I walk into the classroom, my heart heavy with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Raj is there, as always, with that warm, mischievous smile that has the power to light up the room. He's waiting for me to sit beside him, and I can feel his eyes on me, filled with affection.

But as much as I want to go to him, the fear clenches my heart like a vice. My eyes drift to nearby seat, there's Aman sitting alone, looking at me with a hint of confusion in his eyes. Without thinking, I make a decision and quickly move to sit beside Aman, avoiding Raj's gaze. I can't look at Raj right now; I can't face the hurt in his eyes. I can't do anything to make my dad hate me. I can't be gay; I can't become the target of people's cruelty again.

Aman, taken aback by my unexpected choice, meets my gaze. I force a smile, trying to hide the turmoil inside me, and say, "Hey."

Aman's response is subtle. He simply nods and offers a faint smile.

My phone dings, and I retrieve it from my pocket. The notification is from Raj, and I see his message asking if everything is okay. My throat tightens as I read the words, and I turn my gaze back to him, sitting in his seat, still waiting for me to join him. His eyes are filled with concern and confusion, and I can't bring myself to answer.

What could I possibly say to him? How can I explain the turmoil within me, the fear of being something I can't change, the dread of becoming a target once more? There are no words that can capture the storm of emotions raging within me, so I simply look away, unable to meet his gaze, and leave his message unanswered. It's a silence that speaks volumes, a silence that separates us further when all I want is to bridge the gap

The teacher's monotonous voice drones on, discussing the intricate details of lung capacity, but it's like a distant echo in the background as I wrestle with a suffocating sensation. It feels as if my own lungs have betrayed me, withholding the precious air I need to breathe. The textbooks lay open before me, their pages a jumble of indecipherable words. Yet, amidst this academic chaos, my thoughts are consumed by that one person - Raj.

I can sense Raj's gaze on me from behind, and it tugs at my heart like a bittersweet ache. Those once-familiar green eyes, warm as emeralds with a hint of gold, used to offer me solace that I now desperately long for. My fingers twitch involuntarily, craving the reassuring touch of Raj's hand against mine.

Aman's voice pierces through my reverie, grounding me in the present. "That's incorrect," he comments, his focus on my notebook. I snap back to reality, disoriented for a moment.

"Hmm?" I mumble, my thoughts still entangled in memories of Raj. Aman repeats himself, pointing at my notebook insistently. "The average ERV is 1100ml, not 100ml."

"Oh?" My eyes shift to the chalkboard where I should be taking notes. Aman is right.

"Thank you," I stammer, feeling a tinge of embarrassment for my momentary lapse.

Aman meets my gaze, and an uncanny similarity strikes me. His eyes share the same shade of green as Raj's, with that familiar warmth and depth. It's almost as if fate is playing tricks on me.He nods in acknowledgment, returning his attention to his notebook. I can't help but notice the details of his appearance. He's on the slender side, a testament to his dedication to studies. His blue glasses frame his studious expression, emphasizing his scholarly demeanor.

With his pen poised near his lips, he absorbs information from his textbook. It's a thoughtful gesture, and he briefly licks his bottom lip before jotting something down.

Aman turns to me, and a subtle flush colors his cheeks as he lowers his gaze back to his notebook.

Caught in this unexpected moment, I realize I've been staring for a bit too long. My cheeks warm with embarrassment at my own awareness. In a hasty attempt to redirect my gaze, I fix my attention firmly on the chalkboard, scrambling to capture the teacher's words.

...

"Dev, is everything okay?" As the lunch break approaches, he walks up to my seat, genuine concern etched across his face. He asks, his voice soft and filled with worry. I sense his eyes on me, probing for answers within my silence.

His eyes, those deep green orbs, peer into my soul, seeking answers I can't give. I can't find the words to respond. My gaze remains locked on my notebook as if it holds the solutions to the turmoil swirling within me. Ignoring Raj pains me, but I'm paralyzed by my inability to explain my actions.

He leans in closer, his words barely audible. "Are you mad at me, Dev?" The question hangs in the air, fragile, like a bridge made of glass between us.Still, my tongue remains tied, my silence a fortress against the emotional whirlwind brewing within. Each moment of avoidance inflicts a fresh wound on my heart, a pang of guilt for causing him pain.

Raj's presence beside me feels like a lifeline, a chance at happiness I long for but can't reach. We care for each other, a truth I dare not admit, even to myself.

Yet, the weight of my past, the specter of past torment, holds me captive. I can't allow myself to love Raj, to be loved by him, for fear of what might follow.

As minutes stretch into eternity, I sit there, still evading Raj's gaze, pretending that his concern doesn't cut me to the core. It hurts, like a relentless throb in my chest, but it's a pain I feel compelled to endure to protect the fragile barriers I've erected.

Raj's hand gently rests on my shoulder, a simple touch that sends shockwaves of emotions surging through me. It's a gesture of care, a lifeline, but it churns a tempest within me. Tears well in my eyes, and my throat constricts, making it even more challenging to speak.

"Did I do something wrong?" Raj's voice wavers, desperation, and concern lacing every word. He leans closer, eyes pleading for a response. "Talk to me, Dev."

Every fiber of my being yearns to speak the truth, to open up, to tell him that he's done nothing wrong, that it's my own insecurities and fears driving this chasm between us. But the fear of the consequences, the dread of what might happen if I confess my true feelings, keeps my lips sealed. Beside me, Aman sits observing everything silently.

As Raj continues to search my eyes for answers, I feel like I stand on the precipice of a decision, torn between the desire to be true to myself and the need to safeguard the fragile walls I've constructed.

The weight of my emotions bears down on me, threatening to shatter the dam I've built to hold back my tears. If I stay here a moment longer, I'll crumble, and everything I've fought to protect will crumble with me.

With a painful tug, I remove Raj's hand from my shoulder, his hurt expression searing into my soul. I can't bear to look at him any longer. I rise from my seat, footsteps heavy as I walk away from the classroom.

Leaving Raj behind feels like ripping a piece of my own heart away, an agonizing choice I make to protect myself. I want to tell him everything, to hold him close, and let him see the depths of my soul. But the fear of consequences, the dread of rumors and torment, holds me prisoner..

Leaving the room, I can't shake the feeling that I'm walking away from the one person who could make me feel whole again. It's a painful choice, but it seems like the only option, for both our sakes.

The school hallway stretches before me, an endless corridor of lockers and closed classroom doors. My footsteps echo loudly in the empty space, each one a stark reminder of the growing distance between myself and Raj.

Emotions churn within me, threatening to spill over. The weight of my decision presses down on my chest, making every breath a struggle. I can't bear the thought of subjecting Raj to the same torment I endured in my previous school - the cruel stares, the hushed whispers, the heartless laughter. He deserves better, he deserves the world, and I can't be selfish enough to put him through that. He shouldn't be with someone who can't stand up for him, who can't even stand up for themselves.

I know all too well what it's like to be dehumanized, to feel like nothing more than a target for people's ridicule and scorn. Those scars run deep, and I won't let Raj experience the same pain.

As I make my way down the hallway, Raj's bewildered expression haunts me. I've wounded him, pushed him away, and for what? To shield him from the harsh realities of my life, to spare him the burden of my insecurities? It's a gut-wrenching decision, but one I feel compelled to make, even if it tears me apart inside.
Tears blur my vision as I find solace in a secluded corner of the hallway. The cold, unyielding wall supports my trembling form, my breaths emerging in ragged gasps. The decision to leave Raj behind, to deny the feelings that I carry for him, feels like an insurmountable burden on my shoulders, threatening to crush me under its weight.

In the midst of the bustling hallway, a chilling announcement reverberates through the intercom, and I freeze in my place. Principal Sir's voice, authoritative and unyielding, cuts through the ambient noise, "Dev from class 11B, please report to my office immediately."

Confusion and anxiety surge through me like a tidal wave. Four months at this school, and the mere thought of visiting the principal's office has always been a looming dread. The announcement hangs heavily in the air, casting a shadow over my thoughts. Why would he call me? Did I do something wrong...? Did he find out about me skipping school?

Every step I take toward the administrative block feels like a burden, each footfall echoing ominously against the polished linoleum floor. The hallway, usually teeming with life, now feels eerily silent and formal, as if it anticipates the gravity of my impending visit.

As I navigate the corridor, my eyes inadvertently scan the titles on each door: Staff Room, Director's Office, Top-Management Team, Account Section, Committee Room, and then, standing as a harbinger of unease, the Principal's Office.

My breath trembles as I stand before that imposing door, my hand quivering as I gather the courage to knock. My throat feels dry and constricted, and I swallow hard, grappling with the mounting fear that this summons carries.

The timid sound of my knuckles rapping on the door resonates in the hushed hallway, bearing with it the weight of the unknown and the unspoken dread that this summons holds.

"Come in," the voice beckons from within, and I slowly turn the doorknob, revealing the inner sanctum of the principal's office. The room is a juxtaposition of antique grandeur and modern efficiency, adorned with dark wooden furniture and a large window that offers a distant glimpse of the outside world, which feels like a million miles away from my current predicament.

Principal Sir, a distinguished man in his fifties, commands the leather-bound chair behind an imposing desk. The subtle scent of aged books and polished wood pervades the air, adding a layer of gravitas to the moment. I stand on the opposite side of the desk, attempting to exude confidence, but my nervous fidgeting betrays my true feelings.

He initiates the conversation with a casual inquiry, "How's your studies going?" My anxiety clutches at my voice, leaving me with only a hesitant nod, my tongue heavy with apprehension.

His eyes lock onto mine as he delves deeper, "Are you familiar with 'Teen Talents'?" The term has been circulating through the school corridors, a tantalizing whisper of an opportunity that has stirred my curiosity.

I nod slowly, acknowledging my limited knowledge of this mysterious event.

Principal Sir continues, disclosing that my performance on Independence Day has prompted discussions among the faculty. "We all believe you'd be a great fit for it."

The room momentarily spins, and I manage to stammer, "Me?" My voice betrays a mix of shock and disbelief.

He confirms it with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting a seasoned wisdom. "Yes, you. But only if you're comfortable with it and can maintain your required academic performance."

Once more, I nod, my mind racing. The idea of performing in front of a massive audience at BFA Delhi's annual celebration is both exhilarating and daunting. Words elude me as I murmur, "I didn't expect this."

Principal Sir's laughter fills the room, breaking the tension. "You don't have to give me an answer right away, Dev. Take your time to decide."

Gratitude wells up inside me, and I find my voice to sincerely express, "Thank you." With that, I exit his office, the weight of this unexpected opportunity lingering in my thoughts like a melody waiting to be composed.

"Teen Talents" isn't just any competition; it's the zenith of BFA Delhi's three-day annual celebration. My heart quickens as I contemplate what that entails - a whirlwind of events, a showcase of extraordinary talents, and the convergence of the nation's most gifted students from BFA schools.

It's a stage where young artists, performers, and prodigies from all corners of the country come to leave their mark. This competition is a multifaceted spectacle, encompassing everything from music and dance to drama and visual arts.

For students, it's a chance of a lifetime, an opportunity to shine under the spotlight and perform before an audience that spans the entire nation. The stakes couldn't be higher, and the competition is fierce. In "Teen Talents," students aren't just vying for recognition on a national scale; they're striving to prove that they are the cream of the crop.

The idea of participating in such an event is both electrifying and intimidating. It's a chance to elevate my love for music to new heights, but it also carries the weight of responsibility and the pressure to stand out among the brightest young talents in the country.

The thought of performing before an audience as vast as the one at BFA Delhi's annual celebration ties knots in my stomach. I can't help but replay the scenes in my mind - the sea of faces, the expectant eyes, and the hushed murmurs of anticipation. It's a vision that triggers a flutter of nerves, and I find myself wondering if I'm up to the challenge.

The prospect of hitting a wrong note, forgetting lyrics, or losing my composure in front of thousands of people sends a shiver down my spine. What if they simply don't resonate with my songs? I'm just a lost teenager writing melancholic tunes on my bedroom floor. Why would anyone care about them? It's not just about showcasing my talent; it's about proving myself on a grand stage where the spotlight is unforgiving, and the stakes are astronomical.

I can't help but think about Raj. The mere idea of being on that stage, performing in front of thousands of people, it's something that would make him ecstatic. Raj loves my songs; he's the one who convinced me to sing every time my guitar made an appearance. I can picture his face, his eyes lighting up with happiness as I belt out a tune.

I wish I could talk to him right now. If I could, we'd both be jumping with joy, celebrating this incredible opportunity together. But I can't. The fear that's driven me to push him away, to create this distance, still holds me captive.

I want nothing more than to share this moment with him, to let him in on the news that could make both our dreams come true. But the dread of the consequences, the potential backlash from others, keeps me silent. I long for a normal teenage life, one free from this constant anxiety, this suffocating fear that has held me captive for so long.

I watch my classmates chat, laugh, and share their dreams and fears openly, and I can't help but envy their freedom. They live without the constant fear of judgment, without the dread of revealing their true selves. It's a life I yearn for, a life where I can be with Raj openly, without the shadows of the past haunting us.

But for now, I'm stuck in this web of secrecy and silence. I wish I could break free from it, wish I could shout from the rooftops about how much I care for Raj, about how he makes my world brighter. I want to hold Raj's hand without flinching, to walk beside him with pride, to share our dreams and fears openly like everyone else.

...

As we drive home, the car hums with the familiar sounds of the engine and the distant chatter of the radio. My dad is beside me, steering the wheel and regaling me with a funny story from his school days. He's talking about the time he decided to adopt a puppy he found near his school. His laughter fills the car, warm and genuine, but each chuckle feels like a stab in my chest.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, trying to smile at his story, but inside, I can't shake the feeling that it's all a facade. A mask. He's trying to get close to someone I'm not. Someone he doesn't even suspect exists.

My dad's laughter echoes in my ears, and I wish I could join in without reservation, without that pang of fear and guilt. But I know the truth. If he ever found out, if he ever discovered the part of me I have to hide so carefully, he'd look at me with the same disgust he reserves for that couple we passed by in the mall, the couple he called "Shameless."

I'm gay, just like them, and yet I can't imagine my dad's reaction if he knew. So, I sit here, hiding a part of myself.

As the story about the puppy continues and how the puppy used to break my grandfather's glasses, I feel my throat tighten, a lump forming that seems impossible to swallow. I can't help but steal glances at my dad's profile. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he recounts the puppy's misadventures, and his laughter is infectious. For a moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could accept me for who I really am.

But those thoughts are fleeting, drowned out by the haunting memories of him looking at that couple with disgust in his eyes when they walked past us in the mall. I know that look, I have been the target of those gazes, I've been called names, and I've witnessed the extreme of that disgust. Will he look at me with the same disgust if he finds out that his own son is gay?

I grip the edge of my seat, my knuckles turning white, my heart pounding in my chest. The internal struggle between the desire to be open and the fear of rejection is tearing me apart. I long for the day when I can be honest with my dad and when I can share my deepest truth with him without the fear of his disgust...but that day never comes and probably will never come now. This entire bonding thing, this father-son process is nothing but a cruel joke... it will never work since he hates this part of me... hates me.

As the car rolls on, I can't help but steal one last look at my dad's smiling face. In that moment, I wish for nothing more than to bridge the gap between us, to let him know the real me, to be free from the shackles of secrecy. But I know these are just wishes...and wishes don't come true.