Bhargav's POV
First day of final year.
I told myself I was ready.
I'd packed my bag the night before, polished my bike until it gleamed like it was new, even laid out my clothes like I was some excited fresher. The shirt was freshly ironed, the watch wound neatly around my wrist. I'd even used Amma's talcum powder. It was stupid, maybe, but I needed to feel in control of something.
But deep down, beneath all that superficial order… I was dreading it.
Not the classes. Not the endless assignments. Not the attendance percentages or lab work.
Her.
I hadn't seen Varsha in weeks. Not since the betrayal in this same place.
Now, stepping into college again, I felt like I was walking into a minefield.
The moment I crossed the main gate, the noise hit me—friends shouting across parking spots, seniors laughing loudly, juniors nervously glancing around, chai stalls bustling with early orders. But even above all that, her presence found me.
She was there.
Near the canteen corridor.
Same hair. Same stance. Same easy smile—
But it wasn't for me anymore.
She was laughing at something one of her friends said, hand brushing the arm of a guy standing too close. For a second, I wondered if it was Rahul. Didn't care enough to confirm.
And then—her eyes met mine.
Stillness.
Like the second before a flame catches.
Her laughter died. Her hand dropped. Her body froze mid-expression, as if someone had pulled the plug on her face.
And without missing a beat, she walked straight toward me.
Not hesitating. Not pretending. Like she'd planned it.
"Bhargav... can we talk? Just a minute. Alone."
I didn't slow down. "I have nothing to do with you."
She followed, just a step behind. "It's just a minute."
I stopped. Turned to her. Kept my voice level. "Don't worry about it."
She blinked. "What?"
I stared straight into her. "I'm not going to tell anyone about the bullshit you did that day."
She didn't speak. Just looked at me, lips slightly parted.
"So do me a favor," I said, voice quiet but sharp. "Fuck off from my face. You lost your worth the second you chose him. You don't get a second of my time."
Her body tensed. I saw her flinch. Just a flicker in the eyes. She looked away, then back at me like she was trying to decide if she should say something else.
But she didn't.
Just a quiet, almost breathless, "Okay."
And she turned away.
Not ashamed.
Not apologetic.
Just... scared.
Scared that I might open my mouth. That the truth she buried might surface. That people might stop seeing her the way she wanted to be seen.
I stood there for a second. Let the noise of the college flood back into me. The motorcycles, the distant class bell, someone yelling for bun butter.
And then I walked to class.
Back to the same bench near the window. Back to the silence that still echoed her name, but not her presence.
She was gone now.
Not just from my life.
From the pedestal I once kept her on.
She was just another face in a crowded corridor.
A ghost I refused to let haunt me anymore.
There was a time—not so long ago—when she'd walk right up to me in the middle of the corridor, wrap her arms around my neck, and kiss me in front of everyone like we were the only two people on Earth.
I still remember the heat of her lips against mine. The scent of her perfume—mild lavender, always a little too sweet. The flick of her hair as she pulled away with a proud smirk. Then that giggle, that careless laugh she did after every kiss.
"My man, my wish," she'd whisper. Loud enough for others to hear. Loud enough to stake her claim.
She loved being bold. Loved the way people turned and stared. She didn't care about the looks; in fact, she thrived on them. She liked the spectacle. The applause in whispers. She liked owning me. Possessing me. Not loving me.
And me?
I let her.
Worse—I thought that was love.
I thought giving someone the power to label me as "theirs" meant I was being cherished.
Until that day.
Until I walked past the second block, the place where she used to wait for me between classes, and saw her—
Her body tangled with Rahul's. Her fingers in his hair. Lips on his like mine never existed. Like I never existed.
She didn't flinch when I passed by.
She didn't even stop.
She kept kissing him like it was a Tuesday. Just another afternoon in her glamorous, reckless life.
I didn't scream. Didn't confront.
I swallowed the taste of betrayal, tucked it behind my molars like a bitter medicine, and walked on.
Now, weeks later, I found myself wandering the same hallways. Same buildings. Same classes. Except now, everything felt… heavier. Duller. Like the colors had faded and someone had turned the volume of life down.
I found my class. Same old window-side bench. The wooden desk still had the same scratches on it—my name carved in the corner from first year. I traced it absently.
A new semester. A new year.
But the scars?
Still raw.
Still bleeding under the skin.
When the first lecture ended, I made a quiet exit. Skipped the canteen. I didn't want noise. I didn't want friends trying to joke it away. I headed straight to the bench near the library. The one under the old gulmohar tree, where the red flowers fell like soft flames around your feet.
Silence. That's what I needed.
But peace? No chance.
"Yo, Bhargav!" Adithya's voice sliced through the air. "Finally showed up, bro!"
I didn't even look up. Just nodded, keeping my eyes on my phone.
But he wasn't going away. He plopped down next to me, all sunshine and cluelessness.
"So," he began, stretching the word like it had a secret, "what happened between you and Varsha?"
I could hear the curiosity in his voice. The kind people reserve for celebrity breakups or scandalous gossip.
I kept my voice neutral. "We're not talking anymore."
He blinked. "Wait. What? But you two were like—" he made a heart with his hands "—couple goals, bro."
I gave him a small smile. "Guess we weren't."
Before I could change the subject, another classmate—Rakesh—wandered over with a juice in hand. "Dude, didn't you two patch up after the fest? Someone said they saw you both near the juice stall, talking."
I finally looked up. My eyes met his.
"She asked me not to tell anyone what happened," I said coolly. "So let's just say… it didn't work out."
Adithya frowned. "Damn. That sucks. You're too chill about it, man. If a girl like Varsha dumped me, I'd be bawling into my pillow."
I raised an eyebrow. "Good thing she didn't then."
They laughed, awkward and loud.
I didn't.
I thought it would end there. I thought they'd get bored and move on to cricket scores or memes.
But by lunch break, something changed.
The atmosphere around me shifted.
People stared a little longer. Paused their conversations when I walked past. I wasn't imagining it—there was that subtle tilt of heads, those slow blinks, the way lips whispered behind palms.
And then came the pity-smiles.
The "Aww, poor guy" expressions.
I wasn't Bhargav anymore. I was the guy who got cheated on. The guy everyone felt sorry for.
And weirdly enough, some people seemed… interested in that.
"Hey, Bhargav," A girl from chemistry lab—Ankita—waved at me with an unnatural enthusiasm. "Did you get the updated timetable? Can you forward it?"
I checked my phone. "It's in the group, no?"
"I left the group by mistake!" she said, biting her lip. "Can you just send it to me personally?"
I hesitated. "Sure."
A minute later, another girl leaned over during a lecture. "Hey, are you coming to the project briefing tomorrow? I was wondering if we could partner up…"
We'd never spoken before. I didn't even know her name.
"Maybe," I said vaguely.
I could feel it—the sudden shift in attention. From invisible to irresistible. Girls who hadn't even glanced my way last year were now initiating conversations, offering smiles, dropping their pens "accidentally" near my seat.
I wasn't flattered.
I was exhausted.
It wasn't real.
They didn't care about who I was. They cared about the story. The aura. The mystery.
The "Oh, he's hurting. I could heal him" nonsense.
To them, I was now a walking trope. The brooding ex-boyfriend with a painful past and a soft jawline. A tragic bachelor. The kind they write fanfiction about on college forums.
But me?
All I wanted was to leave.
To get on my bike and ride out of this shallow circus. To go where things felt normal.
The terrace.
My safe haven. The one place that hadn't changed.
I thought of Siri then.
Her smile—wide and sincere—when she handed me a melting butterscotch ice cream, her eyes sparkling as if she was handing me the universe. The way she scrunched her nose when a bit of cream landed on it, then tried to wipe it with her sleeve, only to smear it worse.
I had teased her. She'd pouted.
"You look like a dessert mascot," I had said, laughing.
She'd shoved the cone at me and grumbled, "Fine. You eat it. Ice cream betrays me."
And I had laughed. Properly laughed. The kind that made your stomach ache and the sadness take a break.
Then there was that 2 a.m. call. I had picked up, groggy.
"Do owls sleep at night?" she had whispered.
I blinked, deadpan. "Siri. What the hell."
She giggled. "Serious question! I just saw one blink at me. I think it judged me."
"You're insane."
"Yeah… but I'm your problem now," she'd said softly, then gone quiet.
She was chaos. Unfiltered, unpredictable, wonderfully wild chaos.
But she was real.
There were no games with her. No manipulation. No audience needed. She didn't need me to be her arm candy. She just… saw me.
And that was rare.
Varsha?
She was a loud, glittery, painful chapter. A memory dipped in betrayal. One I had read too many times, hoping the ending would change.
But Siri?
Siri was peace.
No spectacle. No noise.
Just late-night laughs, ice cream stains, and 2 a.m. owl theories.
And suddenly, that's all I craved.
Not attention.
Not validation.
Just her.
Her voice. Her presence. The way she looked at me like I was enough even when I wasn't trying.
I closed my eyes.
Maybe after class, I'd go home.
Or maybe I'd take the long route. Ride till the breeze slapped the weight off my chest.
Then climb the terrace.
Where she might be waiting.
Or maybe not.
But her absence would still be kinder than this performance.
Because everything here was noise.
And Siri?
Siri was the silence that made sense.
To be continued...