Then

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Suman is hunched over the counter, eyes glued to the clock hanging above the diner's door. She just needs to wait for the clock to strike at 6 pm and she'll be out of here. It's only once in a lifetime that she gets to vacant her shift relatively early for the standards of a busy, crackling with activity Saturday night and she'd be damned if she didn't grab the opportunity with both hands. In her two years of working at this small diner, situated near the outskirts of her campus, this is the first time she lets herself take the rest of the day and tries not to let the guilt churn her up inside.

Tradition dictates that Saturday nights are meant for hanging out at Rose Café, so Suman shows up despite the overwhelming exhaustion settling deep in her bones. The heel above the door rings, signaling her entrance and a smile blossom over her face despite being a little unsteady on her feet, her line of sight catching glimpse of her friends sitting in their usual booth.

Shravan waves at her. She waves right back at him.

Pushkar's already high on sugar when she arrives at their table and tackles her in a hug she finds difficult to extricate herself from.She settles in next to Shravan, as she belongs there and no one bats an eyelash — it's a known fact by now — everyone is aware, from the teachers at the campus to the juniors stealing glances at them in the corridors: Shravan and Suman are linked by the hip.

Their friendship is a partnership at its finest.

Of course, both of them are oblivious to said-fact.

Denial is bliss.

Sighing, she sheds her coat and he slides his untouched water to her. She raises an eyebrow at the gesture, mostly to convey her surprise and the force of the glare he directs towards her tells her to shut it and drink up. She takes a long sip, drinking gingerly. He is an absolute mother hen.

At this point, Suman swears she can hear Shravan's chiding tone in the back of her mind, disapproval clear in his voice as he lectures her over her sleeping schedules and her eating habits, hovering and reminding her to drink ample water as if without his daily reminder she could die due to dehydration.

And if she's being honest with herself, there is a high chance of that happening if it wasn't for him and his need to take care of others. Sometimes, it looks like it's as important to him as breathing and that alone tells a lot about the kind of person Shravan Malhotra is. Not that she would admit that to him. Ever.

The table is filled with variants of desserts and milkshakes, too much for only three people if you ask her, something that occurs only when there is a reason to celebrate.

"What are we celebrating?" Suman asks, interrupting the overlapping chatter between her friends.

Pushkar looks at her bewildered, brows furrowed in utter confusion and then sizes up the distance between Shravan and herself as if trying to comprehend something.

"You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?" Suman looks on dumbfounded.

Shravan scrubs a hand over his face, clearing his throat, "I was going to tell you, after," this time the force of his glare is directed towards Pushkar and she has to stifle a laugh under her breath as he cowers under it.

"How am I supposed to know that you didn't tell her?" Pushkar argues, upon noticing his aggrieved glare. Then, almost teasingly, "Everyone knows that Suman Tiwari is the founding member of the Shravan Malhotra News Club."

"Shut up, Pushkar!"

"So," she cuts in, resisting the urge to fidget, "that still doesn't tell me what you have been hiding from me?" she asks, confusion knitting at her brow.

A beat before Shravan finally speaks, looking distinctly sheepish, "I am not going to England, I am staying here...with all of you."

What she wants to say is something like, "See, you're capable of taking your own decisions," but what she ends up saying is, "You're really staying? You're not leaving?" blurting it out, without any finesse at all, happiness evident.

"Yeah," he admits, his breath catching at the relief in her eyes. "I figured, I wouldn't last long in a foreign country."

"Glad, you worked that out by yourself, I don't think I could go through another eye-opening talk about your abilities and coping skills," she says, voice rich with affectionate amusement.

The noise he makes is distinctively disbelieving, "I'd cope very well without you, thank you very much." he waves her off, dismissing her claim and his hand hits his glass sending it toppling down the floor when Suman saves the day, grabbing it at the very last moment.

She can't hold back her snort at that. "Could've fooled me."

He can't help the wide, stupid grin that overcomes him for a second, then schooling his expression into a neutral one, he goes, "I do not converse with mortals who rank The Order of the Phoenix on a close second."

She gives a disdainful scoff at that, elbow jostling against his. "Nerd." That earns her a pinch to her elbow and she retaliates by flicking at his forehead.

He chuckles softly. "A nerd who is going to steal your thunder the second we step into law school."

"We'll see about that," she huffs, pressing her fingers against the side of her temples, where she can feel a headache rapidly forming.

Her face might give her away, because she feels a hand resting in between her shoulder blades and Shravan is looking at her, his eyes shining with slight concern. "You okay?"

"I'm okay, stop worrying, your wrinkles are showing," she mumbles, half-leaning into his touch. It's tempting to completely melt into him. She drags herself out of her thoughts.

"You sure?" he prods, his gaze sweeping over her face to catch any sign of distress or discomfort she might be hiding under her bright facade.

That tricks a slight smile out of her. "Positive, now let's celebrate."

Shravan opens his mouth to say something when she stuffs his mouth with pastry to make sure he doesn't start another rant about her health. Because once he starts with one of his spiels, it's nearly impossible to put a stop to it — unless you make the terrible mistake of producing an incorrect statement about history or challenge him to solve the Rubik Cube within one and a half minute.

A waiter passes by their table before laying a chocolate milkshake filled with marshmallows and sprinkles of different colors, right in front of Shravan.

"I didn't order for this," he trails off, sliding the drink back towards the waiter.

"You didn't, but she did," the waiter retorts, pointing towards a girl sitting three booths away from them.

All three of them tilt their necks to see a girl, Suman recognizes as Neha Rastogi, a fellow student from their ethics class. She waves timidly at Shravan, cheeks flushed pink and eyes full of wonder and anticipation, waiting for Shravan's reaction.

Suman's eyes find Pushkar's, the mischievous glint in his eyes shining and they both burst into laughter. Shravan reprimands then in a soft and low voice, not wanting to draw attention. Neha's attention. Pushkar whistles softly under his breath, elbowing him in the ribs as Shravan takes a sip from the milkshake, the tips of his ears burning red.

"Do you want me to bring her here?" Suman teases, bumping her shoulder against his.

"No," His resounding answer is so loud, he's caught in a coughing fit. Pushkar pats his back.

Then, haltingly as she gets up from her seat, "Let me at least, get her number for you—"

"Sit down," he says, his voice deliberately calm, fingers curling around her forearm. She sits down.

"You sure, you don't even want her email?" She asks, amusement lining her words.

"You're a nemesis," Shravan tells her, the fondness in his voice at odds with the words tumbling off his lips.

Shravan requests her to wait outside the Cafe as he directs himself towards Neha, not before flipping Pushkar and her off as they shoot him suggestive looks.

Soon enough, Pushkar's bus arrives and he takes off, but not before making her promise to update him on 'Shravan and the milkshake girl'. As she waits for Shravan to come back, her eyes drift to the splendor of the sky, the dark brilliance sharing the canvas with crusts of diamonds. The sight always leaves her grappling for more, leaves her in
awe at the universe and its beautiful imperfections.

It reminds her of her enormous, blunt reality and suddenly the weight on her shoulders is a thing of cotton and silk and all things imaginary. To find tranquility in such an isolated place comforts her.

It's the soft rumble of his voice that brings her out of her trance. "Wishing on a shooting star, are we?"

Her look of bafflement is quickly replaced by a smile. "That's more of your thing."

"When did Pushkar leave?"

"Five minutes ago, he specifically asked me to keep him updated on Shravan and the milkshake girl situation." She informs, petulant but the grin on her face is blinding.

That gets a groan out of him. "There's no situation."

"You can tell me, if you need a little help, I'll be the best wingman known to mankind." She winks at him, hand on her chest.

His retort dies on his lips when the shrill sound of a phone ringing cuts through the air and he excuses himself to attend it. She assumes he's talking to his mother because he only gets that look when Nirmala is involved, sort of frowning and smiling all at once. She checks her own phone to find a text from her mother that tells her to be safe and come back home in time.

He strides towards her and the smile she shoots him is surely conspiratorial. "Mothers, right?"

"You know the drill, now let's get you home."

"I won't get lost, you know," a yawn slips out before she can help herself and she sways on the spot with the force of it Shravan's hands are quick to snake around her shoulders, molding them entirely in his palms as he keeps her on her two feet.

"Woah, careful there." He bows his head, to meet her eyes and she manages a smile to convey that she's okay. He lets go of her, albeit reluctantly. They walk through the city.

"You've got that look on your face."

Amused, he raises a brow at her. "What look?"

"That look when you're thinking about something really hard but try to act all nonchalant."

"You've got me all figured out, huh?" It's meant to be teasing, a sarcastic remark he is so used to fill his words with, and if she looks up, there'd be a smirk dotting his lips but somehow she senses more than hears the soft smile in his voice.

"I am good at reading people," she retorts, arm brushing against his. "What's bothering you?"

He sighs. "I am worried about you."

"You just need something to keep worrying about," she declares, pointedly avoiding his eyes.

"You're doing that thing."

"What thing?" She looks up, confused and drops her gaze quickly when they make eye contact.

"That thing when you can't look in my eyes because it's easier to lie," He reminds her, resisting the urge to catch at her chin to keep her from looking away. "If you keep juggling between your two jobs and college, you'll collapse by the end of the semester."

"My mother is a widowed woman who has spent all her youth trying to give me the best life possible if I can't even give her back a little, then what good I am?" Her question comes out as laugh but there is a hollow quality to it.

"You don't need to work yourself to death to prove your gratitude to your mother, you're a good person, stubborn as hell, but still a good person."

That prompts an amused, wry chuckle out of her and the lump in her throat seems to have grown three sizes, somehow. "I just want to be—"

"Good enough?"

They have come to the point in their friendship where he knows exactly what she's talking about without the need for explanation or for her to voice out her thoughts.

"Yeah,"  her voice is thick with emotion.

There's a lull in the conversation and the moment is filled with the sounds of their shoes slapping against the granite and the rustling of leaves as the wind nestles itself between branches. Then he says, softer than necessary, so soft she almost misses it, "You're good enough."

When she met Shravan Malhotra for the first time, she despised him and he returned the sentiment with ample reciprocity. Their friendship is one of those things that no one saw coming. It starts, as most things do, with them, after one of their countless screaming matches.

And then, from friendly acquaintances, that bond bleeds into friendship and here they are. Always in each other's corner.

"Shravan..." Her sentence falls apart abruptly and she snaps her mouth shut before saying anything she would regret.

"I mean, you're okay, sometimes I just feel I am hanging out with my grandmother and mind you, even she knows how to have her share of fun." His words come across as a muffled laugh against the neckline of his coat.

"Excuse me?" She gapes at him, an indignant squeak escaping, "I'm plenty of fun, thank you very much."

"Oh really?" She misses the mischievous tilt to his question.

"Yes."

"Fine, then ring Mr.Chaddha's bell and come back here," he says as if it's the most obvious thing to do.

"You mean, ring and run?" Suman sounds positively appalled.

"Exactly, now come on, get going." He pushes her slightly to the front while she struggles and swats at his arm.

The look she shoots him is positively disbelieving. "You're kidding, right? What are we five?!"

"Sumo, it's called having fun. Remember fun?"

And because she's difficult like that. "And if I don't do it?"

He draws closer to her, his voice going octaves lower, almost menacing in his words. "Then, you leave me with no choice but to tell Nanaji about what really happened to his ambassador."

The traitor.

A fortnight ago, Suman had requested Shravan to teach her how to drive. The pair settled to meet at midnight because roads are generally vacant at this time of the day and the lesson started well, she had grasped the most of it in the first hour itself. But, then, due to poor visibility, Suman lost control of the wheel and Nanaji's dear ambassador ended with a dent, Shravan took the blame for.

Needless to say, she owed him one.

Her mouth opens and then clicks shut and her eyes meet his in a glare, challenging him. His wolfish grin makes an appearance and Suman that he can and will follow through with any threat he's making. "Fine."

She walks towards the house and looks back at him. Shravan encourages her by giving her a thumbs up. Her heart begins to beat faster with the anticipation of doing something that insane and spontaneous. She bangs twice on the door. The rush of adrenaline she experiences the moment she hears jiggling of keys and footfalls announcing someone's arrival makes her sprint across the garden.

All hell broke loose.

From a distance, she can hear her neighbor yelling at her for being a hooligan and producing other expletives she doesn't wish to remember. Shravan is waiting for her at the end of the street and is quick to steady her as she stumbles into him with the force of her small marathon, his hand find hers and then he tugs her towards an abandoned alley, to catch their breaths.

There's a moment of loaded silence before they both burst out into laughter at the same time, giggles and snorts echoing through the valley. Suman presses her palm over his mouth, her teeth sinking in her bottom lip as her shoulders quake from the effort of staying quiet.

They pause still embraced in the fit of laughter from before and then resume their walk back home. They lapse back into silence after, the kind that reminded her of the drowsy, hazy moments before sleep, peaceful and warm and comfortable.

"Goodnight, Shravan," She greets him with a wave as she opens the gates.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" he blurts out, all of a sudden catching her off guard.

She stays rooted in front of the gates. "Go ahead."

He's sheepish when he asks his question, his hands digging in his pockets, it's a nervous tic, his mother and herself called him out on, many times "Are you happy with me staying?"

"What?"

"I mean, you didn't say much – back at the cafe– and then I thought, so I am not sure—"

"Hey, calm down." She lays a hand over his arm, effectively stopping him from rambling. "Of course, I am happy," she pauses, scrambling for words. "I mean, I would have been happy for you, no matter what you chose but you know, right?"

"Know what?"

"That..." She falters, voice going small. "You're my best friend."

He makes a sound of surprise at that, one that makes her simultaneously want to swallow every word back and run away to never look back. "I am?"

Suman gives a nonchalant jerk of her shoulders at that. "I mean..." She whispers, voice apprehensive and breaking down on the words. "I'd be kind of lost without you."

For a split second, Shravan can only stare at her and take in everything she is. Her brown eyes aglow from the luster of the street lights that cast their shine over her ivory skin, her lips parting half with wonder, half with fear, always ready to argue, to fight back. Her long hair piled up into a messy bun, stray strands drifting over her collarbone distractingly.

He stifles a hiccup, suddenly and inexplicably fond of everything and everyone around him, of her.

Especially of her.

His hand reaches out to lazily circle her wrist, his thumb pressing down on her pulse. She suppresses a shiver at that. He blames it on the cold weather. "You're my best friend too and I'd be totally lost without you."

Shravan thinks he catches a glimpse of a smile then, but it might just be a trick of light.

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I. Loved. Writing. This. Chapter.