"Do you… like Arjun?"
The question landed like a soft knock. Not aggressive. Not even surprised. Just steady.
Shruti didn't react at first. But her fingers slowly curled around the edge of the railing. "Why do you ask?"
Saranya gave a half-smile, more sad than amused. "Because of how he looked at you yesterday. And how you looked at him. You touched his hair. And he let you."
Shruti lowered her gaze.
"I don't think he even lets people sit next to him unless he wants them to," Saranya added, softer now.
Shruti sighed. "You noticed all that?"
"I've noticed him for a long time," Saranya admitted. "Since the first week of college."
Shruti looked up at her. "What happened?"
"I was being ragged," she said, voice dipping. "Behind the mechanical block. A few seniors blocked my way and made fun of my accent, my clothes. I froze. I couldn't speak. I felt so stupid… helpless."
Shruti felt her throat tighten.
"Then Arjun came. Out of nowhere. He didn't raise his voice. Just walked into the middle of it and asked me if I needed help. Just like that. And they backed off."
She blinked slowly. "He didn't even look at me afterward like I was weak. Just… nodded and left."
Shruti didn't say anything, but the image painted itself clearly in her mind. She could imagine it exactly—Arjun's calm stare, his solid silence that spoke louder than words.
"I think I started liking him from that day," Saranya whispered. "Not in a crush way, not entirely. Just… admiration. Respect. Then curiosity."
Shruti listened quietly.
"I didn't plan on telling anyone. Not even him. But then yesterday… I saw you with him. And I knew. You didn't need to say a word. So I thought I'd rather be honest about it."
There was a long pause.
"I like him too," Shruti said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Saranya's eyes didn't waver. "So… what now?"
"I haven't told him," Shruti said. "I haven't even figured it out fully myself. But I can't lie to you either."
"I appreciate that."
Shruti bit her lip. "And if you want to talk to him… I won't stop you."
"You won't?" Saranya asked, surprised.
"No," Shruti said. "Because Arjun isn't mine to claim."
The words came out more easily than she expected. But her heart felt like it had cracked a little somewhere inside.
Saranya looked at her for a long moment. Then she said softly, "You're… really kind."
"I'm really confused," Shruti smiled faintly. "But I guess we both are."
Saranya chuckled, the sound soft and warm. "True."
There was a beat of quiet.
"Can I ask something else?" Saranya said suddenly.
"Go ahead."
"What's your favorite book?"
Shruti blinked. "What?"
"Well," Saranya said, her smile small but real now, "you said we could still be friends, right? So I'm trying."
Shruti laughed quietly. "That was smooth."
"I try," Saranya said, straightening up. "So?"
Shruti smiled. "The Palace of Illusions. You?"
"Ponniyin Selvan. But the original Tamil version."
Shruti looked at her with new interest. "You read it in Tamil? That's impressive."
"I had to use the dictionary every ten pages," Saranya said, grinning now. "But it was worth it."
They both laughed lightly. The tension had thinned, turning into something gentler.
Shruti extended her hand. "Friends, then?"
Saranya hesitated only a second before shaking it. "Friends."
They stood there a moment longer, the late sunlight draping golden across their joined hands. It wasn't a beginning of something grand—but it was something real.
As they began walking back toward the benches, Saranya said, "I still don't think I have a chance."
"You might," Shruti said quietly. "But if he's meant to be yours… he will be."
"And if he's meant to be yours?"
Shruti looked ahead, lips pressed into a faint smile. "Then I better stop being so slow."
Saranya chuckled. "Well, if I ever back off… it won't be out of bitterness."
"I know," Shruti said. "And thank you for coming to talk. Not everyone would."
"I guess I wanted to be sure I wasn't fighting a war that didn't need to happen."
Shruti nodded. "It didn't."
They walked together back into the scattered sunlight and student chatter, side by side—not as rivals, but as two girls trying to navigate the strange, silent ache of liking the same boy.
And as Shruti sat back under her tree, picking at her rice again, her heart felt heavier. But also lighter. Like something had broken—but in its place, something else was beginning to grow.
To be continued...