Dev's P.O.V.

I wake up with a jolt, my alarm clock flashing a menacing red '7:45 AM.' Panic washes over me, and in my haste, I swing my legs off the bed, narrowly avoiding a headfirst dive. The movie night with my friends had been a blast, but it came at a steep price - a measly four hours of sleep and a pile of unfinished homework that looms over me like a guillotine.

In a flurry of half-conscious movements, I yank my clothes from yesterday off the chair and scramble into them. My hair sticks up in all directions, like a dandelion gone wild. I grab the comb and, in my drowsy state, manage to tangle it into my hair rather than smoothing it down. It's a hilarious sight, even if it's only me who's watching.

I stuff my books into my backpack, not caring if they're organized or not; right now, time is of the essence. My phone's charging cable clings stubbornly to the wall socket. In my haste, I give it a triumphant yank, only to realize it's still attached to my phone. The phone tumbles into a perilous somersault before I catch it, looking more like a circus performer than a device.

Finally, I dash downstairs, the sound of my rushed footsteps reverberating in the empty hallway. My mom is sitting at the dining table, sipping her coffee. She smiles and says, "Good morning, Dev."

I mumble a barely audible "Morning" in response and make a beeline for the fridge. Without even a hint of decorum, I snatch the juice container, pop it open, and gulp it down in one go. The cold, citrusy liquid provides a jolt of much-needed energy, but my mom's gaze is more piercing than the juice's chill.

As I hastily gulp down the orange juice, my mom's eyes bear a curious mixture of concern and curiosity. She starts asking about school, probably trying to check in on me, sensing that something is amiss with my unusual behavior. Her gentle voice breaks through the morning haze, "Dev, how's school going? Is everything okay?"

I shift nervously on my feet, not daring to meet her gaze. My answers come out as monosyllabic, barely coherent mumbles, as if I'm trying to speak a language only known to me. "Uh... school's... fine," I stammer, my thoughts still tangled in the web of my chaotic morning.

In a last-ditch attempt to engage me in conversation, my mom reaches out to touch my arm. I don't pull away, but I'm already on my way out the door, running late. I give her a quick side-hug, the kind that teenage boys use to avoid long conversations. "Later, Mom. I'm already late," I mumble, the words escaping my lips like stones dropped into a bottomless well.

My mom's concerned expression lingers for a moment, but she nods and lets me go, understanding the urgency of my morning rush. As I sprint out the door, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt for not sharing more with her. But right now, my focus is on beating the clock, backpack bouncing as I sprint to the car.

I rush outside and, with an impatient knock on the car's bonnet, I call out, "Rajesh uncle!" He hears me and appears at the gate. His warm smile and friendly demeanor are a stark contrast to my frenzied state. I swing open the car door and slide into the passenger seat, exclaiming, "Hurry up!"

Rajesh uncle starts the car, and I waste no time in grabbing my phone. My fingers dance across the screen as I type a message in the group chat, my frustration clear in the words I choose: "Never a movie night again."

The car comes to a halt just outside the school gates, and I scramble to check the time on my phone. It reads '8:35 AM.' Late. I grab my backpack and hurriedly swing open the car door. My phone is quickly shoved into my pocket, and I'm about to rush off when someone unexpectedly steps into my path.

My momentum carries me forward, and I nearly lose my balance, but then I feel a firm and surprisingly strong grip around me, stopping me from falling flat on my face. I instinctively blurt out, "Shit."

As I regain my balance and stand upright, I notice it's Aman who saved me from an embarrassing tumble. His warm smile meets my gaze, the intensity of his green eyes accentuated by the glasses he wears. For a moment, I find myself locked in his eyes, and there's something about the way he looks at me that's both comforting and intriguing.

I chuckle nervously, my heart still racing from the mad dash this morning. "Well, Aman," I begin, a sheepish grin spreading across my face, "looks like our movie night has turned out to be a bit too great, right? I mean, who needs sleep anyway? It's overrated, I'm telling you."

Aman's eyes twinkle a bit, and he nods in agreement "Yeah, overrated."

I can't help but laugh at his deadpan response. "Late for school, disheveled hair, and a near face-plant right outside the gates. Truly a good morning, good morning by the way."

Aman flashes a small, knowing smile, "Morning."

I give him a mischievous grin. "Aman, are you secretly eighty years old?"

Aman blinks in confusion, clearly not expecting that question. He replies, "I'm seventeen."

I nod as if I've just discovered a profound secret. "Ah, so no arthritis, huh?" I tease, gently holding his arm.

Aman shakes his head, still uncertain about where this conversation is headed.

Without warning, I take off towards the school's main gate, dragging Aman along with me. As we burst through the gate, the cool breeze tickles our faces, carrying the earthy scent of freshly cut grass. The vast, empty schoolyard stretches out before us like an untouched canvas, its silence contrasting sharply with the bustling energy of students in class.

I sprint towards the main building, the rhythmic pounding of my footsteps echoing in the emptiness, still holding onto Aman's arm. The sun's rays cast long, exaggerated shadows, creating an almost surreal atmosphere.

But suddenly, Aman stops in his tracks, his green eyes locking onto something in the distance. Confused and breathless, I turn to look at him, my heart still racing. Aman's gaze is unwavering, fixed on something outside the administrative building, his expression holding a mix of intrigue and curiosity.

My heart quickens as I watch the scene unfold before me. Following Aman's gaze, I spot Raj engaged in a conversation with someone I recognize all too well—his dad, Director Vikrant Mehra. They seem to share a lighthearted moment, his dad even patting Raj's shoulder before heading inside the administrative building. A casual observer might see a father and son exchanging pleasantries, but my gut tells me there's more beneath the surface.

Raj's steps take on a deliberate slowness as he turns to continue his path towards the main building. I can't help but notice the flicker of sadness in his eyes, a fleeting moment concealed behind the mask of indifference he wears so well. Or maybe I'm imagining it, wanting to believe he's affected by my distance. Perhaps, in truth, he's truly indifferent to me now.

However, just as Raj is about to enter the main building, Aman abruptly steps into his path, blocking his way. The tension in the air is palpable, and my heart races in anticipation of what's about to happen.

Raj's usually calm facade falters for a brief moment, and he opens his mouth to say something, his tone laced with a hint of bitterness. "Move aside, Aman. I don't have time for your games."

Aman, however, remains surprisingly composed. His usual few-worded responses are replaced by something sharp and unforgiving. "Games? I don't play them. But You guys seem to excel at that, don't you?"

My eyes widen, and I'm rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away from this unexpected clash. Aman's words hang heavy in the air, the tension between him and Raj escalating. I've never seen Aman like this, and it's not just the words; it's the intensity in his eyes and the underlying anger that sends shivers down my spine.

Raj's expression tightens, his composure cracking further. The facade he wears so well is slipping, revealing the vulnerability beneath. "What's your problem, Aman. You don't know anything about me or my dad, so shut the fuck up."

Aman doesn't back down. Instead, he leans in closer, his voice low and cutting. "Trust me, I know more than you think."

Raj's face flushes with anger, his normally gentle demeanor overtaken by a storm of emotions. I can see his fists clenching at his sides, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Aman, the usually reserved and stoic Aman, tightens his form in response to Raj's growing fury. The tension between them feels like a coiled spring about to snap, and I'm caught in the middle, my heart pounding as I watch this unexpected confrontation unfold.

Raj, fueled by his anger, takes a determined step forward, closing the gap between him and Aman. His eyes are locked onto Aman's with an almost palpable intensity. It's as if Raj is on the verge of saying something he can't take back, and I fear the situation might spiral out of control.

As Aman is about to step ahead, ready to confront Raj head-on, I instinctively step forward. My hand lands on Aman's shoulder, gently but firmly, halting him in his tracks. Aman stops abruptly, and he turns to look at me, our eyes meeting.

In that fleeting instant, as our eyes connect, Aman's expression softens. It's as if the touch of my hand and the shared glance have some kind of effect on him. He slowly lowers his eyes.

My eyes land on my hand and my heart skips a bit, I quickly turn my head to look at Raj. His expression remains unreadable, a mask of mixed emotions, as he observes the scene. His anger seems to ebb slightly, replaced by something I can't quite pinpoint. There's a fleeting hint of sadness in his eyes as he looks at Aman and then shifts his gaze to me.

My heart aches as I meet Raj's gaze. We used to share something special, a connection that ran deep. And now, it's all tangled in this web of confusion and unresolved feelings. His look, laden with that touch of sadness, feels like a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

Without a word, Raj turns abruptly to head inside the main building.

In that moment, as I stand there in the morning sun, watching Raj's retreating figure, a myriad of emotions crashes over me like an unstoppable wave.

I'm not even sure if those fleeting glances of longing in Raj's eyes are real, or if I've become so desperate for a sign of his affection that I'm creating a mirage by my desperate longing. It's a tormenting uncertainty, and it claws at my insides.

As Raj turns before entering the building, his eyes briefly locking with mine, my heart aches with pain so profound it's almost physical. It's as if my heartstrings are being pulled and stretched to their limit. His sudden departure is like a blade slicing through the silence, and it tears at me.

Should I follow him? Should I reach out, hold his hand, and attempt to convey what I couldn't put into words before? But what do I even have left to say? Have I pushed him too far away? Is he still willing to listen to me, to understand the turmoil that's been raging inside me?

All these thoughts swirl in my mind, a tempest of doubts and longing. At this moment, the air is thick with unspoken words, and the painful silence of a connection strained to its breaking point. The desire to bridge the gap, to make things right with Raj, is overwhelming, but I'm paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of losing the one person who means the world to me... the one person perhaps I've already lost.

Turning to Aman, a pang of curiosity mixed with concern sweeps over me. What just happened between him and Raj? But as I part my lips to inquire, I find Aman's unwavering gaze fixed firmly on the ground, his silence, a profound statement in itself. These past months have taught me that there are certain things Aman prefers not to discuss, and this seems to be one of those moments.

Sighing, I realize it's not the right time to press for answers. Aman guards his emotions and thoughts with purpose. Instead, I place a comforting hand on his shoulder, silently conveying my support. "Let's go inside," I suggest, my voice gentle yet resolute. "We're already quite late, and I'd rather not miss any more than we already have."

Aman nods in response, and together, we proceed toward the school's main building. The weight of unspoken words lingers in the air, a stark reminder of the intricate web of emotions surrounding us. We each carry our own battles and secrets.

...

Yawning, I zip up my backpack, the weight of exhaustion making my eyelids droop. The last class has mercifully ended, but I've never felt this drained before. I stifle another yawn and rub my eyes, desperately trying to wake up. Even though the last class has ended, It's Saturday, which means, there's no respite just yet – it's time for my music lesson after school, and the exhaustion I'm feeling is nothing short of epic. I rub my eyes in a futile attempt to ward off the sleepiness that threatens to consume me.

Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I turn to look at Aman, who, inexplicably, appears as fresh as a daisy. I can't help but jest, trying to inject a bit of humor into my fatigue. "Where do you bring so much energy from? Seriously, if you could package and sell it, you'd be a millionaire. As for me, just show me a bed, and I can fall asleep right here."

Aman's response is a simple, serene smile. Not a hint of tiredness in him. We leave the classroom behind, the end of the school day finally within reach.

With each step, another yawn escapes, accompanied by a groan of pure exhaustion. "I've got a music lesson now, but all I really want is to crawl into bed."

Aman's calm, collected voice brings me back to reality. "Chemistry assignment too," he reminds me.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. "Can't we do it tomorrow?" I plead.

Aman shakes his head, unwavering in his commitment. "It's a lot."

Reluctantly, I nod, understanding.

Before entering the music room, I turn to Aman and offer a tired but sincere smile. "See you in the library," I say, my voice tired as hell. Aman nods, his calm and collected demeanor unwavering as he replies, "Okay."

I push open the door to the music room, and the familiar scent of polished wood and the soft hum of musical instruments welcome me. Inside, I find my music tutor, Nitin, my music tutor. He's five years older than me, with a smile that always seems to light up the room. Nitin has been a finalist on a reality show and even sang for few TV shows, but now he runs a music academy in Katoka.

As I step into the room, Nitin greets me with a warm smile that instantly puts me at ease. "Dev, good to see you," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

I return his smile, relieved that his presence doesn't make me as anxious as it used to. "Hey, Nitin. I've been practicing that song we've been working on."

Nitin's eyes sparkle with genuine interest as he adjusts his guitar. "That's great to hear, Dev. Have you written any other songs lately?"

I hesitate for a moment, then nod. "Yeah, actually, I've been working on something new. It's... a bit different from the others, though."

We settle into our usual spots, and I pick up my guitar, fingers trembling slightly as I begin to play. The melody is sad and touchy, like the emotions that have been swirling inside me lately. Nitin listens intently, his fingers tapping softly on the body of his guitar, following the rhythm.

Oh, I'm singing this song, a melody of regret,

For the love we used to share, that I foolishly forget.

I'm sorry for the tears, for the distance that's grown,

Now we're just two strangers, and I'm on my own.

When I finish, I look at Nitin, searching for any sign of his thoughts. He blinks, clearly taken aback. "That's... amazing. It's so full of emotion. Have you thought about performing it?"

I hesitate once more, my heart feeling heavy. "I'm not sure, Nitin. It's... personal. I don't know if I'm ready to share it with everyone."

Nitin leans in closer, his eyes kind and understanding. "Dev, I get it. Sometimes, the most personal songs are the ones that touch people the most. Take your time, but don't be afraid to share your emotions through your music. It can be healing for both you and your audience."

His words resonate with me, and I nod, a sense of gratitude washing over me. His warm smile remains unwavering as he continues to strum his guitar thoughtfully. "I'm really glad you trust me enough to share this song with me. It's a beautiful piece, and I can see the emotions you're pouring into it."

I take a deep breath, feeling more comfortable discussing my music with him. "Thanks, Nitin. It's just... I'm not sure how others will react. What if they don't understand what I'm trying to say?"

Nitin leans forward, his eyes locking onto mine. "Dev, music is a universal language. People may interpret your song in their own ways, but that's what makes it so powerful. The most important thing is that you're expressing yourself honestly. That's what connects with others on a profound level."

I nod, touched by his words. "I guess I just need to find the courage to share it eventually."

Nitin pats my shoulder in a friendly, reassuring manner. "You'll find that courage, Dev. Music has a way of bringing people together, and I believe your songs have the potential to touch many hearts."

Nitin leans forward, his eyes locking onto mine, a distant look in his eyes. "You know, Dev, I remember when I wrote my first song. It was a deeply personal piece, just like this one of yours. I was supposed to perform it in front of an audience, and I was so nervous. I had this fear that people wouldn't connect with it, that they might not even care."

He pauses for a moment, reminiscing. "But when I got on that stage and started playing, something magical happened. As I sang my heart out, I realized that the emotions I poured into the song were being felt by the audience. They didn't need to understand every word; they felt the music, and it resonated with them."

Nitin's voice grows even softer, filled with wisdom. "Dev, music has a way of transcending words and explanations. Your song is a piece of your soul, and when you share it honestly, it has the power to touch people in ways you can't even imagine. So, don't worry about whether they understand every nuance. Focus on sharing your truth, and you'll find that your music will connect with those who need it the most."

I nod, deeply moved by Nitin's words. "Thanks"

...

I step out of the music room, my heart still echoing with the melodies of the song I've just practiced.

Turning the corner, I spot a group of students laughing and chatting near the end of the hallway. They seem carefree, and then, there he is, Raj, walking out of a classroom.

My heart races at the sight of him. He's the Prefect, always responsible and kind. I remember that he has been instructed to organize peer support groups and study sessions for students in need, and probably it was one of those.

Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and I see something in his gaze – disappointment, maybe even hurt. Without a word, Raj swiftly turns and changes his route, as if avoiding me. It feels like a physical blow, the realization that my actions have pushed him away.

I stand there, watching him walk in the opposite direction, a lump forming in my throat.

As I inhale deeply, a sense of unwavering determination washes over me. I'm ready to seek the answer I desperately need, even if I'm unsure whether I'll find that or if it's still worth pursuing.

"Raj," I call his name, and as the word leaves my tongue, it tastes bittersweet. It's been so many days since I've said it with the true affection and longing that I feel.

Raj's steps come to a halt, but he doesn't turn to face me. The tension between us is palpable, like an invisible barrier that I desperately want to break through.