Lunch bell rang, and the kids rushed out as if it wasn't a school, but a prison.
Each pair of eyes held the sa exhaustion, the sa helplessness—as if even during lunch break, life trailed behind them like a burden.
I was sitting under the gulmohar tree. The tiffin was open, but hunger was wandering sowhere far away. The sight of roti made nauseous. The wind was running its fingers through my hair—and I felt like flying away with it. Anywhere. Just far from here.
"You're not looking at him, but you're definitely thinking about him."
Nami arrived and sat beside without asking for permission. As if she knew—this was the perfect mont to pry.
I turned my head, pretending not to understand.
"What?"
"Aarin," she said his na like she was scratching open sothing buried inside .
"You're ignoring him. But you're doing it so loudly that even if Aarin doesn't notice, the whole universe can hear it."
I tore off a piece of roti and shoved it into my mouth—didn't chew, didn't taste. Just wanted to run away from the question.
"Aira..."
The way she said my na—it felt like a part of had stepped outside and was demanding an answer from the rest of .
I threw the tiffin onto my lap.
"Yes, I'm ignoring him. So what? Isn't that what 'maturity' is? Isn't that what everyone says—'move on', 'don't overthink'?
But there's sothing stuck inside ... like a thorn in my heart. It won't co out, and no one else can see it either."
Nami stayed silent. But even her silence had a kind of rhythm to it, like she was saying—go on, say as much as you want... I'm listening.
"My mind tells to forget him. My heart says no. And ? I'm just a girl stuck between the two—
with dry rotis in her tiffin and damp loneliness in her life."
Nami laughed. But not the kind of laugh you laugh at a joke.
It was the kind that gently places a bandage on your wound.
"Your problem isn't what you should do," she said.
"Your problem is you want everyone to believe you're okay...
even when you're absolutely not."
I looked at her. She had already slipped her hand into mine.
"Look," she said, "if you want to curse him—do it.
If you want to write stories in his na—write them.
If you want to scream and cry—I'll be right there.
No one's coming to hush you."
I took a deep breath.
"Will you really listen to my story? The one with Aarin in it?"
"Yes," she said.
"Even if it's about both of you wanting to die...
or about standing in front of him and not being able to say a single word."
I smiled a little.
"You really are a true friend."
"And you," she said,
"are a truly tornted soul."
The bell rang again. We stood up.
I tied my hair—this ti so tightly, it felt like I was trying to take control of sothing.
We started walking. I tried not to look at Aarin.
Well, okay.
I did glance a little.
But Nami didn't say anything.
Because a true friend is the one who plays along with your lie as if it were the truth.
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