Then
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Shravan arrives on her doorstep in the first light of dawn, under lantern shine, bearing chocolate chip cupcakes and cardamom flavored tea from the stall at the corner of the street. Suman knows it's him before he even manifests himself, he's the only one who knocks and opens the door at the same time.

"You're early," she points out, leaning her head against the door, remnants of sleep still lurking at the corner of her eyes. He doesn't wait for an invitation, not that he needs one, pushing past her to enter into her house, the wooden floor creaks under his boots, loud and heavy.

Suman raises one elegant brow in astonishment, confused by his lack of response. "Sure, Shravan, make yourself at home," she snarls, suddenly, sarcasm heavy on her tongue, but her words lack heat.

"As if you need to say it twice." He gives her a half-hearted shrug, the corner of his mouth ticking up and Suman can't help but notice how nicer he looks when he smiles like that, a little shy, a little playful.

"We're studying in my room," She announces, urging him to follow her by a flick of her wrist as she walks towards the end of the hallway, pushing open the door to her room.

"Woah, what happened here?" Shravan stands rooted to the entrance in contemplation as he takes in the state of the room. Textbooks and notebooks and highlighters are scattered across the wide table. The bed is unmade and a mountain of clothes is resting on the lounging sofa. His eyebrows look as though they're mere minutes away from disappearing up his hairline.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad!" It's not really messy, chaotically organized more than anything else.

The look he shoots her at that is distinctly disbelieving. "You're kidding, right? I am not working under these conditions."

Arching a pointed brow at him, she does a quick look over at her room and the only reaction he gets from her is an unimpressed sniff. "Under these conditions?"

"I get distracted, okay?"

"One second," Suman interjects, folding her arms over her chest. "So you can play video games for hours in the slum Pushkar has for a room, but you draw the line at this?"

"I told you, my attention diverts, I'll spend more time eyeing that mountain of clothes than actually write my essay," he argues, petulant.

She almost lets out a swear at that. Then, she takes a deep breath, pinching at the bridge of her nose to gain some composure. "Okay, I'll do it after we're done with our essays, happy?"

"Sumo, we can't even see the outline of your table," he remarks, drawing up next to her.

That pulls an impatient noise out of her, which he generally takes as a sign of victory if the smirk pulling at his lips is any indication to go by. "Fine, I'll do it!

Shravan's answer is lost in the string of insults and profanities she hurls at him, (always under her breath) but she recognizes the tell-tale quirk of his lips, the sardonic arch of his brow.

It's unmistakable. He is laughing at her.

"Neat freak."

"Litterbug," he retorts.

Glaring, she manages a scowl, which only serves to make his smirk grow wider if anything. "You could help, you know."

Throwing himself over her bed, he lands with a soft thump, the wooden frame creaking ominously under his weight. "I'd rather watch you labor," he tells her, mild, biting back a laugh as she aims a pillow in his direction, hitting him square in the chest.

"Thanks, Sumo," he murmurs, bringing the pillow behind his head and curling himself around her blue comforter, seeking warmth and comfort in her cotton sheets.

Suman throws a look over her shoulder and halts between folding her clothes at the sight of him, she can't help but stare at him.

He's sprawled out on the right side of the bed, sock-clad feet peeking from under the blanket. Still wearing, the military jacket she brought for him years ago, even with the colors fading from years of use, the material worn and sporting minuscule tears here and there.

She wonders, why he still continues to wear it, it doesn't even fit him as effortlessly as it used to back in the day. She'd be blind not to notice his exceptional spurt of growth, the way his shirts stretch over the muscles of his back and how nicely they fit around the curve of his arms.

He's no longer the lanky and scrawny boy who never lost a debate in his life. He's a man who wears his heart on his sleeve and attracts women and men alike with the mere pull of gaze and more than often, she doesn't know how she's supposed to feel about that.

Okay, she might get a little distracted by his arms ever so often.

It's unsettling and comforting, both in equal measure to catch a glimpse of this calm and serene Shravan, especially here, in the intimacy of her room, in the space she considers her safe place. Shravan, who in waking hours is chaos and mayhem under the disguise of independence and volition.

It's in simple and quiet moments like when he presses down against the blanket to look at her through half-lidded eyes, his wild and unruly hair a stark contrast against the off-white pillow, shooting her a soft lazy smile that she realizes how grateful she is to have him in her life, how his mere presence just seems to right all the wrongs, how unimaginable her world would be without Shravan Malhotra in it.

He is her best friend.

He's dozing off by the time she's finished tidying up her room. Reluctantly, she nudges him and whispers, "Hey, wake up there are assignments waiting for you."

He blinks, catching at her wrist, still in a sleepy haze and manages a quiet, "In a minute."

So, she sits on the side of the bed and watches him sleep. He presses the side of his face against her wrist, his lashes on her skin like butterflies. And, if her free hand goes up to his hair, pushing it away from his face, he doesn't seem to remember once woken up.

Instead, he peers at her through a dark fan of lashes and smiles like he is smiling with all his heart and it feels a lot like they're in their own little world.

-----

Four hours later, he drops on the ledge of the window, facing her. Without looking up from her sketchbook, she shifts wordlessly, to make some room for him. He smiles, stretching his legs to get comfortable and in passing knocks her knees, waiting for her to retaliate.

When she doesn't give him the time of the day, he does it again, just because he loves to rile her up. It definitely earns its spot among his three favorite pastimes. The first two being reading and eating.

"You know, you don't need to beg for attention Shravan, you simply need to ask for it."

He scoffs and it's hard to tell the tone behind it with her eyes still focused on the sketchbook.

"What are you up to?"

When she looks up, he's hovering over her, brown eyes intent on her drawing and she never let herself notice how dark and long his eyelashes are, until now. She's stuck with the sudden need to capture those eyes on the paper, find the perfect blend of color to replicate the rich quality of his irises.

"Sumo?"

She means to drop her gaze from his face and answer the question she has already forgotten about, but he's still looking at her, all expectant, and she finds herself sifting through her scrambled thoughts for an excuse.

She blinks, looking distinctly caught out. Then haltingly, "Ice tea! I need some ice tea, will you have some?"

A frown settles between his brows and his lips form around a soundless expletive and before he has even the chance to answer her question, she's gone.

When she comes back, he's flipping through the pages of an old family album filled with monochrome pictures. There's a beauty about black and white captured through lenses, like rare and precarious moments suspended in time. His gaze flits through the pictures until it settles on a particular one. She sinks down in front of him and hands him an ice tea. He mouths a quiet thank you at her and takes a large sip of the drink.

''It's a nice picture,' he tells her, conversational, a lazy smile edging against his lips.

It's a picture of her parents, taken shortly after their wedding - she can tell by the dark henna adorning her mother's hands, the shy tilt of her head, her father's blinding smile, and their intertwined fingers, stolen moments before his sudden demise. And Suman knows, despite never meeting the man and only knowing him through her mother's memory and stories - he was a good man and that's the only thing that truly matters.

'It's my favorite,' she confides softly, her words heavy with resigned melancholy, her throat thick with emotion. She shakes her head, smiles a little wistfully to herself like she knows that everything happens for a reason and she's since long stopped questioning the meaning behind those reasons.

'You know,' he starts, searching for her eyes before she finally looks at him. 'I always wondered how such good-looking people coming together could end up with such an underwhelming result, you sure you weren't adopted or —'

'You're impossible,' she huffs with indignation, the sound more a chuckle than a scoff, shoving him away as some of the heaviness from before dissipates by itself. He barely moves, simply leans back against the wall. He's still smiling when she looks up at him, his gaze soft in a way that makes her breath catch.

It's quiet for the space of a second between them, then Suman sighs. 'It's just that everyone has these memories and stories about him and the only thing I can do is listen because that's all I have.'

Her father served as a soldier in the army, and his last tour was meant to be his exit door towards retirement. On 21st September 1994, one month before her birth, he died a martyr's death, leaving behind a young widow and a child he loved so dearly. They tell her to be proud, to honor his memory when war and death are wrapped in tragedy.

Shravan must notice the shift in her mood because he lays a hand over her knee and gently squeezes. 'You want your own memories with him.'

Sometimes, she forgets that he knows her so well, from her first fracture, (a broken ankle, sixteen years old, trying to save a little boy from getting ran over) to the first boy she'd a crush on, (Viren, twelfth standard, already taken,
Shravan and herself spent the night eating ice-cream and watching re-runs of Friends because there is no better way to deal with heartbreak than a good laugh) to her deepest fear (she hates the ocean with a passion, he holds her hand even when she wants to appear tough and fearless).

Sometimes, she forgets that they're like puzzle pieces, there's no scar on his skin that she doesn't have a replica of, there's no blemish on his face that she doesn't know the story behind, she knows that he's ticklish around the ribs and his nose is a little crooked from the punch he received from that kid who spoke ill about her, and there's not one book in his father's library he hasn't read already.

He knows her like the back of his hand. He knows her as she knows him.

'You want to go to the movies, tomorrow?' He offers.

''I can't, I've got a date.'

Shravan blinks at her, stunned. 'A what, now?'

'A date.'

His face breaks into a genuine smile, amusement sparkling in his brown eyes. 'Get it, Tiwari!'

Her cheeks pink at that, and he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at how quickly she ducks her head to hide it from him. 'Shut up!'

'So, who's the lucky guy?'

'Remember, Rohan?'

'The guy from your English class?' He asks skeptically.

She can't quite make out the expression on his face. 'Yeah, you know him?'

'Who doesn't know him?'

'What's that supposed to mean?' She frowns.

He shrugs like it's nothing. 'He's quite popular with girls.'

She sits up straighter. 'So, are you.'

Surprise flits through his expression and the amusement remains in the crinkled corners of his eyes. 'You judging me, Tiwari?'

Suman shakes her head, feigning nonchalance. 'Maybe.'

Shravan snorts a laugh, the cock of his chin is almost contemplative. 'Wow, you really like him, huh?'

'Yeah, he's nice and actually likes me back, I still can't believe he asked me out, and I am a little scared that I'll totally embarrass myself because he's been with all these girls and I am —'

'Hey,' he interrupts her, his palms land on her shoulders, warm and comforting. 'It's going to be okay, you'll figure it out.'

'Easy to say for you,' she mumbles under her breath.

'Not a ladies' man for nothing,' he says, extremely smug, without missing a beat.

'I just don't want to repulse him, what if he wants to kiss and I don't know what to do, I don't want to embarrass myself,' Suman admits, rather grudgingly but also self-conscious, certain he's going to laugh at her.

'I...' He pauses for a moment and his eyes soften, all traces of humor slowly slipping away. "If he can't go at your pace, then maybe he's not the good guy for you. Someone who genuinely cares about you won't give a damn about how experienced or inexperienced you are."

She looks up at that, brown knit together in frustration. "Maybe, you're right."

"I am."

Suman's eyes drop to her hands, fiddling with the string of her pants. It's easier to ask when she doesn't have to look him in the eyes. Her palms feel clammy at the knowledge of what she's about to say, what she's going to ask him."Maybe...you could teach me?"

Shravan appears momentarily taken aback. "What?"

Suman straightens her shoulders, owning up to it as their gazes lock. "Maybe, you could show me how to kiss?"

"Sumo, I..." She's never heard Shravan so hesitant before. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Suman really, really tries to ignore the primal instinct of fleeing after the rejection. "Why?"

"Because..." Shravan is legitimately lost for words.

"Because?"

He clears his throat, carefully phrases his following words. "It's the first kiss, it's supposed to be special."

"It'll turn disastrous real quick if I don't know what I am doing," she snaps with ringing finality.

"If you feel forced to do something, then it's not worth it," he says, voice so infuriatingly patient.

"I don't feel forced, I want to do this right," she says decisive, unfolding her hands and laying them in her lap carefully. "Look, I get it I am not like other girls and you're not attracted to me but —"

Shravan stirs, sputtering as he protests. "That's not — I— never."

"It's okay Shravan, I am not offended, I am only asking this as a favor."

He's quiet for a long moment. "I don't want you to regret this."

"I won't."

"Why me?" Shravan asks, voice a lot steadier than Suman feels.

"Because I trust you and I know you're good at this."

Shravan's cheeks are rapidly staining a dark pink. "How do you know that?"

She arches a brow at him. "I've heard things."

"Oh God," he says, turning away so that she can't see him smile.

She snorts, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting her. "So, are you going to do it?"

He breathes out. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Okay," She grins, relieved.

"Go, close your door."

She latches the lock in place and suddenly the reality of the situation hits her with the speed of a freight train. She's going to kiss her best friend. She's going to kiss Shravan.

"So, how do we do this?"

He leans over to her, careful not to surprise her. "We start slow." He watches her eyes flick down to his lips.

There's no reason for her to be nervous, no reason for him to be, either, but she can feel nerves rolling off of him in the sight quiver of his voice, the straight posture of his spine.

He touches her chin to pull her gaze towards him, their eyes meet and she's to swallow, they've never been this close before. So close, she wants to meet him halfway. So close, she wants him to meet her halfway.

He moves closer, his forehead dipping to meet hers, noses nearly brushing. Her breath hitches in her throat, her heart is a tattoo against her chest. She fears that he'll hear it.

"Are you sure?" He asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and if she didn't know his voice so well, she probably wouldn't be able to sense the nervosity coating it.

Her voice sounds impossibly small when she speaks. "Yeah."

"Okay." There's still the barest hint of hesitation in his voice like he's not convinced.

"Do you need a head start?"

He huffs out a small laugh, and she can feel it flutter across her lips. "No, I am good."

She nods and closes the gap between them, the tip of her nose just brushes his. He takes her hand and places it on the side of his neck, her fingers find purchase in the hair at his nape.  She can't remember the last time she touched his hair. It's soft and thick, she wants to take her time and run her fingers through it. His thumb follows the curve of her cheekbone and he shuffles closer until his lips hover above hers, almost but not quite touching.

At first, it's a tentative brush of chapped lips against her soft ones, something about it so pure and innocent. Then, he's kissing her soft and slow, sweet and tender. His chilled lips taste like remnants of chocolate. Her eyes shut and her lips part. He cradles the back of her head like he couldn't get any closer and she melts into him. His hand flattens against her spine, lining up their chests and the warmth of his palm envelops the small of her back.

She feels the brief scratch of the slight stubble on his top lip against the corner of her mouth as he presses a kiss on her bottom lip. On impulse, she pulls at the roots of his hair and the soft rumble that drags out of him leaves her stunned. She made him do that sound. The knowledge of it makes her feel strangely triumphant. She's suddenly overwhelmed by his proximity, his familiar scent surrounding her making it difficult for her to function properly and she has to pull away from him before it gets too much before they venture into unknown territory. He chases her lips for a few inches before he regains his bearings. The haze he is in clears and his full lips slightly apart, his breathing come out in harsh pants, and he looks at her a little dazed, a little lost. Suman's cheeks are tinted pink as her eyes met his.

His Adam's apple bobs and his brows raise in a silent question. She still feels the pressure of his thumb against her jaw. She shakes herself from incomplete thoughts that bleed into nothingness.

"That was good, right?" His voice is flat, carefully measured like he couldn't care less. There's a small part of her that's tempted to linger, the heat of his palm against her cheek too warm and inviting, but she tamps down that urge. She pulls out of his hold, the pressure of his thumb is gone.

"Yes, it was." Suman laughs, feigning nonchalance, but can feel the heat warming its way up her neck regardless.

"Okay." Then he clears his throat, almost awkwardly, breaking the silence sheepishly, "You're sure?"

When she realizes what the question really is about, she squeezes his arm in an amicable gesture. "It really was."

Shravan's shoulders sag in relief. "So, ready to wow Rohit?"

She nudges him with her knee. "Rohan," she emphasizes. Then, looking quite proud of herself she adds, "I think, I got the gist of it."

Rohan.
Rohan.
Rohan.

The silence stretches for seconds.

He stares at her feet, she's wearing her ridiculous long socks, the ones that keep her warm during winter. She hates winter. "I have to go."

"Oh."

They are silent for a moment and Shravan gets up from his place, starts to tidy up his stuff.

She blurts it out before she can think about it. "Do you really have to go?"

He does a double-take. Then, unsure, "Do you want me to stay?"

"Why do you always have to answer my questions with questions of yours?" she complains, hardly capable of concealing her impatience.

"That does not answer my question."

She levels him with a hard glare.

"I have errands to run unless you have something else in mind."

She lifts a shoulder like it's nothing, her smile curves upwards. "You could stay and help me tidy up the rest of the room."

Shravan looks away before he can do something embarrassing like touch her cheek. "Not happening, that's something you'll have to do on your own," he says wry, almost a little fond.

"Traitor."

He winks at her. "I'll see you soon."

He's past the threshold when he hears her low rumble behind him.

"Hey Shravan?"

"Yes?"

Suman lingers by the door, her eyes sweeping over him. "Thanks."

He smiles like he knows something she doesn't. "Anything for you, Sumo."

She stares at him in stunned silence.

His drifting silhouette is a comet in the sunlight.

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So, thoughts?