The morning sun spilled golden over the college campus, lighting up every corner that had been painstakingly decorated the night before. Buntings fluttered in the breeze, stage lights glowed in soft hues, and the sound of dhols echoed through the air.
The college fest had finally begun.
Students bustled everywhere—some in costumes, some holding props, and others just there to cheer. Excitement buzzed like electricity.
Eisha stood near the entrance gate, adjusting her sky-blue kurti and pinning her college ID card properly. She was a part of the organizing committee and had volunteered to manage stage entries. But her eyes kept scanning the crowd.
Not for volunteers.
But for Ayaan.
She hadn't seen him since early morning when he messaged a brief:"Running late. See you at the stage. Big day :)"
What big meant, she didn't know.
Around noon, the cultural events began — singing, dancing, skits, poetry. Every department had its star performers. Eisha clapped, cheered, and even helped with audio cues backstage, but her mind was never fully present.
It kept wandering back to the previous night — the way Ayaan had looked at her under the moonlight, that almost-confession he never voiced.
At around 3 PM, the host for the day, Rishi, a third-year senior, walked up on stage with his usual swagger and a cheeky smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen, before our next dance performance," he announced, "we have a special surprise. A musical dedication by someone who claims he's not a singer."
The crowd murmured, intrigued.
Eisha's heart skipped.
Rishi continued, "But I say we let the boy embarrass himself—oops, I mean, express himself!"
Everyone laughed.
Then, stepping onto the stage with a guitar slung over his shoulder — came Ayaan.
Eisha froze.
What. Was. He. Doing?
He adjusted the mic, looked directly at the crowd — or rather, at her, because even from a distance, their eyes locked.
"Uh… I'm not good at this," Ayaan began, smiling nervously. "But sometimes... when words don't work, music helps. This is for... someone who's been with me since the start. Someone who fought with me, laughed with me, grew up with me… and stuck around even when I didn't deserve it."
There were soft "awws" from the audience.
Eisha felt her breath catch.
Without naming her, he had made it clear.
And then he strummed the guitar — softly, hesitantly at first — and began to sing.
It wasn't perfect. His voice cracked at moments. But the lyrics—simple and heartfelt—spoke volumes.
"In every fight, in every smile,You stood with me across each mile.I never said it, maybe I was blind,But you're the one that stayed on my mind."
The song was short. But when it ended, the applause was thunderous.
Eisha's cheeks burned. She didn't know whether to run backstage or vanish into the crowd.
Ayaan came down amidst cheers and pats on the back. He handed the guitar off, waved at a few classmates, and then disappeared backstage.
Eisha didn't think. She walked briskly around the auditorium to the greenroom corridor, heart racing.
She found him behind the curtains, drinking water and avoiding eye contact with everyone.
"You sang," she said, arms crossed.
He looked up. "I know. Surprised?"
"No." She stepped closer. "I just didn't know you'd sing about me."
His lips curled into a nervous smile. "I didn't say your name."
"You didn't need to."
A pause.
A moment suspended in time.
"Ayaan…" she whispered, "why now?"
He shrugged, suddenly shy. "Because... if I didn't say it now, I might never get another chance."
She took a step forward. "What exactly are you saying?"
He held her gaze. "That I'm tired of pretending you're just my friend. I'm tired of hiding what I feel."
A long silence.
Then Eisha said, voice trembling, "So am I."
The announcement speaker crackled: "Next performance in two minutes."
They both stepped back.
Reality calling again.
But now the air between them had changed — charged, full of possibilities.