Outside the school gate, the world looked the same.
Even after months away, even after leaving without a goodbye, the curve of the pavement, the rusted green paint on the main gate, the old banyan tree with chalk scars on its bark—all of it remained. Unbothered. Unchanged. It was a strange comfort. Like the past waiting silently in its chair, not asking questions.
Aarav stood there, next to Yuvaan, who was holding two cups of roadside tea like he always did—as if they were twin lighthouses in paper.
"Still smells like overboiled water and burnt sugar," Yuvaan muttered, handing Aarav a cup.
Aarav took it. The tea was awful. But he sipped it anyway.
Inside the gate, a small crowd was moving toward the auditorium—a school event maybe. Uniforms everywhere. Some kids he didn't recognize. Some faces he might have known once, but now looked pixelated by time.
And then he saw her.
Niya.
Wearing that same ocean blue scarf she used to fold around her hand during winters. Laughing at something. Laughing the way he remembered. Her head tilted slightly. A sparkle in her eyes, but not loud. She hadn't changed.
She was with someone.
A boy walked beside her. Casual, too close. Maybe a classmate. Maybe not. Aarav couldn't guess anymore. They moved toward the road. A soft conversation happening in their world. One Aarav didn't belong to.
His fingers curled tighter around the tea cup.
"Should we go?" Yuvaan asked quietly.
"No," Aarav whispered.
Because in that moment, she turned.
Maybe it was the wind. Maybe the echo of something unfinished. But she looked toward the road. Their side.
Aarav lifted his hand.
Slow. Hesitant. Honest.
He waved.
She didn't see.
She was already turning back, already adjusting her scarf, already stepping into a cab with the boy. She didn't look again.
And that was it.
Aarav's hand lowered like it had never risen.
The tea had gone cold. He didn't sip it again.
He didn't say anything either.
Yuvaan stood beside him, silent for a long time. Then he said, voice a little too bright, "Well, at least you waved. Very heroic."
Aarav didn't smile.
Yuvaan nudged his arm, playful, but the kind of playful that knew how to be gentle.
"Hey," Yuvaan said, more serious now. "I'm always here for you. You know that, right?"
Aarav exhaled. Looked at him.
"I'm straight," he said.
Yuvaan blinked, then burst out laughing.
"What?"
"Just in case you were building up to a love confession or something dramatic," Aarav muttered.
"Bro," Yuvaan laughed again, "with your poetry and trench coat vibes, I wasn't sure."
Aarav finally smiled. Tired. But real.
They started walking.
Not home. Just somewhere less noisy.
"You okay?" Yuvaan asked.
"I don't know," Aarav said. "But I think the novel's over."
Yuvaan raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you still speak like you're narrating a film."
"I can't help it."
Yuvaan laughed. "What kind of novel ends with a guy waving and not being seen?"
Aarav looked up at the sky, the clouds shifting like quiet passengers.
"The honest kind," he said.
They walked in silence after that.
Two friends. One heart still carrying too many pages.
But lighter now.
As if something had ended.
Not loudly.
Not tragically.
Just... gently.
Like a final line no one reads out loud.
And somewhere, Aarav thought, "I wrote about a boy who waved... and a girl who didn't see."
It wasn't fiction anymore.