Life was moving along smoothly, the way it often does when nothing particularly exciting or troubling happens. Our friendship was in a steady, comfortable place—casual and lighthearted. We texted occasionally, just enough to keep in touch. Usually, it went something like this: I'd crack a joke, and he'd roast me in response. Classic Daksh. But somehow, instead of annoying me, his sarcastic replies always left me laughing. It was simple, effortless fun.

It wasn't until the end of our year break that things started to shift. Slowly, our conversations became more frequent, more personal. There was a subtle change in the rhythm of our friendship, something I didn't fully notice at the time.

We'd upgraded from sporadic texts to sending snaps of random moments from our lives. I'd send him pictures of steaming plates of momos from Delhi, and he'd respond with reels mercilessly roasting Taylor Swift just to get a rise out of me. Now, I wasn't a die-hard Swiftie or anything, but there was something about the way he teased me that made me want to keep the banter going. So, I pretended to be dramatically offended, dragging the conversation out just to see where it would lead. Honestly, I think we both knew I wasn't actually mad.

Then came July 12, 2023. That day, he sent me a reel. Just one little reel—but, for some reason, it stuck with me. Looking back now, I think that's when everything truly started to change.

When we got back to college, everything fell into place as if we had never left. Night practices resumed, and so did our usual banter. There was a rhythm to it, something comforting and familiar, almost like a ritual we had unknowingly built for ourselves. It was easy, natural, and something I looked forward to. But then, one seemingly insignificant exchange turned everything on its head and shifted the dynamic between us entirely.

It began innocently enough, with me making a cheeky comment about his height. I told him he was 5'8". He immediately retorted, "I'm not 5'8"! I'm 6'." I laughed, clearly not convinced. There was no way he was six feet tall. To settle it, I decided to involve a third party. I sent a snap of my roommate, Reshu, asking her what she thought his height was. Without missing a beat, she replied, "He's definitely 5'8"." That was it for me—I couldn't stop laughing.

Of course, he wasn't about to let it go. He took it as a personal mission to prove me wrong. He sent a snap of his friends, asking for their opinion on his height, and then went to great lengths to demonstrate that he was, in fact, six feet tall. It became this hilarious back-and-forth that neither of us was willing to concede. And while it might have seemed trivial to anyone else, that silly argument became a turning point for us. It was the first time our conversations felt like they carried more weight, as if beneath the surface of our teasing, something more meaningful was forming.

From that day on, we started talking even more. Our chats became endless threads of conversation, flowing seamlessly from one topic to another. We joked, teased, and shared bits of our lives, but it still felt lighthearted—just two friends bantering. Then, one night, everything changed again.

It was after one of our late-night practices. I came back to my room, and like clockwork, I texted him. The conversation started as usual, playful and casual, but this time it drifted into uncharted territory. I don't even remember how it happened, but I ended up sharing a shayari I had written a while ago. It was something I had kept to myself, something deeply personal that I had never shown anyone. I don't know why I chose to share it with him, but I did.

To my surprise, he responded with genuine enthusiasm. That's when he revealed that he wrote poetry too. I hadn't seen that coming, and it caught me off guard in the best way possible. Suddenly, we were trading poetry and shayari back and forth, as if we had stumbled upon this secret world we both belonged to but never knew the other was a part of.

That night, our conversation took on a depth I hadn't anticipated. It was no longer just about poetry—it became a space where we shared pieces of ourselves that we had kept hidden from the rest of the world. I told him things I had never told anyone else, like how I had struggled with depression in school, how difficult those years had been for me, and how I had found solace in writing. And yet, as I shared these deeply personal parts of my life, it didn't feel scary or uncomfortable. It felt... right. It felt like I could trust him, even though I couldn't explain why.

How had I reached this point with him? How did he manage to make me feel so safe, so understood, without even trying? I didn't have the answers, but I knew one thing for sure—there was something special about him, something that made me open up in a way I never had with anyone else.

Before I realized it, it was 3:30 AM. I was still wide awake, engrossed in our conversation, even though I had an 8 AM class the next day. I knew I needed to sleep, but I couldn't bring myself to end the conversation. It felt too important, too meaningful, to cut short.

The next morning, I couldn't keep it to myself. I told Apoorva all about the night before, about how I had discovered this new side of him. I casually mentioned that "Ducks"—yes, by this point, I had started calling him Ducks—wrote poetry too. She laughed and said, "If you keep talking to him like this every night, he's going to end up with a crush on you." Normally, a comment like that would have made me pause, maybe even second-guess myself. But in this case, I found myself thinking, Would that really be such a bad thing?

From that night on, something shifted between us. Our conversations became constant, never-ending threads of connection. It was like we couldn't stop talking to each other, and neither of us wanted to. We were chatting across three different apps simultaneously, each one hosting a completely different conversation. It was chaotic, ridiculous, and utterly amazing. With every message, with every shared thought, we were building something that felt inexplicably right—something that, deep down, I knew was unlike anything I had experienced before.

There was one day I specifically remember—26th August 2023, to be exact. That was the day he got into an accident. He had been riding his scooty, returning from Heaven's Quarry, a picturesque spot not too far from our college. But the ride back didn't go as planned. The scooty skidded, and he fell hard, injuring his knees and elbows badly. True to his nature, he tried to make light of the situation, acting like it wasn't a big deal. We only found out later that it wasn't just a minor fall—it was a complete ACL tear.

I first got to know about it through a snap he sent, casually standing in front of a hospital picking up medicines. I couldn't help but worry. It's one thing to know someone is hurt, but seeing him brush it off like it wasn't serious made me even more concerned.

But strangely, that accident became a turning point for our friendship. In the days that followed, I became his unofficial medicine reminder. Every day, like clockwork, I would check in to make sure he had taken them. Sometimes I had to threaten him playfully, and he'd pretend to be scared, but I'm convinced there was a hint of actual fear in there. Around this time, we started giving each other Pokémon nicknames. I called him Charmeleon because he looked like one. And he called me Jigglypuff, I had no idea why.

We talked all the time, about everything and nothing. On 30th August, I had to go for a performance at an event. It was one of those endless, tiring days where I found myself bored out of my mind as we waited for our turn to perform. Ducks hadn't even woken up by the time my team and I reached the venue. I messaged him about how bored I was and casually reminded him to eat something before taking his medicines. What he did next completely brightened my mood.

He started sending me a series of snapchat videos, almost like a vlog. In them, he walked me through his morning routine—preparing food, taking his medicines, and throwing in random fun facts here and there. It wasn't anything grand or extraordinary, but it made me smile so wide. It was like he had found the perfect way to lift my spirits, and in that moment, all my boredom melted away.

The next play I worked on was one where I had to play Geet from Jab We Met. During one of the night practices, Ducks and I had this ongoing game where I was trying to capture a picture of him with the dog filter. It became a hilarious chase. Whenever I had a break, I'd wander over to where his club was working and try to sneak a picture, but he was ridiculously good at avoiding it.

At one point, it escalated into me literally running after him while he tried to dodge me. The irony? He wasn't even supposed to be running because of his injury! But there he was, sprinting away, completely ignoring all common sense. Later that night, after our chaotic chase, I found myself standing with him at the top of the SMV stairs. The mime team was practicing nearby, and we were just talking, as we often did.

His friends kept calling him, but he didn't leave. I remember standing there, watching his friends come by and thinking to myself, Wow, he's really busy. But he brushed them off with a casual "I'll be there in a bit." It struck me as odd because his friends didn't even seem to be working anymore—they were just waiting for him. And yet, instead of rushing off, he stayed and kept talking to me.

At some point during our conversation, I tried to show him the Smurfs theme song on my phone. He claimed he had never heard it before, and I couldn't let that slide. But before I could finish explaining, someone from the mime team stumbled and fell during practice. I had to rush down to help. Ducks said goodbye around the same time and left.

On 5th September, I was all set to perform our play on Greenos' stage. It was a big moment for me, and to my surprise, Ducks showed up to watch. He wasn't the kind of person who'd come to see a performance just for the sake of it, so his presence felt significant. Knowing he was there made me ridiculously happy, even though I tried to play it cool.

After that day, things between us felt easy and fun. I managed to rope him into watching a few movies I suggested, one of them being Set It Up. It was one of those light-hearted, feel-good movies that I secretly hoped would nudge him into seeing the connection we had—though, of course, I didn't say that out loud.

By this point, we had established that Ducks had a crush on someone. And if I'm being honest, it stung. It wasn't jealousy in the dramatic sense, but it definitely hurt knowing he liked someone else, especially since I had started to develop a crush on him myself. I tried to hide it, but hearing about his crush felt like a punch I wasn't ready for.

Since he wouldn't tell me who she was, we nicknamed her "Harper" after the main character in Set It Up. It was a running joke, but deep down, it was my way of keeping some emotional distance. In return, he kept badgering me about my crush, which was painfully awkward because, well, it was him. Of course, I couldn't tell him that, so we made up a nickname for my supposed crush too. We called him "Harry."

That turned into this ongoing banter between us, where we'd tease each other with questions like, "Who's Harper?" or "Tell me three things about Harry!" Neither of us ever gave a straight answer, though. It became this playful tug-of-war, a game that let us stay close while skirting around the truth.

A few days later, on 9th September, I was buried in my notes, trying to cram for my digital system design exam the next morning. At some point, I decided to text Ducks to ask if he knew the topic 'group codes' we needed for a particular question. His reply came almost instantly: "Nope. I haven't even started yet." That response, while unsurprising, lit a fire under me. I spent the next hour figuring it out on my own. The moment I cracked it, I texted him back, brimming with excitement. "I got it!" I typed, followed by a triumphant explanation.

We celebrated together, but then a few minutes later he hit me with, "wtf is going on with group coding" Without thinking twice, I offered to teach him. That decision, my dear humans, led to our very first phone call.

I dialed his number with a mix of excitement and nervousness, my heart pounding as I waited for him to pick up. Meanwhile, my roommates, Reshu and Adity, were sitting nearby, giggling and exchanging knowing glances. Reshu, in particular, had known about my feelings for Ducks long before I had figured it out myself. She had pieced it together from the way I talked about him—always with a little more excitement than I did about anyone else.

As the phone rang, I shot them a look that screamed, Please, for the love of everything, don't make this harder than it already is. They, of course, only found this more amusing. Reshu was making exaggerated "ooooh" faces, and Adity was stifling her laughter.

As I heard his voice on the other end for the first time, my stomach did a little flip. I tried to focus on explaining the topic to him, all while shooting desperate shut up glares at my roommates. It was a miracle I didn't burst out laughing myself. Despite the chaos in my room, I couldn't stop smiling as I spoke. On the other end of the call, I thought I heard faint laughter, almost like Ducks' roommates were teasing him too. For a second, I wondered if they were making fun of him the same way mine were making fun of me. But I brushed it off, deciding it was probably just my imagination.

That call wasn't just about circuits or group codes—it was a moment that felt like the start of something different, something more. Even with all the teasing and awkwardness, it left me feeling lighter, happier, and undeniably closer to him.