Days had passed, but Aarav was still drowning in silence.
He'd stare at his phone for hours—hoping, waiting—only to toss it aside when no message came.
He didn't know what hurt more: the guilt or the emptiness.
Nitya tried. Every day.
"Come on, Aarav," she said, placing a snack on his desk. "At least eat something."
He didn't even glance at her.
> "I'm tired," he murmured, the same answer as always.
But tired wasn't the word.
He was haunted.
By her silence. Her absence. Her eyes when she walked away that day.
Karan called him one evening, voice loud with frustration.
> "Bro, enough. You screwed up, yeah. But Anaya's not the type to hold grudges forever. Talk to her. She'll come around."
Aarav just sighed.
But part of him still held on to those words like a rope in a storm: She'll come around.
In a different world—Anaya's world—things looked a little brighter.
Not perfect. Not painless.
But… healing.
The basketball court had become her sanctuary.
Each dribble was like breathing again.
And though she still wore her scars like invisible ink, she was slowly learning to live with them.
That night, she came back to her dorm late. Hair damp with sweat, eyes tired, heart steady.
Anna looked up from her laptop. "Late again?"
Anaya flopped onto the bed. "I was at the court. Needed it."
Anna asked her why you look frustrated?9
"You have no idea," Anaya muttered. "That guy… Ishaan. He's so annoying. Thinks he's some basketball god."
Anna smirked. "Ishaan?"
"Yeah. Keeps calling me ghost girl. Thinks he's funny."
Anna raised a brow. "Ishaan Roy? Tall? Lean? Looks like trouble but walks like he owns the court?"
Anaya blinked. "You know him?"
"Of course! He was in my class back in school. Quiet, polite… definitely not how you're describing him."
"He's not quiet now," Anaya grumbled, kicking off her shoes.
Anna giggled. "He comes from a really reputed family, y'know. Top grades, and he was our school basketball captain too."
Anaya rolled her eyes. "Must've peaked early."
But she didn't argue further.
The next day
The café near the college gate buzzed with students. Anaya walked in, craving caffeine before her 8 AM class.
She placed her order, tapped her phone for payment—and froze.
The screen was stuck. Completely unresponsive.
She checked her bag. No wallet. No cash.
Her face flushed with panic. She turned to the cashier. "Just… give me a minute."
Before she could figure out a plan, a voice said calmly, "Put it on mine."
She turned.
Ishaan.
He paid, grabbed his coffee, and walked out like it was the most casual thing in the world.
Anaya followed, flustered and annoyed.
"Wait!"
He glanced over his shoulder. "Morning, ghost girl."
"Don't call me that. And—why did you pay for me?"
He shrugged. "You looked like you needed saving."
"I didn't."
"Well," he grinned, "then consider it charity."
Her jaw tightened. "We're not even friends."
He sipped his coffee. "Not yet."
She stared at him, stunned.
There was something about him—so calm, so unreadable. His confidence wasn't loud, just… steady. Like he knew exactly who he was and didn't care what anyone else thought.
And the worst part?
It bothered her how much that intrigued her.
Ishaan turned to leave, then paused. "If you ever want coffee again, bring a working phone. Or don't. I don't mind covering."
She watched him walk away, heart pounding, expression unreadable.
Back in his room, Ishaan threw his duffel bag on the floor and smiled to himself.
> She followed me.
Something about her pulled him in—her fire, her silence, her way of carrying pain like armor.
She wasn't like anyone he'd met.
> And he liked that.