Dev's P.O.V.

I stand beside my car, the evening sun casting a warm, golden glow over everything. Aman stands before me, and I can't help but feel a sense of contentment. The weight of the day seems to lift as I utter those words, "Thanks... it was really nice...I enjoyed the day." What can you even say when you have a day like this?

Aman's lips curl into a smile at my attempt at humor, and that smile, that elusive expression of happiness, warms my heart. Aman doesn't speak much, but I can sense his appreciation in that simple gesture.

As I bask in the gentle warmth of the setting sun, a burst of innocence and boundless energy approaches. It's Shivi, a little girl who has an uncanny ability to brighten even the dullest of moments. She runs up to me, her small arms wrapping around my leg as she looks up at me with those big, innocent eyes.

"Hey, Shivi," I say, ruffling her hair gently. Her presence brings an unexpected but pleasant interruption to our conversation.

Her voice, soft and filled with curiosity, chimes in, "You're going?"

I nod, and a hint of sadness creeps into her innocent gaze.

"Yep, I have to go, Shivi," I say with a reassuring smile. "But don't worry, I'll be back soon."

Shivi's face lights up with a mixture of hope and curiosity. "You promise?" she asks, her small hand gripping my pants as if seeking a binding agreement.

I crouch down to her eye level, making sure she knows I'm entirely serious. "I promise. And maybe next time, we can have ice cream together. How does that sound?"

Her eyes widen in delight at the mention of ice cream, and a bright giggle escapes her lips. "Yay! I love ice cream, Dev!"

I can't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. "Well, it's a date then. Shivi. Till then..." Reaching into my bag, I carefully retrieve a small chocolate bar. I extend the chocolate towards her, "It can work?"

Her eyes widen with surprise, and she accepts the chocolate with great enthusiasm. "Thank you, Dev!" she exclaims, clutching the chocolate as if it's the most precious gift in the world.

"You're welcome," I reply, ruffling her hair affectionately.

With a final pat on her head, I stand up and exchange a knowing glance with Aman, who has been quietly observing our interaction.

I nod at Aman, knowing that words between us have always been sparse, but it's never hindered our connection. Aman's eyes, they're like an open book, and in that silent moment, they're screaming a million words, words he's never spoken. I understand every single one of them, and it's both comforting and unsettling.

As I turn to leave, I can feel Aman's unspoken emotions hanging in the air, but I deny myself the luxury of acknowledging them. I step into my car, the engine humming to life, and Rajesh uncle takes the driver's seat. The familiar rumble of the engine is the backdrop to my thoughts, and as we drive away from Aman's house, I can't help but wonder about the tangled web of emotions that's been weaving itself around us.

I can't forget the expression on Aman's face when I finally mustered the courage to tell him everything. We were sitting across from each other at that small, worn-out wooden table. I told him about the Independence Day guy... Vikram. Aman's eyes were fixed on me, a silent ocean of emotions held within them.

I could see the tears shimmering in his eyes, threatening to spill over as my words poured out. His lips were slightly parted, hanging on to every syllable, every painful detail I revealed. Aman's plate remained untouched, forgotten amid this revelation. I hadn't wanted to burden him with my painful past, but it was different today. He had bared his own soul, shared his deepest fears and secrets, and in that moment, I felt I owed him my own truth.

His voice remained imprisoned by unspoken words, but his eyes, whispered his concern, his care for me. In the silent language of his gaze, he declared his unwavering support, offering more solace and reassurance than any spoken words ever could. He entered my world with silence, and now, I find myself not wanting to hear anything else.

The car grinds to a halt, and I step out, my heart already feeling heavy with the weight of the day. I walk up to the front door, take a deep breath, and ring the doorbell. As I press the doorbell, my dad's familiar face appears when the door swings open. Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around him, feeling the comfort of his embrace. His familiar presence provides some comfort during my internal turmoil.

He gives me a warm hug and asks, "How did your chemistry assignment go?"

I chuckle, trying to deflect the reality of my day. "Well, you know, Dad, chemical reactions can be a bit unpredictable. Sometimes, they just need time to brew."

Dad lets out a hearty laugh, and I appreciate his ability to lighten the mood. "I believe that means it went really well."

As I step inside, my dad tells me about the movie he watched with my mom. "And you know, your mom was with me, so it was extra enjoyable," he teases. I can't help but roll my eyes playfully at their sweet banter.

"Okay, I got it. You guys really, really enjoyed your day." Feeling a bit thirsty, I make my way to the kitchen. "And I missed out on a lot."

I notice a subtle tension in the air as I find my mom still dressed up, standing near the fridge. I greet her with a warm "Hi," but she remains silent, her gaze fixed on the family calendar pinned to the fridge's door.

But she doesn't respond, her gaze fixed on the fridge. Confused, I grab a glass and head to the fridge, approaching her. "What are you looking at, Mom?" I inquire, noticing her focused attention on the family calendar.

Her eyes are fixed on that calendar, a silent witness to the passage of time. It used to be filled with my school events, extracurricular activities, and all the things that made my life vibrant. But now, it's mostly empty, a stark reminder of how things change...we grow up.

"Your childhood...your assignments, their submission dates, practicals schedules, parent-teacher meetings, doctor's appointments..., " Mom's voice trails off into a sigh, and there's a tremor in her tone as she continues, "Now you're all grown up. You manage everything on your own, and I hardly know about your schedule. You don't need m-...this calendar anymore."

She lets out a tired chuckle, but there's this hint of sadness in her eyes that she can't shake. The words we're not saying hang there, heavy in the air, and it hits me. It's not just about the calendar; it's about time passing and me going in different directions, finding my own paths.

I reach out and gently place my hand on my mom's shoulder, "Hey, you okay?" I ask, concern in my voice.

She smiles, trying to deflect the moment, "You hungry?"

I shake my head, signaling that my appetite can wait.

"Alright," she concedes with a soft sigh. "I'll go and change then." Without more words, she quietly heads towards her room, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the empty calendar hanging on the fridge.

...

The classroom's buzzing like a beehive, everyone on edge as our teacher strolls down the rows, quiz results in hand. You can practically feel the collective heartbeat, and here comes the moment of truth.

The quiz paper flutters onto my desk, and I snatch it up like it's the winning lottery ticket. My hands are doing a little happy dance as I scan the digits – a solid 36 out of 50. It might not be Nobel Prize material, but hey, it's progress, and I'm feeling like the quiz champion of the world. Like last time I had scored 34, now 36, so that says something, right?

An exuberant grin breaks across my face, and my inner cheerleader does a little victory dance, letting out a silent squeal of joy.Glancing at Aman, I witness an oh-not-so-rare silent symphony of emotions playing across his face. His usual cool-cat demeanor is gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a look of deep contemplation. I extend my hand to seize his quiz sheet, revealing a whopping 47 out of 50.

I gasp dramatically, "Planning to annex her property now? What's with that frown?" A chuckle escapes me, relishing the subtle arch of Aman's raised eyebrow and the concealed smile on his lips.

Unable to contain my excitement, I blurt out, "No more of these genius moments, Aman! I've bagged a grand 36! Can you believe it? Just 14 short of the elusive 50, a cool 11 away from a stellar 45, a mere 4 points from a fantastic 40, and voila – a spectacular 36!" I say dramatically and the students behind me crack up.

Aman finally joins in, a hearty chuckle escaping him. As he laughs, I observe the intricate details that emerge – the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the subtle squint of his eyes, and the gentle bobbing of his Adam's apple.

The classroom hushes as the teacher's voice breaks through, proclaiming, "Raj has secured the highest score with 48 out of 50." I turn, meeting Raj's eyes as the sheet exchanges hands, our gazes locking for a fleeting second.

You don't care about anyone but yourself. You don't care about anyone's feelings, you're selfish.

I quickly avert my gaze, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

The teacher's voice reverberates through the classroom, cutting through the lingering laughter. "And as a reward for your stellar performances, tomorrow we're heading to the botanical garden," she declares, a collective murmur of excitement spreading among the students.

Aman's eyes meet mine, as the teacher continues, "I want each of you to pair up and explore the botanical garden. Choose a plant species that fascinates you the most, and collaborate to prepare a presentation. I'll be looking for in-depth analysis, creativity, and teamwork."

...

I slump in the library chair, fatigue hanging over me like a stubborn raincloud. Aman and Ajit are buried in their homework, seemingly unbothered by the academic chaos in my brain. Physics, the subject that makes me question my existence in this universe.

I stare at the textbook spread out on my lap, and the diagrams of Simple Harmonic Motion (S.H.M.) stare back at me, like some abstract art project gone wrong. I scratch my head, trying to make sense of the squiggly lines and arrows. Physics has a way of making the familiar feel like an alien language.

I can't take it anymore. My head finds a new home on the table, right next to the physics book. 

"What's the difference between time and time period again?" I mumble, my voice muffled by the table.

Aman's eyes lift from his work, meeting my bewildered gaze, "Time is the variable as the motion evolves. The time period is the duration of one full oscillation or cycle."

I lift my head, eyes still glazed with confusion. "English, please?"

Aman grins, shaking his head as if dealing with a lost cause. "Time is the general concept of, you know, hours, minutes, seconds passing. Now, the time period is the specific duration it takes for one complete cycle of an event. It's like how long it takes for a pendulum to swing back and forth once."

Ajit, sprawled across the library table, his eyes never leaving the mesmerizing dance of his pen on the textbook's margin. He glances over at my struggling physics endeavors.

"Babe," he drawls, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Why on earth are you bothering with these time and time period shenanigans? I mean, when in the real world are you going to walk up to someone and ask, 'Excuse me, do you have a moment to discuss the time period of that swinging pendulum over there?' Seriously, who cares?"

Aman rolls his eyes. "Ajit, physics is a fundamental part of understanding the world. It has explanations for every phenomenon taking place in this world."

He scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. "Please, darling, I live in a world of emotions, words, and colors. Physics is like trying to add glitter to a Monet painting. It just doesn't fit."

I chuckle, realizing that trying to explain the importance of physics to Ajit and physics in general to me is like asking a fish to appreciate the intricacies of a walk-in closet. Some things are just meant to stay in their own lanes.

I can't help but be captivated by the intricate designs Ajit is effortlessly weaving across the pages of his textbook. The library seems to fade away as my eyes follow the graceful dance of his pen, creating a work of art in the most unexpected place.

"Wow, Ajit, those designs are incredible. It's like you're turning vacant into poetry," I remark, genuinely impressed.

Ajit grins, continuing to draw, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Well, darling, when life hands you equations, turn them into doodles. It's the Ajit way."

But as I admire the artistry before me, my eyes catch something that doesn't quite belong to the masterpiece—a subtle bruise beneath Ajit's lip. Concern flickers in my gaze as I can't ignore the contrast between the vibrant creativity on the page and the hint of vulnerability on his face.

"Hey, Ajit, what happened there?" I ask, nodding toward the bruise.

Ajit flashes a quick, dramatic gasp. "Oh, this?" He points to the bruise with exaggerated flair. "Ran into a door. Doors can be such divas, you know. Always slamming into you when you least expect it."

I can't help but chuckle at his theatrical explanation. "A door? Really?"He winks. "Oh, yes. Doors can be ruthless adversaries. I'm just lucky it wasn't a sliding glass door. Those are stealthy, I swear."