Aveer had spent the last two days pretending Aarav didn't exist.
And maybe he had started believing it himself.
It was easier that way.
Easier to walk past him in the corridor without looking.
Easier to eat alone at the mess while Aarav sat three tables away.
Easier to talk to anyone - anyone but him.
Aarav didn't try much either.
He just... watched.
Like someone standing outside a glass wall, close enough to see, too far to touch.
At coaching, things were quieter.
Shivi had started walking beside him more often, sometimes with a smile that lingered a bit too long, sometimes with a question that didn't need answers.
She was sweet, genuine.
The kind of girl anyone would fall for easily.
Aveer tried.
He really did.
When she brushed her hair behind her ear and smiled, he smiled back.
When she asked if he wanted to grab coffee, he said maybe.
But somewhere between her laugh and Aveer's forced smile, something inside him stayed silent.
That silence had a name.
He just didn't want to say it.
That evening, Aveer sat by the window, staring at the rain as it painted the city grey again.
Aarav was behind him, humming something faintly while typing on his laptop.
Aveer didn't turn to look.
He couldn't.
Every sound Aarav made, a sigh - a chair creak, a hum - kept pulling him back to a place he had tried to bury for four years.
A place where trust felt like betrayal and affection turned to guilt.
By the next morning, Aveer had made up his mind.
He couldn't stay here anymore.
Not with him.
Not with the ghosts of what they once were.
So he went straight to the warden's office after class and filled out the request form for a room change.
The paper felt heavier than it should have -
like he was signing away something he didn't even own anymore.
When he came back, Aarav was standing near the gate.
He saw the form in Aveer's hand - the one with his name scribbled at the bottom , and his expression flickered for just a second.
Not shock.
Not anger.
Just... something quiet.
Something that looked like regret but died before Aveer could understand it.
Aarav didn't say a word.
Neither did Aveer.
They just walked past each other, two strangers sharing the same roof, pretending not to notice the silence screaming between them.
That night, Aarav's phone kept lighting up on the table.
Vishesh.
Again.
And again.
The name glowed like poison in the dark room.
Every ping, every vibration clawed at old wounds.
He still talked to him.
After everything.
The same Vishesh who had smiled while twisting the knife deeper.
Who had looked Aveer in the eye that day and said ...
"Aarav won't believe you, piece of shit. He knows what you really are. You should just disappear and save us the trouble."
And Aveer had begged ....
"Aarav, trust me... I didn't do it. I swear I didn't."
But Aarav hadn't said anything.
Not a word.
And his silence had hurt worse than the insult.
Now, four years later, that silence was still between them.
Unchanged.
Unforgiven.
Every time Aveer saw that name flash on Aarav's screen, it reminded him why he couldn't stay.
Why love - If this was love - only felt like a wound reopening.
He pulled the blanket over himself and turned away.
Aarav was still sitting on the edge of his bed, scrolling aimlessly, pretending to be fine.
Maybe he really was.
Maybe he had moved on.
Maybe Aveer was the only one still haunted by what was gone.
Whatever it was, one thing was certain -
Their story wasn't breaking apart.
It had already broken years ago.
---
It's strange how silence can grow louder than words.
It's been four days.
Four days since Aveer last spoke to Aarav.
At first, Aarav thought it was just another mood swing, that maybe the argument with Arsh, or something else, had messed up his mood. But now...
Now it feels like Aveer was building a wall.
Brick by brick.
And Aarav was the reason he needed it.
Every time Aarav tried to start a conversation -
"Had lunch?",
"Need notes?",
"Want to go out for chai?"
Aveer would just nod, or not look up at all.
And Aarav would stand there, waiting for something that never came.
The room felt smaller with every passing day.
Two people. Two beds.
And miles of silence stretched between them.
Aarav even tried the small things, the unnoticed kind of care.
He brought Aveer's favorite chocolate one evening, left it on his table.
Untouched.
The next day, he left some snacks from the mess.
Untouched again.
Maybe Aveer really didn't care anymore.
Or maybe Aarav had already lost the right to care.
Somewhere between trying and failing, Aarav just... stopped.
Maybe this was better.
Maybe forgetting him completely was the only way to stay sane, like he had done for the past four years.
So he buried the thoughts, the guilt, the flashes of Aveer's eyes when he looked hurt.
He told himself he was done.
Exams were coming up, and Aarav tried to focus.
Tried being the key word.
Because even while reading, his eyes kept drifting to things they shouldn't-
like the stack of documents on Aveer's table for room change.
He was serious this time.
He was really leaving.
And Aarav couldn't do anything.
Didn't even know what he should do.
Maybe this was how it was meant to end, something that never really began.
That night, Aarav couldn't study.
So he went to Arsh and Aman's room instead. They were preparing for the same test, and their room was full of noise and laughter, the kind of chaos he desperately needed.
But even there, his mind was elsewhere.
"Bro, what's up with you two?" Arsh asked. "You and Aveer were finally talking like normal people. What happened now?"
Aarav didn't answer.
Because honestly, he didn't know.
How do you explain something you don't understand yourself?
Aman joined in, "You sure you didn't fight again? Because man, that tension in your room is thick enough to choke on."
Aarav forced a half smile. "It's nothing. Just exams."
But it wasn't nothing.
It was everything.
When Aarav came back later, Aveer wasn't in the room.
His side of the bed looked cleaner, emptier.
The umbrella Shivi had given him was gone too.
Aveer's phone buzzed ; a notification lighting up the table.
Shivi: "Take care of yourself, idiot ."
Aarav didn't know why that stung.
Maybe because he wasn't the one who knew how Aveer was anymore.
Maybe because someone else cared - and he had no right to.
He looked at Aveer's side of the room once more.
The coldness between them felt heavier than it had ever been.
Everything was falling apart.
But maybe it was never built right in the first place.
Some stories don't shatter in a moment -
they fade quietly, until love started sounding like silence,
and silence felt like goodbye.
Morning came quietly. Too quietly.
The kind of silence that feels like the end of something Aarav didn't want to name.
Aveer was still asleep, half-curled under his blanket, face soft in the pale light sneaking through the window.
For a moment, Aarav just stood there, watching him breathe.
He looked peaceful.
Maybe that's why Aarav couldn't wake him.
He didn't deserve to.
Aarav had semester exams and practicals that day, and by the time he would return, Aveer would be gone.
Room emptied, bed clean, memories packed away like dust swept under the mat.
He left a small note on Aveer's table.
It read -
"Goodbye, Aveer. I hope I won't bother you anymore, or be the reason for your sadness again."
Pathetic, right?
But it was all Aarav could say without choking on guilt he couldn't explain.
Before leaving, Aarav glanced at him once more.
Something in him wanted to say don't go.
To reach out, shake him awake.
To ask him to stay.
But he didn't.
Instead, he leaned closer - hesitating - and pressed a quiet kiss to Aveer's forehead.
"Goodbye... and I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Sorry for everything I did or didn't do."
Then Aarav turned away before his heart could betray him.
The door clicked shut behind him, soft but final.
The sound made Aveer stir awake.
He blinked, the room still fogged with sleep, and noticed the folded note resting near his pillow.
He didn't touch it right away, just stared.
The paper looked harmless, but something about it made his throat tighten.
He unfolded it slowly, reading the words twice, maybe thrice, as if they'd change by looking harder.
But they didn't.
In Aarav's College -
Hours later.
The exam hall buzzed around Aarav, but his head wasn't there.
Every answer he wrote looked like Aveer's name hiding between the lines.
Every blank space echoed the silence we'd built.
He should've been focused, but he wasn't.
Even when Arsh said, "Let's go out after practicals, bro , maybe a bar?"
Aarav said yes.
Maybe guilt needed noise to drown itself in.
The music at the bar was loud. The laughter louder.
But none of it reached him.
Even with a drink in his hand, Aarav felt more empty than drunk. He couldn't drink a sip.
By the time he left, it was 10 p.m.
The air outside was heavy, the kind that smells of rain but never falls.
He walked back to the PG, head buzzing, not from loud music but from everything he hadn't said.
The door creaked open. Lights were off.
He didn't bother switching them on.
There was a shadow sitting on the edge of the other bed.
Aveer's bed.
For a second, Aarav thought he was imagining things.
But the quiet breathing proved otherwise.
He was still here.
"Why didn't you leave?" Aarav asked softly.
No answer.
"Did you forget something?" Aarav tried again.
Still nothing.
Aveer was there, but his silence filled the whole room.
Aarav didn't push.
Didn't have the strength to.
So he just sat down on his bed, close enough to feel the weight of his presence in the dark.
After a long pause, Aarav picked up his guitar.
The strings were cold against his fingers, but familiar.
A song rose, quiet, hesitant, the one he used to hum back in the village.
"Kya ishq hi wo paap hai, jisse duniya dare?
Agar hai paap bhi to hum, phir bhi wo hi kare."
*"Is love the sin that the world fears?
If it is a sin, then we will still commit it."*
His voice trembled halfway through.
The tune carried him -
Carried both of them -
back to that summer long ago.
A time before cities, before hurt, before they knew what it meant to lose someone.
Back when life was small, yet infinite.
The world then was just the narrow lanes of their village, muddy paths after rain, ponds that reflected the sky, and the mango trees that hid them from scolding voices.
They didn't need anyone else.
They had each other.
Aveer and Aarav were non blood related cousins but more close than any relation known to the world.
Aarav remembered the first time Aveer dragged him to the pond behind his house.
He was all energy, all laughter, that boy.
"Come on, Aarav! You're too slow!"
He ran barefoot through the grass, his school shirt half untucked, eyes shining like he owned the sun.
Aarav remembered standing there, panting, pretending to be annoyed. "You'll slip and fall, idiot."
And Aveer grinned, that wide, stubborn grin. "Then you'll jump to save me, right?"
And Aarav did.
Every single time.
They spent entire afternoons there, splashing water, racing dragonflies, lying on the grass untill the world blurred around them.
Sometimes Aveer would fall asleep -head on Aarav's shoulder, mumbling stories that made no sense.
And Aarav would just... watch.
Even then, before he understood it -
He liked watching Aveer more than he liked anything else.
At night, they would climb the narrow staircase to the terrace, carrying one worn-out mattress and a shared blanket that barely covered them both.
The stars always looked brighter from there, or maybe they just looked brighter in Aveer's eyes.
He'd start humming random tunes, asking, "Aarav, what do you think happens after we die?"
And Aarav would shrug, teasing, "You'll probably come back as a mosquito, just to annoy me again."
He'd laugh, swat his arm, then go quiet again, the kind of quiet that feels safe.
Sometimes, he'd trace constellations in the air. "That one's you," Aveer would say.
"And that's me. Always next to each other, even if we're far apart."
Back then, Aarav didn't realize how much weight those words carried.
Back then, forever actually meant forever.
The villagers used to tease them , "Aarav, when you both grow up, you'll marry other girls and forget each other."
And Aveer, without missing a beat, would puff his chest and shout, "Then I'll marry Aarav!"
He'd grab Aarav's hand and pull him close, laughing so freely it made even the old aunties smile.
And Aarav laughed too.
But something in that laughter...
was never a joke.
They didn't know what it was back then -
Love.
Friendship.
Or something nameless that existed between both.
They just knew that nights were warmer when they slept side by side.
That mornings felt incomplete without seeing each other first.
When Aarav stayed at Aveer's house during vacations, his mother used to smile seeing them together.
"You two have grown up together," she'd say.
And maybe she was right.
Their childhoods were stitched together ; laughter, fights, secrets, everything.
Aveer used to bring him breakfast even before eating himself.
They shared one plate, one bed, one dream - a world where nothing could touch them.
But that world cracked slowly.
The day it all broke, Aarav still remember Aveer's face.
His eyes were something else that day
He kept saying -
"Trust me, Aarav. I didn't do it, i didn't. Please, you know me."
And Aarav...
said nothing.
That silence... it ruined everything.
It turned laughter into distance, and affection into regret.
And even now, after years, the echoes of that silence still follow the , through every word they don't say, every look they avoid, every moment that feels like both punishment and memory.
The strings of the guitar trembled under his fingers as the song ended.
But the sound of that summer lingered - Aveer's laughter, the rustle of leaves, the splash of pond water, the whisper of forever.
A forever that they both believed in.
A forever that didn't survive growing up.
The strings went silent.
The last note trembled in the air before dying away, taking with it the last fragments of that summer.
A sound pulled Aarav out of it - small, shaky, real.
A sob.
He turned his head slowly.
The shadow on the other bed was trembling.
Aveer's head was bowed, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath he tried to hold back.
The same boy who once laughed without fear -
was breaking.
And Aarav knew -
those tears weren't just about the past.
They were about him.
To be continued...