NIGHT
Anandpur stretched under the night like it always did—rows of concrete buildings, narrow lanes, and tangled electric wires cutting across the sky.
Even this late, the city wasn't really asleep. Somewhere a bike passed, a dog barked, a television played behind an open window.
Under the streetlights, everything looked quieter than it really was, as if Anandpur knew how to hide what happened inside it.
In one of the buildings, Kabir lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling above him.
The fan kept spinning. Round and round, same as every night. Kabir stared at it, counting the rotations because what else was there to do at two in the morning.
Slap.
He jerked upright. Downstairs. Always downstairs.
"You think I like this?" His father's voice cut through the house. "You think I want to do what I do? I'm out there breaking my back for you people!"
Kabir couldn't hear what his mother said back. She never raised her voice.
"I gave up everything! So that boy can chase his stupid dreams, so you can sit here and live freely!" Something shattered. Glass, probably. "Is this the thanks I get?"
"Please, just—"
The slap was loud enough to hear from upstairs.
Then crying. Soft, broken crying that made Kabir pull the pillow over his head and wish he was anywhere else.
MORNING
"KA-BIR! KA-BIR! AV-NI! AV-NI!"
The courtyard was packed. Kabir stood behind the stage curtain, wiping his palms on his pants. He could see them through the gap—must've been around two hundred kids, teachers, teens out there, maybe more.
"Nervous?" Avni appeared next to him, guitar already out of its case. She had her hair tied back today, loose strands falling around her face.
"No."
"Liar." She was smiling though. "Come on, they're waiting."
He walked out first. The screaming got louder immediately. Kabir felt his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose from the heat of the stage lights, and he pushed them back up with a quick, practiced flick of his finger before grabbing the mic.
"Alright, alright. Thanks for coming, guys. We've got something good for you today." He paused, letting the anticipation build. "So just sit back and... actually, don't sit. You know what to do. Let's welcome Avni!"
She walked out with the guitar and the noise exploded again. She waved, laughing at the energy, then settled onto the stool they'd set up. Kabir grabbed the second mic.
The song started simple—her fingers on the strings, his voice coming in low. They'd practiced this for weeks, knew every beat, every breath. Halfway through, Kabir glanced at her and she was already looking at him, smiling while she played. It was their thing—they always made eye contact during performances, kept each other grounded. By the chorus, the whole crowd was swaying, some of them singing along even though they'd never heard it before.
When the last note faded, the applause was deafening.
Avni stood up, still holding the guitar. "Thank you! Seriously, you guys are amazing. We'll see you at the talent show next month, yeah?"
More cheering. She and Kabir walked off stage together, grinning like idiots.
"That was insane," she said once they were backstage.
"You killed it with that bridge part."
"We killed it." She punched his arm lightly. "Don't sell yourself short."
They walked toward the main building, the adrenaline still buzzing. Students kept stopping them—nice job, that was sick, you two are perfect together—and Avni handled it all with easy grace. She'd always been good with people like that, knew how to talk to anyone.
"So," Kabir said when they finally had a moment alone. "You doing anything after the singing class tonight?"
"Probably homework. Why?"
"Just wondering if you wanted to, I don't know... grab chaat or something? That place near the studio?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Is this your way of asking me to pay for your pani puri again?"
"What? No! I paid last time—"
"You paid with money you borrowed from Vihaan."
"That's still paying!"
She laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible, Kabir."
"Is that a yes or...?"
"Maybe. If you actually bring your own money this time." She was still smiling when she walked away, backpack bouncing against her shoulders.
Kabir watched her go, then felt someone slap his back hard enough to hurt.
"Bro, you rocked that!" Vihaan appeared out of nowhere, grinning ear to ear. "The whole crowd was losing it!"
"Thanks, man."
"And that thing with Avni just now?" Vihaan waggled his eyebrows. "Asking her out for chaat? Real romantic."
"Shut up. It's not like that."
"Sure. Sure it's not." Vihaan fell into step beside him. "So when are you gonna admit you like her?"
Kabir felt his face heat up. "I don't—we—we're just friends."
"Friends who stare at each other during songs."
"That's called performing, genius. We have to look at each other."
"Uh-huh. And the chaat date?"
"It's not a date! We get food after class all the time."
"Yeah, together. Alone. Just the two of you."
"Sometimes you come too!"
"Only when you invite me. Which is never anymore, by the way. Wonder why." Vihaan was enjoying this way too much.
Kabir shoved him. "You're reading into things that aren't there."
"If you say so, Bro. But for the record?" Vihaan's voice got serious. "You could do worse. She's cool. And she actually laughs at your terrible jokes, which is basically a miracle."
"My jokes aren't terrible."
"Remember the one about the guitar and the—"
"Okay, fine, that one was bad. But usually—"
"Usually they're worse."
They argued all the way to English class, and Kabir was grateful for the distraction. Because the truth was, he didn't know what he felt about Avni. She was his friend. His best friend, really, even though Vihaan held that title officially. They'd known each other since sixth grade, sat together at lunch, practiced songs together, complained about homework together. That was normal. That was just... what they did.
So why did his stomach do that weird flip thing when she smiled at him?
He pushed the thought away.
The rest of the day blurred past. Kabir's hand shot up in History when Mr. Sharma asked about the Mughal Empire—Avni sat two rows ahead and turned around when he answered, giving him a quick thumbs up. In Math, he finished the problem set before everyone else. During PT period, they played throwball and he was in his element—caught the ball mid-air twice, sent it flying straight into the opponent's court over and over. His aim was perfect today. Perfect Always. Everything just... clicked.
"Show-off," someone muttered, but they were smiling.
By the time the final bell rang, Kabir's energy had drained completely. The thought of going home sat heavy in his chest.
He walked slowly, taking the long route through the park. When he finally reached his building, he stood outside for a full minute before going in.
The apartment was quiet. His father's shoes weren't by the door—out working, probably. Good.
"Kabir?" His mother came out of the kitchen, and he went straight to her, wrapping his arms around her waist like he used to when he was little.
"Hi, Maa."
She hugged him back, tight. "How was school?"
"Good. The singing thing went really well."
"Of course it did. You've been practicing so much." She pulled back to look at him, brushing his hair off his forehead. "And your birthday's next week. Fifteen! Can you believe it?"
He tried to smile. "Yeah."
"We'll do something special. Your favorite food, cake, whatever you want."
"Maa..." He looked at her properly then—at the exhaustion in her eyes, the fading bruise on her wrist she thought he hadn't noticed. "Why don't you leave him?"
Her face closed off immediately. "Kabir—"
"He hits you. I hear it. Every night."
"He works hard for us. You don't understand the pressure he's under—"
"I don't care about the pressure!" His voice cracked. "He hurts you!"
"He loves us. He's doing this so you can have opportunities, so you can study and follow your dreams—"
"I don't want him doing anything for me! I can take care of myself now, and you can too. You have your own life, Maa. You don't have to—"
"Enough." She wasn't angry, just tired. So tired. "I can't leave him, beta. I won't. This is our family."
"But—"
"Enough."
Kabir clenched his jaw. "What does he even do? For work? You never tell me."
She looked away. "He... provides. That's all you need to know."
"Maa, what does he—"
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then back at him. "I need to take this. Go rest, okay? You have singing class later."
She disappeared into her room before he could argue.
Kabir went to his own room and slammed the door harder than necessary. He opened his laptop, pulled up The Walking Dead—Season 5, Episode 16.
The episode built and built, tension crawling up his spine, until the final scene hit and his jaw literally dropped.
"No way," he whispered. Then, louder: "No way!"
He threw his hands up. "Absolute cinema!"
He closed the laptop, still buzzing from it, and that's when his phone lit up.
Avni:that was fun today
Kabir:yeah we shouldve recorded it
Avni:next time for sure
Avni:you still coming to class tonight?
Kabir:yeah why wouldnt i
Avni:idk you seemed tired after school
Kabir:im fine
Avni:okay good because i need help with that high note in the new song
Kabir:the one in the second verse?
Avni:yeah i keep cracking on it
Kabir:youre not cracking youre just going sharp
Kabir:ill show you tonight
Avni:thanks :) see you there
He stared at the smiley face for longer than necessary, then tossed his phone on the bed.
But he didn't lie down. He couldn't. The quiet of the house was starting to itch at his skin, making the memory of the "slaps" from last night feel louder than the music from this morning. He needed to be out. He needed to be where she was.
He checked the time—still too early for class—but he left anyway. He found himself lingering near the school gates, then the park, just waiting for the clock to run down. He told himself he was just killing time, but his eyes kept drifting to the street corner, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He didn't know if he was "affected" by her—he wasn't even sure what that word meant in this context—but he knew that when he was near her, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter. He always waited for her, even when he didn't have to. It was becoming a rhythm he couldn't break.
Before heading toward the studio, he reached into his bag and pulled out his wallet. He fished out a fifty-rupee note. It was slightly crumpled, but he smoothed it out against his palm with a small, determined smile. He'd kept his promise. He wasn't going to be the guy who borrowed money today. He was going to be the guy who could take care of things.
With the note tucked firmly in his pocket, he finally started the walk across town.
The singing class was across town, in a small studio above a bookstore. Kabir got there early and waited outside, leaning against the wall. The evening air was cooler now, and the street was busy with people heading home from work.
Vihaan was supposed to meet him, but Avni showed up first.
She was wearing something different—jeans and a blue kurti instead of the school uniform. Her hair was down now, falling past her shoulders. She had her guitar case slung over one shoulder and was scrolling through her phone as she walked.
Kabir watched her approach, and for a second he just... noticed things. The way she walked, kind of bouncing on her feet. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when it fell in her face. Small things he'd probably seen a hundred times before but never really paid attention to.
She looked up and spotted him, her face breaking into a smile. "Hey! You're early."
"Yeah, Vihaan's running late."
"Shocker." She came to stand next to him, leaning against the wall. "So, you ready to fix my terrible singing?"
"Your singing's not terrible."
"I literally sound like a dying cat on that high note."
"A very talented dying cat."
She laughed and shoved his shoulder. "Shut up."
They stood there for a moment, just existing in comfortable silence. A rickshaw rattled past. Someone's music was playing from an open window above them.
"Kabir?"
"Yeah?"
"You okay? You've been kind of... I don't know. Quiet lately."
He glanced at her. "I'm always quiet."
"No, you're usually quiet around other people. Not around me." She was looking at him now, actually concerned. "Is something going on?"
He wanted to tell her. About his father, about the fighting, about how he felt like he was suffocating in his own house. But the words stuck in his throat.
"I'm good," he said finally. "Just school stuff. You know."
She didn't look convinced, but she didn't push either. "Okay. But if you want to talk..."
"I know. Thanks."
"Yo!" Vihaan jogged up, out of breath. "Sorry, my mom made me go to the market with her—" He stopped, looking between them. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No," they said at the same time.
"Right. Sure." Vihaan grinned. "Well, shall we?"
They started toward the door, but before they could get there, six guys stepped out of the alley next to the bookstore. Kabir recognized them immediately—seniors from school. Rohan's group.
"Well, well." Rohan crossed his arms, blocking the entrance. "If it isn't the golden boy."
Kabir stopped. "We're just here for class, Rohan."
"Oh, I know. You're always here for class, right? Always showing off, always getting the applause." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Tell me, Kabir, does it hurt being so perfect?"
The other guys snickered. Avni stepped closer to Kabir, her expression hardening.
Vihaan stepped forward too. "Come on, man, we're not doing this."
"I'm talking to him, not you." Rohan's eyes stayed locked on Kabir. "What is it, huh? Teachers love you, girls love you, you win every competition. Must be nice living in your little bubble."
"I don't have a bubble," Kabir said quietly. "I just do my thing. That's it."
"Your thing." Rohan laughed. "Yeah, and the rest of us are supposed to just watch, right? Clap for you like trained seals?"
One of the other guys—Daksh, Kabir thought his name was—chimed in. "Maybe if you weren't such a try-hard, people wouldn't hate you so much."
"I don't try to make anyone hate me."
"No, you just try to make everyone else look bad," Rohan shot back. "Same difference."
"That's not—" Avni started, but Kabir put a hand on her arm.
"It's fine," he said softly. Then, to Rohan: "Look, I get it. You don't like me. That's fine. But I've never done anything to you, and I'm not gonna stand here and apologize for working hard. So if you're done, we'd like to go inside."
Rohan blinked, clearly not expecting that. The group shifted uncomfortably.
Vihaan added, "Yeah, seriously. If you've got a problem, talk to us like normal people. Otherwise, move."
For a second, Kabir thought it might actually escalate. Rohan's jaw tightened, his friends muttered to each other. But then he just scoffed and stepped aside.
"Whatever. Enjoy your precious class, golden boy."
Kabir, Avni, and Vihaan walked past them without another word.
Once they were inside and the door closed behind them, Avni let out a breath. "God, those guys are such jerks."
"They're just jealous," Vihaan said.
"Still. They didn't have to—" She looked at Kabir. "You handled that really well. I would've lost it."
"It's not worth it," Kabir said. But his hands were shaking slightly, and he shoved them in his pockets so she wouldn't notice.
They found seats near the middle of the room. Avni sat between him and Vihaan, setting her guitar case down carefully.
The teacher, Mrs. D'Souza, started the class with warm-ups. Kabir tried to focus on the breathing exercises, the scales, but his mind kept drifting. To Rohan's words outside. To his mother's bruised wrist. To his father's voice echoing through the house at night.
"Kabir." Avni's voice pulled him back. "You're spacing out."
"Sorry."
"It's the high note section. You said you'd help me."
"Right. Yeah." He shook himself mentally. "Okay, so the problem is you're trying to push from your throat. You need to support it from here—" He tapped his diaphragm. "Let the air do the work."
"Show me?"
He sang the line, hitting the note cleanly. She watched his posture, the way he breathed.
"Okay, my turn." She tried it, and it was better, but still a little sharp.
"Almost. One more time, but relax your shoulders. You're too tense."
She tried again. This time it was perfect.
"There!" Kabir grinned. "See? Told you."
"Okay, okay, you were right." She was smiling now, pleased with herself. "Thanks, teach."
"Anytime."
Mrs. D'Souza called them back to attention, and they spent the next hour running through group numbers. When class finally ended, Vihaan had to rush off—his dad was picking him up—leaving Kabir and Avni to pack up their things.
"So," Avni said, slinging her guitar over her shoulder. "Chaat?"
"You're actually coming?"
"Well, you promised to bring your own money this time. I want to see if that's true."
Kabir pulled out a crumpled fifty-rupee note from his pocket. "See? Prepared."
She laughed. "Alright then. Let's go."
They walked to the chaat stand two streets over, the one with the best pani puri in the area. The vendor knew them by now, started preparing their usual order before they even asked.
"Extra spicy for him," Avni told the vendor, pointing at Kabir. "He likes to suffer."
"I like flavor. There's a difference."
"Your face turns red."
"That's just... the spices working."
She laughed again, and Kabir realized he'd do just about anything to keep hearing that sound.
They ate standing up, the evening darkening around them. Avni told him about her little brother's latest disaster—something involving a cricket ball and a neighbor's window. Kabir told her about the Walking Dead finale, and she listened even though she'd never watched the show.
"You're really into this, huh?" she said.
"It's good! The writing, the characters—"
"The zombies?"
"Well, yeah, obviously the zombies."
"You're such a nerd."
"Says the girl who cried during a Bollywood movie last week."
"That was a sad movie! The dog died!"
"The dog was fine, it just ran away—"
"It was IMPLIED death, Kabir. Implied."
They argued back and forth, laughing, until the vendor started closing up for the night. Kabir paid—with his own money—and they started walking toward the bus stop.
"Thanks for tonight," Avni said quietly. "I needed this. School's been... a lot."
"Yeah. Same."
She glanced at him. "You sure you're okay? For real?"
He wanted to say no. Wanted to tell her everything. But instead he just nodded. "I'm good. Promise."
She didn't look entirely convinced, but she let it go. When the bus came, they got on together, sitting in the back. Avni pulled out her earbuds and offered him one.
"What are we listening to?"
"Just... whatever's on my playlist. Is that okay?"
"Yeah."
They sat there, sharing music, watching the city pass by through the window. And for just a little while, Kabir forgot about everything else.
He was fourteen years old, and already the world felt too heavy to carry.