My sleep was broken by chaotic dreams. At first, Alan and Mownika were laughing at me, then she suddenly disappeared. Alan was holding me tenderly but a few seconds later, he transformed into a monstrous centipede, its countless legs coiling around me, cold pincers clicking menacingly near my face.

I jolted awake, gasping, my heart hammering against my ribs. The room was dark and silent. Neha still wasn't back. My phone screen read 5 a.m. There was a message from her sent hours ago: "Saw you leave with Alan. Heading to CC."

I set the phone aside, trying to shake the clinging unease from the dream, and buried my face back into the pillow, desperate for a few more hours of oblivion.

But my mind wouldn't quiet. It kept circling back to him. Was he with Mownika right now? Were they still together, or had he already taken an auto back to the Community Center like last time?

How long did sex usually take? Was he tender during these casual sex encounters? Or did he just do it and leave?

I rubbed my eyes hard, as if I could scrub the thoughts away. I turned on my side and hugged my pillow tightly to my chest. Alan was my friend. I was alone here in Pondicherry. That was why my thoughts revolved around him. I did not want to date Alan. We were completely wrong for each other. We were friends—good friends—but trust him in a relationship? Not a chance.

But then the memories washed over me. The pure joy when we sang together, the easy way we teased each other, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes when he stepped between me and Abhishek, the way my heart had hammered not from fear, but from the feel of his body against mine.

No! Stop it! It was just friendship. Of course it was. I found him fascinating because he was so different from anyone I'd ever known. His life was a world away from mine, and I was intrigued. That was all. That didn't mean I was in love with him. It didn't mean I wanted more.

I felt faint, tingling sensation on my neck, a phantom memory of his breath on my neck as he hugged me. I squeezed the pillow tighter.

Fine, I admitted to the dark, silent room. I was attracted to him.

But that wasn't why I sought him out. It wasn't! I genuinely liked him as a person. He was a good friend. I enjoyed his company. That was all it was.

With a frustrated sigh, I tossed the pillow aside and turned onto my stomach, pressing my face into the mattress, willing sleep to come and quiet the riot in my mind.

It felt like just a few moments later whenthe harsh, unforgiving sun stabbed through my eyelids, dragging me violently awake. I squinted at my phone—11 a.m. My heart plummeted. The prize distribution! I had missed it entirely!

A cold wave of panic washed over me. The room was too quiet. Neha's and Anjana's beds were empty, their bags gone. Why didn't they wake me? The bus to Bangalore was at noon!

Scrambling out of bed, I threw my things into my bag hurriedly —Priya's borrowed clothes, my wallet, my charger, the case for my contact lenses. I shoved my glasses on my face and made a terrified, cautious trip to the shared bathroom, checking every corner for more nightmare bugs before rushing through the quickest shower of my life.

I practically ran to the Community Center, only to find it completely deserted. I took deep breaths, my panic making it hard for me to think. I fumbled for my phone and called Neha.

"Mam, I'm at the Community Center, and everyone has left," I blurted out the second she picked up, my voice shaking.

"Okay," she replied calmly. "Let me send you my location on WhatsApp."

I clicked the link she sent. The location was a good 15-minute drive away. On foot, I'd never make it. I spotted an auto-rickshaw idling nearby and practically leaped into it, breathlessly giving the driver the address.

When we finally arrived, Anjana and Neha were waiting. Neha pulled me into a tight hug.

"Where were you?" she asked, her voice a mix of concern and confusion.

"I was at the hostel," I said, trying hard to keep the accusation out of my tone. "Why didn't you wake me when you came to get your luggage?"

Neha pulled back, her expression shifting to something more hesitant. "Sanjay and Atul went and got our bags for us. They said..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "They said you weren't at the hostel. They said you were spending the night with Alan. And when Alan wasn't at the Community Center this morning either... we all thought..."

A hot flush of embarrassment crawled up my neck.

"Idiots!" Anjana chimed in, her voice sharp with annoyance. "They're friends with Abhishek. Probably thought it would be a fun prank to play on you."

A hot, quiet anger settled in my chest. This was far from funny. I could have been stranded in Pondicherry because of their stupid "prank."

Anjana and Neha joined the rest of our classmates already on the bus, leaving me standing alone with my luggage. I handed my suitcase up to the conductor, hoisted my backpack, and walked down the aisle. My eyes landed on Alan immediately, but I purposely looked away. I chose a seat two rows behind him, dropping into it with a sigh. I felt on edge, from the poor sleep and the stress of nearly being left behind.

Megha, a friendly third-year from the western dance team, slid into the seat next to me. As Anthakshari started up around us, I closed my eyes, hoping to escape into sleep, but my mind was racing.

I felt angry at myself for not setting an alarm.Angry at Abhishek for being so vile, his friends for their cruel joke. And most of all, I was angry at Alan for the way he'd shut me out last night.

But as the bus rolled on, my anger began to cool, replaced by a prickling guilt. Alan had been there for me. He'd stepped in without a second thought when Abhishek had gotten aggressive. And his crude honesty about Mownika? I was the one who had asked for open communication. I had all but demanded it as a rule of our friendship. He'd just given me the unvarnished, ugly truth.

I was being childish. Holding a grudge because the reality of his life didn't fit my neat, color-coded expectations.

When the bus pulled into a pit stop at Vellore, everyone spilled out to stretch and grab tea. I found Neha and Anjana, and Anjana immediately launched into telling a few others about Sanjay and Atul's idiotic stunt. I recognized them when she pointed—they were the ones who'd pulled Abhishek away last night.

I decided I needed to make amends.

I ordered an extra cup of tea and walked over to where Alan stood with some of the people I recognized from the fashion show team.

I approached him with a small, tentative smile and held out the cup.

He looked surprised for a second, then a relieved smile touched his lips as he accepted it. "Thanks."

As I launched into the story of my chaotic morning—being left behind, the auto ride, the ridiculous assumption that I'd been with him—his eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. The shocked, almost offended look on his face was so sincere that I couldn't help but laugh.

The sound felt good. It broke the last of the tension between us. We were okay. We were still friends.

"Unbelievable!" I exclaimed. I was relieved that she was speaking to me at all. It amazed me, sometimes, how quickly she had become important to me.

"How was your morning?" she asked and then immediately bit her lip and looked away. The gesture was so endearing, so quintessentially her, that it sent a warmth spreading through my chest.

I considered her. I didn't want to lie to her, but I also didn't want to put her off, to see that flicker of disappointment or judgment in her eyes.

"I stayed over at Mownika's hotel," I admitted, deciding on honesty. It was the best I could offer her.

I saw her glance down at her cup, and a part of me ached to explain, to defend myself. "It was closer to the bus stand than the Community Center," I added quickly, the excuse sounding weak even to my own ears.

Our eyes met, and in the depths of her gaze, I saw the unspoken question: How? How do you do it?

I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender, bracing for the judgment. But it never came. Her eyes remained steady, not condemning, just... searching.

"I'm not using her, Fiza," I told her. I needed her to know that I wasn't someone who would lead a girl on if she wanted more. "We're just having fun, no strings attached."

I could sense her struggle with the concept. And then, her voice trembling with vulnerability, she confessed, "I would never be able to do that." Her eyes found mine, holding my gaze intently. "You know? Separate physical touch from physical affection and love?"

I had learned to, out of necessity. Out of self-preservation. But I could never tell her about my life or she would know exactly the type of monster that I was.

My heart skipped a beat as those dark brown eyes seemed to see straight through all my defenses.

"I know," I whispered, my voice thick with a tenderness I didn't know I still possessed.

I had to look away. I couldn't bear to meet her eyes any longer. She was everything pure and good in this world, and I was... me. A mess of bad decisions and broken pieces. And so much worse.

How could someone like her ever understand the darkness I carried?

And then she did the one thing I wasn't prepared for. She reached out and took my hand, her fingers intertwining with mine. A shock of warmth shot straight to my core.

"You are a good guy." Her voice was so sincere, so certain, it made my soul tremble. "You don't seem to know that."

Our eyes locked again, and I felt completely exposed. It was as if she could see every mistake, every failure, every moment of weakness, and yet she still saw something worth saving.

But then the familiar, poisonous voice slithered through my mind: "Look at yourself in the mirror, you drug addict! You think anyone would want you if they really saw you? If they knew you like I did?"

I fought against it, clinging to the hope in her words, to the belief she seemed to have in me.
My eyes pleaded with her silently. I wanted nothing more than for her to have the power to erase my past, to cleanse me of all my sins, to make me into the man she seemed to think I could be.

And then the bus horn blared, shattering the fragile moment. I couldn't hurt her. I just couldn't take the risk. But friendship... that should be okay... right?

I wanted nothing more than to sit beside her, but I didn't want to overstep. So when she held on to my hand and gently guided me to her seat, I felt this immense sense of relief.

As we settled side by side, the need to be closer was a physical pull, a magnetic force drawing me toward her. I held myself back, though, every inch of space between us was equal parts agony and ecstasy.

She let go of my hand to reach for her water bottle, and I watched, utterly captivated, as she took a long drink. She was trying to hide how flustered she felt, but I saw it—the slight tremor in her hands, the quick glance she stole my way. My gaze dropped to her lips, to the way the water droplets clung to them, glistening in the light. An unexpected, powerful urge surged through me—to lean in, to close that small distance, to taste the water on her lips and see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

I had to force myself to look away, my jaw tightening. It was a struggle to rein in the impulse. My mind flashed back to just a few days ago, sitting beside her as she recited her friendship rules with that serious, adorable expression. "Rule number one: don't fall in love with me." I had teased her then, sarcastically promising to try.

Now, as I stole glances at her profile, at the way her laughter lit up her whole face, I realized with a sinking, terrifying certainty that I was in real danger of breaking every single one of her rules.

I couldn't do that to her. Fiza deserved so much better than a guy like me. She deserved someone whole, someone who could love her without reservation, without this baggage of past mistakes and present demons. I was too damaged, too flawed.

And so, as much as every fiber of my being longed for her, I made a silent, fierce vow to myself: I would protect her, even if it meant protecting her from me.

She caught me staring again and beamed, her eyes sparkling with playful teasing. "I know I'm really pretty, but you can stop staring at me now."

I didn't look away. I couldn't.

"So," she said, clearing her throat, completely flustered, "shall we post our duet?"

It took me a moment to grasp the simple question. "Absolutely," I replied, unlocking my phone and opening the Instagram app. I quickly uploaded a clip of our practice session.

"Would you like to add a filter or make any edits?" I offered, holding the phone out toward her.

Her eyes scanned the video. "Why?" she asked, her voice small. "Do I look bad?"

I couldn't tell if she was fishing for a compliment or if she was genuinely insecure. My gaze roamed over her face, taking in every delicate feature. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met," I said, the words coming out soft and tender.

Her cheeks flushed , and she seemed caught off guard by my words. "Please don't say things like that," she whispered, her eyes darting away from mine. "You don't want me to accidentally fall for one of your pickup lines."

I wasn't sure if this was just playful banter or something more. Was she flirting, or was she being her inappropriately direct self? My gaze flickered again to the smile that played on her lips.

A powerful, all-consuming surge of desire swept through me, my body thrumming with the need to touch her, to taste the sweetness of her lips. My hands trembled at my sides, aching to explore the softness of her skin, to trace the delicate features of her face, the hollow of her neck, the gentle curves of her body. I wanted to breathe her in until she was seared into my senses.

The intensity of my own reaction startled me.

Snap out of it! This is Fiza! She wasn't a conquest, a one-night distraction. She was a person I genuinely cared for, someone I desperately wanted to know, not just possess.

"No filters," I managed, my voice slightly rough. "It's perfect as is."

She finally handed the phone back. "I was thinking we could break it up into sections and post them on different days," she suggested, her voice confident. But then her eyes met mine, and that confidence shattered into a blush before she quickly looked away.

I forced a chuckle, trying to bring back some semblance of the easy banter we usually shared. "Sure," I said, my tone laced with sarcasm to mask the storm inside me. "So that our two followers can savor our music in bite-sized pieces."

I clicked on our profile page, and my gaze immediately snagged on the second name in the follower list. Mownika. My stomach dropped. I felt Fiza's eyes follow mine, and I saw it—a quick flash of hurt cross her face before she turned away.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

Author's note

Do you believe that love is different than attraction + friendship?

How are you liking the book so far?

Please vote and comment!

❤️Naina