Dev's P.O.V.

I step out of the school building, the weight of the world on my shoulders. The corridors are bustling with students, each one wrapped up in their own world of laughter, gossip, and teenage drama. It's a stark contrast to what's been churning inside me, hidden behind my mask of normalcy.

I can't escape the echoes of my own words to Raj earlier today: "We're friends, just friends." Those words, so carefully chosen to hide the truth, now reverberate in my mind like a haunting refrain.

As I make my way towards the schoolyard, I spot Arya sitting alone under a sturdy old tree. Her back is against the trunk, and she seems lost in thought, her gaze fixed in the distance. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should go over there and sit with her.

Taking a deep breath, I approach her, my heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unshared pain. "Arya," I say softly, my voice barely a whisper.

She startles slightly, turning her gaze toward me, and there's a flicker of surprise in her eyes, quickly replaced by a profound understanding. "Dev," she replies, her voice equally soft.

I sit down beside her, our shoulders touching, and for a moment, we just sit there in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. The tree provides a sheltering canopy above us, and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze is the only sound that breaks the quiet.

"It's been one of those days, huh?" Arya finally breaks the silence, her voice carrying a heaviness that matches my own.

I nod, not trusting my voice to speak. 

Arya continues, her words a gentle caress of understanding. "Life can be so strange sometimes, can't it?"

I can only listen, the lump in my throat making it hard to respond.

"It's really strange, isn't it?" I finally speak, my voice barely above a whisper. "How we sometimes say things we don't even mean but desperately want them to be the reality but at the same time we don't because there's a part of that reality you actually like...or love."

The distant sounds of students chattering and playing echo in the courtyard as I fiddle with a blade of grass, pulling it apart thoughtlessly.

Arya begins softly, her gaze distant, "Everything is like an ever-turning wheel, isn't it? And we're all just trapped in its relentless spin, trying to find some semblance of control."

I nod, my voice equally hushed. "Just like a storm that never stops, like being trapped in a whirlwind. No matter how hard you try to escape, it just drags you along. At one point, your efforts don't matter anymore; you just feel like you haven't reached anywhere. You're right there where you were ages ago...same spot, same person"

Arya's laughter echoes hollowly as if trying to defy the world's cruelty. "Funny how we spend our lives trying to fight against it, to make our own paths. But sometimes, it feels like the harder you struggle, the tighter the grip of the storm."

I glance at Arya, the one person who seems to understand the unspoken. "Sometimes," I begin, my voice tinged with a weariness that seems to have settled deep within my bones, "sometimes, it's like life has this way of knocking you down when you least expect it."

I swallow hard, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. How does she always know exactly what to say?

Arya turns to me, her eyes searching mine for the hidden pain she knows lurks there. "I know," she says softly, her voice a soothing balm to my wounded soul. "It's like life's favorite game is to see how many obstacles it can throw in our path."

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. "And it doesn't even play fair," I continue, my words flowing with a raw honesty that I rarely share. "It's like you're walking on a tightrope, trying to balance, and just when you think you've got it, the rope starts fraying." I take a deep breath, my jaw tightening, "And the people who should be there to catch you when you fall are the ones who let you down the hardest."

Arya's gaze is filled with empathy as she listens. She whispers her words like a shared confession, "It's like the ones you trust the most are the ones who hurt you the deepest."

Tears well up in my eyes, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. "But we keep going, don't we?" I say, my voice trembling. "We keep fighting, even when it feels like the world is against us."

Arya nods, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Because that's the only choice we have, Dev."

The leaves above rustle gently, casting fleeting shadows over us. The silence between us is heavy with unspoken words, a reflection of the secrets we harbor.

I clear my throat, "Sometimes, it feels like we're trapped in a maze with no way out."

Arya nods, her eyes focused on some distant point. "And even though we're surrounded by people, it's as if we're wearing masks to hide our true selves."

I glance at her, my gaze understanding. "And sometimes, the masks become so comfortable that we forget who we truly are beneath them." Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them away. "But, it's not so easy to let go of those masks, even if we want to."

Arya's voice quivers, revealing the depths of her own hidden pain. "I know, Dev. But maybe someday, we'll find the courage to live ourselves beyond those masks...just maybe."

We sit there under the tree, our hands tightly entwined, sharing the unspoken weight that we both carry.

I look at her, my voice barely more than a whisper. "Arya..."

She smiles softly, "We all have our battles, Dev."

...

I step out of the car, my mind still tangled in the remnants of the conversation with Raj. The driver nods politely before driving away, leaving me standing alone in front of my home. It's a grand house, but it feels empty most of the time.

As I enter the house, the silence greets me like an old friend. No one is home. My mother is probably at one of her social gatherings, and my father...well, he must be at work, he's slowly giving up on re-bonding things since efforts from my side...well they aren't there.

I head upstairs to my room, the echoes of our conversation still replaying in my mind. It's not that I don't want us to be more; hell, I'd be the happiest person alive, but there's this suffocating weight that wraps itself around my heart...I can't relive that again. The mere thought of opening up, of letting the world see the real me, evokes a visceral fear—a fear that whispers in the recesses of my mind, reminding me of the pain, the isolation, the humiliation.

Every step up the stairs feels heavy, like an anchor dragging me down into the depths of my own confusion and pain. I strip off my school uniform and change into a simple t-shirt, trying to shake off the weight of the day, but the memory of Raj's hurt expression clings to me like a stubborn shadow.

Descending the stairs, I find myself in the kitchen, its cold tiles a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. I'm not hungry. I hardly ever am these days. My appetite has waned, replaced by a gnawing ache in my chest that refuses to go away. As much as I yearn for more with Raj, as much as I ache to break free from the chains of my past, I find myself paralyzed by the fear that history might replay its cruel symphony, turning my newfound happiness into echoes of anguish.

I open the refrigerator, its contents a jumbled mess of untouched meals prepared by Mom. The sight of the food churns my stomach, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm me. I take out a water bottle, my trembling hand betraying the turmoil within me, and turn to head back upstairs.

But then, the doorbell rings, breaking the eerie silence that has settled in the house. My heart leaps in my chest. Could it be Raj? Is he here to talk, to ask me why I said what I said?

I make my way to the front door, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Turning the doorknob and pushing the door open, I am immediately taken aback by the sight that greets me. My mom and dad stand there, silhouetted in the dimly lit hallway. Mom holds a few bags in her hands, and her face is lit up with a big, genuine grin that I haven't seen in a while.

Her excitement is palpable, and it seems to fill the entire hallway. Without hesitation, she envelops me in a warm, tight hug. At this moment, I can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. Her presence alone is enough to make the world seem a little less daunting.

"Guess what, Dev?" she exclaims, her voice filled with joy. "Your dad has bought me the first samples of the most anticipated designs of his store."

A small smile manages to escape my lips, genuinely happy for her, as she pulls away from our hug. But then, as her eyes fall upon my bare arm, a chill courses through my veins, freezing my very core. Panic sets in, and I scramble to conceal the damning evidence, but it's too late. Her gaze, once warm and joyful, now locks onto my arm like a laser, her eyes widening in shock.

Time itself seems to grind to a halt in that moment. The world becomes a deafening silence, and I can almost hear the thunderous pounding of my heart in my chest.

My mother's reaction deviates entirely from my expectations. The bags she's been clutching fall from her trembling hands, forgotten as she reaches out, her fingertips trembling with disbelief, to trace the marks on my bare arm. Her eyes, wide with terror and searching for answers, never leave my face.

"Dev," she whispers, her voice quivering with a haunting tremor, "What... what happened to your arm?"

Desperation wells up inside me as I grapple with the lump lodged in my throat, like a barrier to my voice. I open my mouth, but no words escape. 

Her grip on my arm tightens with a desperate yearning to bridge the silence that has grown between us. Her fingers, delicate and trembling, clasp my arm as if trying to hold onto a lifeline. I can feel the way her nails lightly graze my skin, a feather-light touch that carries a depth of emotion words cannot convey.

Tears well up in her eyes, glistening like dewdrops in the soft glow of the hallway light. Her eyelashes flutter with the weight of unspoken worries.

With an almost painful tenderness, she pulls me into another hug. It's not just an embrace; it's a cocoon of emotions. Her arms envelop me as if she's trying to shield me from the harshness of the world. I can hear the hitch in her breath as she holds me, her heartbeat echoing in the silent room, a rhythm that matches the cadence of my own racing heart.

"Dev," she says softly, her voice a gentle melody, her words laden with the immense weight of a mother's unwavering love.

At last, I release the emotional dam within me, allowing myself to surrender to her embrace completely. My fingers, previously clenched in a futile attempt to conceal my pain, loosen their grip, and I allow them to lightly rest on her back. 

Tears stream down my face, an unstoppable torrent of emotion. I can't stand any longer; my legs betray me, giving way to a torrent of emotions. In my stumble, I inadvertently bring my mom down with me. We end up sitting on the floor, right at the threshold of the doorway, the bags of my dad's designs completely forgotten.

With trembling breaths and a heart heavy with the weight of my unspoken pain, I begin to share my deepest fears and anxieties with her. It's a moment of profound vulnerability, one where the walls I've carefully constructed around my emotions crumble to dust.

"I can't handle it anymore, Mom," I choke out between sobs, my voice quivering with raw, unfiltered emotion. "I tried, I really did. But I can't."

My mom holds me close, her own tears mingling with mine as she whispers soothing words of comfort, "You don't have to, Dev. I'm here." 

....

Sitting on the living room floor with my mom and dad, the oppressive weight of my long-held secret presses upon me like an insurmountable burden. My mom's eyes remain fixed on my arm, where the scars of my pain are laid bare for the first time. It's as if she can see every hidden emotion, every unspoken torment, and the vulnerability terrifies me.

Breaking the oppressive silence, her voice carries a mix of gentleness and unwavering resolve. 

"Dev, we're going to get you help," she declares, her words washing over me like a lifeline in the storm of my emotions. "I can't bear to see you suffer like this, and we can't keep pretending that everything's okay."

In that moment, her words offer a glimmer of hope, a promise that maybe, just maybe, the darkness that has consumed me for so long can be lifted. 

My dad, who had been quiet until now, added his support. "Your mom is right, Dev. We should have been more attentive. We should have noticed."

I try to resist, to hold back the tidal wave of emotions threatening to engulf me, but my mom's words cut through my defenses. She says it in a voice that's filled with tears, a voice that trembles with the weight of her love and concern.

"Dev, please," she implores, her voice quivering, "I've almost... I can't... I can't bear the thought of losing you. You're my heart, my reason for everything. Please, for me, for us, let us help you. I can't lose you, Dev.

Her words strike at the very core of my being. In that moment, I realize the toll my pain has taken on not just myself but on the ones who care about me. 

I simply nod because I don't know what else to do. The world around me feels like an endless labyrinth, a maze of confusion and pain. I just need someone to tell me what path to walk, and what road to take. I'm just lost, and the weight of uncertainty presses down on me like a heavy burden, threatening to crush me beneath its weight.

In this suffocating darkness, I yearn for a way out. Everything seems enveloped in shadows, as if the darkness has devoured all the light, leaving me stumbling blindly through this treacherous journey. All I'm desperately searching for is a glimmer of hope, a faint beacon to guide me to the exit, to lead me out of this labyrinthine despair.

---

I sit in the dimly lit waiting room, my mom by my side, her presence a small comfort amidst the whirlwind of thoughts that consume me. The room is sterile, adorned with nondescript paintings and plush chairs that seem out of place in this solemn space. But none of it matters; my world has narrowed down to the cacophony of thoughts inside my head.

My gaze is fixed on a painting on the opposite wall, a surreal landscape of vibrant colors that dance across the canvas. I try to lose myself in its chaotic beauty, to escape the turmoil that churns within me. But the painting is merely a distraction, a feeble attempt to avoid the darkness that threatens to engulf me.

My gaze drops to my trembling hands, fingers knotted together in a desperate attempt to hold onto something tangible. I think about Raj, about the love I have been so afraid to fully embrace. The guilt claws at me, a relentless reminder of how I have pushed him away, how I have hurt him.

Just as I am beginning to spiral deeper into my thoughts, the counselor's office door swings open, breaking the silence that has settled around me. A woman in her forties stands in the doorway, her warm but probing eyes fixed on me.

"Dev, are you ready?" she asks gently, her voice carrying a sense of understanding that momentarily pulls me from the abyss of my thoughts.

I blink, my mind slowly registering her words. Ready? The question seems to hang in the air, a weighty reminder of the choices I have to make. I nod, my voice barely more than a whisper as I reply, "Ready."

With those words, I push myself out of the chair, my heart heavy with the knowledge that I am about to confront the demons that have plagued me for far too long. The counselor holds the door open for me, and as I step into her office, I know that this is a journey I can't avoid any longer. It's time to face the darkness within and find a way to emerge into the light.