As Siya stepped into her house, something felt different—not in a bad way, just… off. The lights were warm, the food smell still lingering in the air, and her mom was humming a tune from the kitchen. But none of that caught her attention.
It was the pair of sneakers at the door. Not her dad's. Not anyone else she knew.
And just as she was about to call out, a voice—familiar and heart-wrenchingly nostalgic—floated from the living room.
"Still the same. Always forgetting to untie your shoelaces before kicking them off," the voice teased.
She didn't need to see. She knew.
"AARAV!" she screamed, throwing her bag down like it was on fire. She bolted toward the voice.
He barely had time to stand before she launched herself at him—arms tight around his neck, legs in the air, like every dramatic K-drama reunion ever written. And he caught her just like always, like nothing had changed. Like time hadn't dared touch their bond.
"You're here!" she beamed, her voice cracking with surprise and joy.
Aarav gave her a full princess twirl, making her laugh loudly, her curls bouncing around like they had a life of their own.
"Where have you been, alien? You look like a walking Pinterest board now! Ugh! I have so much to tell you—about school, this annoying project, a boy who talks like a robot, my language class, and also I grew a plant and it actually survived."
"Breathe, Siya," Aarav laughed, setting her down.
But she didn't. She kept talking. She pulled him to the sofa like a little tornado of excitement, spilling every single thought that had lived in her head for the past year—maybe two. Aarav listened, nodding, eyes soft. Like her voice was home to him.
They didn't notice the dinner bell until Siya's mom peeked in, shaking her head with a smile.
"Enough now, Siya. You'll talk while eating too, won't you?"
Siya flashed her mom a mischievous grin. "You know me too well."
But just as she was about to sit, her mother warned, "Let the poor boy eat. At least keep your mouth shut for ten minutes."
Aarav chuckled mid-bite. "It's fine, aunty. It's... kind of soothing. I missed her rants."
Siya stuck her tongue out. "Told you, I'm soothing."
Later that night, her room was a mess of blankets, pillows, and a spare bed brought in just for him. They lay on their separate beds, staring at the ceiling like it held all the missing years.
He told her about college. About the cities he stayed in. The people he met.
"You've changed," Siya whispered.
"You haven't," he replied softly. "And I mean that in the best way."
There was something thick in the air. Not silence. Not awkwardness. Just something that hadn't been there before. Like an invisible thread tightening between them.
He wasn't just Aarav anymore. He was Aarav with stubble, with stories, with eyes that had seen more than she had. And he looked at her like she hadn't changed, but she had. She wasn't the girl who collected marbles and cried when he teased her. She was… more.
But what hadn't changed was how easy it was between them. He laughed at the right places. He knew when she was lying. He knew how to shut her up with a single look.
They didn't say anything sappy. Didn't need to.
He just reached out from his bed, flicked her forehead like old times and said, "Don't go vanishing again when I'm not looking."
Siya smiled, rubbing her forehead. "Don't go vanishing when I am looking."
And they try to sleep, not realizing that someone else, somewhere, had just decided to take a step back.
Someone who wasn't ready for this kind of connection.
Someone who didn't know this version of Siya.
But Aarav did.
🦋🦋🦋
The next morning was too chirpy for Ren's liking. Birds were annoying. The air was too fresh. And why was the sun being so dramatic?
He wasn't sure why he agreed to come to the park that early, but a promise was a promise—and Siya had texted him at 6:43 a.m. like an alarm clock with curls.
"Don't forget. Park. 7:30. I'll bring your favourite biscuit you didn't ask for."
And here he was, walking toward the grassy clearing where she usually waited, mentally preparing himself to stay "emotionally unavailable."
But today, something was different.
Siya wasn't alone.
From a distance, Ren spotted her. She was sitting cross-legged on the grass, animatedly talking. Laughing. Throwing her head back like the joke cracked her soul open. And beside her—was a boy.
No, not a boy. A guy.
Tall. Casual. Effortlessly familiar with her.
He handed her a bottle of water, and she smacked his arm in that too-comfortable-you're-annoying-but-I-love-you way.
Ren slowed his steps.
This was new.
This was unsettling.
And as if her intuition was powered by satellite, Siya turned and waved wildly.
"REN!" she called out, "Come meet Aarav!"
So he has a name, Ren thought, plastering a smile on his face like a band-aid on a broken dam.
"Hi," he said curtly, walking up.
Aarav stood and offered his hand like some prince from a young adult romance novel. "Aarav. Siya's childhood partner-in-crime. You must be the robot doctor she mentioned."
Siya burst out laughing. "He's not a robot! He's just socially awkward with people he doesn't plan to marry."
Ren shook his hand—firmly, briefly. "Ren. Just… Ren."
The air between the three of them wasn't hostile. But it wasn't warm either.
It was dense.
They sat down—Aarav on Siya's right, Ren on her left. She was the chaotic sun in the middle of two wildly different planets.
"So, Ren," Aarav began, sipping his coffee like he owned the park. "Siya tells me you're Mr. Perfect. Toppers, medals, no sugar in your tea?"
"Only when I have time to drink it," Ren replied, voice even.
"Oh no," Siya said with mock horror. "Don't start with your no-sugar superiority, Ren. He eats bitter biscuits like a psycho, Aarav."
Aarav leaned toward her. "Still judging people's taste like it's a personality flaw?"
Ren watched them talk like they'd rehearsed this banter for years. The kind of comfort you can't fake. The kind that comes from shared childhoods, old fights, inside jokes, and band-aids on scraped knees.
He wasn't jealous . (Maybe he was)
He was just… observant.
Very, very observant.
"So," Ren finally asked, casually, "You're here for long?"
Aarav glanced at Siya and smiled. "For a while, yeah. I had some time off college. Needed to see this crazy human before she drives the world mad."
"Too late," Ren muttered.
Siya elbowed him. "Be nice. He brought me chocolates from Delhi."
"And all I got was grass allergies," Ren deadpanned.
The conversation moved on, but Ren was barely listening. He was watching. How Aarav leaned in when Siya talked. How she touched his shoulder without thinking. How they synced—like twin flames that never needed fire to stay lit.
It wasn't romantic.
But it was intimate.
That annoyed him more.
At some point, Siya ran off to get water from the vendor nearby, leaving them alone.
Ren glanced sideways.
Aarav spoke first. "She talks about you."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Does she?"
"Yeah," Aarav replied, a calm smirk forming. "Says you're annoying. Stubborn. Emotionally constipated."
Ren nodded slowly. "Accurate."
"She also said you're… safe."
That word hit harder than expected.
Ren looked at him directly now. "And what are you to her?"
Aarav smiled—quiet, self-assured, and infuriatingly unfazed. "Let's just say… I knew her when she thought butterflies were fairies."
Ren let out a dry laugh. "Cute."
Before it could turn into a subtle ego war, Siya returned, waving the water bottle like a trophy. "Okay, okay! Who missed me the most?"
Ren looked at her. "No one."
Aarav grinned. "I cried the whole two minutes."
And she plopped herself back between them like she didn't just drop emotional nuclear bombs by existing.
Ren smiled. But somewhere inside, a voice whispered again:
"Distance, Ren. Distance."
Because whatever this was—this fire in her eyes, this other guy with memories he couldn't touch—it was starting to hurt.
And Ren didn't like pain.
Especially the kind that crept in silently, disguised as care...