The entire college atmosphere was awash with the colors of the Izhar Fest, but for Aryan, everything had become colorless. He hadn't eaten or spoken to Sameeksha in two days.
Sameeksha sat at the same library table, but today, it wasn't Aryan who was in front of her, but that blurred photograph. Just then, an old college professor, who had lived in the same city for years, approached her.
"Son, are you looking at this photograph?" the professor said, adjusting his glasses. "I remember that night. That man risked his own life to save an innocent."
Sameeksha was shocked. "Who are you talking about, sir?"
"Aryan's father. That night, he traveled in that police van not as a criminal, but as a witness. He testified against a notorious criminal, forcing his entire family to leave the city overnight under witness protection. He even had to change his identity."
The ground slipped from beneath Sameeksha's feet. Aryan wasn't lying—he couldn't tell the truth, because it was a matter of his family's safety!
She ran frantically toward the art gallery. The festival had begun. Vikram was standing near his photography, smiling proudly. But as Sameeksha reached the last corner of the gallery, it was the most crowded.
There wasn't Aryan's 'Day 120' sketch. There was a huge canvas depicting a broken bicycle, an old swing, and a picture of a little girl holding a little boy's hand. Written in bold letters below was:
"Loyalty doesn't just mean being together, but also protecting memories even when you're apart."
Sameeksha saw Aryan quietly leaving through the back gate of the gallery. She ran and grabbed his hand.
"Aryan! Wait!"
Aryan turned, dark circles under his eyes. "Samiksha, I don't want to put you in any more trouble. Vikram was right, my past..."
"Your past is that of a hero, Aryan," Sameeksha hugged him tightly. "I understand everything. You shouldered such a heavy burden alone to uphold your friendship and promise."
A thunderous applause echoed through the gallery. The judge shouted, "This year's Best Artist Award goes to—Aryan!"
Vikram's face fell. He had accepted defeat. The rain had started again, but today it wasn't stinging. Today, the rain was celebrating their union.