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—VEDANT SINGH RAJPUT POV
There are some faces you don't expect to see again.
Not because they're gone.
But because you buried the memory too deep to dig back up.
They say you don't remember the exact moment a friendship dies.
That's a lie.
Because the second my eyes fell on her sitting on his right hand like some damn power duo—my ex-best friend Prakriti Malhotra—I knew I'd just dug up a ghost I buried years ago.
What the hell was she doing here… as Aditya Agnihotri's secretary?My ex-best friend? Is this some twisted joke?
Of all people, her. The girl who used to scream over ketchup stains. The one who swore she'd never work for anyone unless it was Messy or herself. And now here she was, perfectly calm, acting like she ran the damn meeting room.
And me? I was just a damn guest.
The Vedant from six years ago would've stormed out.
But the Vedant now? I just sat back in my chair and watched. Watched as she nodded in sync with him, as if they were trained to breathe at the same time.
I slouched back in my chair, trying to focus on the meeting, but every few seconds, my eyes drifted toward her.
She hadn't even looked at me. Not once.
Of course. That's what she's good at. Acting like I never existed.
'Toh yehi reh gaya hai?' I scoffed internally.
My sarcastic internal monologue was cut short when chaos broke out on the other side of the table.
Ruhaan Agnihotri was arguing with some girl. Loudly. Passionately. Full Desi drama, minus the thunderstorm sound effects.
Wait—
That girl was Ishika Malhotra.
The cute, quiet sunshine kid I remembered from years ago. But now? She was spitting fire, tossing comebacks like candy. I blinked. Twice.
And Ruhaan? That dude, who makes juniors cry by breathing near them, was actually flinching.
"I said the budget was final!" he barked.
"And I said your math is as fake as your charm!" she snapped back.
I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.
What was going on in this place?
Did I walk into a drama club meeting by mistake?
Was Ruhaan actually—losing?
Ishika scoffed, her frustration evident "just stop it, your drama Mr agnihotri"
Ruhaan Agnihotri leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Ishika while his finger tapped lazily against the table "you're the drama queen miss Malhotra, I'm not"
Bro, what was this? A council meeting or a Sasural Simar Ka shoot?
Bro's losing an argument to a girl wearing pink bunny clips. World's ending.
And yet, the chaos was… amusing.
Even comforting.
Felt like watching a memory come alive, even if the characters had evolved beyond recognition.
When the meeting finally ended, everyone filtered out in classic rich-kid hurry.
All except four.
Me. Prakriti. Ishika. Akshit.
Then I saw it.
She—Prakriti—sat down in Aditya's chair like she owned it. Crossed one leg over the other and flipped her hair.
Queen.
"Tu... tu uski kursi pe baithi hai?" I barked.
Prakriti looked at me—finally—with that same calm expression that used to piss me off during debates.
"Relax, Vedant. Chair hai, Aditya nahi."
My patience snapped.
"You're acting like nothing happened. Like we didn't just ignore years of friendship like tissue paper!"
She looked up. That face? Calm. Controlled. The same damn expression she had when I walked away all those years ago.
She tilted her head. "Kya kehna chahta hai? That we cry over it now? Hold hands and sing Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna?"
I stepped forward. "No. But maybe... maybe we should talk. End things on better terms."
She stood up. "There's nothing left to end. You ended it the day you walked away."
Flash. Memory. Pain.
I saw it.
That day.
The shouting. The betrayal. The misunderstanding we never cleared.
I walked away because I thought she chose someone else over me.
She let me walk away because I never asked why she did what she did.
"I don't pretend, Vedant," she said with that annoying grace. "You know that."
And just like that, we were back in high school. Throwing knives with words, not hands.
"I'm not here to fight," I said.
"Then why are you raising your voice?" she raised an eyebrow.
I wanted to scream. Or throw a chair. But instead, we had our closure talk.
Kind of.
"I can't forgive you," she said.
"Same here," I muttered.
And for a second—just a second—I thought we'd actually move on like two mature adults. But no.
Then Ishika opened her mouth.
"You both are stupid."
I looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Damn.
She was her. The girl who always had everyone's back. The one who protected Prakriti when she had anxiety attacks. Who encouraged Akshit to speak when he barely said two words. Who made me rakhi her every year until I ran away like a coward.
Ishi was the glue. And I forgot her.
Shame hit me like a slap. Guilt settled in my throat.
"I—" I started.
But of course, of course, it didn't end there.
Because after all this emotional crap, as if scripted by the gods of chaos, Prakriti pointed at me and said—
"By the way, you still owe me 500 Rupees, idiot."
"What?! From when?!" I shouted.
"That pizza party, idiot. 5th grade. You disappeared with Niskarsh to watch IPL highlights and I had to pay."
"Oh come on! I brought ice cream the next day!"
"ICE CREAM?! Vedant! One cheap Ice cream for an entire PIZZA bill? HUH!"
I turned to Ishika. "Did I not get her chocolate also?!"
"Bro, you got me chocolate," she said, laughing.
Akshit was cracking up on the couch. "This is what we waited Six years for? A ₹500 ka mudda?"
"Oh now I'm cheap?" I folded my arms. "Miss Malhotra, you borrowed my english notes and my mechanical pencil. That thing was imported!"
Prakriti gasped dramatically. "How dare you bring up the pencil?!"
"I LOVED that pencil!"
"You loved yourself, Vedant!"
"And you loved making everything about you!"
Ishika was in tears now—of laughter.
Akshit had collapsed sideways. "Y'all... are seriously... something else."
"Stupid," Ishika mumbled, wiping tears. "You two are just... stupid."
she said, wiping a tear of laughter. "They're back."
"God," Akshit chuckled. "They really can't change."
Prakriti looked at me. I looked back.
And just for a second—beneath the fire, the sarcasm, the debts—we were 11 again. Running through corridors, laughing at nothing, dreaming of forever.
But forever doesn't exist.
Especially not in our story.
Because some friendships don't break.
They burn. And we were the matchstick and gasoline.
So yeah. That's how my reunion with my ex-best friend went.
Some friendships don't end.
They just become… messy memories.
"Bro…"
Akshit smirked, legs stretched out like he owned the conference table.
"Tell me one thing. Are you writing poems for her now, haan? Shayari-shayar Vedant?"
WHAT.
My head snapped in his direction so fast even my neck did a double take.
"Poem? For who?"
His grin widened like he had caught me red-handed in front of the crime scene.
Akshit leaned in, narrowed his eyes like some 90s Bollywood villain, and whispered,
"Usi ladki ke liye... jiske saath tu takraaya tha…"
I froze.
This man. This traitor.
I blinked slowly, hoping maybe this moment would auto-delete from existence
I coughed. Not dramatically—choked-on-spicy-pani-puri style.
"Bro shut up!" I hissed. "If Prakriti finds out— IF she finds out—I have even breathed near her best friend with feelings, she'll bury me alive in her backyard."
I looked toward her. She was swirling Aditya's chair like a villain plotting world domination, clearly in her own zone.Thank God.
Akshit raised his hands. "Arre bhai! Maine toh bas poocha—why so guilty?"
"I'm not guilty!" I snapped. "I'm just… future-proofing myself against murder charges!"
"I swear," I muttered to myself, "you're going to be my unfilled last wish. You random, clumsy, Sketch book girl…"
"Poet ban gaya hai," Akshit said under his breath, shaking his head.
Ishika, sitting with a stack of post-it notes, snorted.
"She's going to write your love story with bullet points if she finds out."
"Thanks, Ishika." I glared. "That's comforting."
"Oh c'mon Vedant!" she grinned, raising her pen dramatically. "We're just encouraging you."
"And by 'encourage', you mean emotional blackmail, public humiliation and group bullying?"
I slumped back, face in hands. "I hate you all. Seriously. With the fire of a thousand tandoors."
Ishika didn't stop. She held her pen like a mic and yelled, "Poetry incoming—'She came like bhel puri in my calm life… chatpati, messy, and unforgettable…'"
I stared in horror. "STOP—"
But now she was in full dramatic mode. "His heart said Dil toh pagal hai, but his brain screamed exit the chat!"
Prakriti was silent, arms folded, but the way her lip twitched gave her away.
"You too?" I asked her with betrayal in my voice.
She shrugged. "Well… the bhel puri line was kinda iconic."
"Prakriti, tu bhi?"
"Relax Vedant," she said coolly. "You've been roasting me since class six. A little karma won't kill you."
"Emotionally I'm dead already!" I groaned.
Akshit laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair
"Stop giving him trauma," Ishika joined, mock-pouting. "He's already a victim of emotional rollercoaster."
I groaned and rubbed my face like I could erase their words from my brain.
"I hate you all. Deeply. Entirely. Wholeheartedly."
"Hate is just love wearing sunglasses," Ishika quipped, grinning like she'd just invented wisdom.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own past lives.
Ishika suddenly stood up with dramatic flair, grabbed her pen like it was a champagne glass, raised it in the air and declared,
"To our nonsense friend, Vedant—may he fall in love, suffer, recover, then fall again... like an idiot."
Akshit burst out laughing and instantly lifted his bottle like it was wine.
"Cheers to Mr. Takkar Singh Rajput!"
"Stop it—" I started, but then I noticed…
Prakriti.
Frozen for a second, hesitating. But when Ishika looked at her, all smiles and sibling sparkle, she exhaled and picked up her pen too.
"To Vedant," she said softly.
I couldn't even be mad.
Because for that one second... our group felt like us again.
But the warmth lasted a heartbeat too short.
But then—the laughter faded. Not because it wasn't fun. But because something was missing.
Ishika looked at the empty seat beside her. Her voice dropped, soft.
"He must be travelling again, right?"
Akshit nodded. "Yeah. Last story was from Japan. Said he got into a sushi war with a chef."
Krish Raisinghani.
The only human being who could get into a debate with a rickshaw driver about gravity and then argue with a pigeon because it "looked judgmental".
"My God," I muttered, "remember when he said our principal's bald head was a satellite dish for lost dreams?"
"And that time," Akshit added, laughing, "when he tried to convince prakriti dog football was actually an alien spy?"
Prakriti snorted. "Didn't he make a whole chart with timelines?"
I couldn't help it. I smiled.
Krish—the chaos king, memory hoarder, friend who made you feel like your smallest moments were award-winning scenes.
"He was the only guy who remembered everyone's birthdays and their favorite biscuit," Ishika whispered, eyes glistening.
"Even mine…" I murmured, quietly surprised.
"And he said," Ishika added, "we aren't friends, we're the syllabus of emotions."
Ishika looked at prakriti, hopeful.
"He'll come back, na?"
I didn't answer. None of us did.
Silence fell again. The kind that hugs, not haunts.
I picked up a pen. Raised it slowly.
"To the boy who turned our fights into punchlines, our drama into dialogues, and our group into a family."
Akshit raised his pen too.
"To Krish Raisinghani. Chaos, class clown, and our emotional anchor."
Ishika smiled, her eyes wet but twinkling. "To Krish. Come back before we start making sense."
Prakriti nodded. "Or before Vedant starts writing more poetry."
"HEY!"
Everyone laughed again.
And in that one loud, nostalgic moment—
We weren't enemies, exes, or lost friends.
We were just us.
TO BE CONTINUED...