The classroom was unusually quiet for a Monday morning as if the air itself was waiting for something—or someone. Aarohi sat near the window, her fingers absently flipping the corner of her notebook, eyes locked on a page she wasn’t really reading. Her thoughts were loud, louder than the whispers behind her, louder than the scribble of pens on paper, louder even than her own heartbeat, which had been out of rhythm ever since their last conversation.
She had told him yes.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.
She could still hear the edge in Agastya’s voice when he said, “Be mine. I’m not asking anymore.”
She could still feel the weight of those words pressing against her chest, like a bruise you can’t see but can’t stop touching.
She was lost in thought when the seat beside her scraped back.
She didn’t have to look up.
She already knew who it was.
Agastya.
He didn’t say anything right away. He just sat there, silent and still, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud drifting into a blue sky. Her fingers paused on the page. Her eyes stayed on her notebook, but she could feel the heat of him beside her, the tension radiating off him like static before lightning.
And then—his voice.
Low. Measured. Dangerous in its calm.
“You coming to the match?”
His words cut through the silence like a blade. Aarohi turned slightly, unsure what to say. There was no anger in his tone. No sarcasm. Just… expectation. Like he already knew what her answer should be.
“What match?” she asked quietly, even though she knew exactly what he meant.
He looked at her then, finally, those dark, unreadable eyes meeting hers with a kind of quiet intensity that made her stomach twist.
“My match,” he said, as if that explained everything. “The final. Tonight. Stadium at seven.”
She hesitated, unsure if she should lie, soften the truth, or just say it outright. But Agastya didn’t give her time to think.
“You’ll come?” he asked, and though his voice was soft, there was something underneath it—something heavy, like a thread wrapped too tight, ready to snap.
Aarohi swallowed, her fingers tightening around her pen.
“Dhruv’s playing too,” she said, almost cautiously, her eyes flicking to his face to read his reaction. “He’s on the other team.”
Agastya’s expression didn’t change, but something in his body did—a small shift in the jaw, a twitch in his clenched hand.
“Dhruv,” he repeated slowly, as though the name itself was offensive.
“He’s one of my closest friends,” she added, gently, carefully, as if that might soften the blow.
“I know exactly who he is,” Agastya replied, and though he smiled faintly, it didn’t reach his eyes. “You told him you’d come watch him?”
Aarohi nodded. “Yes. I haven’t seen him play in a while. He asked me to be there.”
She could almost hear the snap inside him.
“You’ll cheer for him?” Agastya asked, and the question came out flat—not hurt, not angry, just hollow in a way that made her chest tighten.
“I’ll cheer for both of you,” she said quickly, trying to defuse the tension. “I’m not taking sides.”
“You already did,” he murmured.
“Agastya, don’t do this.”
“I’m just asking.”
“No,” she said firmly, standing up, gathering her books with trembling hands. “You’re turning this into something it’s not. I’m not your enemy, and neither is Dhruv.”
Agastya stood too, the movement sudden, jarring—his chair screeching backward, making a few students look up.
“You were never just a friend to him,” he said, voice low. “You think I don’t see the way he looks at you?”
“That doesn’t mean I feel the same.”
“You smile at him.”
“I smile at everyone.”
“But not like that,” he said, and for the first time, there was a flicker of real pain in his voice, just for a second before it disappeared again behind his mask.
He didn’t wait for a response.
He just walked away, leaving her standing there, breathless and confused, her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with guilt—and everything to do with fear.
That Evening – College Stadium
The field was alive. Floodlights poured golden light across the turf, and the stands were packed with students—some shouting names, others waving flags, the kind of noise that made your skin vibrate and your chest feel too small. It was the final match of the intercollege league, and everyone who mattered was here.
Aarohi stood near the center row of the stadium, surrounded by people, but feeling strangely alone.
She tried not to look at him.
Agastya was on the far end of the field, dressed in black and red, head down as he adjusted his gloves, his jersey clinging to his frame like a second skin. Even from this distance, he looked different. Coiled. Ready to destroy.
Dhruv found her in the crowd before the match began. He jogged over with his usual grin, breathless and boyish, all sunshine and charm.
“You made it!” he said, his hand brushing her arm.
“Of course,” she replied, smiling as best she could.
He leaned in, voice playful. “You’re cheering for us, right?”
Aarohi laughed, half-nervous. “Obviously.”
The words were light. Harmless.
But somewhere across the field, Agastya had turned—and he had seen it.
Seen the smile.
Seen the touch.
Seen everything.
The Match –
The tension was electric.
Both teams had played like their lives depended on it, and no one had managed to break through.
Agastya moved like a shadow—fast, focused, ruthless. He didn’t miss a pass, didn’t lose a sprint, didn’t stop moving. Every time Dhruv touched the ball, Agastya was there—too fast, too aggressive, fouling without fear.
It wasn’t just about the game anymore.
It was personal.
And then, in the final moments, Dhruv broke through the line. The ball was at his feet. He was charging toward the goal. Agastya chased him, close behind, eyes blazing.
Dhruv kicked.
The ball flew.
Goal.
The crowd erupted.
Aarohi screamed, hands in the air, heart pounding with adrenaline.
She didn’t realize what she’d done until it was too late.
She was standing. Clapping. Smiling.
And when she looked across the field—Agastya was on his knees.
Not from the game.
But from something far, far deeper.
After the Match – Behind the Stadium
She found him behind the locker rooms, tucked away in the dim shadows where the stadium lights didn’t quite reach, where the roar of the crowd had faded into a distant hum, leaving only silence and the sound of her own footsteps. The grass was damp beneath her shoes, and the cold breeze carried the scent of sweat, earth, and something else—something heavier, like regret.
Agastya sat alone on the concrete steps, his back hunched, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his sweat-drenched hair. His jersey clung to him, soaked, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon that hadn’t ended on the field. He didn’t move when she approached. He didn’t even look up.
He looked like a man who’d lost more than a game.
She hesitated for a moment, her heart thudding, unsure if she was walking into a fire she wouldn’t know how to survive. And yet... she moved forward anyway.
“You played well,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying through the thick silence.
Nothing.
No flicker of acknowledgment. Not even the usual twitch of his jaw that always gave away the storm behind his stillness.
She took another step closer, the weight of his silence pressing harder on her chest.
“I’m sorry your team lost.”
Still nothing.
Only the wind moving through the trees. Only the distant echo of victory chants meant for someone else.
Her voice broke a little when she said the next part, because she meant it, and somehow that made it worse.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Agastya. I swear I didn’t.”
And that’s when he looked up.
Slowly.
Like every second it took to lift his head was filled with something he didn’t know how to name—anger, sadness, betrayal... heartbreak.
His eyes locked with hers, and what she saw there made her stomach twist in a way that was both terrifying and painfully sad.
“You cheered for him,” he said.
His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it hit her like a scream.
Aarohi opened her mouth, trying to find the right words, the ones that wouldn’t make it worse, the ones that could explain the heat of the moment, the instinct, the confusion.
“He scored,” she said finally. “It was instinct. I didn’t even realize—”
“No.” He stood then, slow but sharp, and suddenly he was towering over her. His voice was still soft, but it had changed—there was something deeper in it now, something raw. “It wasn’t instinct. It was loyalty.”
“Agastya—”
“You smiled at him,” he said, and now the edge in his voice wasn’t just anger. It was pain. “You stood there, hands in the air, and you smiled. Like he was your everything. And I was just... nothing.”
Her eyes widened, stung by the weight of his words.
“That’s not true,” she said, stepping back a little, her voice trembling. “You know it’s not.”
“You chose him.”
“I chose my friend,” she said, and now the words came faster, because she needed him to understand. “He’s been there for me since before I even knew you. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t see you.”
“But not the way I see you,” he replied, and there it was—so quiet, so bitter, it felt like the last breath of something that had already burned out.
He stepped forward, and she didn’t move.
This close, she could see it in his face—the torment, the need, the ache he was trying to bury under all that silence. His eyes searched hers like he was still hoping for a different answer, like maybe if she just looked at him long enough, she’d understand how deep this went for him.
“Be with me,” he whispered.
The words were gentle.
Too gentle.
The kind of gentle that doesn’t soothe, but threatens to unravel everything inside you.
“Stop running,” he continued, his voice barely holding itself together. “Stop pretending this doesn’t mean something to you.”
Aarohi felt something twist inside her.
Because yes—there was a part of her that felt something. There always had been. But there was also fear. And confusion. And the crushing pressure of something that didn’t feel like love anymore.
She shook her head slowly, tears pooling in her eyes. “You can’t force this, Agastya. You can’t have my heart by threatening me.”
And then—he smiled.
But it wasn’t cruel.
It wasn’t mocking.
It was the saddest smile she’d ever seen. The kind of smile someone wears when they’ve already lost something, but they’re still pretending they haven’t.
He leaned closer, just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek when he spoke again.
“Having you near me is more than enough.”
She couldn’t breathe.
Because he wasn’t bluffing. He wasn’t saying that to guilt her or manipulate her.
He meant it.
Every terrifying word.
And that realization—the depth of his need, the way he held on to her like she was the last piece of light in a world that had only ever been dark—it sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Agastya didn’t just want her.
He needed her.
And not in the way people need comfort, or peace, or even love.
He needed her like a drowning man needs air.
Like a storm needs chaos.
Like broken glass needs something soft to shatter against.
And in that moment, Aarohi understood something far more dangerous than obsession.
She wasn’t just a girl he had fallen for.
She was the only thing holding his demons back.
And if she walked away now...
He would break.
Or worse—he would break everything.
Because people who need you that much—people who build their entire world around you—they don’t just let go.
They never let go.
Write a comment ...