Arya's P.O.V.

As we make our way towards the main gate, Dev's name – likely his mom. He turns our way, bidding, "You guys continue; I have to head off now. Bye!"

He strides toward his mom, his fancy car waiting. It's clear that Dev hails from a prosperous background, yet his demeanor remains grounded. Raj, on the other hand, appears to be quite taken by Dev – barely averting his gaze, well, almost. I know I need to address this peculiar dynamic, so I swiftly shift my attention to Raj and interject his gaze.

I clear my throat, snapping him back to reality. "Hey Raj, don't you think you should ask Dev for his number?"

Raj practically jumps out of his skin. "Why would I do that?"

Oh, come on, as if anyone's buying that act. I'm Miss Encyclopedia, I can sense love from a mile away. I know genuine affection versus mere pretense.

I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. "Well, um, you see, Dev has agreed to join the performance, but we don't have his contact details. How will we keep him in the loop about rehearsals and other arrangements?" I've been a master at concocting excuses since birth.

Raj regards me for a moment, and my heart skips a beat. But then, a grin creeps onto his face. "You're right."

He swiftly closes the gap between himself and Dev, who is a short distance away. There's something significant about this juncture, though I can't quite pinpoint it. Raj halts a few feet from Dev, and it's as if an unsaid conversation dances between them. I can't fathom what's being communicated, yet it's evident they're sharing in some form. An intangible energy lingers in the air... one I'd gladly label as love.

Raj rubs his neck, offering a nervous chuckle. "Well... Dev," he starts but doesn't finish his sentence. Raj avoids Dev's gaze, his lips betraying his nerves through their repeated licking. Poor guy, his anxiety is palpable, akin to asking Dev out on a date. Not that I can fault him – from what I know, Dev is Raj's inaugural crush, and who maintains composure before a crush when seeking their number?

"Hmm?" Dev inquires of Raj, who shifts his gaze downward, now fixating on the grass beneath his feet.

Raj blushes crimson, his cheeks betraying his embarrassment. His eyes lift toward Dev, brimming with a glimmer of hope. Dev returns the gaze, his curiosity apparent, awaiting Raj's next words. Raj's fingers navigate his hair, and he finally vocalizes his thoughts, his voice quivering. "I, uh... I mean, could... you, maybe... give me your... phone number?" He glances at Dev, a hopeful vulnerability in his eyes. Dev offers a gentle smile, acknowledging Raj's true plea. Dev is on the cusp of replying when Raj presses on, hastening, "I mean, since you're participating, it's just, well, having your number would be handy... you know, for coordinating rehearsals and stuff."

In a sudden twist, a tall, robust figure sporting black glasses saunters by, leaving me momentarily breathless. It's Sid Roy. He emanates a vibe of strength and stature, his solid shoulders and well-defined chest subtly outlined beneath his shirt's fabric. His biceps, distinct against the material, hint at his physical prowess. His unruly mop of curls cascades over his forehead, adding an extra layer of allure. His mere presence demands attention, pulling my gaze in his direction.

Whenever he crosses my path, my heartbeat quickens, and my mind becomes a storm of thoughts. Imaginary conversations with him play out in my daydreams, as I yearn to uncover the layers behind his enigmatic exterior. Yet, every effort to approach him results in my throat tightening and my words stumbling over each other. Contenting myself with distant admiration is my refuge, while I wonder about the stories concealed within him.

He belongs to class 12A. Watching him recede from view sparks a pang of missed opportunities. He's occupied the role of my crush for nearly a year now, but summoning the courage to initiate contact remains an insurmountable hurdle. I'm not entirely sure why it feels so intimidating, but the prospect of making the first move feels as daunting as scaling a mountain.

Maybe it's the air of perfection he exudes – his flawless smile and the way his sturdy build carries itself. It's as if he belongs to a world distinct from mine, one I'm hesitant to step into.

Still, the allure of admiring him from a distance proves too strong to resist. I watch him mount his impressive motorcycle, a trace of envy creeping into my emotions. He embodies the modern-day prince charming persona, while I'm merely an ordinary girl nursing secret infatuations.

Unfortunately, my courage falters when it comes to confessing my feelings. I doubt he even knows my name. Yes, I'm just one of the many captivated souls.

Snapping out of my reverie, I redirect my attention to Raj and Dev, only to realize they've slipped away without a goodbye. Wow, I've some amazing friends. It's just too much for a day! I'm heading home now.

With each step feeling heavy, I plod my way homeward, a heavy sigh escaping me. The idea of returning home feels like a chore in itself. During school hours, my energy and enthusiasm run high, but as I journey back, that vitality slowly dwindles. My mind may yearn for the comfort of my bed, but I continue walking, knowing that reaching home is the necessary destination.

Opening the door, I mumble, "I'm home," but receive no response. I take off my shoes and enter the living room. It's eerily quiet, devoid of any signs of life. While Mom might be in the kitchen, I wonder where our mischievous sofa-breaker, Miss, could be.

Heading straight to my room, I notice the door is open. Has she decided privacy isn't important today? I step inside to find Meghana sitting on her bed. She's curled up, resting her chin on her knees. Her loosely tied brown hair cascades down her shoulders. Her eyes seem distant, lost in deep thoughts. Emotions flicker across her eyes as she wrestles with her inner turmoil. She doesn't even notice my presence. Her mind is somewhere far away, deeply engaged with her own thoughts, something that deeply affects her.

In an instant, flashes of yesterday evening flood my mind, as vivid as if they just occurred. The memory of her teary eyes stirs a pang in my heart once again. I take a step towards her, lightly placing my hand on her shoulder, and in a soft voice, I ask, "Are you okay?"

She snaps out of her reverie and quickly looks at me, forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Can't I see through her facade? I long to talk to her, to share her pain, to embrace her tightly as I did yesterday, shielding her from anything and everything. But today, I have no words of comfort, no phrases to ease her mind, no magic smile to bring forth her genuine happiness. All I want is to be there for her, assuring her that everything will be alright and that I'm here by her side.

I offer a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to take it. Feel free to disturb me; I'm too worn out to mind."

She chuckles softly, "Sure, I'll keep that in mind."

I return her smile, "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

Stepping into the bathroom, sweat clinging to my body from the day's unrelenting heat, I briskly shed my clothes and turn on the shower. The revitalizing cascade of water envelops me as I shut my eyes, tilting my face upwards to savor its cool touch. In that fleeting moment, my thoughts involuntarily drift back to yesterday's evening.

The instant she disclosed the name on the card, a jolt of surprise coursed through me. My father, burdened by archaic ideologies, assesses people based on their surnames. If a last name sounds like Khan, it's as though he shuts the door on them. It's not that he detests other faiths, but his willingness to consider them as potential partners for his daughter remains stunted. And when it comes to a faith different from our own, like Islam, the situation becomes even more complex.

I held my sister tight, my embrace conveying reassurance. "Don't worry, sis. We'll figure out how to make Dad see reason. He'll come around." She buried her face in my shoulder, her voice quivering, "You know him too well; he can abandon his daughters... b-but never his principles." Her words were punctuated by hiccups, and I rubbed her back tenderly, offering comfort. I was all too familiar with this aspect of our father. His principles held more value to him than his daughters' happiness. These principles, hollow and misguided, were the bedrock of his pride, and he clung to that foundation. The so-called society's approval weighed heavily on his priorities.

I understood the depths of his stubbornness. I comprehended that he cherished his principles more than his daughters' well-being. His infatuation with his pride blinded him, obscuring our pain.

"Why are you crying, sis? We have time, you know. We'll find a way to make him see sense," I consoled her while rubbing her back.

"No, we don't!" she burst out, shaking her head with the vehemence of a child. "We're running out of time. No time at all!"

"Why?" I inquired, the urgency seeping into my tone.

Her anguish was palpable, and she trembled in my arms, her every breath fraught with tension. Held close, she quivered with every exhale, her body caught in uncontrollable spasms. Her embrace conveyed more than words ever could.

Tears flowed steadily, and as her body gradually relaxed, I felt the weight of her pain. The room darkened, a tangible sorrow settling around us. My heart ached in response, and I held her even tighter, attempting to dispel the torment that engulfed her.

Eventually, the storm within her subsided, and she eased herself away slightly. I guided her to the bed and sat down beside her, my hands gently enclosing hers. Sipping from a glass of water, she exhaled deeply, the tension visibly melting off her shoulders. Her gaze, avoiding mine, fixated on her lap, her expression a mix of guilt and remorse.

Breaking the silence, I finally asked, "Will you talk to Dad about this?"

She shook her head, whispering, "As if he'd understand." After a sigh, she continued, "Let's not talk about it." With a heavy exhale, she exited the room, leaving behind a lingering sense of heaviness.

I'm left in the dark, uncertain about the events that transpired. I lack the details about this person, but if their love is genuine, how could my sister give up so quickly? There must be more to this story than meets the eye. I need to uncover the truth. I won't let her make a reckless decision that could ruin her life.

This powerlessness is alien to me. My sister is in distress, and I'm helpless to alleviate it. I wish to stand by her side, but she keeps her turmoil locked away. How can I support her if she won't confide in me? First, I must find out who this person is, and then I can navigate the complexities that lie ahead.

After turning off the shower, I grab a towel and step out of the bathroom. I take a moment to survey the room, but Meghana is nowhere to be found. Heading towards the wardrobe, I quickly select a t-shirt and trousers.

Suddenly, I hear a faint buzzing sound coming from behind me. I turn around to see Meghana's phone vibrating on her bed.

"Di," I call out to her, but there's no response. Standing in front of the mirror, I gaze at my reflection, lost in thought. As I begin getting dressed, the incessant buzzing of her phone disrupts my peace, leaving me irritated. However, the vibrations suddenly stop, providing a brief respite. I hastily run a comb through my hair, tying it up neatly in a ponytail. Just as I finish, my stomach growls, reminding me of my hunger.

As I approach the door, the annoying buzzing starts again. I glance into the living room, but Meghana is nowhere to be seen. Where on earth could she be?

"Di, your phone is ringing," I call out once more, but receive no answer. It becomes too much for me, so I walk over to her phone. 'Sir' is flashing on the screen. I turn back to see if Di has appeared, but she's still nowhere in sight. I decide to answer the call and request the person to call back later.

As soon as I answer, the voice on the other end starts speaking without giving me a chance to utter a single word.

"Hello Meghana, why aren't you picking up my calls? And nothing is over yet! Do you understand? Just come to the college, and we'll find a solution. This isn't the end, and it can't be. You don't have the right to put an end to anything."

The voice is filled with pain and despair, and with each word, it becomes increasingly clear that it's Ahan. He speaks rapidly, not pausing for a breath, seemingly pleading with Meghana to reconsider her decision. It seems like they're on the verge of breaking up. But he's begging her not to end the relationship? Wait, are they actually breaking up? Do I need to talk to this person to understand what's going on inside that stubborn girl's head?

"Ahan?" I finally ask, seeking clarification and hoping to avoid further confusion.

There's a momentary pause on the other end, and then he slowly asks, "Who is this?"

"Hey, I'm Arya, Meghana's sister. You're... You're Ahan, right?" I respond calmly.

"Y-yeah, where is Meghana? Can you pass the phone to her, please?" he almost pleads.

"Who are you talking to?" I suddenly hear a voice from behind. I turn back to find Meghana standing near the door.

"Um, I don't know. Your phone kept vibrating, so I finally picked it up. B-But there's no one speaking on the other side. Must be a network issue," I quickly explain.

I quickly end the call and place the phone back on the bed. She gives me a blank look and says, "Mom is calling you for lunch, go."

"Oh, okay. I'm starving too," I instantly walk out of the room.

Sitting down at the dining table, my plate awaits me like a battleground ready for conquest. But today, my focus isn't on the food; it's on the empty expanse of the sofa in front of the TV. That spot, once an elusive luxury, now seems insignificant compared to the turmoil my sister faces. The TV flickers, an emblem of my inner conflict—my desire to immerse myself in entertainment warring against the responsibility I feel to fix things for Meghana.

I can't just sit here, pretending everything is fine. I can't let her drown in her own sadness. I need to act. And that action points toward one person—Ahan. The enigmatic factor in this equation, the source of Meghana's tears. I need answers, and I won't settle for anything less.

As I gather my thoughts, I slip earphones in, letting the music envelope my mind. The rhythmic beats sync with the resolve growing within me. Lunch may be on the menu, but my mission is a different kind of sustenance—to restore my sister's smile, to chase away her demons.