Bhargav's POV
Later that evening, the lecture dragged on like a slow punishment. The professor's voice faded into a dull hum as the ceiling fan above whirred with more enthusiasm than anyone in the room. I rested my elbow on the bench and leaned my cheek against my knuckles, pretending to listen while my thoughts kept circling back to the day—Varsha, the whispers, the stares, the attention I didn't ask for.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
I glanced down, already expecting another meme from Adithya or a college notice.
But instead, there it was.
Siri: You must be tired. Come to the terrace tonight? Just for five minutes?
I blinked.
Just those two lines—and suddenly, the heaviness in my chest lifted, like someone cracked open a window inside me and let the dust escape. A quiet warmth spread through me, and I wasn't imagining it this time. My lips curved before I could stop them.
It wasn't a full-blown grin, but it was real. Uncontrollable.
And Adithya noticed.
He leaned in from his bench and nudged my shoulder. "Bro, bro, hold up—was that a smile? In this class? Did I see Bhargav smile in a theory lecture?"
Yash from the row behind joined in. "Damn, someone's day just got made. Who is it? Who's the girl?"
I quickly tilted my phone screen down and rolled my eyes. "It's nothing, man."
Adithya squinted suspiciously, grinning like a shark. "Liar. You just lit up like Diwali. Don't 'nothing' us. Who is she? New girlfriend?"
"Friend," I said, too quickly. "Just a friend."
"Uh-huh," Yash drawled. "That 'just friend' whose text makes you sit straighter, breathe deeper, and smile at your phone like a simp?"
Adithya pretended to wipe a fake tear. "Our Bhargav. Finally moving on from Miss Glitter Bomb."
"Cut it out," I muttered, shaking my head, though the smile still lingered on my lips. "It's not like that."
But it was something.
Not a relationship. Not a confession. Not yet.
Just a message. Just five minutes. Just her.
And yet, that one line from Siri had done what hours of fake smiles, shallow attention, and old wounds couldn't.
It reminded me who I was outside of heartbreak. Outside of rumors and pitying stares.
It reminded me there was still a part of my life untouched by all this chaos—still genuine.
I looked back down at her message.
You must be tired. Come to the terrace tonight? Just for five minutes?
She always said things like that. Short. Gentle. Like she already knew I was unraveling and didn't want to force me to explain.
I typed back slowly, eyes soft:
Me: Ten minutes. I'll bring you your favourite.
I hit send.
And for the first time that day, I stopped counting the minutes left in the lecture.
Because suddenly, I had something to look forward to.
No—not something.
Someone.
---
Siri's POV
I stared at the phone long after I sent the message.
Just five minutes, I'd typed.
As if that were enough. As if it could measure what I really needed.
But it wasn't about time.
It was about space.
The kind of space that feels like a pause between breaths. That terrible, widening space that can grow in silence when people don't speak up. I wasn't afraid of his college schedule. I was afraid of what might happen between his classes and mine. Between the goodnights and the weekends. Between us.
The space that might stretch until what we had became just another chapter we looked back on. The "terrace phase." A sweet, soft memory that never quite lasted.
I sat on the edge of the parapet wall, legs swinging into the warm breeze. The night wrapped around me gently, a familiar kind of hush that only the terrace knew. The moon was half full tonight. Hanging above us like a held breath. It felt symbolic—like us. Halfway into something. Hopeful. Hesitant. Not quite complete.
I heard the gate creak.
My breath caught.
The slow, familiar rhythm of his sandals on the concrete steps was like a heartbeat—mine.
Then I saw him.
Bhargav.
Wearing that half-smile that somehow always undid me. His hair was still a little damp, like he'd washed it in a hurry. His T-shirt clung softly to his frame, collar slightly stretched, the kind of imperfection I'd grown to love. His hands were behind his back, like he was hiding something. There was a boyishness to it. A playful secret.
"You came," I said. I hadn't meant to sound breathless, but I was.
He shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug that carried weight. "Told you I would."
Then he brought his hands forward.
A small black paper bag.
I blinked. "Wait… is that—?"
He grinned. "Dark chocolate. The fancy one you hide behind the rice container in your kitchen."
My mouth parted slightly. "You remembered that?"
"Of course I did," he said as he sat beside me. "I don't forget what matters."
I stared at the bag, my fingers brushing the matte paper. His words echoed quietly in my chest.
I don't forget what matters.
That shouldn't have hit so hard. But it did.
I held the chocolate in my lap, but my fingers trembled.
He noticed.
"What happened?" he asked gently. "You said it was urgent."
I looked away. At the moon. At the rusty railing. At anything but him.
"I just…" My voice cracked. I swallowed. "I just wanted to see you."
There was a beat of silence.
But I didn't hesitate this time. I couldn't. "I need to tell you something."
His posture changed. Slightly more alert. He turned toward me, his eyes locking onto mine.
"What is it?"
"Abhi messaged me today." I said it slowly, tasting the bitter weight of those words. "He asked me to forgive him. Said he made a mistake."
His jaw tightened. I saw it happen—his shoulders tensing, his fingers curling slightly against his thigh.
But he didn't interrupt.
"I blocked him," I said quickly. "Without replying. Didn't even think. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a single word."
He exhaled quietly. His shoulders dropped just a little. "Good."
"I just wanted you to know," I said softly. "Because I don't want secrets. Not anymore. Not between us."
He reached out, almost instinctively, and took my hand.
Warmth.
A pause followed—not awkward.
But spacious.
A silence where truth could stretch its limbs and sit beside us.
"I'm proud of you," he said finally.
I laughed a little, but it wasn't funny. "It shouldn't feel like such a big deal, but it does."
He squeezed my hand. "Because it is. Every time you choose yourself over your past… that's strength."
I looked down, voice low. "I didn't realise until today how scared I still am. Not of Abhi. But of…" I trailed off, struggling for the right words.
He filled them in for me. "Of losing this."
I nodded slowly.
"You're scared I'll drift away once college picks up again," he said. Not a question. A knowing.
I looked up, met his gaze. His eyes were so steady it made mine sting.
"I know it's silly," I said. "It's not like you're moving away. You're just resuming your life."
"But it feels like you're losing something. Again," he whispered, completing the sentence.
Tears filled my eyes before I could stop them. "Yeah."
He didn't move immediately. Just looked at me. Not with pity. But with presence.
Then he leaned in, not touching, but anchoring.
"I'm not going anywhere, Siri," he said, voice low. "Not from this terrace. Not from you."
My breath caught. Again.
I looked up—and I saw it. That unwavering look. That quiet vow people often forget to say aloud.
And before I could stop myself, I leaned forward and hugged him.
It wasn't dramatic or desperate. Just real.
My arms around his shoulders. My cheek resting against his. His warmth grounding me.
He stiffened, surprised. Then melted into it, arms slowly circling me in return.
"What happened?" he murmured against my hair.
"I just…" My voice cracked again. "Thank you. For coming. For understanding. For not calling me dramatic. For not laughing when I get scared."
"I'd never," he said immediately.
"I'm not used to people staying, Bhargav. I didn't even realise how much I needed you to stay until today."
He didn't say anything.
But he held me tighter.
"I remembered it all today," I whispered. "That night. What happened between us. The way Abhi cheated. It all hit me again. And when I saw that message…" My words broke apart.
I started sobbing before I realized I was crying.
He shifted slightly, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. "Hey," he said softly. "Hey. It's okay. You don't have to say everything all at once."
I nodded into his shoulder, my breath catching.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I don't want to be like this."
"You're allowed to break," he said, brushing his fingers over my hair. "You don't always have to be okay."
He exhaled near my neck, warm and real. "And I get it more than you know. Because when I saw your message earlier, it was like something finally made sense. Like a part of my day had been misplaced until you found it again."
I pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him.
His eyes held something quiet. But tired.
"It's not just college," he said. "It's everything there. The way people look at me. Like they still see me as Varsha's boyfriend. Or worse, her victim. Or her mistake. I don't even know anymore."
I didn't speak.
I just took his hand. Held it tight.
"I don't need explanations," I whispered. "I just need you."
That made him smile.
Not the charming kind. The real one. The one that softened his entire face.
"Then you have me," he said.
And we sat like that.
Not saying much.
Just breathing the same night air.
The chocolate lay forgotten between us, half-melted in its fancy packaging.
Eventually, reluctantly, we stood.
He stretched, cracked his neck lightly, like someone preparing to face the world again.
We walked to the stairs, side by side.
At the bottom, we paused. Like we always did. Like it had become a ritual.
He turned to me, that grin sneaking back into his face. "See you Saturday?"
I tilted my head, pretending to think. "Saturday's too far. I'll see you before that. You'll miss me."
"I already am," he said.
Our eyes locked for one more lingering second.
And then we turned.
Different directions. But the same beat in our hearts.
The night air felt softer.
The space between us… smaller.
And this invisible thread?
Stronger than ever.
To be continued...
[Volume -1 Complete]
[Volume -2 Coming soon]