The next day, after a long practice session, Kundavai found herself staring at the empty page of her notebook, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the edge of the table. She wasn't one for grand gestures, and she definitely didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve. But something had shifted in her, and for once, the words she had kept buried inside her felt like they needed to be said — or at least written.

She grabbed a piece of scrap paper, folding it into a small, perfect paper airplane. It was clumsy at first, but the more she focused, the more it looked just like she wanted. When it was finished, she wrote just three words on it: I love you.

It was simple. Almost too simple. But for her, it felt like a declaration.

As the room quieted around her, she looked out the window, and there he was, leaning against the wall outside, a familiar figure. Shubman. She knew he'd be there soon, knew he was probably waiting for her, like always.

With a deep breath, she picked up the paper airplane and pushed the window open just enough to let it fly. The plane sailed through the air, twisting and turning, landing right at his feet. He didn't even need to unfold it. The words were clear enough.

Shubman knelt down slowly, picked up the paper, and unfolded it carefully. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he read the words — the words that had come from Kundavai. She wasn't one to say such things, to make things known, but here they were, out in the open.

He didn't look up at her immediately. Instead, he simply folded the paper back and tucked it into his pocket. No words. No immediate response. Just silence.

And for two days, it stayed like that.

Kundavai didn't know what to expect, but the silence between them felt louder than anything she could've imagined. He didn't approach her in practice. He didn't make any jokes. There was no teasing, no smirking. Shubman seemed distant, and it made her restless, like she had made some mistake she couldn't undo.

She couldn't bring herself to ask, couldn't break the silence that now hung between them. The two days passed slowly, and every time she saw him, she couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. Did he think she was being too forward? Too soft? Or maybe he was just giving her space to breathe, to figure things out.

But he didn't talk to her. Not a word. Not a glance in her direction when their paths crossed.

Kundavai hated this feeling. She had sent him that paper airplane knowing how much it meant for her to even show a sliver of vulnerability, but now, as the silence stretched on, it only made her question whether it had been a mistake to open up, even just a little.

She couldn't understand it. She didn't know what he was thinking. But all she could do was wait, as the quiet between them became more and more deafening.

The next day, Kundavai entered her room with a heavy heart, unsure of what to do next. The silence between her and Shubman had stretched longer than she had expected, and it was starting to eat away at her. She had done something she rarely did — shown vulnerability — and now she felt a little exposed. But what she hadn't anticipated was how it would feel to wait for him to respond, especially when he hadn't said a word in two whole days.

She sat on her bed, the weight of the quiet pressing down on her. Her mind kept replaying the moment she had sent the paper airplane. Had he taken her seriously? Had she overstepped? The uncertainty swirled around her like a storm she couldn't control.

Just as she was about to let out a frustrated sigh, a soft tap came at her window.

Startled, she rushed to the window and opened it just enough to see the paper airplane drifting in the breeze. It wasn't like the one she had sent him — this one had been folded with more care, more precision. The way he had always done things.

Kundavai's heart skipped a beat as she carefully reached out to grab it. Her fingers trembled a little as she unfolded the paper, and when her eyes scanned the words, her breath caught in her throat.

The note read:

I love you too. I've never been good with words, you know that. But when I saw yours, I couldn't just ignore it. You're not the only one who has a hard time showing how they feel. I guess we're just two stubborn people trying to figure this out. But, just so you know, I'd kiss you right now if I could.

And underneath, he had drawn a smiley face with a wink.

Kundavai's face flushed with warmth, and a wide grin spread across her face. The simplicity of his confession — the fact that it wasn't some grand, poetic statement, but just him — made her feel like she was floating. It wasn't what she had expected. It wasn't the usual arrogance or teasing from him. It was something far more real, something deeper, and something she couldn't help but smile at.

He had admitted it. He was just as bad at this as she was.

But what stood out the most was the line: I'd kiss you right now if I could. That was the Shubman she knew. Bold, confident, but also vulnerable in his own way. She could practically hear his voice saying those words, and the thought made her heart flutter.

She smiled to herself, knowing exactly what he meant. But, as much as she loved the note, she wasn't going to make it that easy for him.

In true Kundavai fashion, she smiled mischievously and folded the note back into a paper airplane.

She sent it back out the window, watching it sail effortlessly in the wind before it landed just a few feet away from him. She quickly shut the window, her lips curling into a smirk.

For once, she felt light, and the tension between them seemed to vanish, replaced with a quiet excitement that neither of them had expected but both had secretly wanted.

It was only a matter of time before their next move. And this time, there was no hesitation.

Kundavai couldn't help the sly smile that tugged at her lips as she read his note again, her heart racing. She knew what she had to do.

Without wasting a second, she grabbed a fresh piece of paper, her handwriting sharp and confident as she wrote:

"I dare you to."

She folded it into a plane, her fingers steady despite the fluttering nerves in her stomach. It wasn't like her to be this bold, but something about the way Shubman had confessed made her want to keep pushing, to test the waters just a little bit more.

She could practically hear him smirking already.

Kundavai opened her window and sent the plane flying, watching it soar effortlessly across the gap between their rooms. It landed with a soft thud near his feet, just out of reach, but she knew he would get it.

Leaning against her window, she watched as he bent down to pick it up, and for a moment, her heart skipped a beat. He unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning the words she had written, and she couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind.

She didn't look away, though. Not this time. She was done second-guessing herself.

After what felt like an eternity, he looked up at her, his gaze locking with hers. His eyes gleamed with mischief, a quiet understanding between them, like they both knew this was far from over.

He smirked. That knowing, confident smirk.

Kundavai's fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the paper plane Shubman had sent back. Her heart hammered in her chest as she read his note:

"Meet me downstairs in 5 minutes. You better be there."

Her stomach flipped. There was no backing out now. No more teasing. No more waiting. He was making it official. She didn't have to read between the lines — the urgency in his words, the subtle challenge in the way he phrased it, it was all clear.

She quickly stood up, her mind racing. She'd never imagined this would happen like this — so sudden, so bold. But it felt right. She grabbed her jacket, trying to compose herself, but the excitement building in her chest made it hard to stay calm.

She looked at herself in the mirror. No time to waste.

Five minutes.

Kundavai didn't think twice. She grabbed the paper airplane and stuffed it into her pocket, already heading downstairs. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked around — no sign of him yet. But she knew he'd be there soon.

And then, just like that, she heard his voice.

"Thought you might chicken out."

She whipped around, her heart skipping a beat. There he was, standing near the hallway, looking just as confident as ever, but with a hint of something softer in his eyes. He wasn't smirking like he usually did. This was different.

Kundavai's pulse quickened. He took a step forward, and before she could react, he was right there, closing the distance between them in a way that made everything feel like it was happening in slow motion.

Without any warning, he pushed her gently against the wall. Her breath caught in her throat as his hand pressed lightly against the wall beside her, trapping her there, just the two of them, no distractions.

The moment stretched out for a heartbeat, just the two of them, locked in a gaze that spoke volumes. Shubman's eyes flickered down to her lips, and for a moment, Kundavai thought her heart might explode. He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin.

And then, with a final, intoxicating moment of anticipation, he kissed her.

It wasn't like any kiss they'd shared before. There was no teasing, no games. It was raw, passionate, and absolutely real. Kundavai's hands instinctively reached up to grab onto his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving with an urgency that matched the pounding of her heart.

When they finally pulled away, they both stood there, breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to regain some sense of control.

Kundavai couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her lips. It was official.

She whispered, her voice barely a breath, "You actually did it."

Shubman's smirk returned, but this time it was softer, more genuine, like he'd just won a battle he hadn't even known he was fighting.

"Of course I did," he whispered back. "You should've known I'd always take the dare."

Kundavai laughed, her heart still racing. There was no going back now. And somehow, for the first time in a long while, she didn't want to.