Abhi sat still, gaze unfocused, fingers curling against the desk. The ache in his chest pressed heavy, suffocating, but he refused to let it spill.
Vihan studied him, hesitation in his eyes. Beside him, Dino shifted. "Vihan… say something. We can't handle another lovesick fool."
Vihan's jaw tensed. "Keep your mouth shut," he snapped.
Dino huffed, sinking back.
The silence dragged until Vihan finally spoke, voice low. "Brother… how are you going to face Senior Arun after this?"
Abhi's fingers tightened. His chest constricted. His mind went still.
"…I don't know," he admitted, voice barely audible.
Dino frowned. "What do you mean by you don't know?"
Abhi swallowed, throat dry. His hands trembled. "I don't know means i don't know."
Dino groaned, burying his face in his arms. "You're being hopeless now."
Vihan ignored Dino, leaning closer towards Abhi, "You should explain why you did it..."
Memories crashed through Abhi—guilt, frustration, longing. The urge to pull Arun closer, just once, to feel that warmth for real.
"The way he looked at me…" His breath hitched. "It feels like I'm dying."
The words trembled out before he could stop them. The truth was undeniable now. But knowing wasn't enough.
How could he undo the damage? To Arun, their moments meant nothing—just an illusion, a manipulation born of necessity. A betrayal already rooted too deep.
---
[Later, that day—Senior wing]
The lecture droned on, the professor's voice a dull hum. Arun sat rigid, fingers clenched, gaze fixed straight ahead—unseeing yet acutely aware.
He felt it. The weight of familiar eyes.
A few rows away, Karan and Aarav stole glances. They'd been watching him ever since things shifted with Abhi.
The bell rang.
Arun was on his feet at once—bag slung, notebook tucked, stride sharp and certain. No hesitation. He had a routine now, a life stripped of distractions.
Until the hallway stopped him cold.
Abhi. Leaning against the wall, arms folded, gaze locked onto him the instant he emerged. Eyes searching. Pleading.
Arun's jaw tightened. He didn't slow. He walked past, fists curled, every step defying the pull in his chest. As if Abhi were nothing but a ghost.
Abhi straightened, sorrow flickering across his face.
"Young mas—" His voice faltered, weighed with guilt.
Arun heard it. Felt it. But kept walking.
"Senior, stop..." The plea broke sharper, desperate. But by then, Arun was gone, swallowed into the tide of students.
Silence settled in the hall.
Abhi stood frozen, hand half-raised before it dropped into a fist. His breath trembled, sorrow threading through it.
He could endure anger, endure glares—but being ignored? That was unbearable.
Karan and Aarav stepped out of the classroom. They had seen everything.
Abhi stood tense, eyes dark, holding himself together by a thread.
Karan and Aarav exchanged a glance before moving toward him.
"Abhi..." Aarav's voice was gentle, a hand resting on his shoulder.
No response. Just a slow, measured exhale that did nothing to hide the storm beneath.
"We hurt him too much..." Karan murmured.
Abhi's gaze dropped to the floor. He didn't need to be told. He had felt it in Arun's stride, in the way he refused to look at him. Knowing it didn't make it hurt less.
Aarav studied him, then lowered his voice. "Abhi… do you love him?"
Abhi froze. A pause.
The answer throbbed in his chest, begging to be spoken. But he couldn't. He remembered Aarav and Ayan, what it had cost them. What if he had to face that too?
As if sensing his hesitation, Aarav pressed quietly, "Do you not love him… or do you not want to?"
The words hit him harder than he expected. If it wasn't love, he should let it go. But if it was—then the choice lay with him.
Abhi swallowed, throat tight. His fists curled at his sides. "…Brother. You go home first. I will be back."
Aarav didn't push. He simply watched as Abhi turned away, thoughts consuming him.
Because, somewhere deep within, he already knew. His heart had decided long ago.
---
[At night—Singh's Mansion]
Abhi paced along the mansion's boundaries, steps stormy, breath uneven. One thought consumed him—he had to see Arun before it was too late.
But the security was impenetrable. Back with full force.
Above, on the balcony, Arun stepped out. Sleep had evaded him, thoughts tangled. The night air chilled his skin as his gaze swept the grounds—until it found him.
Abhi.
For a moment, warmth flickered in Arun's chest. Was he here for me? But the weight of betrayal crushed it just as quickly.
Abhi's lips parted, but no words came.
Arun turned away, retreating into his room. The glass doors slid shut, curtains falling like a blade, severing the fragile thread between them.
Below, Abhi's fists clenched. His body screamed to act, to climb, to call out. But he stood frozen, drowning under the weight of silence.
A voice cut through the air.
"You've really messed up this time."
Abhi turned, and found Annaya leaned against a sleek black car, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"I just wanted to help my brother," Abhi muttered. The words only deepened the ache.
"He already knew."
Abhi looked at her, startled.
"Arun knew about Ayan and your brother," she said. "Knew they were meeting in secret—and he let it happen."
"Why would he—"
"Because he knew what forbidden love felt like." Her voice gentled. "Your brother makes Ayan happy. He knew it, even when you two came here at night. He wanted Ayan to have what he never could."
The words struck heavy. Arun had known. Accepted it. And yet, he was the one hurting most.
Annaya's gaze softened, searching. "He loved you, Abhi. Since childhood."
Abhi froze. The air left his lungs. Love? Since childhood?
No—that couldn't be true. Their past was rivalry, taunts, endless challenges. But now… the memories shifted. The way Arun never held his gaze for long, yet never looked away. The quiet patience in his eyes, as if waiting for something Abhi never understood.
Annaya hesitated before speaking. "He never said it out loud. Never let himself hope—because of your families. But when you came closer… when you treated him differently… he thought maybe you felt the same. Maybe, this time, he could give himself a chance."
She exhaled, bitter. "He wasn't hurt because you helped them. That only brought you closer, just as he wanted. But he's hurt because now he thinks it was all an act."
Abhi's chest tightened. His fists clenched. "It wasn't," he snapped, voice raw, trembling with desperation. "Not once. Not ever when I was with him."
Annaya studied him, calm, steady. Then quietly: "Then why does it sound like you're only realizing it now?"
Abhi had no answer. Only the crushing truth pressing in on him—he'd been blind all along.
Her voice softened. "He's spent his whole life waiting. Don't let his only wish go unanswered."
She smiled then—gentle, almost forgiving—before slipping into her car. The engine roared to life, and in moments she was gone, leaving Abhi standing in the night, swallowed by the weight of everything he had never said.
---
[Meanwhile—Singh's office]
Mr. Singh sat at his desk, the dim lamp casting long shadows across the room. The only sound was the steady tick of the clock. His fingers tapped against the armrest, lost in thought—until a familiar voice cut through.
"Master."
Mr. Raj stood beside him, calm but purposeful, placing a file on the table. "We're prepared for the upcoming voting week."
Mr. Singh leaned back, eyes narrowing. "And the mood in the office?"
A brief hesitation flickered in Mr. Raj's gaze. "Most support Mr. Rawat's decision. Aarav is regarded as capable… deserving. No one questions his worth."
Mr. Singh exhaled slowly, fingers stilling. The silence stretched heavy. The battle for power had begun, and the tide was shifting. Whether toward him—or against him—remained uncertain.