Dev's P.O.V

The familiar sight of the bustling canteen greets me once again, its crowded nature hardly a surprise. I find myself yearning for Arya's presence, as she has always possessed the uncanny ability to create a vacant spot amidst the chaos. I know her methods may not be entirely fair, but it's okay. In the grand scheme of things, we're all going to hell anyway. However, Arya is currently consumed by her script for the upcoming play, locking herself in the library with Asim. Meanwhile, Raj is busy with casting, announcing auditions and handling the selection process.

Amidst the commotion, a familiar voice penetrates my ears, instantly capturing my attention, "What would like today, Dev sir?"

I divert my gaze from the bustling scene and turn towards the source, finding the red-haired girl behind the counter.

"Oh, hi there," I greet her with uncontained excitement, as if she were a long-lost friend. I can't explain why I feel compelled to include my name in her sentence, how does she know my name?

Her smile widens in response, and she warmly waves at me.

"Hmm, do you happen to have tutti frutti ice cream?" I inquire, a glimmer of anticipation in my eyes.

Her smile fades slightly as she replies, "Actually, we ran out of ice creams."

"No worries then. I'll happily settle for my beloved sour cake," I respond, masking my slight disappointment with enthusiasm.

"That'll be 50 rupees, please," she states, and we exchange smiles, a silent understanding passing between us.

As I hold the cake in my hands, a flood of memories washes over me, reminding me of that particular seat... My gaze drifts to the corner table, which remains unoccupied except for the guy with the book, seemingly lost in his own world.

Arya, what happened to your senior? Why don't you join me here anymore? Dev, remember that day when you sat with him too? You can do it again.

Summoning my courage, I approach the solitary figure, engrossed in his book. It's as if he is either completely absorbed in the pages or intentionally choosing to ignore me.

"Excuse me," I utter, hoping to capture his attention. His eyes lift ever so slightly, meeting mine in a fleeting moment.

Goodness, his aura feels somewhat intimidating. "Same situation, same request," I shrug, gesturing towards the empty chair. Yet, just as before, I receive no response—nothing. But shameless me takes it as a yes. I settle myself in the chair.

"Would you like to have som-," I begin to speak, my attempt at polite conversation halted as his eyes slowly rise from the pages of 'Murder On The Orient Express'. Suddenly, all of my well-mannered intentions are brutally murdered.

"No, I get it. You continue," I force a laugh, desperately trying to salvage the awkwardness, and proceed to focus on my dessert.

Doesn't he feel a sense of isolation in that solitary state? If you can't be kind, at least refrain from being unnerving. When someone extends kindness towards you, the least you can do is reciprocate in some way or at least refrain from giving off an air of intimidation. Throughout the remainder of the break, I notice him stealing glances in my direction. Is he drawing inspiration from the pages of that book, contemplating some kind of experiment on someone?

Suddenly, my phone jolts in my pocket, and I retrieve it to find a message from an unknown number...an unknown number...

A sinking feeling washes over me. It couldn't be him, right? My thumb quivers as I press on the screen to read the message.

"Didn't think you'd make Aman your new friend so quickly, but you don't have to. Your old friend is back."

My grip on the phone weakens, and it slips from my hand, crashing onto the table.

It's him. How does he know I'm sitting with Aman? Is he here, lurking in the shadows? I quickly scan the room, searching for any sign of him, but he eludes my gaze. Yet, I can feel his eyes on me, a prickling sensation that sends sweat trickling down my forehead. My vision blurs as panic sets in, and I attempt to survey the surroundings once more. But my own well-being takes a backseat. The only thing that matters now is escaping his presence.

Trembling, I place my shaky hands on the table, trying to rise from my seat, only to collide with the plate of pastries, sending it crashing to the floor. All eyes in the room converge on me, their gazes heavy and intense. Silence hangs thick in the air, as if witnessing some bizarre spectacle—a sweaty, trembling figure grappling with the table, gasping for breath. What a fantastic sight to behold today.

I lift my eyes, meeting Aman's bewildered stare. His book lies forgotten on the table, his attention fully focused on me. I couldn't care less about his peculiar gaze because amidst the sea of eyes fixated upon me, there must be his too. I must escape this place, prevent a recurrence of the past, those haunting three years that flash before my eyes in a fleeting moment. Summoning strength from deep within, my feet carry me towards the canteen's exit, disregarding anyone in my path.

I can't halt my stride, no, I can't. Despite my trembling legs, tears stream uncontrollably, and even though I stumble and collide with those I pass, my only objective is to flee the space where we share the same air. I step into the schoolyard, my feet refusing to cease their movement. "Dev, Dev, Dev, calm down, calm down," I whisper to myself, desperately seeking solace. Just breathe, don't forget to breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale. You're safe now. This school teems with people, and you're in an open space. He can't harm you here, okay? Just calm down. Calm the hell down!

Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder sends a shockwave through my body, causing me to stumble and nearly lose my balance. But in an instant, a firm grip wraps around my arm, preventing me from falling. My face comes to an abrupt halt, inches away from his. It's Aman... His bewildered gaze locks with mine, and for the first time, I notice the beauty of his eyes behind those glasses. My hand rests against his chest, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart.

I can't bear to be touched right now; it's making me queasy. I attempt to step back, and his grip loosens, releasing my arm as he takes a step back as well. No words are exchanged, no questions asked. Instead, he extends his hand, offering me my phone. I accept it, but he doesn't leave. Unexpectedly, he extends his hand once more, this time holding a water bottle.

Is he offering me water? I take the bottle, my hands still trembling uncontrollably. With great effort, I manage to take a sip of water, exhaling heavily afterward. I close my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. It works. My breaths become steadier, and the trembling begins to subside. Opening my eyes, I find Aman still standing there, his unwavering gaze fixed upon me. Is he genuinely concerned?

"You okay?" he finally breaks the silence after a few minutes of what feels like a staring competition.

I nod, offering a weak smile. "Thanks."

Suddenly, the sound of the bell reverberates through the air, signaling the start of the next class. I instinctively glance back down the hallway. What if he's lurking there, waiting for me? What if he launches another attack? Why is he here?

"You coming?" Aman's voice shakes me from my thoughts, and I turn to face him. He remains by my side, unwavering. "Let's go to class."

Did he just utter a six-word sentence to me? I nod, silently acknowledging his presence, and walk alongside him. It's better to walk with a concerned soul than to traverse the hallway alone. Why is he suddenly showing such kindness?

...

Arya's P.O.V.

Okay, this guy is seriously messed up. I swear, he's like two completely different people in one body. He's an absolute jerk when he interacts with me, but when it comes to working on the script, he's... well, let's just say he's slightly less of a jerk.

Right now, we're sitting together, trying to finalize the ending of the play. None of us can agree on what's best for the characters.

"Don't you think they deserve a happy ending?" he murmurs, lifting his gaze from the paper to meet my eyes. I swear, it feels like he's staring into the depths of my soul.

I gulp and drop my pen, my voice barely a whisper, "I want them to have a happy ending."

He doesn't break eye contact, his intense gaze unnerving me. He swallows and asks, "Then?"

"Tragic endings have a greater impact on people," I murmur in response.

He nods, still fixated on me. "But I hope your character inspirations, at least, gets a happy ending."

And just like that, my heart clenches. How does he know about my characters' inspirations? Does he have any idea what this drama is all about?

I try to say something, but he swiftly grabs the pen and says, "Let's finish this. We need to send this final scene before the auditions."

He changes the subject so abruptly. I tried to bring it up yesterday too, when he showed up right after Dev and Raj had left.

I have to admit, he looked somewhat... human in his t-shirt and trousers. Definitely not the typical image of a Python.

"I think we need to talk," I told him, taking a seat on the couch.

"About what?" he raised an eyebrow. And what was I supposed to ask him? Do you know about my sister? About her tragic life and her incredibly caring and attractive boyfriend?

"About your mental illness," I said instead of being direct.

"Ah, didn't know your condition was contagious," he chuckled, completely brushing it off.
...

The auditorium's buzzing with life as Asim and I stroll in. The stage is already lit with peeps getting into character. Took us the whole day to nail that script.

Sliding into our seats, I catch Divya shooting me one of her classic 'I-can't-stand-you' looks. Seriously, what's her problem?

I pass the final scene to Raj, who effortlessly blends it with the rest of the script. He glances past me to the entrance and leans in, whispering, "Where's Dev?"

I scan the place and shrug, "No idea. Been glued to the library all day with that dude. Just hit him up?"

He whips out his phone, but before he can dial, Divya jumps up and interrupts, "We're running late, so let's speed-review the script and divvy up roles. We'll lock in the cast tomorrow."

"Yeah, except for Rashmika 'cause that's my jam," I announce, and Divya starts to protest, but I shoot her this 'don't-even' look. "And that ain't a request."

She tries to say something, but I shut it down. "It's my script, my crew. I know these characters better than my own thoughts. So there's zero point in anyone else playing casting director, got it Divya?" I give her a stare that says, 'try me.'

Just chill and let me handle this. This is bigger than your ego, and I'm not letting you screw it up even more.

She gives in with a sigh, reluctantly plopping down and flipping her hair. I glance at Asim, who's trying not to burst into laughter.

"Dude, that was epic," he finally says, breathing out his admiration.

We all start making a list of the characters, discussing the kind of set we need, the costumes, and other details. However, Raj seems distracted, constantly glancing towards the entrance.

When the door swings open and Mayank enters, Raj almost whispers, "Dev, where-"

Oh boy, now I need to track down this Romeo's Romeo. I'm fed up with Divya's frosty glares – one more and she might end up with my signature on her face.

"Be right back, restroom break," I declare, pushing my chair back and making a swift exit from the auditorium.

Hang in there, Raj. I'm coming.

Outside, I dial Dev's number, my fingers drumming impatiently on the screen.

"Where are you? Raj's losing it, waiting for you," I blurt out, impatience evident in my tone.

"Hey Arya," he sighs, his voice heavy through the phone's speaker, "I can't make it today. Heading home."

"What? Why? Everything alright?"

"Yeah... just a killer headache," another heavy exhale follows his words.

Something's off, but I don't pry. Everyone's got their own stuff going on, and guess what, I'm not exactly an open book either.

"Okay, take care, Dev," I respond, my concern leaking into my words.

Ending the call, I swiftly text Raj.

"Dev's got a massive headache. Smells fishy to me. Maybe you can Sherlock out what's up."