Dev's P.O.V.

The library is bathed in the subtle glow of the table lamps, creating pockets of light in the otherwise quiet space. Raj and Supriya are huddled in one corner, engrossed in creating slides for the upcoming presentation. Their laughter and occasional murmurs add a comforting hum to the air.

I'm seated in the middle, my face pressed against the cool surface of the table, eyes fixed on Raj as he navigates through the slides. His tight-lipped smiles, and occasional glances my way, hint at a silent connection. Aman, on the other side, is lost in his book, mindlessly turning pages, his focus a world away from our small circle.

Supriya rises abruptly, announcing, "I need to go to the washroom."  Raj nods, engrossed in his work. As she leaves, I shift my gaze to the screen, pretending to be interested in the slides. But my mind is elsewhere—caught in the echo of Ajit's silence.

Raj leans on the table, his face nearing mine, eyes locking onto mine. His voice, a soft whisper, cuts through the ambient noise, "Thinking about Ajit?"

I nod, the weight of concern etched on my face. Ajit's silence has been haunting, a heavy presence in the quiet corners of our shared space. I had gone to check on him this morning, finding him either lost in sleep or pretending to be, a silent figure on the other side of the bed. Mom reassured me, asked me not to worry, and promised to take care of Ajit.

Raj's hand finds mine under the table, his fingers intertwining with mine, and he gives a comforting squeeze. Our faces on the table, side by side, gazing into each other's eyes.

"He's really sweet, you know," I begin, a small smile playing on my lips. "Ajit, I mean. Sometimes, it might seem like he doesn't care about serious stuff, always trying to be funny. But that's his way, his unique way of showing he cares, his way of giving comfort."

As I speak, Raj leans in, planting soft kisses on the tip of my nose. I can't help but smile, feeling the warmth of Raj's affection.

"And you know what's funny?" I continue, my gaze shifting back to Raj. "Ajit loves drawing. This library is like his second home. You'll never find him in his classes; he's always here in the corner, drawing things on his textbooks. Sometimes I feel like, he took admission here so that he could get access to this library."

Raj chuckles, his fingers gently playing with my hair, as I continue, "He's so clumsy, you'll always find bruises on his face, and..." My words trail off, the realization hitting me like a sudden storm.

Bruises on his face?

Ajit always had an excuse – falling in the bathroom, colliding with the door or wall. I believed those stories, those fake smiles, and fake explanations. 

A chill runs down my spine as the pieces of the puzzle click into place. Ajit had been silently enduring pain, hiding it behind those stories. How could I have missed it? How could I have believed those tales without questioning, without seeing the truth beneath the surface?

Raj senses the shift in my demeanor, the change in the atmosphere. His fingers caressing my hair come to a gentle halt, replaced by a concerned gaze. "Dev, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice laced with worry.

I take a deep breath, my heart heavy with the weight of realization. "Ajit had been lying for so long about being okay," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Those bruises on his face, the stories he told me... they were all lies. He's been enduring something, hiding it from me, and I believed him."

Raj's hand gently cups my face, his thumb brushing away the stray tears that have welled up in my eyes. "We have no idea about the entire thing, Dev. Don't place blame on him or yourself. Our priority right now is understanding what's weighing on him, and what's keeping him from sharing anything with you. Once we have that clarity, we can figure out how to support him" he reassures me, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and concern.

And I nod. He leans in and gently plants a kiss on my forehead. 

The library's quietude is pierced by the unmistakable squeak of a chair being pushed back. I turn to find Aman rising abruptly, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"You're already leaving?"  I ask, my eyes narrowing as I catch the motion.

Aman doesn't bother to meet my gaze, responding with a silent nod. There's an unspoken tension in the air, prompting me to probe further. "Aman, you okay?" I ask again, my words barely above a gentle whisper.

For a brief moment, it feels like time freezes. Aman's hand, while grabbing his backpack, pauses. Slowly, he turns to finally meet my eyes. My heart clenches at the sight and I freeze – hints of tears glistening behind those glasses. Before I can say anything more, Aman turns away, breaking the fleeting connection, and leaves without uttering a single word.

...

The car door closes with a muted thud, and Driver Uncle begins the process of parking. I make my way to the main door and push it open, the silence inside heavy, accentuated by the evening sun's red rays filtering through the window. My eyes involuntarily shift to the guestroom's door- it's closed.

Entering, the air feels dense, charged with unspoken worry. I find Mom in the kitchen, the sound of her sipping water breaking the stillness. "How's Ajit?" I ask, tapping the countertop, standing near her.

She sighs, lowering the glass, and a tight-lipped smile crosses her face. "Not good," she responds. My heart sinks at her words.

"Did he eat anything?" I inquire, hope glimmering in my eyes. Mom shakes her head again, and then adds, "I made him drink some juice, though." I nod slowly, absorbing the information.

She places the glass on the countertop and takes a step forward, enveloping me in a hug. It hits me then – it's been so long since I've felt the comfort of my mother's embrace. In her embrace, it's as if time folds back, and I'm a child again, wrapped in the cocoon of her love. Despite the inches I've gained in height, the worries of the world take a backseat, and I feel small and protected. I bend, resting my head on her shoulder, taking in the familiar fragrance of her perfume. My head rests on her shoulder, a perfect fit, as if her arms were custom-made to cradle me. The familiar fragrance of her perfume, a blend of warmth and comfort, fills my senses, creating a haven where everything will magically be okay, no matter the weight of the concerns that loom.

"You're worried about him?" she asks, and I nod, the weight of concern settling in my chest.

"You're a good friend," she says, her fingers running through my hair, a soothing gesture that makes my worries momentarily fade away. I muffle my words in her shoulder, not wanting to disrupt the peace of the moment, "He's too."

She separates herself from the embrace, and I already miss the warmth. Taking my face in her hands, she looks at me with a mother's affection and a soft smile graces her lips. "You've grown so much," she remarks, her eyes reflecting love. "I'm proud of you."

She continues to cradle my face in her hands, and her eyes, filled with a mix of love and nostalgia, meet mine. "Seeing Ajit like this... it reminds me of you... how you were a few months back. I was so worried about you," she confesses, her voice carrying a mother's concern. "And now, look at you. You've not only found your place but your happiness too."

A gentle smile plays on her lips as her fingers trace the contours of my face. "You have amazing friends who care about you, who you care about," she adds, her words carrying a sense of pride. "It warms my heart to see the person you've become, Dev. I'm so proud of you."

"I won't lie," she admits, a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. "Seeing you growing up wasn't eas-... Call me selfish, but it felt like I was losing a part of you, my child...who always needed me and now, I just feel like you don't need me anymore,...like-" She bites her lower lip.

I reach for her other hand, holding it gently. "I understand, Mom," I say, offering reassurance. "But trust me, growing up doesn't mean growing apart. I will always need my mom – the mom who understands me without saying a word, who always knows what I need even before I do, and who consistently forgets to knock on my room's door before entering, no matter how many times I tell her not to."

A chuckle escapes her lips, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Mom, I love you," I declare, and she pulls me into another heartfelt hug. 

"I know," Mom whispers, a tender acknowledgment of the bittersweet reality. "But it's not easy to see your little kid who used to run around the house saying 'mummy, mummy' grow up, go outside, and have a boyfriend." She teases gently, probably a playful smile on her lips.

"He's not my boyfriend," I interject, my cheeks flushing slightly.

Mom chuckles within the hug, her laughter a comforting melody. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

... 

Raj's message pops up just as I pull the chair to sit at the dinner table. "Presentation is ready, thanks for your great contribution," he texts. I can't help but chuckle inwardly; he's not wrong – I did next to nothing in this project. Raj and Supriya handled the research, and they practically brought the entire project to life.

"Thank you so much. I'm happy the world is finally recognizing my great contribution," I playfully reply, typing back.

"If you're done flirting, shall we start?" Dad's voice breaks in with a cough, and my eyes widen. I quickly turn off my phone and take my seat. Mom pulls her chair, signaling the beginning of our family meal.

"Ajit?" I finally ask, breaking the silence. Mom and Dad exchange glances, and we all turn to look at the closed door of his room.

"I'll check on him," I announce, rising from my seat. The dinner table is a quiet scene, with the soft glow of the hanging light above casting a warm ambiance. Walking to Ajit's room, I feel a sense of concern settle in my chest. I knock softly on the door, the sound echoing in the hallway. 

After a few seconds, the door creaks open, revealing Ajit standing there. He's attempting a smile, but I can tell it's not his genuine one. My heart clenches at the sight, realizing something is amiss.

"Hey, buddy," I greet, my voice gentle. "You coming for dinner?"

Ajit can't resist breaking the silence. He throws his arm around me, giving a theatrical wink. "Well, well, look who decided to join the land of the living. Missed me?"

I chuckle, appreciating Ajit's attempt to lighten the mood. "Always, babe," I reply, playing along.

Ajit and I stroll towards the dinner table, the atmosphere laden with an unspoken tension. The soft glow of the hanging light above casts a warm hue on our surroundings, but there's an unsettling quietness that permeates the air.

We take our seats, and Ajit strategically positions himself next to me. His usual vibrant energy seems a bit subdued tonight, but he manages to put on a show for the rest of the family.

"Hey, everyone! Missed my sparkling presence?" Ajit announces with a flair that draws a half-hearted smile from everyone.

The table falls into an awkward silence. It's strange seeing Ajit, usually the life of the party, struggling to maintain his usual charisma. He glances at me, and in that moment, I notice the bruises on his beautiful face, on bottom lip,  near left eye, and right above the right cheekbone – a stark contrast to his usual lively and sassy self. The marks are still fresh, dark hues contrasting against his pale skin, and it hits me that it might take weeks for them to fade away.

"So, what's the gossip, honey?" Ajit shoots me a sidelong glance, his lips curving into a teasing smile. It's a familiar move, one that would usually have me bursting into laughter, but tonight, it feels like a fragile attempt to reclaim normalcy.

I play along, attempting to continue the conversation. "Not much, just the usual school project drama. You know how it is." I shoot him a subtle look.

Dad decides to intervene. "Ajit, you can ask about Raj if you want to. Don't hold yourself back," he suggests, attempting to lighten the mood.

I shoot Dad a look, silently pleading with him not to go there. Ajit, quick on his feet, gives me a dramatic gasp. "I didn't know that. Dev, honey, spill the tea."

Mam Can't resist jumping into the mix either, she tosses her hair back sassily. "Yes, sweetheart, tell your best friend about your boyfriend. He's got a right to know."

Ajit gasps theatrically again, playing along with Mom's comment. I feel my cheeks flush, and I can't help but shout, "He's not my boyfriend!"

The tension at the dinner table transforms into amusement.  Ajit gives me a mischievous grin, clearly trying hard to sound normal, "Well, well, isn't this juicy? Spill the details, honey. We're all ears."