Perfect—thanks for the correction. That tension between Aarohi and Meera adds more depth. Let me
The next morning, the world felt quieter—but not calmer.
Aarohi sat at the edge of her bed, staring at her phone. A single unread message lit up the screen.
Aryan: "You okay?"
She didn't reply.
What would she say? That she felt like something inside her was watching her from the inside out? That sometimes, when she blinked, the world looked different?
No. She'd just lie. Like she always did.
At school, the usual noise felt like static. Dull. Fuzzy.
She walked past Meera in the corridor. Their shoulders nearly brushed, but neither of them spoke.
There was a time they would've laughed, shared secrets. Now, they passed each other like strangers who knew too much.
Meera glanced back once, her expression unreadable. Aarohi didn't turn around.
In class, she sat by the window and let her thoughts drift. Not memories exactly—more like flashes. A knife. Cold water. A voice that wasn't hers whispering things she didn't want to understand.
Someone asked her a question during math. She didn't hear it. Just gave a nod that made the teacher sigh and move on.
By lunch, she was in the girls' bathroom, splashing cold water on her face.
Her reflection stared back. Pale. Tired. But there was something else.
Her eyes didn't look scared. They looked... focused.
Like they were planning something she didn't know about.
She turned away quickly.
In her bag, her phone buzzed again.
Aryan: "If you want to talk… I'll listen."
She stared at the message for a long time.
Then typed: "Not now."
Paused.
Deleted it.
Finally, she turned off her phone and shoved it deep in her bag.
Meera's POV
She watched him again—shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on his phone like it held the key to his next breath.
It was the third message he'd sent in the last ten minutes.
To her.
To Aarohi.
Meera's teeth clenched.
She sat two seats away in the nearly empty classroom, pretending to revise her notes. But her eyes kept drifting to Aryan. To the way he frowned at his screen. To the way he sighed every time the message went unanswered.
Again? Seriously, Aryan?
A week ago, that used to be her—laughing with him after class, fighting over song lyrics, stealing fries during lunch. Now? She was a shadow, dimming under the weight of someone else's mystery.
Of Aarohi's mystery.
What does she even say to him? What does he see in her?
Aarohi barely spoke. She disappeared at random. She was moody, withdrawn, guarded. And yet, Aryan chased her like she was made of magic and heartbreak, wrapped in silk and sadness.
Meera rolled her eyes.
"She's not that deep," she muttered under her breath.
But the truth stung.
Because maybe she was.
And Meera hated that.
She hated the way Aryan looked at Aarohi like she was some broken poem he needed to rewrite. Hated the way he didn't notice that Meera had stopped sending him memes. That she no longer stayed late to walk with him. That her laughter had become quieter—and only because it had no one left to echo off of.
Her gaze dropped to his phone screen.
Another message sent.
No reply.
Meera stood up abruptly.
She couldn't take it anymore.
She didn't care if it made her seem dramatic. Or desperate. Or just plain jealous—because she was.
If Aarohi wanted to hide in her silence, fine.
But Aryan?
Aryan was hers.
And she wasn't going to lose him without a fight.