The sound of applause still echoed in the auditorium as the cultural fest moved forward with vibrant energy, but Eisha's world had gone completely quiet. Her ears only remembered Ayaan's voice, the strumming of the guitar, and the words that landed straight in her heart.
She stood backstage, her heart full but her mind tangled.
Everything had changed in a matter of minutes.
For years, she had hidden her feelings in sarcastic remarks, playful insults, and silent tears behind a locked door. And now—just like that—he had peeled open the truth in front of hundreds of people.
She should've been happy. She should've been blushing, floating in joy.
But something held her back.
Later that evening, the sky was painted in shades of tangerine and pink as the fest concluded. Eisha was gathering her bag near the organizing desk when Ayaan approached her.
"Going home?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.
She nodded. "Yeah. I'm drained."
They walked together, side by side, down the path toward the parking lot. The silence between them was no longer awkward—it was warm, thoughtful.
Just as they reached the gate, a familiar voice called from behind.
"Eisha! Wait!"
It was Simran — the pretty, popular girl from the English department. Always perfectly dressed, always smiling like she knew a secret no one else did.
Eisha turned, surprised. "Yeah?"
Simran glanced at Ayaan briefly, then smiled sweetly. "I just wanted to say… your boyfriend sings really well."
Eisha blinked. "He's not—"
But Simran cut in, "Anyway, I heard he was singing that for me."
The air shifted.
Ayaan's jaw tensed. "What?"
Simran laughed softly. "Oh please, Ayaan. Don't act so innocent. Remember the poetry workshop last month? You said I was 'the muse' for your song."
Eisha looked at Ayaan sharply.
He looked shocked. "I said you inspired the theme of the song, not the words. Don't twist it."
But Simran leaned closer, her voice syrupy. "Still… If I were Eisha, I'd be careful. You have a habit of changing muses."
She winked at Eisha and walked away, heels clicking confidently.
Eisha stood frozen.
Ayaan looked at her, frustrated. "She's lying. You know that, right?"
Eisha didn't answer immediately. Her mind raced back to all the times she had seen Simran and Ayaan together—group projects, the poetry competition, casual laughter in the library.
She had brushed it off as nothing.
But now, doubt crept in like smoke under a door.
"Ayaan," she said quietly, "did you ever… feel something for her?"
He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "Not like that. I admired her writing, that's it. Maybe I was stupid enough to say things she misunderstood."
Eisha's eyes fell to the ground. "You should've told me."
"There was nothing to tell," he insisted.
She stepped back slightly, the emotional high from the song now slipping away. "I just... I thought when you sang for me, it was pure. Like it came only from us. Not borrowed from some old crush."
His voice was pained. "It was pure, Eisha. Don't let her ruin this."
But the moment had been broken. The magic had cracked.
She nodded slowly. "I need to think."
And without waiting for him to respond, she turned and walked out the gate, the fading sky behind her.
That night, Ayaan sat alone on the terrace of his house, guitar untouched beside him.
He stared at the stars, wondering how something so right could go wrong so fast.
And across the street, behind her curtain, Eisha did the same—eyes wide open, chest heavy, trying to understand why her heart was so afraid of what she had always wanted.