Author's note: Thank you so much for all the love on the last chapter!! Let's see how quickly we can get to 140 votes on this chapter :) I promise the updates will be much quicker now.

~Giving A Damn~

Varun Reddy

Chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos. They called it a talent show, but "organized mayhem" would have been more appropriate. The backstage area buzzed with nervous energy, performers practicing last-minute routines and volunteers darting between them like headless chickens.

This was why I hated being a part of these things. I could have used this time to do literally anything else.

I checked my phone once again to see if my mother had called or messaged. She was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago with NK Sir. I hadn't invited her obviously. She was asked to come by her 'new bestie'. When my call went unanswered again, I stuffed the phone back in my pocket. Maybe she'd picked up another shift at work. It had happened in the past. Sanjana would be disappointed but she'll be fine, it's not like they had been in each other's lives for that long.

"FIVE MINUTES TILL CURTAIN!" Tabassum's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie with enough force to make my ears ring. I shared a pained look with another volunteer, both of us wincing at her volume. My eyes dropped to the lineup sheet on my clipboard. The poor thing was creased from my constant fidgeting.

"Varun," she said again, "Get the first three acts in position and clear the wings. NOW."

"Copy," I muttered, already moving toward two singers who were practicing in the wing space. It was the fifth time I'd had to move them in the last ten minutes. "You can't stay here," I said, trying to keep the exhaustion from my voice. "You're blocking the entrance path. Practice room 3 is open—please use that until ten minutes before your slot."

They dragged their feet, throwing dirty looks over their shoulders. I ignored them, focusing instead on the tech booth. "Sound check for Act One?"

A thumbs up from above, which I relayed through the walkie-talkie.

"Lights are all set as well," another volunteer confirmed.

The curtains rose to thunderous applause, and the show began. Stand-up comedian, contemporary dancers, classical duo, magicians. I envied them, in a way I'd never admit aloud. What must it feel like to shed your insecurities and bare yourself under the spotlight in front of people? Shaking my head, I focused on the list of performers. I didn't have time to think about such frivolous things. My only goal in life should be to get a job and earn a lot of money.

"Varun!" Tabassum's voice sliced through my thoughts. "We're behind schedule. The transitions need to be shorter between the performers. Get the next performers ready now. And why are there still so many people in the wings?"

"Working on it," I grumbled, scanning the lineup with increasing frustration. The wrong people were everywhere—those who needed to be present were missing, while those who shouldn't be here were gathered here.

The evening continued to drag. It was long and chaotic. We finally neared the end. Number 34—third to last. I hadn't memorized her number, but how could I forget? She'd been reminding everyone within earshot that they were "saving the best for last," despite my repeated corrections that she wasn't actually closing the show.

My phone buzzed just as I headed toward the changing rooms to find the next performers. My mother's name lit up the screen, and relief flooded through me. "Mom? Where are you? Is everything okay?"

Her voice came through distorted, distant. "Varun—" Static crackled between us.

"Hold on," I said, shouldering past another group of spectators who were definitely not supposed to be here. "I can't hear—"

"It's NK Sir. He's gone."

I stopped walking. "What?"

"I went to his room to leave together, like we planned." Her voice trembled. "But he wasn't well. The doctors were there, but they wouldn't tell me anything—privacy policies, you know? I wanted to be sure before I called you..."

Swallowing harshly, I leaned against a wall. I didn't know NK Sir well, but the few times we'd met, his genuine kindness and warmth had been undeniable. And, the way Sanjana's eyes lit up around him. It was clear that they had a special bond.

"How are you going to tell Sanjana?" she asked. "The poor girl is going to be devastated."

"I don't think it's my place, mom," I said immediately. "Maybe I can–"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped. "She needs to hear it from someone who loves her and can support her."

A flash of pink caught my eye. "Mom, I have to go." I ended the call just as Sanjana bounded up to me.

I'd seen her dress yesterday—it was nice then—but today, she looked very different. Tiny sparkles shimmered on her eyelids and her lips gleamed with something pink and glossy. Her hair was gathered in a loose braid draped over her shoulder and was woven with tiny flowers.

"So, how do I look?" she asked, doing a mini twirl. Before I could speak, she held up one finger, grinning. "Wait! Unless you're going to say that I'm the most stunning girl you've ever laid eyes on, save your breath."

My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. How could I extinguish that light in her eyes? I always thought and prided myself in being emotionally distant, finding a twisted comfort in other's pain because it made me feel less alone in my darkness. But now, faced with the task of breaking her heart, I felt something inside me shift.

'Sanjana—" My voice came out rough.

"Oh! Have you heard from your mom?" She was already moving on. "Neither she nor NK Uncle are answering their phones. I tried to scan the audience, but I can't spot them anywhere."

I grabbed her hand, desperate now. "Let's find Saksham. Or Maya? I saw her earlier somewhere—"

She yanked her hand free, eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?" The playfulness vanished from her voice. "Varun, what aren't you telling me?"

"San–"

"No!" Her foot stamped the floor, but I managed to guide her into an empty changing room. "Tell me what's happening." Fear crept into her expression, darkening her eyes. "Is it... is it NK Uncle?"

I nodded slowly, words failing me. "I'm so sorry, Sanjana. He—"

But she was already shaking her head, tears spilling. "No," she whispered, then louder, "No! The doctors said he was getting better. They promised he was getting better!"

She slid down on a chair, pulling her knees to her chest, her pink dress pooling around. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and all I could do was stand there, my hands opening and closing uselessly at my sides unsure of what I could say to make it better. My way of dealing with grief had always been to shut down, to build walls so high that nothing could touch me.

But watching her cry, something inside me cracked. Her makeup was streaking down her cheeks. My chest clenched with each sob. Before I could overthink it, I dropped to my knees beside her and pulled her into my arms.

She stiffened for a moment. It was long enough for me to wonder that I had made a terrible mistake, but she melted into me, her face buried against my chest. Her tears soaked through my volunteer coordinator t-sirt, but I couldn't bring myself to be upset. Her hands clutched at the fabric and buried closer. Instinctively, I found myself patting her head.

"He promised," she whispered against my shirt, her voice hoarse. "He promised he'd watch me dance tonight."

My throat tightened. What could I say to that? What words could possibly make this better? So I just held her closer, one hand moving in slow circles on her back like my mother used to do when I was small.

The door creaked open, and I looked up to see another performer—one of the singers from earlier—peering in. Before he could say a word, I shifted, using my body to shield Sanjana from view.

"Find another room," I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended. "This one's taken."

"But I need to—"

"I said find another room." There must have been something in my tone because he backed out quickly, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sanjana's sobs had quieted to hiccups, but she didn't pull away. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, too fast but gradually steadying.

"I'm ruining your shirt," she mumbled, but made no move to separate herself from me.

"It's okay," I murmured. "I'm not planning to wear it ever again."

She let out a watery laugh—barely more than a breat. Her fingers unclenched slightly from my shirt, but instead of pulling away, she seemed to settle more comfortably against me. Something fluttered in my chest at the trust in that small gesture.

"What am I supposed to do now?" she whispered, and I wasn't sure if she was asking me or herself. "He was supposed to be here. Front row, like he promised. He bought a new fancy camera just for tonight." Her voice caught on the last word. "He said he wanted to make sure that he took the best pictures of me because he knew how picky I was about my pictures. I imagined him telling me how proud he was of me. He was making all these plans, Varun. How could he just...?" Her voice cracked, fresh tears threatening to fall.

"Dance for him," I said softly , surprising myself.

She pulled back, staring at me like I'd lost my mind. "What?"

"Dance for him," I repeated, more firmly this time. "All those weeks of practice, all that work you put in—do it for him. Show everyone in that audience what he already knew about you."

"I can't," she whispered, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—uncertainty replacing the flat refusal from before.

"You can. And you should." I brushed away a tear from her cheek with my thumb, leaving a streak in her glitter makeup. "Think about it—NK Uncle bought a camera just to watch you perform. He was making plans, getting excited about seeing you dance. Don't let that go to waste."

"But it hurts," she said, her voice small. "Everything hurts."

"I know." And I did know, in a way. "But sometimes the best way to honor someone is to do the things that would have made them happy."

She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently playing with the hem of her sparkly dress. "Will you..." she started, then stopped.

"What?"

"Will you stay with me?" She wouldn't meet my eyes.

Something warm unfurled in my chest. "I'll try, but you should know that Tabassum might actually kill me for abandoning my post."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I'll tell her it was my fault."

"You better," I said, hoping that it would make her smile and it did. It wasn't her usual smile, but it was something.

"I should fix my makeup though, right?" she asked, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Can you go get my makeup bag? It's in room 10 I think."

I nodded and hurried to do as she asked. Her makeup bag was easy to spot because it was bright yellow and had her name embossed on it. When I returned, she was standing by the dresser using tissues to clean her face. Her hands weren't shaking anymore. There was something different about her now. There was a strange determination that had replaced her grief. She reapplied her makeup quickly, though she used less glitter this time. When she finished, she caught my eye in the mirror's reflection and gave a small nod.

As I stood in the wings, without doing much, I saw Tabassum glaring at me, but I stayed where I was. Besides Sanjana. Sanjana's shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths as we waited for the act before hers cleared the stage.

"Next up," the announcer's voice boomed, "Please put your hands together for Imperial's very own beauty queen, Sanjana Thapar."

She glanced back at me one last time. I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile, and then she was walking onto the stage. The audience's applause faded, and for a moment, there was complete silence.

The first notes of the song filled the auditorium. Sanjana stood completely still, her head bowed, and I found myself holding my breath. Then she began to move.

I had seen so many performances tonight, but this was different. There was honesty in her movements that hadn't been there during rehearsals. Where before she had been technically precise, now there was something else—something that made it impossible to look away. Her performance told a story of loss and grief despite the peppy music and vibrant dance moves. It was so pure they made my throat tight.

The stage lights caught the tears in her cheeks, but she didn't falter. She seemed to take each turn, leap and move and turn that carried the weight of her pain and transform it into something beautiful. I realized I was gripping the clipboard so tightly that I nearly cracked it. I wanted to look away. I wanted to move away, but I couldn't get myself to do any of that. I could simply stare.

The music swelled, and she spun across the stage. At that moment, I knew that NK Uncle would be so proud of her. How could anyone not be proud of this? How could anyone watch her pour her heart out on stage and not be moved?

Loud claps, hoots and cheers followed her performance and she offered the audience a smile and did a polite bow before leaving the stage.

"You think he saw it?" she whispered to me.

I inhaled her floral perfume as she moved closer to me. "Of course. He had the best seat."

As I watched her smile softly at me, I felt something fundamental had shifted inside me, like tectonic plates finally settling into a new configuration after an earthquake.

"Varun!" Tabassum's voice on the walkie talkie made us both jump. "Where are you? We have two acts left!"

Sanjana let out a small chuckle. "You should go before she actually kills you."

"Probably," I agreed, but I didn't move right away.

Was this what she was talking about? Giving a damn about someone? If it was then I had definitely begun giving a whole lot of damn about Sanjana Thapar.