Time moved differently during the summer. The days merged together. Memories filled the empty spaces between unsaid words. A silent, warm aura surrounded the slightly quieter streets.

Summer, for me, meant discarding any semblance of routine and just locking myself up in my room for hours together, wallowing in the shallow pools of self-pity. This summer, however, did a complete one-eighty on me. My internship at the rehab centre required me to be on my feet for a full twelve hours. Sometimes more. Shadowing two doctors warranted that. And when one of the doctors was Nazmi, it was equivalent to walking right into a tornado.

I enjoyed it.

There was an underlying satisfaction that blossomed in my chest each time I saw a patient smile. Each time I see a group chatting, laughing, and sharing stories that brought them here, to this moment. These people had accidents that shattered their bones and dreams. It forced them to press pause on all the happenings in their lives. They faced battles that took them to the darkest corners of their souls. But they were fighting, and they were fighting to win.

This was their journey to overcome the pain. I watched as these warriors shed old layers to make space for newer, better, stronger armour.

I understood what Beck meant when he said he loved listening to people's stories. Our stories made our lives. It shaped us into the individuals we are today and the people we would become tomorrow. I etched the stories of these people into my heart. The teenager who fought through the tremors in her hand to create again. The middle-aged man who wanted to sweep his daughter in his arms again. Everyone had something worth fighting for, and they were ready to move heaven and hell to get there.

I found myself drawn to their conversations. To their laughter and jokes and ability to move past their trauma. I'd sit with them and share dreams, experiences and those distinct, mundane activities that made us human. Every smile I earned, every thank you I received, these were rewards no amount of money could ever buy.

The major I had chosen was the result of a last minute forced action in a bid to move forward. There was no second thought to it. No reason for me to actually go through with it other than escaping the home that didn't quite feel like home anymore. Now, my priorities were shifting. What had been a nonchalant choice turned out to be one of the best decisions I could've ever made.

By the time I reached Beck's place, my feet had begun to ache, and all I wanted to do was soak in a tub of hot hot water till I resembled a prune.

That took a backseat when I caught a whiff of the spicy aroma that blanketed the entire apartment.

I dropped my bag near the door, wiggled out of my sneakers, and went straight to the kitchen. Beck was busy undoing the knot on his apron... and failing miserably. I reached out to help him, kissing him on the cheek. "Hey you. What's cookin'?"

"Hey, good lookin'."

The moment I undid the knot, he turned around and captured my face, pulling me in for a slow, deep kiss.

He let go with a blissful sigh. "And voilà, I'm re-energised."

I shoved his shoulder playfully, unable to erase the smile from my face. "Cheesy bastard."

"How was your day?" He nudged me towards the counter.

I hopped on the stool and watched him as he brought two delicately decorated plates over. "Filled with epiphanies," I said and inhaled the rich flavour emanating from our dinner. The buttery notes of the salmon did wonders to my tastebuds, complimented with glazed carrots and brussel sprouts. "This is fucking delicious. Jesus, Beck, we need to monetize these skills and fast."

"Why, thank you, lover," he said around a mouthful. "So, what epiphanies did you have?"

"We'll get to that. First, how was your day? Everyone's bones still intact?"

Beck and I formed a summer routine of our own. Wake up, gym, shower, rush for work—Beck grabbed an internship at a financial advisory firm in the city. In the evenings, after he clocked out, he'd go straight to the rink. A couple of the sophomores and freshmen stayed back specifically for hockey practice and Beck wasn't about to let them while away their summer practice with coach's lenient drills, as he put it. The team didn't make it to the playoffs this season, and Beck was hell bent on changing that the following year. By the time practice was done, and he returned, I too would have finished my shift. Our nights mostly consisted of takeout, Netflix and cuddles on the couch before turning in.

It was normal. Mundane. Happy. And oh so peaceful. I didn't mind spending the rest of my days this way, where I'd start and end the day with him.

"Unfortunately, yes," Beck said. "Honestly, I'd have them break a bone, then upend their lunch on my rink."

"No way!"

"You remember Scott? That gangly kid? Dude legit did like five laps and then projectile vomited right at the centre."

"Oh God."

"Yep. So, that was the end of practice. Which is good in a way 'cause I could finally cook us dinner."

"Guess we have Scott and his fateful lunch to thank."

"Mm-hmm. Amen." A swallow. "Also, Tristan called today."

And suddenly the salmon lay bitter on my tongue. Tristan was still sort of a touchy subject for us. Or me, more like. It was a given that Beck would not be pleased about me talking to Tristan behind his back. I mean, I definitely wouldn't be okay if he went and chatted up Arya behind mine. So, when I had found him at my room's threshold, I'd half expected a fuming, growling mini volcano to erupt right there. But Beck had a different way of expressing his anger. A more silent way. A I-acknowledge-you-but-will-still-ignore-your-existence way. He just said, You shouldn't have done that, then left my dorm, only to give me the silent treatment coupled with half-mumbled side jibes for the next three days.

Having said and experienced that, if given the option to take back what I did, I wouldn't actually take it back. Whatever that weasel Tristan complained about me to Beck, at least it got them to talk. And once the ball was set rolling, the momentum only picked up from there. I might not have gloated outwardly in front of Beck, nor did he outright mention my meddling, but we both had a silent agreement that my prying did help in giving them a much needed teeny-tiny nudge.

"Yeah?" I gulped some water to wash down the bitterness. "He found a place?"

"He finally did. And guess what? His roomie does not do laundry!" Beck let out a hearty laugh. "Karma sure does feel good sometimes."

"He didn't have any other options?"

"If he had the sense to start looking the second he got the acceptance letter, he would. The dumbass put it off till the last moment, so now it's either sneak in a sleeping bag in the lab or deal with a smelly roomie." He tipped his head back in thought. "Both sound equally bad, in my opinion. Oh well, let him suffer, he deserves it. I'm just glad I'm no longer discovering different fungus cultures in stray socks these days. And as a bonus, I have a cute boy in my bed every night."

Perhaps it went without saying that when Tristan moved out, I unofficially partially moved in. For my final year, I was done with staying in the dorms. I didn't want to wonder every night I laid down on the mattress about who wanked off on that same mattress the previous year. I wasn't actively searching for apartments, but maybe I needed to start soon. I didn't need my own version of a sock fungus breeding roomie. Beck, too, was yet to put out a notice for a flatmate. He wasn't too keen on adjusting to someone new his final year, but unlike me, he could actually afford to live alone.

"Anyway," he said, chasing away the sudden silence. "What were your epiphanies?"

"I finally decided what I want to do after graduation."

"Awesome. So what's the plan?" Beck moved his plate and turned on his stool to face me, his chin on his palm.

"Work for a year, maybe. Get some experience, then start applying for PT schools."

"Neil!" He hopped off the stool to come closer. His hands found my knees and squeezed before his arms wrapped around me, his face digging into my neck. When he pulled back, he didn't let go completely. His hand rose, his fingers slid through the long strands of hair at my nape. His thumb brushed circles on my cheek. A smile stretched his lips, but there was that distant look in his eyes again. A sadness I could never quite understand.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing." He shook his head. "I'm just... I'm really happy. Just really, really happy."

I took his face in my hands and leaned in till our foreheads touched.

When I'd left India, there wasn't a plan in my pocket. There weren't any hidden ambitions that I was chasing. No secret aspirations left to pursue. I had nothing but some savings from my time in cricket and a broken heart.

Then one fine evening, I met a blue-eyed, red-haired boy, and from then on there was no turning back. Beck didn't know what he did to my life. How he turned it around. How, because of him, I found meaning again. I woke up each morning, looking forward to the day. It didn't matter if it rained or if the sun was too bright. There were moments to experience, people to meet, stories to hear, silences to cherish, kisses to share, so much was left to be done. And the best part of it all? I could start and end with the man I had come to love so, so much.

Helping Beck made me realise things I never would've otherwise. I'd like to think I made a small difference in his life. A difference that led to his fast recovery. I wanted to spend my days helping people the same way. I wanted to give them the slight push needed to overcome their battles and build a better life for themselves.

Later at night, when I sank on the mattress, Beck spent some time just staring at me. His muscular chest heaved as he stood beside the bed. I could see his pulse leaping at his neck.

I parted my legs, and my knees fell to the side. Beck moved like the hockey player he was during face off. He flew into my arms, his chest to mine. I managed to spell the first half of his name before his lips were on mine.

It was exactly like all the other times we made love. Yet it wasn't. There was longing in the way Beck moved. He went slow. Took his time. Savoured each imperfection of mine. And the way his heart beat against my skin, it almost felt like mine had learnt how to work the right way. Like Beck patiently taught it how to move right.

I didn't know where he began or where I ended. We had started to merge. His fingers interlaced with mine and were pressed to the mattress. Our edges and corners had started to bleed, becoming indistinct and scattered. Every part of him trembled. From his quivering arms to the tremors running through his thighs. He whispered my name over and over and held me so close to him, like he thought I'd disappear if he didn't.

We whispered in the dark. Nostalgia and dreams of a future blended together like they belonged. Our fingers were tangled, knees and calves touching. We hadn't turned on the bedroom lights, only the city's breathing, living lights created dim shadows on the walls. A diffuse glow lit Beck from behind. His naked chest rose and fell with adoration spelt out in his eyes. My hands twitched. I had to draw him.

I had bought a new sketchbook recently. Maybe I couldn't classify it as new anymore, considering how I was pretty much at the last pages now. I was drawing like a madman these days, not allowing any moment to pass me by. I wanted to pluck out the universe's secrets and trap them on my pages for aeons to come.

I dug around in my bag and pulled my sketchbook into my lap. Beck lifted himself on his elbows and peered at me through drooping eyelids as I cracked open a new page. "I want to draw you."

"Now?" Beck seemed shocked.

We both had work in the morning, and the time was well past midnight and was foraying into the dawn regions. Still, he was here; we were here. I needed to capture this moment. Etch it onto something time would have to fight to erase.

"Can you lie back down?" I asked.

He didn't move. "You want to draw me?"

If only he knew what my sketchbooks were filled with. "Lie back down, please. Like you were."

He snapped out of his trance and moved stiffly, trying to mimic how he was, but the naturalness was missing. He was back on his side, looking up at me, the adoration unwavering.

Right there. That was the moment.

I got to work. I sketched the lines fast, taking my time with the finer details. I had to force myself to not get lost in the frailty of the small smile filling his lips. For his eyes, I stared into them, until I perfected the shadow and specks of light that created the depth I could never find my way out of. I saw him for the muse he was—his smile, gorgeous face, gentle eyes, kissable cheeks—and didn't blink till I pulled back and saw what I'd done.

There was still the entire page left, so much more to capture. All I had was Beck's face and part of his chest that peeked out from under the duvet. All I had was the look in his eyes. The look that was reserved for me.

I didn't realise when Beck had shifted. His chin came to rest on my shoulder. "Can I see?"

I hugged the sketchbook to my chest. I'd never shown my art to anyone. Anyone. It was something that was mine and mine alone. My drawings were my priceless possessions. They weren't something I wanted scrutiny over. My drawings symbolised how I went about my life.

And now Beck was part of my life.

And I wanted him to always be.

Slowly, I dragged the pad away and laid it down on my lap so Beck could see. The only set of eyes other than mine to see it. I heard Beck's sudden gasp, and let go of all my uncertainties.

"Is this how you see me?"

Seeing my drawing, I wasn't sure if I had unearthed buried feelings and poured them into drawing Beck, or if I'd slowly brought out hidden emotions from him. Was it him or me who had fallen so deeply in love?

I flipped back through my sketches while he had his chin hooked over my shoulder. Images of my patients flashed by—helping a teenager squeeze a stress ball; a group of them at the table, laughing; a patient carrying his daughter again; one of Dr Nazmi actually smiling.

Then there was Beck. Him on the rink ready to leap into action, him in the kitchen beside his pile of dishes, him at the counter, doing homework, him on the couch, laughing, him just looking into my eyes. I hesitated as I thumbed the pages, and then skipped to the last page where I'd stored the very first sketch I'd done of Beck. "You. You made me want to start drawing again."

I was exposed. My most private thoughts and emotions were on display for Beck. My heart beat furiously behind my ribs, threatening to give out any moment.

"These are... Neil, these are beautiful. These need to be framed." He fingered through the pages, flipping between pictures of him, of my patients, of everything around me. "You deserve to be famous. Forget cricket, this right here is your calling. Why did you ever stop?"

"Cricket." I chuckled. "Jesus. That took up so much of my time, I forgot about everything else." I let out a long, drawn-out breath. "My art is about my feelings. My surroundings. I'm glad I haven't lost it."

"These are beautiful." Beck turned my face to his and kissed me. "And amazing," he said against my lips. "Just like you. Beautiful and amazing."

"I haven't shown my art to anyone. You're the first."

"I'm honoured. I really am."

"I hadn't drawn in so long." I smiled. "You brought it back for me."

"You give me way too much credit."

"Gotta keep you around somehow."

We laughed in the dark, throwing our arms around each other, my sketchbook pushed to the side. I fell on top of him, his wrists firmly in my grip as I pinned him down. His watery eyes glimmered as he looked into mine, and the words that came out of his mouth left me reeling for more.

"Neil. Move in with me."