The last days of school carry a peculiar weight—light in laughter, heavy in memory. Walls once scribbled with teenage angst suddenly turned sacred, every dusty corner pregnant with nostalgia. St. Edith's High wore its farewell gown in ribbons and regret, with streamers hanging like sentences left unfinished.
Aarav moved through the days like a ghost haunting his own life. His once eager steps now softened into silence. He hadn't spoken to Mira since that day under the peepal tree. Her words still echoed in him, stitched into every heartbeat like a cruel refrain.
Then came the final day. The ceremony was held on the back lawn, where folding chairs lined up in crooked rows, and hopeful eyes glistened under an open sky. Teachers gave sentimental speeches, tears were shed over mediocre poetry, and the smell of marigolds mingled with the bittersweet breeze of goodbye.
Aarav stood near the edge of the crowd, half-listening, half-hoping to vanish. His eyes, however, found her—Mira—standing like the protagonist she always seemed to be, surrounded by admirers, her laughter louder than the rest. She wore a deep maroon dress, modest but magnetic. She belonged, and he… did not.
And then, it happened.
A black BMW pulled up near the school gates, its engine purring like arrogance on wheels. Out stepped Veer Khanna—the son of industrialist Raj Khanna, heir to more wealth than any of them could pronounce. Tall, charming, annoyingly aware of both.
He strolled in like he owned not just the lawn, but the air they breathed. Whispers followed him like perfume. With zero hesitation, Veer approached Mira in front of the entire crowd, stopping just inches from her, smirking as if the universe was already in his pocket.
"Mira Talwar," he said, his voice ringing clear over the murmurs. "I've seen a lot in life—cities, yachts, even a private island. But none of it made me feel what I feel when I see you. Come out with me tonight. Let's start something that makes all this... just the beginning."
The world fell silent for a second.
And then Mira smiled. Not her usual smirk, not the polite kind she reserved for compliments. This was real. Or at least, it looked real.
"I'd love to," she replied, loud and sure.
The crowd erupted. Applause broke like a dam, loud and contagious. Cheers, laughter, a few gasps. It was the grand finale everyone wanted. Everyone… except one.
Aarav felt it before he understood it—a rush of heat to his face, a blur forming in his eyes. He didn't wait for the encore. He turned and slipped away, past the makeshift stage, past the rows of plastic chairs, past the peepal tree that once held his hope.
And someone saw him.
Anjali Deshmukh, the girl no one invited to lunch tables. Her skin was dusky, her glasses thick, her clothes always one trend behind. But her gaze was sharper than any of them knew. She watched him run, his shoulders shaking under the weight of silent sobs.
She didn't follow. Didn't call out.
She clapped.
Not for Veer. Not for Mira.
She clapped because it was the end of school.
And ends deserve applause.
Even the sad ones.