Dev's P.O.V

I lower my phone, the glow from the screen casting an eerie light on the library table. Aman, sensing something amiss, rises from his seat, his eyes meeting mine in silent inquiry as if asking if everything is okay. I whisper urgently, "We need to leave."

Raj stands up beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. I convey the gravity of the situation with a single glance, murmuring, "He's not okay." Aman, without uttering a word, nods.

We navigate through the quiet aisles of the library, paying little heed to Supriya's fading murmurs in the background. Right now, the only thing that matters to me is Ajit. His sobs still echo in my ears, haunting and raw. The urgency in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely shows—can you come?

The bus grinds to a halt, and we all disembark. My eyes sweep across the almost empty bus stop, the fading light of the evening casting a melancholic glow. The winter breeze dances through the air, causing the trees to shiver in response. As we navigate the quiet space, a corner seat catches my attention. There he is—Ajit, his feet propped up on the seat, hugging his knees tightly. He looks so small, a figure obscured by the oversized coat he wears.

Aman and I exchange a knowing glance, silently acknowledging the need to approach with care. We begin our slow walk towards him, Raj trailing behind in silent support. Ajit seems lost in his own world, hiding his face, the cold evening taking its toll on him.

Approaching him slowly, I take in the sight of Ajit. I've never seen him like this before—vulnerable, hidden, and small. I lower myself into the seat beside him, hesitating only briefly before placing my hand tentatively on his back. He startles at the touch, lifting his face from his knees, revealing tear-streaked eyes and bruises marring his features. Ajit's gaze meets mine, and my heart tightens at the pain reflected in those teary eyes.

In an instant, Ajit's arms encircle me, drawing me into a tight embrace as he unleashes a torrent of tears. "I couldn't take it anymore, Dev. I couldn't," he confesses, his words muffled by the sobs that wrack his entire frame. His body trembles against mine, and I feel the weight of his pain pressing into my chest.

Confusion clouds my mind—I don't know the details, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Ajit is hurting. I hold him close, his sobs muffled against my shoulder, the warmth of his tears seeping through my clothes. My heart aches in sync with his cries. With a gentleness I didn't know I possessed, I stroke his back, offering whatever comfort I can. 

Aman sits on the ground, enveloping both of us in a tight embrace on the seat. I feel the warmth of tears streaming down my cheeks, a release that I didn't realize I needed until now. Time loses its significance in this shared space of vulnerability. Ajit continues to cry, his sobs echoing in the quiet surroundings. Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, Ajit's cries subside, but his head remains bowed, refusing to meet our gaze.

I glance at Aman, his usually reserved demeanor now a pillar of support. His quiet strength offers solace, a silent understanding that transcends the spoken language.

I steal a glance at Aman, now seated near Ajit's feet, a silent pillar of support in the dim light. The sky has transformed into a deep shade of purple, and the glow of road lights illuminates the space around us. Raj stands behind me, his hand resting quietly on my shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that doesn't go unnoticed.

My focus returns to Ajit, and I instinctively circle my hand on his back, a silent inquiry into his well-being. "Do you want to go home?" I ask, my voice hushed, aware of the fragility of the moment. I feel Ajit's body tense slightly in my arms, and a pang of concern shoots through me. Quickly, I add, "I mean, my home."

Ajit's response is subtle, a quiet nod that comes after a moment of contemplation against my chest. The weight of his troubles is still palpable, but the willingness to seek refuge offers a glimmer of hope. Slowly, I pull out my phone, unlock it, and pass it to Raj. With a subtle motion, I mouth, "Call Dad."

 As Raj takes charge of the situation, I continue to hold Ajit, offering silent comfort amid the dimly lit surroundings. The road lights cast a gentle glow on our little circle, and the quietude of the night seems to cradle the vulnerability we share.

In fifteen minutes, a car glides to a stop near us. The door opens, and my dad steps out, his gaze locking onto mine. There's a fleeting understanding between us, communicated through a nod as if he senses the unspoken weight of the situation.

I gently separate myself from Ajit, whose eyes remain fixed on the ground. Leaning in, I whisper, "Let's go." His gaze meets mine, and there's a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes. We move towards the waiting car, and my dad opens the door. I guide Ajit to the backseat, settling beside him, and Aman follows suit.

Raj and my dad take their places in the front, and with a subtle hum, the car begins its journey. Ajit sits in silence, staring out the window, lost in his thoughts. The night envelops us in its quiet embrace, and within the confined space of the car, an unspoken understanding hangs in the air.

Occasional glances are exchanged, a subtle language shared among us. My dad's eyes meet mine through the rearview mirror, offering a silent reassurance. Aman's gaze reflects a mix of concern and support, while Raj sits beside my dad with his comforting presence.

As the car glides through the quiet night, my thoughts linger on Ajit, the usually happy and sassy friend who has been a constant source of joy in my life. I steal a glance at him, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of the passing streetlights.

Ajit, the one who always wore a smile and could effortlessly transform the darkest moments into bursts of laughter. I recall the countless times he has been my laughter, the beacon of light in my own struggles. His infectious laughter has echoed in the corridors of my memories, a soundtrack of joy during my darkest times.

Now, as he sits in silence, staring out into the night, I can't help but wonder what might be troubling him. What burdens is he carrying beneath that usually vivacious demeanor? I glance at his profile, searching for answers in the quiet contemplation etched on his face. 

The car rolls to a stop, and we all step out into the night. Guiding Ajit towards the front door, a quiet understanding passes between us. As we enter the warmth of my home, there she is – my mom, standing near the door with a concerned look etched on her face. Without a word, she gestures for us to head to the guest room.

I lead Ajit to the room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp revealing the shadows that cling to his face. His eyes are fixed on the floor as I close the door behind us. I can sense the weight of his troubles, the unspoken pain that lingers in the air.

"Sit down," I offer, patting the bed. Ajit sinks onto the mattress, his gaze still fixed on the floor. It's not the time to pry, not now. I need to be there for him, to offer support without pushing too hard.

"Do you need water?" I ask gently, breaking the heavy silence. Ajit shakes his head slowly. I understand – sometimes, words are too heavy to carry.

Sitting on the floor beside him, I take a deep breath. Cupping his face in my hands, I meet his eyes. "Hey, I'm here. Your best friend, okay?" I whisper, hoping my words reach the depths of his soul.

Ajit's eyes, filled with pain, slowly lift to meet mine and he nods slowly.

"Take some rest, okay? If you need anything, anything at all, just take it yourself. I'm lazy in winter nights," I add with a faint smile, attempting to lighten the mood. Ajit's lips curl into a small chuckle, a welcome sound breaking through the heaviness that surrounds us. He nods again, and I know that, for now, this is enough.

I leave him in the quiet of the guest room, the door closing behind me. The house seems to embrace the stillness of the night, and as I walk away, I hope that the rest he finds in that room brings a momentary reprieve from the storm within him.

I enter the hall, the soft murmur of my parents' conversation near the kitchen counter catching my attention. The warm glow of the kitchen light spills above them, casting a gentle illumination on their faces. Mom and Dad exchange hushed words, their expressions a mix of concern and understanding.

Near the main door, Raj and Aman lean against the opposite opened door, each avoiding the other's gaze, bathed in the awkward silence of the moonlight that spills on them. As I approach, they turn their heads to look at me, their expressions reflecting a shared worry.

Aman, breaking the silence, whispers, "Is he okay?" I respond with a slow shrug, uncertainty lingering in the air. A heavy sigh escapes Aman's lips, his concern palpable.

Raj walks closer, his steps echoing softly in the quiet hall. He asks in a soft voice, "Any idea what happened to him?" I shake my head, a weight pressing on my shoulders. Leaning on Raj's shoulder, I find solace in his presence. His arm wraps around me, cupping my forehead, his fingers gently playing with my hair.

Raj, in his almost-whisper warm voice, breaks the tension. "He's strong, Dev. Whatever it is, he'll get through it."

I nod, affirming Raj's words. "He deserves the world," I murmur, my thoughts briefly lost in the weight of those words. He does, he deserves the world, all the smiles of the universe because that's what suits his face, not these bruises, he deserves all the stars of the sky because that's what suits his eyes, not those tears.

As if on cue, I sense Aman shifting beside me, and I separate from Raj, turning to face him. 

Aman, however, isn't looking in our direction. His gaze is fixed at the fence gate, and there's an unusual tension in the air. "It's already too late. I think I should go," he says, his voice carrying a subtle weight of something unspoken. "Call me if... you know something..."

I understand, and my response is measured. "I will. Do you need a ride? I can ask Dad—" Before I can finish, Aman finally meets my eyes, and his expression holds a depth of emotion that leaves me searching for understanding.

"No, don't worry. Thanks," he says, a tight-lipped smile gracing his lips. His eyes follow Raj as he walks away, and there's a lingering sense of something unsaid between us. 

As Aman turns to leave, I'm left standing there, trying to decipher the unusual shift in his behavior. There's a puzzle in his eyes, a mystery I can't quite unravel, and it leaves me with a sense of unease that lingers in the quiet night.

Raj and I find solace on the steps, the cold breeze dancing through the grasses and tree leaves, creating a soothing melody in the quiet night. Moonlight spills across the surroundings, and the glow of streetlights adds to the serenity. Distant traffic noise becomes a distant hum as we sit there, wrapped in the tranquility of the night.

Raj opens his coat, and I slide in, hugging him sideways. My head rests on his collar and chest, and he covers me with the warmth of his coat. The cold air bites at our faces, but the shared warmth shields us from its sting.

I feel the rise and fall of Raj's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. In the hushed symphony of the night, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of us on those steps.

After a long silence, I break it with a question that's been lingering in the quiet air. "How's Arya?" I inquire, my voice carrying a soft curiosity.

Raj's hand slides down, finding my fingers in his lap. His thumb traces gentle patterns on my knuckles, and in a voice that seems lost in the vastness of his thoughts, he replies, "Just pretending to be okay." The honesty in his words hangs in the air, carried away by the night breeze.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for her, I did go to her place when I got to know, but she had already left to live with you, and I couldn't bring myself to go to your place," I say, I take in Raj's comforting cologne, the scent that has become a familiar refuge. My gaze is fixed on the shivering stars above, each one a tiny glimmer in the vast darkness.

Raj sighs, resting his chin on top of my head, and I feel the warmth of his breath against my hair. "That's okay," he replies, his voice a gentle reassurance. "I was there, but I couldn't help either. She's very stubborn. She's not ready to share her vulnerabilities with anyone. She wants to fight all the battles by herself."

Feeling the warmth of Raj's chest against my cheek, I intertwine our fingers, finding solace in the shared connection. The quiet of the night envelops us as I speak, my voice a soft whisper in the cool breeze.

"You know, sometimes just being there for someone is way better than any other comfort. That feeling, the certainty that someone stands by you, offers support beyond the reach of words. It's a silent sanctuary, where the presence of someone who cares about you becomes a language of its own."

Raj's fingers interwoven with mine, his chest a comforting presence, I find my reassurance in the unspoken language that binds us in that quiet space.