.
There's a witty retort on the tip of his tongue but he chooses to swallow it, deciding that the time for words is over. A smile tugs up the corner of his mouth as he leans down and presses his lips to hers, telling her everything he needs to say without uttering a single word.
A/N: I know I'm reallllly late with this one but it's 8 Years of Student of the Year and I couldn't let that go by without an update so here it is.
Anyone else finding it hard to believe it's already been eight years? It seems like so long ago and no time at all somehow.
Also, I wanna say a huge thanks to all of you that are still reading these. I know that I've been really bad at replying to comments lately but, tbh, I've just kinda run out of ways to respond 🙈🙈 I'm gonna try my best to respond this time but I'll also apologise in advance just in case.
And that's all from me today so I hope you enjoyed and see you next time.