"Okay, let's go, guys," Supriya says with forced cheerfulness, her eyes flickering between Raj and me.

The silence is palpable, a heavy fog that wraps around us, isolating us from the lively hum of other students already engaged in their explorations. I steal a glance at Raj. He is walking toward us, his eyes a mix of emotions that mirror my own internal turmoil.

We start walking, the crunch of gravel beneath our shoes punctuating the silence. The silence between us, once a comfortable refuge, now feels like an insurmountable chasm. I steal a glance at him, our eyes briefly locking before I turn away, unable to bear the intensity of them which once used to be my warm refuge. I miss the easy conversation, the unspoken understanding that characterized our interactions.

Supriya, sensing the need to bridge the gap, makes an attempt to break the ice. "Hey, guys, check out this plant! Do either of you know what it's called?" she exclaims, gesturing toward a particularly exotic-looking specimen.

Raj takes the bait. "Oh, that's a rare Orchidaceae. It's known for its unique color variations and intricate patterns," he explains, his eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the subject at hand.

The silence wraps around us once more, tightening its grip as we navigate the winding paths of the botanical garden. Supriya, sensing the need to diffuse the tension, tries to break the ice again.

"So, Dev, what have you been up to lately?" she asks, her voice carrying a gentle undertone of encouragement.

I shift uncomfortably, the weight of the question settling on my shoulders. "Oh, you know, just focusing on school and... stuff," I mumble, my eyes avoiding Raj's gaze.

The awkward silence returns, wrapping around us like a suffocating cocoon. Supriya glances between us, her efforts to bridge the gap falling short.

Suddenly, a lively group of students passes by, and Supriya's eyes light up. She waves at them, and they stop in their tracks. Supriya turns to Raj and me, a hopeful expression on her face.

"Hey, I know those guys. Do you mind if I join them for a bit? We can work on the project later. Just message me," she suggests, a genuine smile playing on her lips.

Raj and I exchange glances and then nod in unison. Supriya gives us a grateful smile before walking over to join the animated group, their laughter and chatter blending with the botanical garden's natural symphony.

Left standing alone, Raj and I find ourselves amid an unspoken symphony of discomfort. Raj, his hands fidgeting in his pockets, avoids meeting my gaze. His eyes wander, fixating on the vibrant petals of a nearby flower, on anything but the awkwardness hanging between us.

I shift uncomfortably, a silent acknowledgment of the invisible barrier that has grown between us. My eyes flit around, searching for a distraction, for a way to break the stifling silence. Raj starts to walk, and I follow suit.

Raj continues to avoid my eyes, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. I catch a glimpse of his hand in his pocket, fingers subtly grasping for something to anchor himself. Suddenly, Raj clears his throat, a subtle yet significant interruption in the rhythm of our discomfort.

"If you want," he begins, his voice carrying a hint of resignation, "you can go and join your friend."

The bitterness in his tone, especially when he utters the word 'friend,' doesn't escape me. It hangs in the air like an unspoken accusation. I feel the weight of his words, the silent plea for me to leave.

I muster a response, "No, I'm good. I guess I'm with my friend." I force a laugh, a feeble attempt to dissolve the tension, but it falls flat. Raj remains stoic, his gaze fixed on some distant point.

"Stupid," I curse myself.

I steal a glance at Raj, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of his familiar face. It's been months, but his features remain etched in my memory, each detail as vivid as the last time I saw him. His soft skin, the warmth of those green eyes that once held a universe of understanding, the curve of his lips that used to trace delicate patterns of comfort on my skin.

The fragrance of his presence, the memory of it, lingers in the air, tightening my chest. His shoulders, strong and reassuring, now seem distant, I remember the comfort of resting against those arms, the safety they provided in moments of vulnerability. My thoughts betray me as I remember the delicate touch of his fingers, once tenderly caressing my skin. His fingers, which once traced gentle patterns on my skin, linger in the recesses of my memory, leaving a trail of longing in their wake. 

Raj's sudden halt catches me off guard, and my steps falter in tandem with his. I watch as he licks his bottom lip nervously, and my heart quickens its pace. His eyes avoid mine, and I follow his gaze down to his shoes as if the answers he seeks lie in the worn-out soles. A deep breath escapes him, a visible sign of the internal struggle that mirrors my own. 

"I'm sorry about the last time," he begins, his hands fidgeting, uncertain whether to stay nestled in his pockets or face the open air.

"I've no right to say whatever I had said," he exhales, and I catch a glimpse of the turmoil etched across his face. His hands emerge from his pockets, a hesitant movement that reflects the vulnerability beneath his composed exterior. "I shouldn't have called you selfish," he confesses.

I'm taken aback by Raj's sudden honesty, his admission cutting through the lingering tension. My heart skips a beat as his words hang in the air, a delicate balance between regret and unresolved hurt. 

"It's okay," I manage to say, though the words feel inadequate in the face of the emotions swirling between us. "I understand where you're coming from. My actions were selfish."

But even as I say it, I'm acutely aware of the unspoken weight, the hurt that Raj carries beneath his apology. I can sense the resentment that simmers beneath his surface. His eyes, avoiding mine, betray the lingering traces of anger and pain. 

I know my actions were selfish, a betrayal of the unwavering support Raj had offered me. He had been there through thick and thin, understanding me in ways that words could never capture. And all he asked for in return was a fragment of the affection he had generously given. My fear, my struggle with self-acceptance, didn't justify the pain I caused him.

I clear my throat, the tension in the air palpable, as I summon the courage to break the silence that has lingered between us for far too long. "Now that we're talking again," I begin, my voice a hesitant murmur, "I want to apologize for what I did, Raj."

I take a step closer, yearning for a connection that has been strained by my own actions. Raj's gaze remains fixed on his shoes, a barrier I hope to dismantle with my words.

"I know what I did was... was..." I falter, unable to find the right words to articulate the weight of my own shortcomings.

Raj, breaking the silence with an unexpected interjection, cuts through the uncertainty. "Was right," he states, his eyes finally lifting to meet mine. The intensity of his gaze catches me off guard, and my heart skips a beat. There's a mixture of hurt and resentment in his eyes, a reflection of the wounds that still fester beneath the surface. His gaze is too intense for me to hold, and I find myself lowering my eyes.

"You just answered me what I asked," he says, a hint of frustration lacing his words. "You just said what you felt like. You just told me that we were just friends, what's wrong in that, Dev?"

My chest tightens, and guilt grips me. A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard, trying to alleviate the pressure that builds with every word Raj utters. Raj takes a step forward, closing the distance between us to just a few inches. His words continue to cut through the air, each sentence he utters strikes me like a thunderbolt burning every inch of skin. 

"It was me who was stupid," he says, his voice carrying the weight of self-blame. "Who thought our friendship was something more than that... but we were just friends, right, Dev?" His eyes search mine, seeking confirmation, but the hurt in his gaze only deepens.

"And I was so annoying, so clingy, so unbearable," he continues, his voice filled with frustration and self-loathing. "That one day you decided to distance yourself, stopped receiving calls, my stupid hundreds of messages, and my existence in general."

"I kept wondering what I did wrong," he admits, his voice tinged with a sense of loss. "Why you, of all people, chose to shut me out? Was I too much? Too clingy, too present, too suffocating Demanding more than you were willing to give?"

Raj sawllows hard and a sigh escapes his lips as he scans my face for a few seconds before speaking, "I thought we shared something real, something beautiful that didn't any label to make it official, but maybe I was just fooling myself."

Raj's frustration spills over, his emotions raw and unfiltered. "You know, I hated myself for not being able to let go. I hated that every unanswered call, every ignored message, chipped away at my self-worth. And yet, I clung to the hope that you'd come back, that we could go back to the way things were."

A bitter laugh escapes him, a sound laced with bitterness and disappointment. "But now, you've said sorry so that means everything is magically alright."

My voice feels trapped in the shadows of my throat, as if every word I want to say is entangled in a web of emotions, unable to find its way out. I want to speak, to explain, to apologize, but nothing feels enough at this moment.

I see him standing there, vulnerable and hurt, his words slicing through the air like a relentless storm. Each syllable is a reminder of the cracks I've inflicted on his soul. The person before me isn't the Raj I used to know, the one who tried so hard to shape me, to mend the broken fragments of my identity.

I've shattered him. I broke the person who was trying so hard to build me. The realization hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I knew I hurt Raj; I understood the betrayal I committed. But hearing it in his words, witnessing the extent of the damage I've caused, is unbearable. 

My strength betrays me, and my eyes betray my efforts to hold back the tears threatening to spill. I want to reach out, to mend what's broken, but the words refuse to form. Every ounce of guilt weighs me down, chaining my limbs and restricting the flow of my voice. I want to scream, to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but my voice remains elusive, lost in the labyrinth of my own regrets.

Raj deserves better than the selfish choices I made. He deserves better than the pain I inflicted upon him. He deserves someone better than me, someone who won't let fear dictate their decisions and damage the bonds they hold dear. Someone better than a person whose insecurities held them back, someone who can reciprocate the genuine care and understanding he showers upon others. 

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the quiet, shattering the fragile stillness. "Dev, you okay?" Aman's voice, steady and measured, reaches my ears, and I turn to see him standing a few steps away, positioned at the turn of another plant lane. His gaze shifts between Raj and me, a subtle tension in his posture.

Raj, noticing Aman's arrival, tilts his head to look at him, and Aman takes a step back. The two of them lock eyes for a few seconds, their expressions inscrutable, before Aman breaks the silent standoff. He walks up to me, his eyes never leaving Raj's, stops near me, almost creating a divide between Raj and me. Aman turns his attention to me, his gaze scanning my face through the lenses of his glasses. Softly, almost in a whisper, he asks, "You okay?" I can only manage a nod in response; words escape me in my current state.

Unsatisfied with my silent reply, Aman turns back to Raj, and I can sense the shift in their demeanor. The air crackles with unspoken tension as I observe the shift in their demeanor. Fists clench, jaws tighten, and eyes burn with an intensity that needs no words. It's a conversation they either don't need words for or don't want me to hear. I feel like an outsider, witnessing a clash of emotions that I have inadvertently set into motion.

"Aman," I whisper, my hand finding its way to his shoulder. Raj's eyes fall on the spot where my hand rests on Aman, and then they lift to meet mine. I catch a glimpse of the pain hidden in the depths of those green eyes.

And in that moment, I sense the silent departure in his eyes. Silently, without uttering a word, he retreats, leaving us standing there in the aftermath of unspoken tensions. And I see the distance between us widening with every step he takes away from me, in a direction that ultimately doesn't matter because whatever the direction he's chosen, at the end of the day, I know I am not allowed to take that journey with him.