The rest of the month slipped by in a whirlwind, but one constant in my life was Ducks. Somehow, he had become an integral part of my daily routine without me even realizing it. We were constantly texting—practically every waking moment when one of us wasn't busy sleeping. It felt effortless, natural, like second nature.

It wasn't until I went on a trip to Pondicherry with a couple of friends that I fully understood just how significant he had become to me. I had been in complete denial whenever anyone teased me about having a crush on him, brushing it off with laughter or changing the topic. But my friend Apoorva saw right through me. She challenged me to not use Snapchat or chat with Ducks for the entire three-day trip. And, like the fool I was, I accepted her bet.

Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

From the very first day, it became painfully obvious how hard that would be. I couldn't use Snapchat at all, and the restriction felt suffocating. Every beautiful moment I experienced, every pretty scene I came across, all I wanted to do was share it with him. It was as if every little thing reminded me of him. By the second day, I couldn't handle it anymore. I caved—well, sort of. I couldn't use Snapchat, but I found a loophole. I texted him on Instagram instead, telling myself it wasn't technically breaking the bet. It didn't matter. I knew I'd already lost.

One night during the trip, my friends and I decided to spend the entire night on the beach. The moonlight danced on the waves, and the stars filled the night sky like scattered diamonds. It was breathtaking, but even in that perfect moment, all I could think about was how much I wished he were there with me. Just the two of us. Sitting side by side, under a sky so full of stars that it felt infinite.

That night, I put my thoughts into words. It felt too overwhelming to keep them to myself:

"Stargazing on the beach

Perfect. That's really the only way to describe it.

The warmth from your hand in mine will counter the cool breeze from the ocean. The stars stretched across the sky. Spread on every single corner. Circling the moon. Hundreds of them, and I'd still be looking at you. I'd introduce you to them, starting with orion kyunki pata nahi kyun woh hamesha hota hi hai night sky mein😂

That feeling would be like a hug, like a summer love, like hot chocolate on a cold night. Uss time samajh aayega time flies ka sahi matlab because it'd be two of my favourite things together

Them, and you.

I'd be explaining why stars are blinking red and blue, about binary pairs, and facts uncanny and then I'd catch you looking at me. And I'll hold your gaze, turn to face you completely. Then I'll tell you about the one thing missing in the starry night, the one thing I'd be grateful is mine.

I'd blabber on about the universe, everything I've ever learnt, and you'd smile at the stories that you've never before heard.

Uss feeling ko I wish I could hold, and keep it with me so I would have something to cherish when I grow old." 

By the time I returned home on October 5th, I thought I'd get some rest and catch up on life, but fate had other plans. The very next day, I was selected for a new play that was going to compete on the 8th. Rehearsals started immediately, and on the night of the 6th, after a late practice session, I instinctively texted Ducks as soon as I got to my room. At this point, it had become a habit—a part of my routine I didn't want to break.

We ended up texting for hours until, somehow, we found ourselves on a Google Meet call. He wanted to see a recording of the play I'd performed in back in August, and honestly, I just wanted an excuse to keep talking to him.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, like it always did with him. For some reason, it didn't feel strange or awkward—it felt right. Before I knew it, the hours had melted away, and suddenly it was 6 a.m. I had practice at 9, and I'd barely closed my eyes.

Unsurprisingly, I overslept. At 9:15, I woke up to a panicked phone call from one of my cast members. "Shit!" I thought as I bolted out of bed, threw on whatever was closest, and sprinted to the basketball court where practice was happening.

When I arrived, everyone was already running laps. I joined in immediately, hoping not to draw too much attention, but the director, Abhishek bhaiya, noticed. "Keep running," he said with a smirk.

Fifteen laps later, my legs were burning, and I was out of breath. I despise running—always have—but for some reason, that day, it didn't feel like punishment. It felt worth it.

He was worth it.

That was the moment it hit me: my feelings for Ducks weren't just fleeting or superficial. They ran far deeper than I'd been willing to admit—deeper than I was ready to handle.

And then came the fear—raw, gripping, and unrelenting. The kind of fear that creeps in during quiet moments, wrapping itself around every thought. What if I ended up breaking his heart? The mere idea made my chest tighten, but the questions didn't stop there. What if I decided to date him and, somewhere down the line, found myself drawn to someone else? What if I unintentionally became mean, hurtful, or distant? What if I just wasn't good enough for him? A small, haunting voice in my head whispered, "Would he compare me to his past girlfriends?" And the worst of them all: What if he was too good for me?

These thoughts churned inside me like a storm, each one feeding the other, amplifying the noise. It was as if my mind was building walls faster than my heart could break through them.

But amidst all that fear, something unexpected emerged—a warmth, a strange reassurance. With the anxiety came a growing sense of trust and comfort. I realized that, with him, I could be entirely myself. I could share every thought, no matter how irrational or messy. There was this unspoken certainty that he wouldn't judge, that he'd listen and understand. He'd always be there, ready to catch me if I fell. That thought alone brought a strange kind of calm.

Yet, even with that comfort, my mind was a battlefield. My heart screamed for connection, for taking the leap, while my brain waved caution flags, urging me to retreat. It felt like I was standing in the eye of a hurricane—the calm and chaos swirling together, pulling me in opposite directions. It wasn't just about liking him anymore; it was about confronting my fears, my insecurities, and the deep-rooted doubts I'd long buried.

The whirlwind raged on, a tug-of-war between the longing to let go and the fear of what might happen if I did.