Pyaar Ya Rebound? ~ Rumya SS [Completed]

Intro:

Rudra fakes a relationship with his best friend Soumya to impress glamorous Bhavya-but ends up falling for the one girl who truly knew him.

Chapter 1 (Cast of Chaos)

This story is originally inspired from the 2003 bollywood movie Ishk Vishk and was requested by my friend Jasminerahul.

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If college was a stage, then Rudra Singh Oberoi was the spotlight—loud, dramatic, shirtless more often than necessary, and entirely convinced the world revolved around his protein shaker. He had over ten thousand followers on Instagram, biceps that made even the cafeteria auntie blush, and a smile that could shut down the Wi-Fi.

But none of that mattered at home, where Soumya Kapoor sat cross-legged on their shared couch, sipping masala chai and pretending not to roll her eyes every time he flexed in front of the mirror.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall—" he began again.

"You need therapy," she said without looking up.

This was their language. Sarcasm, jabs, tea, and tolerating each other more than they'd admit. They weren't lovers. They weren't even dating.

They were just... roommates.

Best friends.

And for one of them, painfully and silently, something more.

Rudra was the youngest Oberoi — born with a trust fund, a ridiculous jawline, and a complete inability to read emotional depth. For him, life was simple: gym in the morning, selfies by noon, and flirting until dinner.

He was charming, yes. Thoughtful at times. But his understanding of romance didn't extend beyond "Who's hotter, Somu: this girl or that girl?"

And Soumya? She just smiled and gave honest answers, even if it burned a little.

Because that was Soumya Kapoor. The girl who never tried to be someone else.

Plus-sized, proudly so. Sarcastic, smart, and full of soul. She was everything Rudra didn't realize he needed. And she'd known him since their accidental flatmate phase in first year when a mix-up led to one of college's biggest surprises: "Beauty and the Beefcake sharing a kitchen."

She learned to tune out his blaring EDM playlists and he learned to respect her boundaries (eventually).

But she also learned to hide how fast her heart beat every time he looked at her like she was more than just the girl who made the best Maggi on bad days.

Because he didn't look at her like that. Not really.

Then came the storm in stilettoes: Bhavya Rathore.

She entered college like a movie's second heroine—hair flipping, eyes flashing, voice dripping with effortless authority. Bhavya had transferred from Delhi and within a week had a fanbase that rivaled Rudra's.

She was confident, glamorous, and unapologetically ambitious. She didn't just own the room—she commanded it. Her walk was a statement, her Instagram bio read: "Dare to desire. I always do."

Naturally, Rudra was smitten.

And naturally, Soumya saw it coming.

Rudra's obsession with Bhavya began with compliments on her "fashion sense" and quickly escalated to gym selfies captioned "Crushing harder than my leg day 💪🔥 #bhavyalicious".

Soumya muted his stories.

Because no matter how cool she acted, it hurt. Watching him chase someone who sparkled louder than she ever wanted to, someone who matched his outer world—but not his inner self.

It wasn't that Soumya hated Bhavya.

Bhavya was smart. Confident. The kind of girl who never needed to ask for attention—it just found her.

But she didn't know Rudra. Not like Soumya did.

Not the Rudra who panicked during thunderstorms and clutched a pillow like it was a life raft. Not the Rudra who made up terrible raps to cheer her up during exam weeks. Not the Rudra who once ran across campus in flip-flops because she texted him "I think I'm having a bad day."

Bhavya liked Rudra.

But Soumya... understood him.

And that was the difference.

The stage was set.

Three hearts, two stories, and one lie that would change everything.

A fake relationship.

A real heartbreak.

And a boy who would soon learn the difference between flirtation and forever.

Because love doesn't always arrive with grand declarations.

Sometimes, it waits patiently in the background, sipping chai, rolling its eyes, and loving quietly.

Until one day... it can't anymore.

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To be continued.

Chapter 2 (The Roommate Rulebook)

Rudra Singh Oberoi was pacing like a man whose protein stash had just been raided.

“Unbelievable. Utterly discriminatory. Like—what is this? College romance dictatorship?” he shouted, flailing dramatically.

Soumya Kapoor looked up from her laptop. “What now?”

Rudra stopped mid-rant, pointing to his phone like it had personally betrayed him. “The class trip. Only couples allowed this year. Romantic retreat, they’re calling it. Like, hello? What about single legends like me who were born to shine alone?”

Soumya blinked. “Maybe take your abs on a solo retreat.”

He groaned and flopped beside her on the couch, dramatically burying his face in her throw pillow.

“This is not how legends are treated, Somu.”

She didn’t respond immediately. Her fingers resumed typing, but she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His hair was perfectly messy, his pout exaggerated, and despite the ridiculousness of it all, she felt that familiar ache again. The kind that settled low in the chest. The kind you try to breathe past.

He suddenly sat up, his expression lit by a lightbulb moment. “Wait.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wait, what?”

“You. Me. Relationship.”

She blinked. “Come again?”

“I mean—pretend relationship,” he clarified, his smile widening. “Think about it! You and I already live together, people know we’re close, and honestly? You’re not half bad at acting like you can tolerate me.”

“Thanks,” she deadpanned. “I feel so flattered.”

“I’m serious!” Rudra said, excitement building. “We just fake date for the next week. You’ll be my plus-one on the trip. We hold hands, act couple-y, impress the teachers, get the permit to go—and boom! Couple quota fulfilled.”

She stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“You want me… to pretend to be your girlfriend. So that you can get a slot on a romantic college trip?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly!”

“Do you hear how stupid that sounds?”

“Somu,” he said, adopting a puppy-eyed expression that had worked on countless girls. “Please? You’re my only hope. No one else would buy it. With Bhavya… things haven’t started yet. And if I go solo, I’m done for.”

At the mention of Bhavya, her stomach turned.

There it was. The real reason.

Rudra didn’t want her. He wanted a way to impress Bhavya. And she was just the convenience card. The backup. The safe bet.

Soumya looked away, focusing on a non-existent stain on her teacup. “Why would I agree to that?”

He leaned in with that ridiculous grin. “Because you’re my best friend. And you secretly enjoy torturing me.”

She sighed.

She should’ve said no.

But instead, she asked, “What’s in it for me?”

He blinked. “Uhhh… I’ll do your laundry for a week?”

She arched an eyebrow.

“A month?”

She folded her arms.

“Okay, fine! A month and I won’t steal your parathas from the fridge.”

“Two months and you stop using my shampoo.”

He gasped. “That’s a low blow, Somu. That’s mint-aloe hydrating. My hair has standards.”

“Take it or leave it.”

He groaned. “Fine. Deal.”

She held up her hand. “But there are rules.”

Rudra froze. “Oh no.”

“Rule one,” she said firmly, “This ends the moment the trip ends. No dragging it on to score points with Bhavya.”

“Done,” he said. “I’m not trying to marry you.”

She swallowed the sting those words left behind. “Rule two: No kissing. Not even fake pecks for the camera.”

“But Somu, fake couples always—”

“Nope. My lips are not your acting prop.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Rule three,” she added, her voice quieter. “Don’t fall in love with me.”

Rudra laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all week.

“As if. You’re like a bro, Somu.”

She nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

But inside, something cracked.

The next morning, college was buzzing like bees at a gossip buffet.

Rudra had uploaded a selfie with Soumya to his Insta story, complete with a caption that read:

“From best friends to soulmates 💖💪 #FitTogether #RumyaGoals”

Soumya stared at it with mild horror. “RumyaGoals? Really?”

“You gotta sell the love story, na,” Rudra said smugly. “Marketing is everything.”

Across the corridor, whispers began.

“Wait… Rudra and Soumya?”
“Didn’t see that coming.”
“Maybe he lost a bet?”
“Or maybe she’s his sympathy date.”

Soumya kept her expression neutral. But the words stung, each one a tiny thorn pressed against her ribs. Not because she cared what they thought—but because he didn’t even notice.

To Rudra, this was a fun charade.

To her, it was navigating heartbreak in real time, pretending everything was just a silly act.

The day before the trip, Rudra barged into her room holding two matching hoodies.

“I bought us couple sweatshirts!” he announced.

She looked up from her notes. “Why would you waste money on that?”

“It’s called aesthetic, Somu. Also, Bhavya will definitely notice. You think she won’t wonder how I suddenly settled down?”

There it was again. Her name.

Soumya looked at the sweatshirt. It was baby pink. His had “King,” hers said “Queen.”

“We’re not doing this,” she said flatly.

Rudra pouted. “C’mon. It’s cute!”

“It’s cringy.”

He held one out to her anyway. “Just wear it on the bus. Please?”

She took it with a sigh. “Only if you stop referring to us as a hashtag.”

“Deal.”

As he left the room, she looked at the sweatshirt again.

She wanted to hate it. She really did.

But instead, she clutched it closer and whispered to herself, “Don’t fall harder, idiot.”

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To be continued.

Chapter 3 (What Hurts More)

The bus for the “Couples Only” college retreat stood gleaming under the morning sun, decorated with pink ribbons and paper hearts that made Soumya want to turn around and walk home. Love songs blared from a Bluetooth speaker as pairs boarded hand-in-hand, giggling and taking selfies. It looked like a Hallmark horror film.

Rudra, however, was thriving.

Dressed in his new ripped jeans and “KING” hoodie, he had his sunglasses pushed up into his styled hair, a duffel bag slung across one shoulder, and a heart full of excitement—not for the trip, not even for Soumya—but for Bhavya Rathore, who was already seated at the back, chatting with a group of admirers.

Soumya followed quietly, wearing the matching “QUEEN” hoodie that she’d reluctantly agreed to wear, her curls loose, a soft kohl lining her eyes. She looked adorable. But no one said it. Especially not the one boy she wanted to hear it from.

Rudra looked back and grinned. “Come, partner-in-crime! Let’s show this college what couple goals really look like.”

He pulled her hand, and she stumbled slightly before catching her balance. “Easy there, Oberoi.”

He winked and dragged her up the steps of the bus like they were heading to a red carpet. And just like that, the curtain rose on their performance.

For the first few hours, Soumya played the part well. She smiled when Rudra looped an arm around her shoulder. She laughed when he made dumb jokes for the camera. She even rested her head on his shoulder when he not-so-subtly whispered, “Bhavya’s looking. Look extra into me.”

But inside, a war was raging.

She hated how easy it was to fall into this fake rhythm with him. Hated how natural it felt to lean into his touch, to laugh at his stupid puns, to sit beside him like it meant something. Because for her—it did.

And for him?

It was strategy.

A game.

An illusion to impress someone else.

By the time they reached the resort, it was already late afternoon. Nestled between misty hills and covered in ivy, the place looked straight out of a romantic Bollywood song sequence. Couples disappeared into their cottages, gushing about how “dreamy” everything looked.

Soumya and Rudra were assigned to a shared cottage too, since they were supposedly “dating.”

“Dibs on the left side of the bed,” he said as they entered, tossing his bag.

She narrowed her eyes. “We’re not sharing a bed.”

He laughed. “Relax, Somu. I snore. You wouldn’t survive it anyway. I’ll sleep on the couch if you insist.”

She sighed and walked toward the window. Outside, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the hills. It was beautiful—too beautiful for the kind of ache that sat in her chest.

Dinner was served at the open courtyard under fairy lights and paper lanterns. It was supposed to be “romantic,” which meant the organizers had put out roses on every table and were playing Arijit Singh on a loop.

Soumya sat beside Rudra, nibbling at her paneer tikka, trying not to watch Bhavya as she floated in wearing a crimson dress that hugged her like it was stitched to worship her curves.

Rudra nearly dropped his fork.

Soumya noticed.

He wasn’t even pretending anymore.

“Damn,” Rudra whispered, low enough so only she could hear. “She looks like a goddess.”

Soumya stabbed her tikka harder than necessary.

“She also thinks the world revolves around her,” she said flatly.

Rudra chuckled. “I mean… sometimes it should.”

Soumya swallowed hard. “Right. Because self-obsession is so sexy.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Why are you being so weird today?”

“Maybe because I’m not enjoying pretending to be in love while you’re ogling someone else,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

His eyes widened. “Whoa. Where did that come from?”

Soumya stood up abruptly. “Nowhere. I’m going for a walk.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

The chilly night air hit her like truth. Sharp and cutting.

She walked blindly through the garden, hugging her arms around herself, her hoodie suddenly too heavy. The fake smiles, the holding hands, the glances—it was all too much.

What had she expected? That he’d suddenly see her?

That he’d look at her the way he looked at Bhavya?

She was an idiot.

Behind her, she heard footsteps crunching over the pebbles.

“Soumya!” Rudra called, jogging to catch up.

She didn’t stop walking. “I need space, Rudra.”

“Whoa. Talk to me. Why are you so mad?”

She turned on him, eyes blazing. “Because this isn’t a game to me, okay? I know it is for you. I know you’re using me to make Bhavya jealous or impress her or whatever your stupid plan is—but I’m done playing along like it doesn’t hurt.”

Rudra took a step back, stunned. “What… are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” she said, voice breaking, “that I don’t want to be your filler story while you chase your fairytale. I don’t want to be your convenient girlfriend. I’m tired of pretending.”

He blinked, like he was seeing her for the first time.

“I thought we were just having fun,” he said, genuinely confused. “You were the one who agreed to this.”

She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I agreed. Because I’m your best friend. Because I’m an idiot.”

There was a long, awkward silence between them. The wind rustled the trees, the fairy lights blinked behind them, and somewhere in the background, Arijit Singh crooned about broken hearts.

Rudra shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Soumya took a shaky breath. “Well, you did.”

And with that, she walked back into the resort, leaving him standing alone under the stars, his first real taste of emotional discomfort blooming like a bruise on his ego.

He had no idea what to do with it.

But for the first time, Rudra Singh Oberoi wasn’t so sure if his plan was worth the cost.

Because something in Soumya’s voice hadn’t sounded fake.

Not one bit.

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To be continued.

Chapter 4 (The New Crush)

The next morning, Rudra woke up to silence.
No chai clinking. No sarcastic “Wake up, Romeo,” from Soumya. No smell of her coconut shampoo in the air.
The couch he had passed out on was empty—neatly folded sheets left behind like a quiet statement: I’m not here.
He walked into the adjoining room, expecting to find her asleep with a book over her face.
Nothing. Just an empty bed and her missing duffel.
She was gone.
And for some reason, it didn’t feel like a break from acting.
It felt real.

The Encounter

Outside, the resort buzzed with late breakfasts, couple yoga, and the prep for the lakeside bonfire planned for the evening. But Rudra didn’t notice any of it.
He was looking for Soumya.
Instead, he bumped into someone else.

Bhavya Rathore, in all her radiant glory, stood at the juice counter in a powder-blue co-ord set that probably cost more than Rudra’s entire hoodie collection.
He blinked. “Hey.”

She looked up, surprised, then smiled—a dazzling smile that had the boy behind the counter knocking over an orange juice jug.
“Rudra Oberoi,” she teased. “Finally not surrounded by hearts and hashtags?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uhh, yeah. Solo morning today.”
“I figured. Haven’t seen your girlfriend anywhere.”
Rudra hesitated. “Yeah, she… needed space.”
Bhavya tilted her head with mock sympathy. “You know, I always wondered about you two.”
“Why?”
“You just didn’t look like a couple,” she said bluntly. “Like, no offense—she’s nice. But you? You’re loud, social, magnetic. She’s… quiet. Grounded. Almost too grounded.”

What Soumya Heard

Soumya hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.
She was just returning from the library tent, sketchbook in hand, when she heard Rudra’s voice and instinctively slowed her steps.

Familiar. Easy. Like the version of him she knew before things got complicated.
She was about to call out—until she heard her name.

“You know, I always wondered about you two,” Bhavya was saying.
Soumya ducked behind one of the bamboo screens.

“You just didn’t look like a couple. No offense—she’s nice. But you? You’re magnetic. She’s… almost too grounded.”
Soumya’s fingers clenched around her sketchbook.

“I mean, come on, Rudra,” Bhavya continued, voice sweet and poisonous. “You’re a fitness freak. She’s not exactly gym material. When you two walk together, it’s like an elephant and a jockey. You’re built, she’s… bulky. You guys don’t match.”

Soumya froze. The insult sliced through her like broken glass.
She didn’t wait for Rudra’s reply. She didn’t think there was one.
She just turned. And walked away.

What She Didn’t Hear

Rudra stiffened, stunned. “Wow.”
Bhavya blinked, unfazed. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

His jaw clenched.

No. You’re saying what people like you think they’re allowed to say out loud. Loud enough to hurt. Loud enough to sound like truth. But it isn’t.

“No,” he said, voice low and even, but laced with heat. “You’re saying what you think matters. But it doesn’t.”

Her smile faltered—just slightly.

“She’s not trying to match me,” he went on, words sharpening with clarity. “She never had to. Because she knows who she is. And honestly? That’s hotter than your entire workout wardrobe.”

He didn’t mean to be cruel—but something in him snapped.
Maybe it was the months of people calling Soumya "too much" or "not enough."
Maybe it was the fact that, for once, he wasn’t just playing boyfriend. He was feeling like one.

Bhavya raised a well-groomed eyebrow, recovering her cool with practiced ease. “Impressive defense. Sounds like you admire her.”

Rudra hesitated.

Do I? Of course I do. She’s brilliant. Witty. Infuriating. Real. She sees through me like glass. Calls me out when I deserve it. Doesn’t fawn, doesn’t flatter. Just… listens. Challenges me. Makes me better. God, she makes me better.
Admire? Yes.
Love?

He didn’t know yet. And that scared him more than it should’ve.

Before he could gather a reply, Bhavya leaned in, closing the distance between them. Her expensive perfume clung to the air between them, sweet and assertive.

Then, with a flick of her hair and a smirk that didn’t quite meet her eyes this time, she handed him a mango smoothie.
“Well… if you ever decide to come up for air,” she murmured, lips tilting upward, “I’m around.”

And just like that, she sauntered away—hips swaying, confidence oozing.

Rudra stood frozen.
He watched her leave, watched the boys at the juice counter gawk, watched the breeze lift the hem of her co-ord set like a stage cue.

She was the kind of girl songs were written about—glamorous, unbothered, desirable.

This was what he’d always thought he wanted, right?
The attention. The spotlight. The validation. Bhavya noticing him. Bhavya flirting with him.

But then… why did it feel like something was off?

Like the mango smoothie in his hand didn’t taste right. Like the air around him suddenly felt thinner. Like the part of him that usually smiled on instinct… had gone quiet.

His eyes drifted across the lawn, past yoga mats and laughing couples, searching for someone else.
Someone real. Someone warm. Someone who smelled like coconut shampoo and chai and old novels.
Soumya.

He didn’t see her anywhere.
And worse, he didn’t realize… she’d already seen everything.

Soumya Breaks

Soumya sat on the edge of her bed, the sketchbook now forgotten on the floor. Bhavya’s words echoed like a curse.

“Elephant and a jockey… bulky… don’t match…”

She’d made peace with her body long ago. But today, she felt like a caricature. A cruel punchline.

And the worst part wasn’t Bhavya’s words. It was that Rudra hadn’t defended her. Or at least, she never heard him do it.

So maybe he agreed. Maybe deep down, she was never really the girl who fit beside someone like him.

The Distance Grows

Soumya spent the rest of the morning by the lake, scribbling in her journal, earbuds in to drown the world out.

You said it wouldn’t matter.
That it was fake.
But tell me why
I still break?

She shut the journal and stood.
This had all been a mistake.
Pretending to love him had been a bigger one.
Expecting anything real? That was on her.

The Mandala Tent

By late afternoon, Rudra spotted Soumya in the activity tent, sitting in a circle of students sketching mandalas on handmade paper fans.

She was laughing at something a girl beside her said, her hair pulled into a loose braid, cheeks flushed from the sun.

And suddenly, she felt like a stranger.
Like someone whose smile no longer belonged to him.

He walked up, unsure, hesitating before speaking. “Hey.”
She looked up, smile fading.
“Hi.”

“Can we talk?”

Soumya glanced at the half-colored mandala in her hand. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

Rudra scratched the back of his neck. “I just… I wanted to say sorry. For yesterday. I didn’t realize I was being… stupid.”

She didn’t answer. He sat beside her anyway.

“I talked to Bhavya today,” he offered, as if that would make things better. Her expression didn’t change. “That’s nice.” “She’s actually… pretty cool.” Soumya nodded slowly. “Of course she is.”

There was something in her voice that didn’t match her words—too soft, too empty. But Rudra didn’t know how to read it.

“I’m not saying anything’s happening,” he added quickly. “Just… saying. She’s nice.”
Soumya forced a smile. “Good for you.”

They sat in silence, the hum of students and distant guitar music filling the awkward gap between them.

Rudra turned to her. “Are we okay?” Soumya stared at him. “You’re asking me that like we’re still a couple.” His smile faltered.

She added, gently but firmly, “We were never a real couple, Rudra. That was the whole point.”
He nodded, guilt settling in his chest like wet cement.

“I just… I miss you,” he admitted. She stood up, brushing her hands clean. “Maybe you should figure out whether you miss me, or just the version of me that played girlfriend for your benefit.”
And with that, she left him again—before he could say anything more.

The Bonfire

The evening was picture-perfect. Strings of fairy lights, logs around a roaring bonfire, couples laughing into the smoky night. Marshmallows. Music. Magic.

Rudra stood beside Bhavya, dressed in black, his smile rehearsed. Every laugh felt like a lie. Every compliment from Bhavya clanged hollow in his ears.

Across the fire, Soumya sat with a group of classmates. From afar, she looked serene—hair falling over one shoulder, her dupatta catching the light breeze, her smile timed just right.

But Rudra knew her better.

He saw the way she flinched every time Bhavya laughed too loudly near him.
He saw how she never once looked his way.

Bhavya leaned in. “What’s up? You’re unusually quiet tonight.”
Rudra forced a smile. “Just tired.”

But that wasn’t the truth. The truth was sitting ten feet away in a green kurta, not even glancing at him. The truth was biting into a roasted marshmallow while pretending her world hadn’t just tilted on its axis.

He didn’t want this. Not Bhavya’s approval. Not the attention.

He wanted the girl who fought with him over the last biscuit. The girl who danced like no one was watching during hostel parties. The girl who once told him she hated fake things—yet pretended to be his girlfriend anyway, just to protect him.

He needed to talk to her.

On the Fringe

Soumya had just gotten up to walk toward the lake again when she heard his footsteps catching up behind her.
“Soumya, wait.”

She turned slowly. “Yes?”

Rudra’s heart pounded. He hadn’t rehearsed this. He didn’t know how to explain something she hadn’t seen—only assumed.

“I don’t know what I did this time but—” She raised a brow. “This time?”

“I mean—something’s different. You’ve been… distant. Since this morning.”“You really don’t know?” “No,” he said, genuinely confused.

She crossed her arms. “You talked to Bhavya today.” His face tightened. “Yeah. She came over. Said a few things—”

“I heard them,” she interrupted.

He froze.

“I was behind the screen when she said all of it. About me. About how we ‘don’t match.’ How I’m… ‘bulky.’ That we look like an elephant and a jockey.”

Every word landed like a punch.

“Soumya… no. I—” She shook her head. “Don’t. You didn’t say anything. You just let her.”

“That’s not true,” he said, stepping forward. “I did. I told her off. I told her she was wrong—”

She shook her head again, faster this time, her voice breaking. “But I didn’t hear it, Rudra. I walked away before you said anything. Because I thought… I thought you wouldn’t.”

Her eyes filled, and she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

“You thought I agreed with her,” he said softly.

She didn’t respond. But her silence said everything.
And that silence hurt more than any insult Bhavya had thrown his way.

“Soumya, I defended you. I told her you didn’t need to match anyone. That you were real. And confident. And more incredible than she’d ever understand.”

But it was too late.

She was already turning away.

And this time, he didn’t stop her.

Because sometimes, the damage wasn’t in what was said. It was in the timing. She had walked away before she could hear the truth. And now, it was lodged between them like an unspoken goodbye.

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To be continued.

Chapter 5 (Realizations and Revelations)

It had been three days since Rudra had danced under the stars with Bhavya.
Three days since Soumya had spoken more than two full sentences to him.
Three days since Rudra Singh Oberoi started feeling… off.

Bhavya was everything he thought he wanted—confident, gorgeous, exciting.
But when she smiled at him, it didn’t warm him.
When she laughed, it didn’t linger.
When she touched his hand, it didn’t spark.

It felt like performance.

Much like what he’d done with Soumya.

Only with Soumya… the performance had felt real.
And the silence that followed felt even realer.

Soumya, meanwhile, had mastered the art of pretending nothing had changed.
She laughed with classmates. Hiked the mountain trail with ease.
Taught a meditation session to some of the girls.
She was calm. She was composed.

She was not okay.

Because every time someone mentioned Rudra’s name—her heart faltered.
Every time she saw him walking beside Bhavya, her eyes darted away just a little too fast.

But she didn’t let it show.
This was her wall now—tall, solid, and necessary.
And she wasn’t letting anyone through.

On the last day of the retreat, as everyone packed their bags, Rudra stood on the balcony of his cottage, watching Soumya zip her suitcase.

She’d stopped using his shampoo.
Stopped eating beside him.
She hadn’t worn the “Queen” hoodie again.

It hurt.
More than he expected.

“You’re not going to say goodbye?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Soumya didn’t look up. “We’re on the same bus.”

“You know what I mean.”

She paused, then turned slowly to face him. “Why, Rudra? Do you want a proper ending for the story you wrote?”

“That’s not fair,” he muttered.

“Isn’t it?”

He took a step forward. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She folded her arms. “Then why did you?”

He had no answer.
She nodded. “Exactly.”

The bus ride back to campus was quieter than the journey there.
Couples dozed on each other’s shoulders, exhausted but happy.
Bhavya sat beside Rudra, scrolling through her phone, occasionally showing him memes and giggling at her own captions.

He smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Every few minutes, his glance shifted across the aisle.

Soumya sat by the window, headphones on, scribbling in her journal.
She hadn’t looked at him once.

He missed her nudge when he hummed off-key.
Her eye rolls at his stupid jokes.
Her voice. Her presence.
Her.

That evening, back at the flat, Rudra hovered awkwardly outside her door.
She was unpacking, still in her travel hoodie, when he finally knocked.

She looked up. “Yes?”

He stepped in, sitting on the edge of her bed like he used to.

But she didn’t look amused. She didn’t look comfortable.
She looked like she had built a door inside herself—and he wasn’t getting through.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began. “About everything.”

She said nothing.

“I thought I wanted Bhavya,” he admitted. “And she is… well, great. But—”

“But she’s not me,” Soumya finished for him. Her voice was soft, but not smug.

He blinked. “Yeah.”

She met his eyes. “And now that you’ve had your moment, you’re ready to come back to comfort, right? Back to me.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Yes, it is,” she cut in, sharper now. “You’re not in love with me, Rudra. You’re just realizing that the person you used for convenience actually meant something. And now that the glamour’s faded, you want the warmth back.”

Rudra flinched like she’d struck him.
He opened his mouth. Shut it.

Then—she took a breath. Her voice shifted.
Lower. Softer. Real.

“I loved you, Rudra,” she said quietly. “I really did.”

He froze.

“I don’t mean during the fake dating phase,” she continued, her eyes suddenly glassy. “I mean before that. Long before that. When you walked into our first class twenty minutes late and still tried to argue with the professor. When you made fun of my planner but secretly color-coded your gym routine.”

She gave a small, tired smile. “You didn’t see it, but I was falling. For you. All the time. Slowly. Hopelessly.”

Rudra’s breath left his body like a punch to the chest. “Wait. What?”

“I loved you, Rudra. I was just too smart to say it out loud.”

He blinked fast. “You—what? You actually had feelings for me? All this time?”

Soumya laughed bitterly. “Of course you didn’t see it. Why would you? I wasn’t Bhavya. I wasn’t dramatic or glittery enough to be the girl you noticed.”

“No, no, Soumya,” he said, rising from the bed, stunned. “You can’t just drop that and walk away. You loved me?”

“I loved you,” she repeated, firmer now. “Fully. Silently. The kind of love that waits and doesn’t expect to be seen.”

Rudra sat back down heavily.

“I never knew,” he whispered, genuinely shaken.

“Exactly,” she said. “You never knew. Because you never looked.”

A silence fell—thick with unsaid things and unraveled illusions.

She finally stood and walked over to him. “You’re a good person, Rudra. And maybe you’ll figure things out eventually. But not with me as the second draft of your love story.”

His voice cracked. “What if I’m not asking you to be a backup?”

“Then come back when you know I’m your first choice,” she said. “And not just a soft place to land when your fantasy falls apart.”

New Energy

That night, Rudra lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

His room felt colder than ever.

Bhavya had messaged him twice.
He hadn’t replied.

Instead, he opened his gallery and stared at a photo of Soumya—taken during their “fake” couple trip.
She was laughing with her eyes closed, clutching a cup of chai, hair blowing in the wind.
He hadn’t even realized he’d taken it.

But it was his favorite.

And now that he knew—she had loved him all along—he couldn’t un-hear it.

Her voice echoed in his head:

“You didn’t see it, but I was falling. For you. All the time. Slowly. Hopelessly.”

He hadn't noticed. Not once.

Not when she made chai just the way he liked it.
Not when she stayed up late helping him fake texts to Bhavya.
Not even when she’d watched him flirt with someone else—smiling, nodding, hurting.

She had loved him.
And he’d been too self-absorbed, too distracted, too blind to see what was in front of him.

The next morning, Rudra walked into the campus café late, tired and unsure of what he was even doing there.

And that’s when he saw her.

At a corner table, laughing.
With someone new.

The boy was tall, dusky, with a charming crooked smile and a vintage camera slung across his chest. Rudra recognized him vaguely—Neil Verma. The transfer student from Delhi. Known for two things: photography and handwritten poetry quotes that girls apparently swooned over.

Soumya was leaning in, grinning—genuinely grinning—as Neil showed her a polaroid.
Their heads were too close.
Her laugh came too easily.

Rudra stood frozen.

The smoothie he’d bought her—guava-mint, her favorite—was suddenly a dead weight in his hand.

He had planned to leave it on her desk with a quiet note: No pressure. Just effort.

Now, it felt laughably insufficient.

And then Neil handed Soumya a folded slip of paper.
She opened it. Read it.
And blushed.

Blushed.

Jealousy wasn’t loud.
It was subtle—like a thread pulling tight in Rudra’s chest, refusing to snap.

He turned to leave.

But paused.

No.

If there was one thing he had promised her, it was that he’d stop talking and start doing.

He didn’t deserve her—not yet.
But he wasn’t walking away again.

Action, Not Words

Rudra didn’t text.
He didn’t send flowers or call her at midnight or perform some dramatic stunt with flash mobs and guitars.

Instead, he showed up.

· At the chai stall near the library—ten minutes early, quietly paying for her usual before she arrived.

· At the mandala art workshop—volunteering to help clean up without saying a word.

· At the library—sliding a worn copy of Milk and Honey back into the poetry shelf with a sticky note tucked inside:

“You don’t need to match anyone. You were made to stand out.”

He didn’t sign it.
But she knew.

Soumya saw the efforts.
She read the notes.
She noticed the silences, the pauses where he used to fill space with noise.

But she didn’t let herself hope.

Because Rudra Singh Oberoi had always meant well.
But he’d never known how to love deeply.

And she wasn’t going to be anyone’s character arc.

Her walls weren’t built from ego.
They were made of bruises.

So even when her heart flickered at the smallest gestures—she reminded herself:

Action is easy. Consistency is not.

-----

To be continued.

Chapter 6 (Pyaar Ka Punchnama)

The next morning, Rudra woke up with a stronger mission.

Not one involving dumbbells, smoothies, or viral reels.

A mission with higher stakes: winning back Soumya Kapoor.

Because after a night of tossing and turning, replaying every moment, every glance, every careless word—he finally knew.

He loved her.

Not like a best friend. Not like a convenience.

He loved her like someone who made the world quieter just by being in the room. Like someone whose absence left a hollow echo in the corners of his chest.

The problem?

She didn’t believe him.

And after everything he’d done—why should she?

He waited by her class building for two straight lectures. Students buzzed around him like he was some celebrity on tour.

“Dude, what’s Rudra doing here?”
“Is he waiting for Bhavya?”
“No way. Bhavya’s in the auditorium.”
“Wait—he’s holding a rose? Is this a proposal?!”

Rudra ignored it all.

When Soumya finally stepped out, earbuds in, her head dipped over her phone—he felt his heart spike like a gym monitor on steroids.

She stopped the moment she saw him.

He stepped forward.

“Hi.”

Her gaze slid to the single red rose in his hand.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Yeah,” he said, trying to sound casual. “It’s real this time.”

She sighed and brushed past him. “Rudra, don’t.”

“I mean it, Soumya!” he called, chasing after her. “I know I messed up. I know I was stupid, and selfish, and blind. But I see it now. I see you.”

She turned. “What exactly do you see, Rudra? The girl who made your tea? Who helped you plan a fake love story so you could impress someone else?”

“No!” he said, grabbing her hand. “I see the girl who’s been beside me for everything. Who didn’t need to shine loud because she shines just by being herself. I see the girl I laughed with, fought with, lived with—and loved, without even realizing I was falling.”

She pulled her hand away. “You think you love me. Because I’m familiar. Because Bhavya didn’t turn into what you fantasized. But this? This is just guilt and comfort.”

Rudra flinched. “It’s not comfort. You think I’d show up like this in front of half the college if it wasn’t real?”

“You’ve done wilder things for attention.”

That hurt.

But he deserved it.

Over the next week, Rudra tried.

And the whole college watched like it was a soap opera on loop.

Day 1: He brought her a bag of her favorite snacks with a sticky note that said “I’m not sweet, but these are.”

Day 2: He asked her to tutor him for sociology—something he hated more than cardio.

Day 3: He posted an apology video online, tagging her and saying, “For the girl who deserved better. I’m trying to become that guy.”

Soumya didn’t respond.

She watched. She read. She listened.

But she didn’t let herself hope.

Because Rudra was chaos wrapped in charm. He’d always meant well, but he’d never known how to care deeply. And she wasn’t going to be a practice run for his maturity arc.

On Day 4, he showed up outside her class with a placard that read:
“Dear Somu, this isn’t drama. It’s a declaration. Give me a chance to love you, for real.”

Embarrassed, annoyed, and low-key impressed, Soumya pulled him aside.

“What are you trying to prove?”

“That I’m serious.”

“You never even said you loved me. Not once.”

He inhaled, then looked her straight in the eyes. “I love you, Soumya. Like an idiot who had the diamond all along and kept chasing rhinestones.”

Her breath hitched.

“I know I broke your trust,” he continued. “And I won’t blame you if you never believe me again. But I’ll keep showing up. Because this time, I’m not looking anywhere else.”

Silence.

Then she asked, softly, “What if this is just infatuation?”

He stepped closer. “Then I’ll still show up tomorrow. And the next day. Until it’s not.”

That night, Soumya stared at her journal for hours.

She remembered the fake laughs, the real tears.

She remembered the hoodie he made her wear.

The chai mornings.

The bus rides.

The heartbreak.

But she also remembered his stuttered apology, his awkward placard, the look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before—uncertainty, vulnerability… and something deeper.

Could he really have changed?

Was it possible Rudra had finally grown into the love she always gave freely?

She wasn’t sure.

But maybe she didn’t need to be—yet.

The next morning, she found him waiting at the college gates—hair unstyled, hoodie plain, no theatrics.

Just a boy with dark circles under his eyes and a nervous smile.

She walked up and stood in front of him.

He looked up. “You came.”

She nodded. “You still owe me shampoo. And two months of laundry.”

His grin returned, bright and boyish. “So... is that a yes?”

“No,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s a maybe. One you’ll have to earn.”

He exhaled—grateful, relieved, stunned.

“Challenge accepted,” he whispered.

And as they walked together—side by side, not hand-in-hand, but with something real beginning to rebuild between them—Rudra realized this was the slow, messy, and painfully honest version of love.

And it was the only kind that mattered.

Soumya’s “maybe” wasn’t a yes.
But it was something.

It was hope with caution.
It was the door cracked open—just enough to let him in, but not enough to let him rest.

And Rudra was willing to work for every inch of that doorway.

But not everyone had patience.

Neil’s Confession

It happened a few days later—outside the café where Soumya had once cried silently into her chai.

Neil had been walking beside her, camera slung over his shoulder, a Polaroid of her laughing tucked in his journal. They’d grown closer lately—organically. Not in the way sparks fly, but in the way comfort settles.

He was kind. Smart. Observant.

And perhaps, too observant.

“You’ve been quieter lately,” he said, holding the door open for her.

Soumya blinked. “Have I?”

Neil smiled softly. “Only when Rudra’s around.”

She stiffened.

He waited, then pulled out a small envelope from his satchel and slid it across the table.

“What’s this?”

“My confession,” he said.

Her heart thudded.

She opened the envelope. Inside was a poem. Typed neatly. Titled: The Girl Who Smelled Like Stories.

“She carried galaxies in notebooks,
and storms behind soft eyes.
She wasn’t a firework—
she was fire,
slow-burning, stubborn, and impossible to ignore.”

Her throat tightened.

Neil watched her closely. “I meant every word. I know there’s a lot going on in that heart of yours. And I’m not asking for a decision. I just wanted you to know… I’m here. If you ever look my way.”

Soumya didn’t speak.

Because it was beautiful. Sincere. Safe.

And yet, her heart didn’t jump.
It didn’t ache.
It didn’t pull.

Not like it did when Rudra was across the room, existing.

“I…” she began, but words failed her.

Neil smiled kindly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to be honest.”

She nodded, overwhelmed.

That night, she read the poem again.

And again.

But somehow, it didn’t echo.

Because poetry may move you.

But love? Love haunts.

The Exhibition

The Inter-College Art Fest had arrived.

It was big. Public. Press-covered.

And thanks to the irony of karma and a very meddling faculty advisor—they had to work together.

Soumya Kapoor: Student Coordinator for the Literary Arts Exhibit.
Rudra Singh Oberoi: Lead for Logistics & Creative Installations.

“Great,” Soumya muttered as she read the list. “Just great.”

Rudra smirked. “Don’t worry, Professor Malhotra. I’ll stay in my lane.”

“You don’t have a lane,” she snapped, picking up a clipboard.

But he didn’t bite back.

Instead, he followed instructions. He lifted crates. He arranged poetry scrolls with precision. He even handled the drama club’s entire tantrum about missing props without losing his cool.

Every now and then, she caught him watching her.

Not like he used to.

Not like a guy waiting to pounce with a joke or flirtation.

But like someone noticing her. With quiet reverence.

It was disarming.

By the second day of setup, she almost forgot to be mad.

Until the power tripped. Literally.

The lights blinked. Sound systems froze. Chaos exploded.

Everyone panicked—except Rudra.

“Relax,” he told the volunteers. “We’ll reroute from the green generator. I’ll fix the connections. Soumya, you handle the press rep.”

She stared at him.

“You know about generators?”

He shrugged. “YouTube. And my dad made me intern at Oberoi Events when I was fifteen.”

In that moment—hair messy, sleeves rolled, slightly sweating and in charge—Rudra looked… grown.

Like a boy turning man in real-time.

After the issue was resolved and the exhibit reopened without a glitch, she found him sitting behind the stage, sipping water.

She walked up, hesitant. “Hey.”

He looked up. “Hey.”

“You did good,” she said.

He smiled. “Trying.”

Silence.

Then she sat beside him.

“I read your sticky note,” she said finally.

He turned to her, surprised.

“You were right,” she continued. “I wasn’t made to match anyone. I was made to stand out. But I also wanted someone to stand with me.”

“I’m here,” he said, voice low.

She glanced at him.

“I know,” she whispered. “But I need to know it won’t disappear once things get easy.”

He took her hand.

“It won’t,” he said. “Because loving you isn’t easy, Soumya. It’s real. And real is hard. Real is flawed. Real stays.”

She didn’t pull her hand away.

Didn’t smile.

Just stared ahead—thoughtful.

But her fingers curled around his.

That evening, as students roamed through the beautifully curated exhibition, a few paused at a new poetry board.

A fresh addition.

A single sheet.

Unattributed.

In Soumya’s handwriting.

“You won’t find this love in fireworks.
You’ll find it in a shared chai,
in hands that remember the hurt,
but choose to hold anyway.
In boys who grow,
and girls who finally say—
‘Maybe… isn’t the end.’”

Rudra read it, his throat tight.

And for the first time in a long time, she looked at him from across the room.

No walls.

No maybe.

Just… beginning.

------

To be continued.

Chapter 7 (Not So Fake Anymore)

Love, when it’s real, doesn’t arrive with fireworks.

Sometimes it walks in quietly—arms full of chai, patience, and apologies.

That’s how Rudra Singh Oberoi began earning his “maybe.”

It started with the little things.

He stopped using Soumya’s shampoo without asking.
Stopped posting shirtless selfies every two hours.
Stopped bringing up Bhavya like she was some protein-packed benchmark.

Instead, he listened.

Like—really listened.

When Soumya talked about her final project, he didn’t zone out.
When she mentioned a poem she was working on, he asked to read it.
He even remembered to bring her low-sugar brownies from the café she liked every Wednesday.

And that’s when Soumya knew: something had shifted.

This wasn’t the same boy who once needed her to help fake a love story.

This boy was trying to write her into his future.

Three weeks had passed since “the maybe.”

They weren’t dating.

They weren’t fake anything anymore.

They were in between.

And surprisingly, the in-between didn’t hurt.

In fact, it felt peaceful.

Until the in-between got interrupted... by the past.

It happened on a Thursday.

Rudra was mid-rep at the gym, sweat lining his brow, music pounding in his headphones, when he saw her in the mirror.

Bhavya.

Leaning against the glass wall in a sleek black co-ord, cucumber water in hand, looking like a Vogue ad with legs.

She gave a little wave. “Hey, stranger.”

Rudra yanked out one earbud. “Hey. Haven’t seen you around.”

“I’ve been giving you space,” she said, eyes gleaming. “You’ve been busy… being serious.”

He grabbed a towel. “Guess I have.”

Bhavya tilted her head. “Didn’t think you had it in you. The whole—‘chase one girl and not flirt with the rest of the planet’ vibe.”

Rudra half-smiled. “Turns out… some girls are worth the effort.”

She blinked, caught off-guard.

That was the shift.

The boy who once revolved around her attention didn’t orbit anymore.

“Wow,” she said after a pause. “Somu’s lucky.”

“She is,” he replied simply—no smugness. Just truth.

Bhavya looked at her water, voice quieter now. “I misjudged her.”

Rudra tilted his head. “How?”

“I thought she wasn’t your type,” she said. “But maybe… your type grew up.”

Then she gave him one last smile—gentle, resigned—and walked away.

No dramatics. No pettiness. Just... closure.

And Rudra stood there for a beat, not dazed by the encounter—but grounded by it.

That evening, he found Soumya curled up in her hoodie, reading under fairy lights on their shared balcony.

She didn’t see him right away, and he didn’t speak.

He just stood there, quietly taking her in—the way her hair fell into her eyes, the soft line of her brow when she read, the quiet comfort she carried without trying.

Finally, she looked up. “You’re staring.”

He smiled, moving to sit beside her. “I talked to Bhavya today.”

Her eyes didn’t flinch. “Oh?”

“She said something I can’t stop thinking about.”

“What?”

“She said… you’re not my type. And she’s probably right.”

Soumya raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what your type used to be?”

Rudra chuckled. “Let’s just say she wore a lot of highlighter and said things like ‘yasss queen.’”

Soumya snorted. “You really are a cliché.”

“But you,” he said, voice softening, “you don’t need to sparkle to be unforgettable. You don’t scream to be heard. You just are. And honestly? I’ve never been more attracted to anything.”

She looked down for a second, then back at him. “So… what happens now?”

“I keep showing up,” he said. “Until maybe becomes yes.”

Soumya tilted her head. “You really think I’m unforgettable?”

He leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re literally tattooed on my soul, Somu.”

She rolled her eyes, lips twitching. “Ugh.”

“Too filmy?”

“Very.”

But she smiled.

And that smile felt like the first petal of a late-blooming spring.

That weekend, at the campus open mic night, Soumya’s friends finally convinced her to read one of her poems.

She stood under the stage lights, mic trembling slightly in her hand.

Then she saw him in the front row.

Rudra.

No phone. No grand expression. Just watching her—quiet, intent, steady.

She exhaled—and began.

“He was chaos,
I was calm.
He was glitter,
I was ground.
He ran toward spotlights—
Until he noticed the sun.”

The audience clapped politely.

But her eyes never left his.

After the show, he found her backstage.

She looked at him, heart pounding. “You were crying.”

He wrapped his arms around her, forehead resting on hers. “You wrote that about me.”

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“You’re getting bad at hiding things.”

She smiled. “Or maybe… I’m ready to be found.”

As the fest continued that evening, the fairy lights flickered around them, unnoticed.

They stood under one of the canopy trees behind the auditorium.

She touched his chest lightly, right above his heart.

“Do you really love me, Rudra?”

He nodded. “With every part of me I didn’t know how to use right until you came along.”

Her fingers slid to his collar.

He leaned in.

And she met him halfway.

This kiss wasn’t for forgiveness.

It wasn’t even for confirmation.

It was for them.

Everything they’d been. Everything they’d lost. Everything they were finally building.

When they broke apart, breathless, he said, “So... does this mean maybe is now yes?”

Soumya looked up at him, cheeks pink. “This means… you can stop asking.”

------

To be continued.

Chapter 8 (Rumya Goals (For Real This Time))

Love wasn’t loud.

Not for them.

It didn’t roar like drama or scream like declarations.

It whispered—in breath caught between kisses, in fingers trembling against worn hoodies, in two foreheads pressed together under campus fairy lights.

When Soumya kissed Rudra beneath the gulmohar tree, it wasn’t for show.

It wasn’t even for closure.

It was for beginning.

And they didn’t notice the two pairs of eyes watching from a distance.

Neil saw it first.

He’d been walking across the courtyard with his camera bag slung across his shoulder, looking for a moment worth framing. And he found it.

But not the way he expected.

His steps slowed when he saw Soumya—her hands in Rudra’s hair, her lips soft against his, like they’d found the home they’d always been circling.

His heart pinched.

But he didn’t look away out of jealousy.

He looked away with understanding.

Because he’d seen that look on her face once—when she was reading one of his poems.

But tonight, it wasn’t poetry that lit her up.

It was Rudra.

And maybe… that was poetry too.

Neil smiled faintly to himself, then turned and walked away.

No bitterness. No pettiness.

Just peace.

Bhavya came next.

She had arrived late for the fest, wearing silver heels and good intentions. Her plan wasn’t to crash a moment. But when she turned the corner and saw them—

Soumya leaning into Rudra like gravity was finally working in her favor—

She stopped.

Something tugged inside her.

Not regret.

Just... recognition.

Bhavya had once thought Rudra was hers. A spotlight accessory. A fun flirtation. But now, watching him cradle Soumya’s face like it held his entire purpose?

She understood what she’d never had.

Depth.

She exhaled slowly and smiled.

Not because it didn’t sting a little—but because she’d finally seen what love looked like when it stopped performing and started being.

And quietly, gracefully, she left.

Later that night, the laughter of the crowd echoed faintly behind them as Soumya and Rudra remained on the edge of the lit courtyard, alone but not lost.

They didn’t speak right away.

Rudra touched her cheek like he was afraid she’d vanish.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Soumya nodded, eyes soft. “I’ve never been more.”

He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Can I take you somewhere?”

She looked at him—not cautious, not skeptical.

Just open.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Take me.”

The flat was dim and quiet when they returned.

No chaos. No distractions.

Just two people who had known each other in every version—friends, fakes, and now, maybe finally… real.

Rudra hesitated in the doorway of her room.

Soumya didn’t.

She stepped in and turned around slowly, holding his gaze.

“Stay,” she whispered.

And that was all it took.

He crossed the room, cupped her face, and kissed her again—deeper this time. Slower. No urgency, no questions. Just mouths moving like they'd waited years to get it right.

His hoodie slipped off her shoulders.

Her fingers tugged gently at the hem of his t-shirt.

No fireworks. No music.

Just warmth.

Skin to skin, breath to breath, they undressed in pauses, in reverence.

Like learning a language they already knew but had never spoken aloud.

He kissed the scar near her collarbone she always tried to hide.

She kissed the mole near his jaw he never noticed.

They laughed softly when his hand knocked over her sketchbook.

Then they stilled—bare against each other under the low light, bodies trembling but sure.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice rough, forehead pressed to hers.

She touched his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart. “I want this.”

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered. “Just love me. As you are.”

And he did.

They moved together slowly, reverently—like an apology and a promise at once.

Like a dance that needed no music.

When it was over, they stayed tangled in silence.

His head resting against her shoulder.

Her fingers in his hair.

Two hearts still thudding—but now, in rhythm.

In the quiet after, Soumya murmured, “So… now that you’ve earned your ‘maybe,’ what are you going to do?”

Rudra pressed a kiss to her wrist. “Ask for your forever.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Start with breakfast first.”

“Already planning it,” he whispered.

And in that moment—with tousled sheets and tangled limbs and hearts still learning how to be gentle—they weren’t perfect.

But they were home.

-----

To be continued.

Chapter 9 (Pyaar Mein Full Stop (Or Maybe Just a Comma))

A week after the night they stopped pretending, campus life resumed its regular chaos.

Assignments. Cafeteria debates. Library sprints before deadlines.

But something was different.

Soumya and Rudra hadn’t made any grand announcements.

No social media soft-launch.

No tagged selfies.

They still walked beside each other. Still argued over chai flavors. Still teased in whispers during lectures.

But now—there were glances that lingered.

Fingers that brushed and didn’t pull away.

Smiles that weren’t hiding anything.

And the silences? They were no longer tense or loaded.
They were soft. Shared. Like a comfortable pause in a song you knew by heart.

The world around them was loud. College elections. Internship panic. Late-night submissions.

But Rumya?

They moved to their own rhythm.

Sometimes out of sync. Sometimes unsure.

But never pretending.

Not anymore.

One Thursday afternoon, Rudra found a scribbled note slipped into his tiffin box.

He hadn’t packed it. He wasn’t even sure who did—maybe it was Soumya, maybe his flatmate was just being chaotic.

But the note was undeniably hers.

“You still snore. Loudly.
But I guess I don’t mind.

· S.”

Rudra read it three times before grinning like an idiot.

Later that evening, he slipped his own note under her pillow.

“You talk in your sleep.
About books. And weird metaphors.
But it’s my favorite sound.

· R.”

They still hadn’t kissed again.

Not out of hesitation. Not out of doubt.

But because this part—the rebuilding, the rediscovering—it was sacred.

Soumya wasn’t rushing.

Rudra wasn’t demanding.

They were rewriting the rules of their story, one slow line at a time.

And the truth?

It was kind of perfect.

Until the Alumni Farewell Event forced them both into new chaos.

Professor Malhotra’s voice boomed one morning in the corridor.

“Soumya! Rudra! Since you two have so much chemistry, why don’t you co-host the alumni farewell this year?”

Rudra blinked. “Ma’am, I can’t even pronounce ‘alumni’ properly.”

Soumya elbowed him. “We’ll do it.”

His eyes widened. “We will?”

“We will,” she confirmed, already walking ahead. “Because if we can fake-date, real-hosting should be easy.”

It wasn’t.

The first few planning sessions were a mess.

Rudra kept suggesting goofy one-liners for their script.
Soumya vetoed every one of them.
He rolled his eyes. She smacked him with a rolled-up cue card.

But somehow… it worked.

By the week of the event, they had a routine.

Chai at 7.

Scripting at 8.

Arguing at 9.

Smiling by 10.

On the night of the farewell, as Rudra adjusted his mic and glanced at Soumya in a deep green saree—something hit him.

They had come so far from that first fake selfie.
From hashtags and hiding.

He wasn’t trying to impress her anymore.

He was just proud to be standing beside her.

Their hosting was flawless.

Funny. Poised. Warm.

They made the crowd laugh, cry, and cheer.

But the real moment—the one no one else noticed—came during the closing speech.

Rudra looked at Soumya.

Paused.

And off-script, said quietly into the mic:

“Sometimes, the best stories start with the worst lies.”

The audience laughed.

But Soumya?
She looked at him—and knew.

This was his way of saying:
I’m not afraid to love you out loud anymore.

Later that night, after the event ended and everyone spilled into the lawns, Rudra found her under the fairy-lit tree.

Just like always.

They didn’t say anything.

He held out his hand.

She took it.

And in that moment—no noise, no speeches, no audience—they kissed.

This time, slow. Sure. Like punctuation at the end of a long sentence.

Not a question mark.

Not an ellipsis.

But a full stop.

Or maybe, just a comma.

Because their story?

It wasn’t ending.

It was only just beginning.

------

To be continued.