The ride to college was quiet, but not in the awkward kind of way. It was thick with unsaid things, with hearts still fluttering from what had happened moments before they left the house.
Shruti held on to him gently, her cheek brushing the back of his shirt every now and then, and each time it did, her blush deepened. Her fingers clutched his shirt tighter—not out of fear of falling, but because she wasn't sure where else to pour the chaos of her emotions.
That kiss.
It kept playing in her head on a loop. It wasn't planned. It wasn't long. It wasn't perfect.
But it was real.
And the way Arjun grinned afterward—teasing her with that maddening confidence, calling it "self-control in the minimum"—she couldn't stop thinking about it. She didn't even try.
By the time they reached the college gates, the place was already buzzing with music, chatter, and excitement. As Arjun parked the bike, Shruti quickly adjusted her saree and her breath. Both were barely holding together.
They walked in, side by side but a few steps apart. Her eyes still flitted to him every now and then, catching the soft glances he tried to hide.
Almost immediately, Pragathi rushed to her, half annoyed, half thrilled. "Shruti! Where the hell were you? I've been calling you for an hour!"
The ride to college was quiet—quiet in the way a lullaby is quiet, not a silence born of discomfort, but of something deeply felt and unspoken. The sun spilled gold through the windshield, painting soft light across the dashboard as the Jeep Meridian rolled through morning traffic, its engine purring low, almost respectful of their shared hush.
Shruti sat with her hands folded in her lap, the delicate pleats of her emerald saree fanned out carefully to one side. Her anklet chimed faintly with every bump in the road, a soft accompaniment to her hammering heartbeat.
Her eyes kept flicking to Arjun.
He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the armrest, his thumb absently drumming against the leather. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the lean lines of his forearms. The sunlight kissed the edge of his jaw, highlighting the faint shadow of stubble and the exact spot where his lips had touched hers just minutes ago.
Shruti's face flushed.
She looked away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the window, but her reflection betrayed her—rosy cheeks, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and wide eyes that looked anything but calm.
Her fingers, unable to stay still, reached toward his shoulder and clutched his shirt—not because she was unsteady, but because her emotions were. Every time the wind from the half-open window swept a lock of her hair forward, it brushed against his neck—and every time it did, he swallowed harder, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
Neither of them spoke.
But every breath, every stolen glance, every second of silence was soaked in memory. That kiss. That impulsive, quiet, heartbeat-stealing kiss at the door.
He had kissed her like she was real. Like she was his. Like he'd wanted to for days and had finally given in.
She hugged that memory like a secret.
By the time they pulled into the college driveway, Shruti was barely holding herself together. Her saree was still neatly pinned, but her heart was frayed and fluttering. Arjun turned off the engine and stepped out first, circling around to open the door for her like it was second nature. He didn't offer his hand—but his eyes did.
"You okay?" he asked, quiet, a smile ghosting the edge of his lips.
"I—yeah," she said, tugging at the pallu. "Just… don't smirk too much. I might actually trip thinking about you."
Arjun chuckled under his breath. "At least then I'll have an excuse to run on stage and catch you."
She glared. "Do not even dare."
He raised both hands in mock surrender. "No promises."
They walked in, not touching, but undeniably aware of each other. Every step together felt like a secret between them.
And then—
"SHRUTI!" Pragathi's voice cracked through the air like a firecracker.
Shruti barely had time to breathe before her best friend barreled into view, looking like a storm of earrings, kajal, and impatient energy.
"There you are! Do you even know how many times I've called you?! I was about to send a search party!"
Shruti groaned and rubbed her temple. "Sorry, sorry. I was... having a morning."
Pragathi stepped back, eyes narrowing, scanning her from head to toe.
"You were struggling with the saree, weren't you?" she guessed instantly.
Shruti gave a weak nod. "It's not as easy as it looks. I almost cried."
"Wait," Pragathi's eyes sparkled with suspicion. "Then how did you finish draping it? Don't tell me…" She took a dramatic step back. "Did he help you?"
Shruti's eyes went wide. "Wha—no! I didn't say that!"
"But your face did!" Pragathi gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. "Oh. My. God."
"I didn't say anything," Shruti mumbled, turning her face, but it was too late. The crimson flush had already crept up her neck and into her cheeks like a guilty confession.
"You did not just let your husband drape your saree," Pragathi said, grinning like a cat who'd just caught a bird mid-flight. "Please tell me he held the pleats."
"Shut up," Shruti hissed, but her voice lacked any real venom.
"Oh my god," Pragathi laughed, dancing around her. "Did you two kiss after that? Wait—before that?"
Shruti's face was burning now. "Pragathi, I swear I will kill you. Quiet!"
"I knew it!" Pragathi sing-songed, spinning on the spot. "You're glowing. You are literally glowing. Saree Shruti is blushing like a heroine post-montage."
Shruti covered her face with both hands. "Stop talking."
"I won't," Pragathi teased, looping her arm through Shruti's as they walked down the hallway. "This is gold. I need to tell Kiran."
"You will not tell Kiran."
"I'll tell only him. I promise. He's practically my co-partner in crime now."
"Pragathi!"
"Fine, fine," Pragathi surrendered dramatically. "Just tell me one thing."
"What?"
She leaned in with a devilish grin. "Did he see you and go speechless? Like in the movies?"
Shruti blinked, remembering that exact moment—how Arjun had stood there, frozen, staring at her like she'd stolen all the words from his mouth.
She smiled softly. "Yeah," she said, more to herself than to Pragathi. "Something like that."
Pragathi beamed. "Good. He should."
The atmosphere inside the auditorium had shifted. What once buzzed with chaotic noise now simmered with quiet anticipation. All the loud laughter, booming music, and occasional screeches from overenthusiastic emcees had finally tapered off.
Backstage, Shruti stood just behind the heavy curtain, her palm tightly clasped in Pragathi's. Her other hand trembled slightly at her side, but she kept her chin high, her breath controlled.
Pragathi leaned in, whispering close to her ear. "You've got this. Just remember the practice. And don't forget to smile like you mean it."
Shruti let out a breath. "What if I mess up?"
"You won't," Pragathi replied firmly. "And even if you do, I'll mess up with you. Like a good best friend."
Shruti smiled faintly. "You better."
From the stage, the muffled voice of the emcee called, "And now… the final performance of the evening. A duet by first-year students Shruti and Pragathi!"
A cheer echoed across the hall. Arjun, seated among the students in the fifth row, didn't cheer. He simply leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes trained on the stage like his life depended on it.
The curtains slowly drew apart.
And then—she stepped into the light.
The spotlight caught the shimmering edge of her green saree first, casting a luminous glow that made the sequins scatter tiny stars across the floor. Her bangles clinked softly as she moved to position, her expression calm but glowing.
But it was her eyes—steady, searching, alive—that held the real power.
She found him in the crowd in just a few seconds.
And the world blurred.
Shruti forgot her nervousness. Her breath steadied. Her smile stretched, slowly, almost unconsciously—because he was there.
Because she was seen.
TO be continued...