The clock ticked past 11 PM.
The usually noisy college grounds were now quiet, save for the occasional rustle of wind and the soft chatter of a few dedicated volunteers. Tomorrow was the big day — the long-awaited fest. But for Eisha, it was more than just a college event. It felt like something else was about to change.
Eisha stood on the open terrace of the auditorium, looking out at the rows of glowing fairy lights and unfinished banner ropes hanging lazily. The breeze teased her hair as she held onto a roll of tape and some cloth ribbons.
She wasn't alone.
Ayaan stood a few feet away, hammering in the last row of hooks for the hanging lights. The silence between them had been hanging heavy ever since the conversation about Priya. It wasn't cold silence… just uncertain.
Eisha turned. "You sure you know what you're doing?"
Ayaan looked up, grinning. "You doubt me? That's insulting."
She smirked. "Your lightwork looks like it was done during an earthquake."
He chuckled, stepping back to admire his crooked handiwork. "It's abstract art."
Eisha laughed — the first genuine laugh in days.
They worked together for a while, mostly quiet, occasionally passing scissors or checking if a knot was tight enough. A little after midnight, Ayaan brought two folding chairs from the corner.
"Sit," he said. "Break time. You look like you'll faint."
She hesitated but finally sat down beside him. The campus, lit only by moonlight and string lights, looked magical. Peaceful. Almost unreal.
"Do you remember," Ayaan said slowly, "when we made that paper lantern in 5th grade?"
Eisha smiled. "The one that caught fire?"
He laughed. "We nearly burnt your living room."
"And then blamed your little brother for it," she added, laughing.
There was silence again — but it felt lighter now. Comfortable.
"I miss that sometimes," Eisha said, gazing at the sky. "When things were simpler. When I didn't have to think about why things felt… weird between us."
Ayaan turned to her. "So you feel it too?"
She didn't respond right away.
But her eyes did.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out two candies — orange-flavored, the exact kind he used to steal from her bag in 7th grade.
Eisha gasped. "You still keep these?"
He handed her one. "For emergencies only."
She took it, her fingers brushing against his. It lingered longer than either of them expected.
"Do you ever think," he asked softly, "how different life would be if we weren't neighbors?"
Eisha tilted her head. "Maybe… we wouldn't know each other so well. Maybe we wouldn't fight so much."
"Or maybe," Ayaan whispered, "we'd still end up right here… talking under the stars."
There it was.
That moment.
That dangerous, unspoken thing hovering between them — like a sentence waiting for its final word.
But just then, a group of juniors walked past downstairs, shouting, laughing, pulling them both back into the real world.
Eisha stood up quickly, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. "We should check the main stage lights."
Ayaan didn't stop her. He simply followed, a soft smile on his face.
Downstairs, the main stage was glowing under a trial run of the spotlights. Volunteers rushed back and forth adjusting curtains, painting last-minute signs.
Eisha and Ayaan jumped into action again — checking wires, guiding students, laughing with friends.
But now… something had changed.
There was an unspoken softness between them. A quiet bond that no longer needed words.
At around 2 AM, when most of the work was done, they both found themselves sitting at the edge of the stage, feet dangling, sipping on paper cups of coffee.
"Tomorrow's going to be crazy," Eisha murmured.
"Yeah," Ayaan said. "But I'm glad I'm doing it with you."
She looked at him — not surprised anymore. Not unsure.
Just aware.
And maybe, for now, that was enough.