The days after the fest passed like a dream that no one dared to speak of.
Ayaan and Eisha, once inseparable shadows across college corridors, now existed in silent glances, accidental eye contact, and invisible walls of hesitation. The world hadn't changed. But their world had.
Eisha buried herself in assignments, extra classes, and even volunteered for events she would usually ignore. She laughed with her friends louder than necessary, smiled too easily, and answered too quickly — all in an attempt to keep her mind off him.
Ayaan, on the other hand, had become quieter than usual. The boy who once cracked jokes in every lecture now only nodded and scribbled notes without raising his head. His guitar, his old friend, stayed untouched in his room — its strings gathering more dust than music.
It was a Friday afternoon when everything shifted again.
Eisha was in the college library, sitting in her usual corner — third table by the window, sunlight falling gently on her notes. She reached out for a literature reference book from the shelf above her head — the same book Ayaan had borrowed a few weeks ago.
As she opened it, something fluttered out from between the pages.
A folded piece of paper.
Curious, she unfolded it, and instantly, her fingers trembled.
It was a letter.
Written in Ayaan's handwriting.
"I don't know if you'll ever read this… Maybe I'm a coward for not saying things when I should've.
But the truth is — you've always been more than just my neighbor. More than my childhood friend.
You're the reason I wait by the window during power cuts, hoping you'll yell at me for using your charger. You're the reason I pick the left bench in class — just so I can see your reflection in the window while pretending to listen to lectures.
The night of the fest, when I sang… it wasn't for Simran, or anyone else. It was for the girl who once tied a rakhi on my wrist just to tease me — and then cried for an hour when I took it seriously.
It was for you, Eisha.
And maybe this letter is pointless. But I just wanted you to know… even if you never speak to me again, I'll still wait — at the gate, at the tea stall, and every place we ever stood together.
Yours (even if you never say it),Ayaan"
Eisha sat frozen.
The noise of the world melted away — the shuffling of feet, the librarian's voice, even the clock ticking on the wall.
Everything faded… except his words.
A part of her wanted to cry. Another part wanted to laugh at the foolishness of their silence, of how easily they had let misunderstanding draw lines between them. And yet… there it was.
His truth.
Raw. Honest. Scared.
Just like hers.
That evening, she found herself walking past his house. She paused near his gate — a place where they had shared countless fights and midnight noodles.
His window was slightly open.
Inside, she saw him sitting at his study desk, his head down, pencil tapping against a book that he clearly wasn't reading.
For the first time in days, Eisha smiled.
She didn't go in. Not yet.
But she slid the letter back into the same book, and added her own note on a sticky paper:
"You still owe me my charger. And maybe… a proper conversation."