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Love. Redemption. Vengeance.
She was a girl whose life revolved around music, her family, and him-her favorite melody at the heart of her existence. Her laughter brightened any room, and her smile exuded war...
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The day after the farewell held a strange kind of stillness-as if the school itself was holding its breath. The decorations were half-torn, the glitter had dulled, and the echoes of last night's applause had faded into silence. The stage was bare now, and the hallway lights flickered lazily. Only the playground remained familiar.
Under the old Gulmohar tree, the five of them sat-just as they always had.
Ishaan was talking, as always, his energy unshaken by the emotional whirlwind of yesterday. "Guys, I swear, during Vedika's dance performance, some junior tried to sneak backstage to steal samosas. I saw it with my own eyes!"
Vedika rolled her eyes. "Ishaan, why do your stories always involve food and chaos?"
Siddharth chuckled, but his eyes weren't on Ishaan. They were on Vedika. She had her phone out, flipping through pictures from the night before, giggling softly at candid shots and awkward angles.
"Look at this one," she said, leaning closer to Siddharth, showing him a photo where Akshita looked nervous just before stepping on stage. "She was so anxious but pulled it off like a queen."
"She always does," Siddharth said, barely glancing at the screen.
Avyansh sat slightly apart from them, back resting against the thick tree trunk, a book in his hand. His legs were stretched out lazily, one knee bent. He wasn't part of the jokes or the picture-sharing. He never was. His calm detachment had always been his shield.
But today, his eyes hadn't moved from the same page for the last ten minutes.
And then, there was Akshita.
She was there, too. Sitting in the group, but not in it.
She hadn't spoken a word since they arrived. Not one.
Her fingers clutched the ends of her kurti, twisting them gently, anxiously. Her eyes flicked to Avyansh over and over again, but every time he looked even remotely in her direction, she dropped her gaze.
Inside her chest, her heart wasn't beating-it was pounding.
Because last night, when the moonlight had kissed her skin through her bedroom window, she had made a promise to herself.
