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~An old friendship~
Sanjana Thapar

The next morning, I arrived to receive my punishment at exactly 5:15. Being only 15 minutes late was practically an achievement that I was proud of. However, the administrative assistant, Mrs. Sharma was anything but proud. She scowled at me as I rushed to take my place in the line up.

"Ah, Ms. Thapar," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "How gracious of you to join us today. We were beginning to wonder if you'd decided to take an impromptu vacation."

"Hi!" I squeaked, trying to offer her a smile.

My eyes darted around, suddenly noticing Varun's absence. Last night, he looked so pale when he came out of the washroom. I was genuinely concerned with how weak he looked so much so that I had offered to accompany him to the onsite clinic. But he had waved off my suggestion, mumbling something about an upset stomach and reassuring me that he was feeling better already. Before I could insist further, he had already gathered himself and left my room hurriedly.

Later that night, I sent a text to check on his condition which he never replied to. I told myself not to worry because he had probably fallen asleep.

Mrs. Sharma removed her glasses, letting them dangle. "He's not feeling well," she explained. "The nurse says it's a stomach bug, so he has been advised to rest."

Stomach bug? Was it bad? I had told him to go to the nurse, but does he ever listen to me? Did he go by himself to the clinic? Did someone go with him? Why didn't he call me?

"You three," she said, pointing at me, Tara, and Saksham, "will assist the gardeners." Then she pointed at Tabassum and Ayushmaan. "Ms. Khan, you'll help with library record-keeping. Mr. Nayyar, you'll support the cafeteria staff with the breakfast and lunch preparation."

We exchanged resigned nods before heading to our 'stations.'

The gardener eyed us with skepticism. "Do any of you know how to weed?" he asked, sighing in exasperation. When we shook our heads, he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and then demonstrated the technique before sending us off to do our thing with our personal baskets. "Teachers always send these kids," he muttered, more to himself than to us as he thrusted his trowel into the ground in frustration. "Punishment, they call it. But who really suffers? Me. Always me. Cleaning up after them after they make a mess of things."

I tried to mimic his movements with fake enthusiasm, aware of the administrative assistant's hawk-like gaze. My poor cashmere sweater was already collecting dirt, and I winced internally at each smudge.

When Mrs. Sharma finally left, I seized the opportunity. Hurriedly, I removed my gloves and pulled out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. I dialed Varun's number and waited with bated breath for him to answer, but he didn't pick up. How sick was he? The memory of his pale face from the previous night flickered through my mind.

I hesitated, then slipped my phone back into my pocket. One more try wouldn't hurt. What if he needed something?

Walking over to Saksham, who was pulling weeds on the opposite side of the garden, I hit on him lightly with my gloves. "I need to go somewhere. Can you cover for me?"

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at me while still kneeling on the ground. "Go where?"

"Why do you care?" I huffed. "Just tell me... Will you cover for me or not?"

"Whatever," he mumbled, his attention only half on me. Just as I was about to leave, Saksham caught my arm. His chin jutted towards something in the distance. "Is she crying?"

Following his gaze, I spotted Tara. Her back was facing us so we couldn't see her face, but something in her posture was wrong.

Without a word, I changed course. I slipped on my gloves as I walked to Tara. I settled beside her, deliberately keeping a careful distance. From the corner of my eye, I saw her rubbing her face with her shirt.

"Ugh! This dirt is so annoying," I said, hoping it would help start a conversation.

Tara didn't look at me. Her hands moved mechanically, yanking weeds aggressively. Had she not heard me?

Clearing my throat, I shifted closer to her. "Ugh! This weed is so stubborn," I said, pretending to struggle, hoping to break the ice.

Silence. Complete and total silence.

She continued pulling weeds. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw clenched with each aggressive tug.

"I'm fine," she said sharply, before I could formulate a question.

I raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't really asking. I was–"

She cut me off with a weary sigh. "Look, Sanjana, I don't have enough energy to play whatever game you are trying to play."

Something inside me snapped. "Excuse me!" I stood up, hands on my hips. "I'm not trying to play games. You are the one who keeps pestering me into trying to talk to you."

Tara matched my stance, her eyes blazing with frustration and hurt. "And I'm sorry for that. It won't happen again. So don't worry, okay?"

Suddenly she was crying. Not the dramatic, wailing kind, but the quiet tears. She hurriedly wiped them away, but it was futile. They kept coming. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

"Because I'm done," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Done with begging for someone to love me. For someone to understand me. For someone to choose me." With each word, her voice cracked with emotion. "What do you want me to do, Sanjana? I have apologized so many times for that stupid mistake."

"It wasn't a stupid mistake," I snapped. "You kissed the guy I was interested in. And you did it knowing exactly how I felt."

Tara let out a bitter laugh. "You think you're the only one who felt something for him? For a single second, you didn't think that I could have felt something for him?"

My breath caught in my throat. "What?"

"Yeah Sanjana, newsflash! Other people in this world have feelings too," she scoffed. "Did you know that almost every girl in our class had a crush on Sameer. Heck! Half of the girls in our school liked him, but you were always so absorbed in your own feelings that nothing else mattered to you."

I swallowed harshly. My mind raced with thoughts. Perhaps she was right. I kept thinking back to instances where people would gush over Sameer. It wasn't that I didn't think that someone else could like her. It was just that I didn't really care. It was all about me. Always.

"I liked Sameer. For months. Long before you told me you liked him. And watching you chase after him, seeing how much you wanted him—it killed me." Her shoulders slumped.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" I asked softly. "About your feelings?"

"And risk losing our friendship?" She laughed, but it was a sound devoid of humor. "You were my best friend. How could I tell you I liked the same guy you were interested in? And in a moment of weakness, I made a terrible mistake. The one that I deeply regret ten seconds into kissing him."

"You could have told me. I would have–"

"I'm done," she said. "Like I said, I made a mistake. A big mistake and I am sorry for it. But what's done is done. I have apologized for it. Multiple times. But if you expect me to go on my knees and beg for your forgiveness then I'm sorry that won't be possible."

My anger dissipated as I studied the weariness in her body language. "I never asked you to beg."

Tara's shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her. "Then what do you want from me, Sanjana?"

What did I want from her? Honestly I didn't even know. I was always so wrapped up in my own selfishness that I didn't even realize what my best friend's true feelings were. I was so angry at her and what she did to our friendship that I didn't give her a chance to explain herself.

"You remember what you said to me that night?" she asked. "You said that you wished you never would have met me. And that you hate me."

My stomach clenched. It sounded like something I would have said. I had been so furious that I lashed out without thinking.

"Well... you'll be happy to know that I have hated myself every day since then," she said, with a humorless smile.

The weight of her words settled on my chest. My throat tightened, and I could feel the sting of guilt rising in my chest. How had I never realized how much my words had hurt her? How much she had carried, all this time, without letting it show?

"Tara..." I began, my voice catching in my throat. What could I possibly say that wouldn't sound hollow?

She shook her head sharply, cutting me off before I could find the right words. "Don't," she said, her voice trembling but steady. "It's fine. I'm used to it. Being the villain. The one everyone blames. When my own parents can't stand me, why should I expect anyone else to?"

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. "Tara, no," I said quickly, my voice firmer now. "You didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve any of it."

She looked at me then, really looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly like she was trying to see through me. "Don't say that," she murmured. "Don't say things just because you feel guilty now. Don't do this for you."

"I'm not," I insisted, the words coming out in a rush. "I swear I'm not. I just... I didn't know. About everything. About how you felt about Sameer. About how hard it was for you. I should've known. And you should've told me."

She blinked, her lips parting in surprise, as if she hadn't expected that. Truthfully, neither had I.

"I liked him," Tara said quietly, her voice barely audible. "But I knew you liked him too. I knew it, and I still..." She trailed off, her face contorting with guilt. "I don't know why I did it, Sanjana. Maybe I wanted to feel like someone would choose me for once. Even if it was just for a moment."

My chest tightened. "I shouldn't have said the things I did to you that night," I said softly. "I was hurt and angry, but I went too far. I never hated you, Tara. I was just... too wrapped up in my own feelings to see yours."

Her eyes flickered with disbelief and hope before she looked away again. "It doesn't matter now."

"It does," I said firmly. "It matters to me. You were my best friend, Tara. And even when I was mad at you, losing you hurt more than anything else."

Her lip quivered as she tried to hold back tears. "You have no idea how many times I replayed that night in my head. How many times I wished I could take it back."

"I do," I whispered. "Because I've done the same."

She stared at me, startled. For a long, quiet moment, neither of us spoke. And then, before I could overthink it, I pulled her into a hug.

She stiffened at first, like she couldn't believe it was happening, but then her arms wrapped around me tightly. Her shoulders shook as quiet sobs wracked her body, the tears she'd probably been holding in for years spilling out. I felt my own tears soaking her t-shirt.

"I'm sorry," we whispered against each other's shoulders.

"Ms. Thapar! Ms. Rajput!" Mrs. Sharma's sharp voice rang out across the garden. "Are we hosting a picnic, or are you planning to finish your work sometime today?"

Tara and I jumped apart like guilty children. She wiped her face using her shoulder, shooting me an amused look. "You think she'll add more to our punishments?"

"I hope not. But we should get back to work," I muttered, trying to suppress my grin as I crouched back down to resume weeding.

Tara dropped down beside me, brushing her hair away from her face. The tension between us had eased, but it wasn't completely gone. We weren't fixed, not yet. The cracks were still there. Were we friends again? Acquaintances?

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She was working, however there was a softness in her posture now that hadn't been there before.

We obviously couldn't undo the past, but we could start over.

And for now, that reassurance was enough.

____

Medicine clutched tightly in my hand, I made my way to Varun's room. Classes were still in session, and I'd made an excuse about a headache to get out of attending. After that initial dressing-down from Kabir Sir months ago, my attendance had been impeccable enough that skipping today wouldn't jeopardize my graduation.

The hallway of the boys' dorm was eerily quiet.

I thought back to the conversation I had with Maya the other night.

"You won't believe it, but Varun has actually been to jail."

I jerked upright, all the exhaustion leaving my body. "What?"

"Yeah!" Maya grinned. "So...This isn't something you'll find in official records. It comes from a friend's friend's acquaintance's father - a retired police officer who knows the intricate details."

"Just stop with all the theatrics and tell me," I snapped when she paused for dramatic effect.

"Varun's father was murdered. And here's the twist - a police officer was convinced that Varun and his mother were responsible. He went so far as to illegally detain them, hoping to extract a confession. They were in there for days, but he couldn't prove anything, so eventually, they got let out. Clean chit and all that."

I shook my head, bile rising in my throat. "That doesn't make sense. Why would they think that?"

"Why?" Maya interrupted with a scoff, leaning back in her chair as though she were delivering some great revelation. "Because apparently his father was a real piece of work. Rumor has it he used to beat and torture them—Varun and his mother. Like, seriously messed up stuff." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "So people think one of them snapped or something and the other one is covering for them. Can you imagine?"

"That doesn't sound like them at all," I argued, blood roaring in my ears.

Her lips curled into a condescending smile. "It makes sense when you think about it. I haven't met his mother but I'm pretty sure he is the one who killed his father. Like seriously, have you seen Varun? All broody and quiet, like he's hiding some big, dark secret. Murderer is practically written all over him. I bet he still has a temper, too. Like, you know, violent tendencies or whatever."

"Maya, stop," I said, my voice sharp now.

She blinked at me, feigning surprise. "What? I'm just saying. You should probably be careful around him. People like that don't just... change. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he's still up to shady stuff."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please," she replied with a dismissive laugh, already standing up and slinging her designer bag over her shoulder. "You're way too nice, Sanjana. You better watch your back while hanging out with a criminal. Now that I know the truth, I'm seriously concerned that they let a possible criminal into this university."

Before I could say another word, her phone buzzed loudly. She glanced at it and sighed dramatically. "Ugh, I'm already late. Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

I nodded distractedly.

"We'll talk later about how we want to use this to embarrass him, okay?" she said, before strutting out of my room.

My heart pounded in my chest.

Varun—in jail? His mother—accused? It didn't add up. None of it did.

I clenched my fists. No. Maya was wrong. She had to be wrong. I didn't care what rumors people wanted to spread—I knew Varun. And if no one else believed in him, then I would.

Whatever his story was, I hoped he would tell me.

Clearing my throat, I knocked lightly on the door. There was a pause. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't respond, but then I heard a muffled groan, followed by something that sounded like, "Come in." Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

My brows furrowed when I saw the bed was empty—blankets crumpled, pillows shoved to one side. I turned toward the washroom door just as the faint sound of retching reached my ears. My chest tightened.

The flush echoed in the quiet room.

Varun stepped out, and the sight of him made me freeze in place. His hair was a tangled mess, damp strands sticking to his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot. It was the first time I had seen him without glasses. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Only a pair of loose shorts hanging low on his hips. His skin looked paler than usual.

Our eyes locked.

His eyes widened, shock flashing across his face. "Sanjana?" he croaked, his voice hoarse as he reached for his glasses on the side table. He wore them and then continued staring at me in confusion before realizing the state he was in. Panic flickered across his features, and he scrambled to grab the wrinkled T-shirt lying on the chair nearby. But it was already too late.

I had seen.

Even as I stood there, frozen, blinking back the sudden sting of tears, I couldn't unsee it—the scars. They covered his back and arms. White and silvery lines crisscrossed everywhere, some thick as a pencil, some so thin that you could miss them against his tan skin. The cigarette burns were the worst—perfect little white circles scattered across his skin.

A particularly long scar near his lower back looked very scary, jagged and uneven.

Even with the faint scars, I could tell how much pain he had endured. Not just the physical pain.

The room suddenly felt suffocating, the air too thick to breathe. My heart pounded so hard it echoed in my ears.

Varun yanked his T-shirt over his head. "Get out!" he snapped, his voice hard and cold.