-• rumours •-

"He looks different, doesn't he?"

"Must be the plastic surgery."

"He had a plastic surgery!?"

"Lots of it. His face looks different, can't you tell?"

"Underaged drunk driving, a life threatening accident and still perfect as ever. Good day to be rich and royal, I guess."

"I heard they blamed it on his driver and compensated the man's family for it."

"Honestly, I'm not even surprised at this point."

"He looks aloof."

"The last time he passed me in the hallway, he didn't recognise me."

"No way! He doesn't remember anything?"

"Feels like it."

All sort of rumours spread in the school like a wildfire. I won't blame the loudmouths. I'm as curious as them, so I feed on every new piece information or misinformation shared about him among the students. If it suffixed with his name, it's latched onto by everyone.

Everything about him seems different. His looks hasn't changed much, neither has his built, but even a blind person can tell the difference between the old him and the new him. As if he has shed off the cape of immaturity from his shoulders, it neither reflects in his actions nor in the way he carries himself.

I don't even know whether the rumours about him are true or not, or if they are just as baseless as their source. But the way he has been acting around lately, there has to be some sincerity to them.

I'm neither being entitled nor do I have any interest in the guy, but considering the things I've heard him speak about me before his accident, he hasn't even glanced at me after that night of the blue moon. As if it was just a phase he is over with.

For some reason, it unsettles me. Not him losing his interest in me so quick, but the probability of it being because of the accident. Or is it one of the side effects of the injection I gave him that morning? If that's the case, then is it really true that he has lost his memory? I don't know whether to feel guilty about it, pity him, or enraged for being used like a tool by the mystery man.

Since Shourya is around most of the time of the day, pity and guilt wins.

I've never been in his shoes to know how it feels to lose your memory. But after watching countless movies and shows around the topic, I get the memo. It definitely must not be not a walk in the park.

How would you feel to wake up not knowing who you are, your name, all while being surrounded by strangers and their neverending concern for you?

It's like you exist for everyone but you.

Living is all about finding yourself. But you cannot do that as long as you've everyone but you helping you do that. It's like being lost in your childhood hometown. You know you've been here before, but you can't remember anything about it anymore. Not the faces, the streets, or the roadsigns.

I've never once felt pity for anyone before. For me, I was the most pitiful person to exist. Being raised in a poverty, with a sick mother and no father, having barely any food to eat at the end of the day, it felt like I was struck by the misery by all the Gods.

I had a prejudice no one else can have it worse than me.

But seeing him now, as he sits on the last bench like an abandoned puppy, with a face void of emotions, I feel like going out of my comfort zone just to comfort him.

I never imagined him all of people to evoke a sense of pity in me for himself. Disgust? Probably. Pity? Never in a million years.

Perhaps, it is why we call the unseen uncertain. I predicted our current circumstances wrong, because the reality is starkly opposite to what I imagined.

A tired breath leaves my mouth. I've rarely had a moment of utter peace from the time I've come here. Life here seems no less than a badly written movie. As if it's being considered and played just for the sake of the plot twists. For a person like me, such movies are one time watchable, yet here I am, living through it once, regretting it already but also afraid of it ending someday. I guess it's one of the reasons why I'm bored already.

"Shourya," the teacher calls out and I lift my head, my eyes flickering from him to Miss. Jasmine frequently. "You've resumed school quiet late. The finals are around the corner. Do you think you need extra help with studies?"

His long fingers stop tapping on the desk, light brown eyes holding up the stare with our class teacher. "Would that be inconvenient?"

"Not at all. Taranya here is already receiving all the help she can get," she suddenly mentions me, making the hair on my back stand straight. I look at Shourya but he doesn't even spare me a glance. "If you are interested, we can squeeze you in with her."

"Thank you," that's all he offers in a response before redirecting his attention back outside the window.

I sigh and look down at the open notebook in front of me.

The school ends at three thirty. I shove my things inside the backpack and swing it on my shoulders. Ayush waits for me outside the classroom, willing to escort me to the library as it falls on his way to the chess club.

"Do you have more competitions coming up?" I ask him in an attempt to make a small talk.

"Nope. Boards are close. I just study there. The space there feels mine, it helps me concentrate." He shoots me a small smile.

I hum, sliding my thumb under the strap of my backpack. We stop at the entrance of the library.

"I'll see you at six," he turns to leave.

"Ayush," he stops at my call and turns to face me. "I don't want Agastya to find out about this."

He pockets his hands and sways on the balls of his feet. "You mean, about you and Shourya attending the extra classes together?"

"Yup," goes my reply. "He'll cause a scene over it. I feel like Shourya could care less if I'm in the same room as him."

He hums. "I feel it too. Much like, he has his own mess to handle to bother about anything else."

"That's what I'm saying." I nod. "It's better if we don't poke at the matters that aren't significant anymore."

"Alright, I'll keep it a secret from Bhai."

"Let Arush share the same perspective as us."

He smirks. "Are you asking me to be your lawyer in front of one person I'd rather not bother to argue with?"

I lean in to hold his forearm. "Please. For me." My eyes squint in a plea.

He snorts, but can't resist a chuckle at my antics. "Fine. Don't act cute. It reminds me of the time I had to share a womb with that loser." His nose scrunches in disgust.

I don't know whether to gasp or chuckle. "What!?"

"I'm sure he got his way by acting all cute in front of me," he nods at his ridiculous theory.

"He's not even cute," I scowl.

"Exactly." He shrugs and walks away.

I feel lost.

But then I give up trying to understand his words and head inside the library. Upon entering the room, I find myself alone. I drop the backpack on my usual chair and walk up to the window to pass my time by looking at my boyfriend.

Atharva is all geared up in his baseball outfit and cap, focusing on the game like his life depends on it. A flurry of rage goes through me as I remember the words spoken by Anagha this afternoon during lunch.

"What do you mean he won't be selected? He plays just as good as Agastya."

"He can't speak, Tara."

"And that's their reason!?"

"That's enough reason."

I guess many pitiful individuals other than me exist in this world. But I know the last thing Atharva want from me is pity. I did my best to stay cheerful in front of him, despite my heart breaking everytime he forced a smile at me. He's not very good at masking his emotions. Must be because he can't voice them out anymore so he shows them openly. If I was in his place, I'd have too many things to resent.

I realised it very early that life doesn't have to be fair even if you are towards everything life has offered to you. Sad really, all we do is try our best to not fail in life, while the same life finds new ways to test us over and over again.

So many things would have been different if everything had gone according to our will. I would have been back in London, happy with my mother. Atharva probably would have never lost his voice. Agastya would have had a complete family like he always wished for.

But if we had the liberty to live it as we desired, would it even have a meaning? Because if life really proceeded our way, Dad and Mom would have been together because that's what they wanted. But then what about Nandini? Didn't she want to be with Dad too? It's inevitable to not be disappointed with life once in a while, but I guess it's also important to be disappointed with life once in a while. It makes us value what matters the most. Like the memories of my mother, my moments with my new family, Atharva's unintended but cherished silence, my unexpected but first romantic relationship, and-

"Me?"

I startle. "Huh?" The response escapes without my permission, making me sound clueless as I spin on my heels to face the intruder.

"I asked whether you'll be sharing this hour with me?" Shourya asks, his light brown eyes strangely undermining his ethereal features.

"Uh, yeah, unless you're here for anything that's not algebra." I reply.

He walks in and drops his backpack on the desk, occupying the chair beside mine. I watch him remove his cell phone before he busies himself in the world of social media.

Typically, accidents enfeeble one's physical and mental strength. But looking at Shourya, everything seems to be opposite in his case. His voice has gone down a notch, more deeper than before, erasing the squeaky hint it had when he spoke to me during the party. His emotions are hard to discern, he looks in control of what he shows to the world. Which is barely anything. And then his eyes, eerie in appearance, like how you see sun and moon at the same time. You know it's natural, but it's still strange. For in your mind, moon belongs to the night.

"Are you fine?" I ask softly, out of guilt brewing within me for what I did to him during my stay at the Rajawat Estate.

He stops chewing on the gum to channel all his attention towards me. I become alerted. A simple yes would have been fine.

"Do I not look fine?" He counters.

"No, you do."

"It doesn't matter as long as I look fine." He shrugs, shifting his eyes back to the glowing screen.

I frown.

What does he mean?

That he looks fine but doesn't feel fine?

Or he looks fine because he feels fine?

Or- I shake my head. Too many theories for something that has nothing to do with me.

The door opens, thankfully saving me from the discomfort of trying to make a small talk. I greet the teacher and take my seat beside Shourya, his presence palpable through his body heat, the way he breathes, and the rustling of his clothes whenever he moves.

We take out our Algebra books and get down to study. Unlike me, Shourya doesn't struggle at all. He sails through the sums like a pro mathematician.

"Tara, you'll have to focus a lot on factorisation, okay?" Mr. Qureshi says to me.

I nod, embarrassed for having each example wrong despite the countless explanations. I can solve the problem as long as it mirrors the one Mr. Qureshi has solved previously, but the moment a fraction replaces a decimal, or root barges in, I'm blank like a clean slate.

"And don't use pen. Use pencil for roughwork so you can reuse the pages." He advises.

I open my case to look for a pencil before remembering I lent it to Arush this morning and he didn't return it to me. Neither would he ever. I don't even know what he comes to school for. He never fills his backpack as per the schedule, barely carries stationery, and is always reprimanded by the teachers because of his nonchalant attitude towards school. Honestly, more than me and Shourya, Arush is in desperate need of some extra help.

I breathe out awkwardly and turn to Shourya. "Do you happen to carry an extra pencil?" I ask in a whisper.

He grabs one from his case and hands it to me. "Thank you," I take it with both hands to show my gratitude.

Mr. Qureshi goes through another set of examples to explain factorisation to me while Shourya moves to the next lesson. He doesn't ask for the teacher's help even once. I wonder if he's here because he's just humble or if he honestly has no idea know that he's naturally smart.

"Tara, focus here,"

I blink out of the thoughts and whisper an apology as I refocus my attention. Mr. Qureshi sighs in exasperation, causing me to bite my lower lip out of anxiety and humiliation. I'm really out of it today.

He goes over the same problem twice for my sake.

At the end of the lecture, he asks me on my progress of the fifty questions. "I'm almost done. I'll hand over the notebook by next week."

Mr. Qureshi nods. "Your attention was somewhere else today. Already making plans for your birthday?" He teases.

I chuckle sheepishly. "No, that's not it. Sorry again."

He dismisses the apology with a shake of his head. "See you tomorrow." And leaves with his stuff.

I clutch the pencil tightly in my hand, wondering if I can keep it to myself. I really need it. I've exhausted my pencil box by handing them out to my useless brothers and a few of my classmates. I don't have money on me to buy a new pencil and troubling Vivaan for something so insignificant sounds silly.

I shift my gaze to Shourya who's busy packing his own stuff.

"You want the pencil back?" I ask hesitantly.

He stops and turns his head, angled brows pull together. "No. I buy pencils to give them away. It's my hobby." Sarcasm shines through his words.

"I- I mean, I need it. So if you have an extra -"

"Keep it." He swings the backpack over his shoulder and saunters out of the room.

I look down at the pencil. Was it worth the embarrassment? Then I remember how smoothly it glided across the pages of my notebook. Definitely worth it.

Putting the pencil in my case, I clasp it shut and throw it in my backpack along with the rest of the books. Slinging the strap on my shoulder, I push the chair back and exit the room.

On my way out, a ball of crushed paper hits me on the head. I bent to pick it up. Looking around, I find the culprit beckoning me inside the third row of shelves, his sparkly copper eyes brimming with excitement. I chuckle and stuff the paper in the bottle holder before jogging up to him.

His arms go around me instantly, and I reach on my tip toes to lock my hands around his neck. "I saw you playing on the field. You looked handsome." My smile stretches wide.

He raises a thick brow, as though asking me, did I?

I nod. "Did you miss me? Lately, we didn't get the chance to meet privately." I purse my lips in disappointment.

His lips thin and he sighs, fishing out his phone to type his response.

"I did. A lot. That's why I came here right after the shower,"

I grin upon reading the reply. "Oh, did you?" I ruffle his wet hair and the water from the tips sprinkles on me. We both laugh softly.

"Silence!" The librarian issues out in a warning.

I quickly place my finger on my lips, silencing myself in case I get us busted. He drags me to the extreme corner, away from any accidental eyes or ears.

"My birthday is coming up. I don't know what Bhai has decided, but if they want to throw a party, attend the function with your family, okay?" I basically order him. "I won't cut the cake if I don't see you among the guests,"

He mocks my words.

"I'm being sincere. Try me if you want." I warn.

He pulls me closer, his lips a few inches away from my ear. "As you wish, your highness."

I slap his chest when blush engulfs me like summer heat. To hide myself, I bury my face in the nook of his neck. His chuckle reverberates through his chest and he rubs my arm fondly.

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. I pull away and fish it out. Agastya's name flashes on the screen.

"I've to go. Agastya will kill me if I ignored any more of his calls." I push away from his proximity. "See you, bye," I peck him on the cheek and exit with a wave thrown over my shoulder.

The drive back home is spent listening to the loud metal music that almost makes my ear bleed. Upon reaching palace, I throw my side of the door open and head inside. Until the time for dinner, I focus on finishing the last bits of my maths assignment.

A maid comes at sharp seven thirty to escort me to the dining hall.

Dad pulls the chair for me and I settle down, flipping over the plate as I greet everyone in the room. The tense silence says it all. I glance at Agastya to find him chew a breadstick. When our eyes meet, I cock a brow in question of the current atmosphere. He shrugs.

"It's 29th of January today," Yuvraaj begins and I quickly look at him. We all do. "Taranya's birthday is on second of February. I've already asked my secretary to send out the invitations so prepare yourself for another public appearance."

My gaze switches to Agastya and I find him stiff in his seat.

"Yuvraaj, may I suggest something?" To my surprise, Dad is the one to break the tense silence. Yuvraaj shifts his dark onyx eyes to our father. "To respect everyone's sentiment present in this room, why don't we celebrate Taranya's birthday a day after or a day before. According to your convenience?"

"Taranya," Yurvaaj calls out and I look up at him. "When was the last time you celebrated your birthday like it was a noteworthy event?"

I backtrack into my memories of the last sixteen years and end up with the pathetic attempts of Janet trying to make me feel better by buying me cupcakes in our local bakeries. Mom was too busy to make time for me or even remember the date of the month. And I never had any friends except for Janet who diligently remembered the day I was born to wish me or get me a gift. I think the last time I had a cake on my birthday was when I turned twelve.

"Never," I whisper.

Maybe because it was never a noteworthy event.

"Does that answer your question?" He looks at Dad. "Living matters more than the dead. Especially if the dead is barely even remembered. If anyone in this room has a problem with me celebrating my sister's birthday, you're allowed to stay in your room and mourn your loss. It doesn't matter as long as you step out for one family picture to circulate within the public." He states firmly before focusing on his dinner.

"Be honest, Bhai," Agastya finally looks up. "Do you want to celebrate her birthday because you're glad she exists or just to put on a show for the public that we're a perfect family?"

"Instead of questioning my sincerity as a brother, why don't you do a better job at it and figure out who your priority is." He retorts, throwing me a glance before his gaze zeroes back on him.

Agastya falls quiet hearing the remark.

Yuvraaj sighs, shaking his head as he leans in to pick up another roti from the casserole. "Taranya,"

I hum in response.

"Come up with a theme for you party."

"Theme?" I frown.

"Yes," he answers. "A theme."

Shourya is finally back! But something seems different about him. What do you think?

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.