The bus jolted forward, but Shree's words anchored me to my seat. Her face was serious, eyes sharp, like she was carrying a story that needed to land right.
"You don't know who Pranav is, do you?" she asked.
I shook my head. "Never heard of him."
"Good. Then listen," she said, leaning closer. Her voice dropped, like she didn't want anyone else to hear.
"In Class 9, Pranav walked into the school like he owned it. Around the same time, Simran joined. All three of them became tight — like glue. Lunchboxes, project partners, stupid inside jokes. Then one day, he told Anni he liked her. And she said yes. Just like that." Shree's words were calm but bitter, precise.
"But things got messy. His behavior in class crossed lines. Too touchy. Everyone could feel it. Teachers? Pretended not to notice, maybe didn't care. And the gossip started fast. Whispers, rumors… it spread like wildfire."
She shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. "They fought constantly. Eventually, they broke up. But then… Simran started dating him. After everything. Their friendship died that day. Two best friends became strangers overnight. And Pranav? He treated both of them like objects, not people. He didn't care. It was all a game."
Shree's voice dropped further. "I even heard he kept private photos of girls—images they had trusted him with—and that those images got shared. Maybe even sold. I don't know all the details, but the rumor followed him through every corridor."
Her eyes softened for a second. "Not every love is true, Kriti. Some just ruins the people involved."
I stayed quiet, my mind racing. Shree's story was orderly — the past mapped out in neat cause-and-effect — but it was shocking nonetheless. I had never met Pranav, yet the shadow he left on Anni and Simran was real enough to see.
Then my own memory intruded — what I had seen with my own eyes.
Anni had a new boyfriend now, a Class 12 student. Older, richer, more polished. The kind of guy parents would instantly approve of. He brought her chocolates, slipped love letters into her bag every day. I once glimpsed one — ten pages of messy ink and hearts in the margins. It looked almost theatrical, but she seemed to cherish it. I remember thinking, if he put that much energy into studying, he could have been unstoppable. But all of it went to Anni.
One afternoon, while Di and I were talking about her patterns and impulsive choices, I heard it. From the next room, muffled but unmistakable: Anni and her boyfriend are close. Kissing, whispering, pressed together. Not graphic, just intimacy.
And then, one day, one incident shattered the fragile surface. We were late leaving school. The building was empty except for me, Shree, Anni, and her boyfriend. Shree and I rushed to the bus as fast as we could. But he held her back inside. I don't know exactly what happened — a kiss, a hug, something private — but it was enough. The next day, the news hit: they were suspended. Both of them. After that, Anni came only for exams while secretly still dating him. Her laughter had dulled, and her voice became measured. When anyone asked what had happened, she made excuses, but everyone already knew.
Simran had drifted away, the old friendship fractured completely. Watching Anni and Simran separate over boys reminded me of Tia and me — but our drift was quiet, slow, shaped by family and circumstances, nothing malicious. Their separation carried no betrayal, just life nudging us apart. Anni and Simran's split was louder, sharper, and full of pain. One girl replaced another; trust broken, friendships lost.
Shree's words echoed in my head: Not every love is true. And the thought that followed was terrifying.
What if I ended up with someone like Pranav? Someone who played with hearts, who made friendships collapse, and left chaos behind? My life would be ruined. I could barely hold the weight of my own world — I couldn't carry someone like that, too.
I wanted someone who noticed the weight on my shoulders and helped lift it. Not someone who piled more on. Someone who stayed. Not someone who performed care as a show.
And then, through the chaos of Anni's story, the drift from Simran, the suspensions, the whispered kisses, I heard it. A voice, soft but certain. Not Shree's. Not Anni's. Something older, a whisper that threaded through the noise:
Wait.
Wait through the heartbreak. Wait through the mistakes. Wait, because rushing could lead me into someone like Pranav — someone whose affection is fleeting, whose care is conditional.
So I wait. With Anni's story as a warning. With Shree's voice echoing in my mind. With Tia and me as proof that some separations are gentle, some are harsh, and patience can save you from the wrong people. I wait because the world already demands too much from girls. I wait because, for now, patience is the only protection I can afford.
But then… I realized something chilling. Di was a butterfly — flitting, free, fearless — and she had already told everyone about her love life. And now, somehow, I felt the weight of her gaze. Even though I wasn't interested, she told me everything anyway. Her next story wasn't hers alone anymore. Somehow… I was her target.
A shiver ran down my spine. What was she about to reveal? And would I survive hearing it?