Inaya.
It's loud.
The kind of loud that only Delhi understands —
a chorus of honking rickshaws, chai vendors shouting across streets, dogs barking at literally nothing, and students yelling over each other about attendance like their lives depend on it.
So let us zoom in,
A classroom. Rows of sleepy students.
And in the middle of it all it's me— Inaya Mehta, age 19, face half-buried in my notebook. Not because am taking notes, but because am writing something that doesn't belong in a microeconomics class, not my fault that both the professor and the subject suck.
What am I doing? Something better than listening to whatever the lecturer's been rambling about for the past thirty minutes — if not more. "I feel like a glass of water on the edge of a table. Touched too many times. Ready to fall." are the exact words I was writing before the thought appeared, "Damn Aya, Who hurt you?''
I looked up for a millisecond only to hear the professor say "...and therefore, the consumption of the second mango provides less satisfaction than the first.". What the hell? Second mango provides less satisfaction?? Give me ten and I'd still feel just as satisfied as I did with the first. Mango logic: 1, Professor: 0. Mentally disagreeing with the professor's so-called explanation I went back to my noteback scribbling. I didn't plan on surviving college. I just planned on getting through it without losing what little was left of myself.
"That is it for today's class! We will continue the rest….'' No sooner did the professor start the sentence and my best friend Kavya Ahuja ran out of the class as my house was set on fire.
We walked together, earphones in, trying to dodge people and pigeons.
A chai stall caught our eye — and we made a sharp turn.
"Two cutting?" The tea seller asked looking at our sleepy face
"Extra masala, please." I said letting out a sigh I never knew I was holding.
I wrapped my fingers around the hot cup like it was my only anchor.
Around me, friends were laughing, couples were sharing samosas (lowkey who shares a samosa tho), and someone was blaring Bollywood remixes from a cheap speaker.
Placing my head on Kavya's shoulder, I stared at it all — like am watching life happen from the outside.
At night I found myself sitting in my hostel room, which me and Kavya shared just like how we shared one single brain cell which well occasionally worked. But talking about our room, or my corner of the room to be specific — It's cozy, cluttered, full of books with dog-eared pages and fairy lights taped in crooked lines.
Postcards, poetry snippets, photos of people half-smiling — I don't talk to most of them anymore.
My laptop pinged.
SCREEN TEXT:
Subject: Across Borders Cultural Exchange - Your Assigned Pen Pal
I stared at the screen blankly — pen pal?? "I didn't sign up for this seriously. It was 2:43 a.m. I was sleep-deprived, emotionally unstable, and had just cried over a Buzzfeed quiz that said my love language was 'solitude.''
I opened the file tentatively, lowkey not ready for any conversation. Well I guess my love language is Solitude.
His name: RT.
Country: Japan.
Status: Unresponsive.
"Of course, he hasn't replied. He's probably perfect, emotionally unavailable, and allergic to feelings. Aka my type." She sighed. Sipping the fourth cup of chai since morning. I stared at the blinking cursor in the email draft — Like it owed me answers. Or at least a sign that this wouldn't end in an emotional landslide. "You gotta write at least something Aya," I thought before I started typing which I would describe as bullshit.
Subject: idk what this is supposed to be
Dear Stranger,
I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know if this will reach you.
But they said to write something honest. So here it is — I'm tired. Tired of pretending I'm okay.
Tired of smiling when I want to scream. Tired of being everyone's Plan B.
If you're reading this… I hope you're someone who understands silence better than noise.
Yours anonymously,
IM.
My fingers hovered over the send button.
I clicked. Immediately regretted it.
Screamed into my very beloved pillow boba tea plush.
Rabin.
Golden hour seeps through tall, clean windows.
Everything is still. Too still.
The silence isn't uncomfortable — it's controlled.
And in that silence, tucked between shelves lined with books, sits me, Rabin Takahashi, 19, the kind of boy who looks like he was born with headphones in and a tragic backstory.
My desk is immaculate.
Notebooks aligned.
Mechanical pencil sharp.
Origami crane sitting on the corner — folded perfectly.
"There are 126 million people in this country. I still feel alone most days."
"But maybe that's easier.
It's hard to lose people when you don't let them close in the first place."
A student nearby sneezes. I flinched slightly before going back to my book
Minimalist. Monochrome. Clean.
Books are stacked by subject, not size.
Shoji screens, warm lighting, a vinyl record playing something instrumental and slow.
I sat in my bedroom by my laptop night sky visible with half moon peaking through my, drinking black coffee like it's a coping mechanism.
Unread emails pile up on my screen — offers, updates, reminders.
Then —
One email caught my eye.
SCREEN TEXT:
Subject: Across Borders Pen Pal Assignment
New Message: From "IM"
"A pen pal program. International. Voluntary. Another excuse to write to someone who won't write back." I read-thought.
I scrolled.
Reading her letter.
I Slowed down.
I Re-read it.
My Eyes flickered. The faintest shift in expression — interest? Curiosity? A ghost of a smile?
"She writes like she's trying to keep herself from disappearing. I know that feeling." I thought mentally relating to whoever this Inaya girl is.
The window's open. The wind flutters the edge of his notebook.
I sat still for a moment, then started typing.
Slow. Hesitant. Like this matters more than I'd ever admit.
To the girl who doesn't scream,
You sound like someone who's been carrying more than she lets on.
I won't pretend I understand.
But I know what silence feels like when it isn't peaceful.
I don't usually reply to things like this. I don't believe in stranger-sent confessions or digital soul-searching.
But your words didn't feel like noise.
They felt like an echo.
And I haven't heard that in a long time.
You don't owe anyone your strength.
Or your softness.
If you decide to write again,
I'll read it.
No pressure. No promises.
Just… paper and space.
— RT.
"I don't talk to people. But maybe… I could write to her." I thought before I hit send.
The screen glowed back at me, reflecting in my tired eyes.
Inaya."I woke up from my very unnecessary but somehow necessary two-hour nap.". Well, I think sleeping just for two hours and just functioning fine should be normalized and the morning classes should be shifted to the afternoon cuz hell am not down for some shit ass lecture at 9 in the morning stepping out of my bed at 6:30 I lazily strolled to the bathroom.
"Skincare is necessary, bitch," I heard Kavya call out. Her ass knows me way too well.
I know skincare is important and all, but skincare is the last thought on my mind at least at 6:30 am when I and my bed are originally expected to be in an extremely serious relationship.
After stepping out of the bathroom and doing all the skincare I and Kavya went down for the hostel breakfast.
"Goddamn freak Kavya it's macaroni" I screamed in shock! Looks like the catering staff felt splendid today. I scrolled through my emails while eating the delicious macaroni the staff served which was accompanied by my darling tea. What a day!!
Scrolling through my emails I found that the pen pal guy replied.
"Okay wait. He replied. He replied. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE REPLIED."The fork slipped out of my fingers as I opened the email preparing myself for whatever was about to come.
I read the letter thrice cuz what on the earth why my reply expected to be now?? Was this happening? Do I—do I have a pen pal now? Like, officially? I thought it was gonna be an 'I message and he won't reply thingy'
Nah nope, naur!! I sure am not writing back. I closed the app only to later find myself, aggressively typing in Samsung Notes like I wasn't just crying about solitude 48 hours ago. A reply which I know I will be reading 300 times before I send. And for how I feel after reading his reply? Then it felt like a warm hug which I never knew I needed. But again how do I trust him? Ok, Aya, get a hold of yourself he is just a pen pal and well it won't be long before he is done with you and stops replying.
"Who got you smiling like that?" Kavya asked nudging me her eyebrows dancing better than she ever did. "Oh, Kav there is this whole pen pal thing! You must have gotten an email too man!! Arent you assigned a pen pal? We signed in for the university together you must be assigned with someone too!" I told her. "Do you see fool written on my forehead? I can tell you are tryna change the topic Missy" She said I hate her capability to see right through me. "What's the name?" She continued. "Rabin Takahashi, Japanese guy!! I emailed him last night, and he just replied."
"BinAya" She uttered a teasing glint in her eyes.
"Girl fucking hell shut up? Have you gone crazy? It's nothing like that and as you know I am not looking out for any guy currently! I am in a serious relationship with my romance books, chai, and poetry" I yell-talked my eyes almost popping out my eye sockets.
"Yo, bitches, whatcha doing??" Ar-fucking-nav?? Nope not him not right now?? Arnav Malhotra. The third half of this messily chaotic trio. I, Kavya, and Arnav have been together for years now!!
"Nothing that you need to know!" I said looking at him my smile fake as hell.
"Nothing I need to know? Babe then this is something I need to know!" He said sitting in front of us leaning on the table curious about the topic of discussion. "A Japanese guy got Aya all smiley" Kavya said jumping on her seat like some 5-year-old. "Not right now guys," I said rubbing my face, not ready for the teasing.
Rabin
I sat in the library, my assignment in front of me, staring back like it knew how badly I was avoiding it.
Tomorrow's the deadline.
But instead of writing the essay, I kept refreshing my inbox.
Looking for her.
I didn't know this girl.
Didn't know her voice, her laugh, or even what she looked like.
But somehow, she felt… familiar.
Like a page I hadn't read yet — but already dog-eared.
Love doesn't exist, I told myself.
It's just an illusion. A concept that leaves halfway through the story.
I rubbed my face, forcing my focus back to the real world.
I had an assignment to finish. A record to keep. A future to chase.
Focus, Rabin. Focus. And yet — I refreshed the inbox one last time.