I created this channel so that i can post whatever i want.

Ignore her for 5 days... Come back in 6 months, she's already someone else's girlfriend. But watch she'll still text you like she's yours. Because women move on physically faster than they ever let go emotionally. That's why you never chase. Let her play house with the next guy deep down, she knows the bond she had with you can't be replaced. Only a few men will understand the game

tokyo ghoul:re

Guys who come for the story can leave this channel now... Because I am going to start posting random posts and memes here now.

A Closure to you ------ If you have read till here... thank you. This story was never just about love. It was about timing. It was about pain. It was about holding on when every reason told you to let go. It was about learning, losing, growing, and surviving. Sana was never mine. Not in the way stories promise. But she was real. My real. Some people come into your life not to stay forever, but to teach you how deeply you can feel. I don't know where life will take her. I don't even know if she ever thinks about me. But I truly hope she is happy. Not because she was my love, but because she deserves every bit of happiness that the world can give. As for me.. I'm still here. Still trying. Still becoming someone who can carry memories without breaking. This rose... I bought it to give to her that day. But life had different plans. So I kept it. Not as a regret, but as a reminder. A reminder that I loved purely. I cared deeply. And I never gave up on her in the darkest times. Some stories don't have happy endings. But that doesn't mean they weren't beautiful. Thank you for being a part of this journey. It means more than you know. Forever Greatful. Ani~

“Just don’t force her to become who she was before. Some people don’t come back the same.” That line stayed with me. Two months passed. She barely talked to anyone. She was in final year, and because of COVID, campus visits weren’t even necessary. Mass interviews were cancelled. Most things had moved online. She stayed in her room. And the possibility of seeing her again kept disappearing. So I did the only thing I could think of. I found Harshita ma’am. I asked her, “Ma’am… can you please call Sana ma’am to campus once?” She looked at me. Smiled like she already knew everything. And said, “I’ll try.” A few days later it worked. Sana came to campus. Harshita ma’am called us all to the canteen. Me, My friends, Some seniors And her. She walked in quietly. Same face, Same eyes, But softer somehow, More tired. I tried talking, She gave short replies, Nothing more, I was trying too hard, It was painful. So I stood up and said, “I’m getting cold coffee.” As I came back with drinks and was about to sit— Abhinav pulled my chair. I slipped, In front of everyone. Public humiliation. And for the first time in months— Sana smiled. A real one. She shook her head and said, “Dumbo. As always.” That one smile gave me more peace than therapy ever could. Everyone laughed. A friend said, “slipped again clumsy” I replied, “a clumsy guy running America” Even Sana laughed softly. That day, we spent hours in the canteen. Small conversations. Small smiles. Nothing dramatic. But after months of silence, it felt like oxygen. That evening, I asked her, “I’ll drop you home?” She looked at me for a second. Then said, “Okay.” We walked slowly. Evening light. Quiet roads. And somewhere on the way, we passed a small garden. I stopped. “Let’s sit for a while.” She agreed. We sat on an old bench under a tree. For a few minutes, just silence. Then suddenly out of blue she said, “I know you like me.” Straight. No warning. I looked at her. She continued, “And I want you to promise me something.” My chest felt heavy. She looked ahead and said, “No matter what happens… after I finish college… you will not come after me.” Every word felt like glass. She kept speaking. “You deserve a life that moves forward. Not someone stuck in grief. Not someone who may never become normal again.” I couldn’t say anything. She smiled sadly. “Forget me after college.” That sentence didn’t feel like words. It felt like someone slowly cutting my heart open. I looked at her and somehow asked, “After your college… right?” She looked at me. I continued, “So until then… I still have time?” Silence. No answer. I took a breath. “Then I’ll promise you. But on one condition.” She waited. “For whatever time we have left… we live it fully. No distance. No pretending. No pushing me away. We spend it honestly. Every moment. Until graduation.” She stayed quiet for a long time. Then finally she nodded. “Okay.” Softly. “I’ll stay… if you promise me that.” I smiled.. Even though my heart was breaking. “I promise.” And just like that we made the strangest love agreement in history. Six months. That was all. Six months before her graduation. Six months to make her change her mind. And I was stupid enough to believe love could win that easily. But life isn’t built like movies. She didn’t change. Something between us had changed too. The comfort we once had.. never fully came back. People say when glass breaks, even after fixing it, the cracks remain. Maybe they were right. I still loved her. Probably more than before. But love alone doesn’t always heal people. For one month, we spent time together. Walks, Calls, Small meetings, Quiet conversations, Then slowly, even that faded. She got an internship. Hyderabad. A new city. A new life. She left. And this time.. there was no dramatic goodbye. No confession. No perfect ending. Just distance. Again. Since then I never met her. Sometimes I still think love stories end with “I love you.” Ours ended with “Take care.” And somehow that hurt more.

Chapter 12 – The Last Promise --------- My second year ended in silence. Not heartbreak. Not closure. Just silence. The kind that stays with you. The kind that makes even normal days feel heavier. I had stopped expecting replies. Still, I kept texting. Not because I thought she would answer— but because loving someone sometimes becomes a habit. And habits are hard to kill. Third year started. 4th September 2021. The college reopened after what felt like a lifetime. Walking back into campus felt strange. Same buildings. Same canteen. Same professors pretending online classes had changed us into better students. Nothing had changed. Except everything had. I went to campus with only one hope— maybe she would come. Maybe I’d see her. Maybe things would feel normal again. She didn’t come. I waited the whole day like an unpaid watchman. Nothing. That evening, I called Rohit bhaiya. “Bhaiya… Sana ma’am came?” He replied, “No. She hasn’t returned from home yet. She’s still in Singrauli with her grandparents.” I nodded quietly. Before cutting the call, I said, “Please let me know whenever she comes.” He paused for a second. Then softly said, “I will.” Days passed. Then weeks. Then— 20th September 2021. My phone rang. Rohit bhaiya. I picked up immediately. “Hello bhaiya?” “Where are you, chote?” “In hostel.” “I’m coming. Get ready. We have to go somewhere.” Before I could ask anything, he cut the call. Ten minutes later, a car horn screamed outside the hostel. “Oye chote! Come down!” I ran downstairs. Got inside. And we drove. I looked at him. “Bhaiya… where are we going?” He smirked slightly. “Railway station.” I frowned. “Why?” He looked at me for one second and said, “Go check who’s coming. S5 coach. I’ll wait here.” And instantly— I knew. I didn’t even remember platform tickets existed. I just ran. Straight to the platform. The train had already arrived. It was the last stop. People were getting down. Crowds everywhere. Heartbeat louder than the train itself. Then— I saw her. Sana. Standing near the coach with her bags. Tired. Quiet. Different. But still— her. I walked toward her. Fast. Then faster. And before my brain could stop me— I hugged her. Tight. The kind of hug you don’t plan. The kind that comes from six months of silence. From fear. From missing someone too much. I had never hugged her before. Not like that. For a second— she froze. Completely still. And I thought— great, I have ruined my life. Then slowly— very slowly— she wrapped her arms around me too. And in that moment, the whole world disappeared. I closed my eyes and whispered, “I missed you so much, Sana.” She stayed quiet for a second. Then softly said, “Cold-hearted… chale?” I laughed a little. “Okay… okay.” I picked up her bag. She didn’t stop me. She just quietly walked beside me. That silence hurt. But at least now— it was shared silence. Rohit bhaiya was waiting near the car. She sat in the front seat. I placed the bags in the back and sat behind. The drive home was completely silent. No music. No jokes. No words. Just roads and unfinished feelings. We reached Rohit bhaiya’s house. She wasn’t going back to hostel anymore. She would stay there now. Safer. Closer to family. I carried her luggage to her room. She stood near the door. Quiet. I wanted to say so much. Ask so much. But grief has a language that doesn’t allow unnecessary words. So I just said, “Take care.” She nodded. That was all. I came outside. Rohit bhaiya said, “I’ll drop you back.” On the way, he stopped near a paan shop. Lit a cigarette. Offered me one. I shook my head. “I don’t smoke.” He nodded. For a while, we just stood there. Then I asked quietly, “How is she?” He took a long drag and said, “She smiles less. Sleeps less. Talks less. But she’s trying.” I looked down. “I don’t know how to help.” He looked at me. “You already are.” I stayed silent. Then he added,

Then one day became two. Two became four. Then I heard from Rohit bhaiya. Her parents had passed away. COVID. I remember reading that message and just sitting there. Blank. Cold. Like someone had pulled sound out of the world. I called her immediately. No answer. Again. No answer. Again. Nothing. She wasn’t talking to anyone. Not properly. Maybe not even to herself. So I messaged her. Long messages. Small messages. Stupid messages. Anything. I wrote: “I’m here.” “You don’t have to reply.” “You can stay angry, silent, broken… I’ll still stay.” “You listened to my nonsense for so long. Let me stay for yours too.” “Even silence is okay. Just don’t feel alone in it.” Seen. No reply. Days passed. Weeks passed. Months passed. Every message— seen. No reply. I told her about my family. About my mother asking why I looked depressed. About my father pretending emotions were illegal. About random college drama. About useless friends. About how boring life had become. Anything to keep a thread alive. Sometimes I’d just write: “Eat food.” “Drink water.” “Sleep properly.” “I miss fighting with you.” Seen. Always seen. Never answered. And like that— my entire second year ended. Not with exams. Not with celebration. But with silence. A silence so loud it followed me everywhere. Sometimes love is not losing someone. Sometimes— it is watching them stay alive, but far away from you. And having no right to pull them back.

Chapter 11 – Colors That Never Reached Us --- After freshers, I thought love would become easier. I was wrong. Because sometimes, just when life starts feeling beautiful— life reminds you it has other plans. It was 7th March. My semester exams had just ended, and on 8th March, the college had organized Holi celebrations on campus. Everyone was excited. Colors everywhere. Water balloons flying like missiles. Loud music shaking the entire ground. People becoming enemies in the name of friendship. Absolute violence. And me? I had only one mission— to put color on Sana first. That was the dream. I had even bought special gulal for her. Kept one small packet separately like some emotional investment. That morning, the campus looked like a battlefield. My friends were already red, blue, green, and probably mentally damaged. I was completely yellow. Dignity was already gone. And then— Sana arrived. White kurti. Open hair. Clean face. No color yet. And somehow looking even more dangerous than usual. She saw me holding gulal in my hand. Raised one eyebrow. And said, “Careful. Think before you act.” Challenge accepted. I walked toward her like a soldier entering war. She stepped back. I stepped forward. She narrowed her eyes. I smiled. Then in one second— she attacked first. Straight on my face. Pink color. Full revenge. Everyone around us started shouting like it was a cricket final. I stood there shocked. She laughed. Actual victory laugh. And before she could escape— I held her wrist gently and put color on her cheek. Softly. Slowly. For one second— everything became quiet. No noise. No people. Just her. She looked at me. And I swear my heartbeat forgot its job. Then she smiled and said softly, “Happy Holi, idiot.” And that stupid little moment became one of my favorite memories. After that, we took a group selfie with everyone looking like unpaid circus artists. Slowly, people started leaving for their hostels and homes. I dropped Sana to her hostel. She smiled before going inside and said, “Don’t overthink too much today.” Too late. I was already planning something. That same evening, I decided— I was going to take her on a proper date. Not accidental coffee. Not random canteen conversations. A real date. And maybe… finally tell her how I felt. I called my friends for help. They all betrayed me. “Sorry bro, semester ended. I’m going home.” “Family first.” “Love later.” Useless people. Still, I booked a small café. Went to the market. Bought a rose. A proper red one. I was ready. As I reached the hostel and was about to call Sana for the surprise— my phone rang. Mom. I picked up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded serious. “Beta, come home. Your father is not feeling well.” Everything stopped. All my plans. All my excitement. Gone. I didn’t ask anything else. I just grabbed my bag and rushed. Home was four hours away from college. I somehow caught the next bus and spent the entire journey praying silently. When I reached, my father was already in the hospital. Doctor checked him and finally said, “It’s just gas.” I have never respected gas more in my life. The relief hit so hard I almost sat on the hospital floor. We came back home that night. My father looked at me and asked, “Exams ended?” “Yes.” “When are you going back to college?” I replied quickly, “Tomorrow. I have classes.” Truth? I had no classes. I had a date. He looked at me for a second and said, “Don’t go yet. I’m getting a bad feeling. This COVID thing is spreading everywhere. Stay home for some time.” I looked at him. Then nodded. “Okay, Papa.” And just like that— everything changed. A few weeks later— COVID happened. Lockdown. College closed. Hostels emptied. Everyone went home. And life moved online. At first, me and Sana still talked. Calls. Messages. Late-night nonsense. Updates about family. Health. Fear. Hope. Even in lockdown, she still felt close. Then one day— silence. No reply. At first, I thought she was just busy.

She was still enjoying my suffering. Obviously. Then we started walking toward campus. City lights. Brick roads. Cool night air. And us. Talking slowly. Comfortably. I was still slightly jealous. Because she had accepted other boys’ roses too. Did I show it? No. Did I feel it? Absolutely. But I stayed quiet. We just kept walking. And before I realized— it was already 9:30 PM. We reached campus. She started walking toward the girls’ hostel. I said, “Bye.” She walked a few steps. Then turned back. Smiled. And said, “Bye.” I stood there like an idiot. She walked again. A few more steps. Turned back again. Another smile. Another “bye.” At that point, I was convinced she wanted to say something. Or maybe I was just romantically unstable. Then she reached the hostel gate. Turned one last time. “Bye, Ani.” Softly. And that one hit differently. I smiled. She went inside. I looked down, saw a random stone on the road, and kicked it. Then kicked it again. And again. That was my emotional processing system. By the time I reached my hostel, I checked my phone. No message. Unacceptable. So I texted first. Me: Reached my room. She reacted with a like. That tiny like made me smile like an idiot. And just like that— Freshers ended.

I picked up a bottle of lemonade like a man recovering from emotional damage. Everything continued till around 2:30 PM. Then came the dangerous part. The Dare Round. Every senior was smiling too much. That was the first warning. The anchor explained: Two names would be picked from a bowl. Those two people would come on stage. Then they had to pick one dare from the dare bottle. And perform it. Publicly. No escape. No mercy. Absolute terrorism. Some boys had to dance. Some had to sing romantic songs to each other. Some had to propose dramatically. Some even had to kiss each other on the cheek. The hall was chaos. And somehow— today’s main victims were clearly Priya and Abhinav. Every time Abhinav’s name came… magically, Priya’s name came next. Pure coincidence. Obviously. They had to do everything—lifting each other, dancing together, cheesy staring contests, even fake romantic proposal scenes. We laughed so much my stomach hurt. Thankfully— my name never came. I was surviving beautifully. Until the final round. Harshita ma’am looked at the bowl and said, “One boy is left who still hasn’t come on stage…” Sana, from somewhere behind, smiled and said: “Ani.” Traitor. Absolute traitor. My soul left my body. I walked to the stage like a soldier going to war. And they didn’t even let me pick from the dare bottle. No. They had already decided. “Lap dance.” Yes. That cursed performance. And my dance partner? Shashank. Yes. That same one-bone revolutionary. Even destiny hated me. So there we were. On stage. In front of everyone. Doing the most ridiculous laptop dance known to mankind. Three full minutes. Everyone was laughing. Teachers were laughing. Seniors were laughing. Even my future children probably felt embarrassed somewhere. I looked at Sana. She was laughing silently, trying to hide it. Which somehow made it worse. When it finally ended, people actually clapped. Praised me. Respected my sacrifice. I returned to my seat with zero dignity left. Then came games. Finally—my territory. Mind games, quizzes, random challenges. Here, I dominated. In all the brain games, I was at the top. Abhinav did well too. And Abhiraj—the boxer guy I wasn’t exactly close with—was winning most of the physical rounds. Point system started. Everyone was competing. Then came the final guest round. Our professors entered. And yes— the legendary boring guidance session. But one professor actually said something that stayed with me. He said, “College is not only about marks. People will remember how you made them feel more than your semester percentage. Build friendships. Respect people. Learn confidence. Degrees get you interviews, but the character gets you respect.” Then came the final announcement. Mr. Fresher – Abhiraj Miss Fresher – Divya Both well deserved. Everyone clapped. Photos happened. Noise happened. Chaos happened. And just like that— it was already 6:30 PM. Dinner was served. Everyone moved toward food like refugees. After dinner, I was looking for Sana— when my phone rang. Her. I picked up immediately. “Hello?” “Come outside,” she said. “I need pictures.” Of course. Because obviously— I was the best photographer available. And free. So I went outside. She was standing near the hotel lights, and honestly, the lights were helping her too much. I clicked her pictures. A lot of them. Different angles. Different poses. Professional suffering. Then I stood beside her, showing the photos on my phone. That’s when I noticed— her kajal. That small shining bindi. A few loose strands of hair falling over her face. She was around 5’3. Standing close enough that I had to look slightly down. Closer than we had ever been before. And for one second— everything went quiet. No hotel. No crowd. Just her. Then she said softly, “Let’s sit for a minute.” So we sat. I showed her the pictures again. She smiled. We talked about performances. Laughed about my stage embarrassment.

Chapter 10 – The Freshers Night --------- We reached the venue. It was a hotel. Not some small random hall with plastic chairs and disappointment— an actual proper hotel. The kind with shiny glass doors, polished marble floors, golden lights everywhere, and air-conditioning so strong it made you question your life choices. There were soft yellow chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, flower decorations near the entrance, and a giant “FRESHERS PARTY 2018” banner that looked like it had been designed with full emotional commitment. Round tables were arranged neatly across the hall, each covered with white cloth and red ribbons tied around the chairs. One side had a small stage with lights, speakers, and enough wires to power the entire district. For one day, our college students looked like civilized people. Miracles do happen. As soon as we entered, formalities began. Handshake here. Good morning there. “Hii sir.” “Good morning ma’am.” In our college, we had strict tradition—every senior was “sir” or “ma’am.” No exceptions. Even if they were only one year older. Respect was compulsory. So there I was, greeting everyone like an unpaid HR intern— but honestly, I was only looking for one ma’am. Sana. She hadn’t arrived yet. Meanwhile, every junior had picked one flower to give to their favorite senior. And yes— I had saved one special rose for her. At the same time, seniors had arranged colorful rubber bands for us juniors. They were supposed to tie one on the wrist of their favorite junior. A weird system. But obviously, emotionally dangerous. Then— she arrived. And for a second, the hotel lights became irrelevant. She was wearing a black saree with silver borders, silver earrings, kajal in her eyes, and that small shining bindi that should honestly be declared illegal because of how distracting it was. Simple. Elegant. Absolutely unfair. She was carrying a huge box full of rubber bands, trying to manage it while adjusting her saree. The box was too big, her dress got slightly messed up, and she quickly handed it to another senior before fixing it. I stood there watching like my soul had left my body. She looked up. Saw me. Smiled. I started walking toward her. Then suddenly— her eyes widened. The universal signal for: Stay away right now. I immediately understood. Danger zone. Abort mission. So naturally, I grabbed Abhinav. “Come with me.” “Why?” “Emotional support.” He sighed and dragged Priya with us. We reached near her. Sana smiled politely. “Hi Priya, hi Abhinav… hi Ani.” All of us together: “Good morning ma’am.” Like kindergarten children greeting class teacher. I handed her the rose I had specially bought. She looked at it. Then at me. And smiled softly. No dramatic words. Just that smile. And somehow, that felt bigger than everything. Then more people came around her, and I had to leave. Before I walked away, she gave me a small nod— the silent kind that says: Go enjoy. I’m watching. And honestly, that was enough. Then came Harshita ma’am. The most famous senior in college. Last year’s Miss Fresher. The kind of senior every junior had a crush on and every senior respected. She was gorgeous, confident, and the official anchor of the event. Basically—main character energy. She grabbed the mic and said, “Good morning everyone! Today nobody will act innocent because we all know your attendance is fake.” The whole hall laughed. And just like that— the show began. First came stand-up comedy. Surprisingly good. Nobody expected actual jokes. We laughed a lot. Then my friend group performed dance. I was not included. Because apparently my talents were considered a public safety issue. They performed a full MJ-5 style breakdance routine and honestly—it was amazing. Even I clapped like a proud father. One guy almost slipped. That made it better. Then came singing, mimicry, shayari, poetry, random performances people had definitely practiced only last night… and somehow, all of it worked. By breakfast time, catering served food.

Finally, in the bathroom— network. I stood there like a warrior who had conquered fate. The image started downloading. Just as I was about to open it— video call. Sana. I picked it up instantly. She appeared on screen, looking unfairly beautiful, about to say something— then suddenly stopped. She narrowed her eyes. “Wait… where are you?” I froze. She looked at the background. The bucket. The mug. The toilet. The truth. “Oh my God,” she said, already laughing. “Are you in the bathroom?” “No listen—listen first—” “You take your phone to the toilet?!” “No! Network problem! Emergency situation!” She was laughing too hard to care. “This is disgusting. I sent you one picture and you went to the bathroom for emotional support?” “That is not what happened!” “Unbelievable. Romance is dead.” “I was fighting for signal!” “You were fighting for sanitation.” For the next five minutes, she bullied me professionally. Even after I explained everything, she refused to believe me. Finally, after laughing enough to destroy my dignity, she fixed her hair slightly and asked, “Fine. Tell me now… how am I looking?” And then I properly looked. And honestly— for a second, I forgot how to speak. She was wearing a black saree with silver borders, simple silver earrings, soft curls falling over one shoulder, and that quiet confidence that made everything worse for my heart. Absolutely unfair. I smiled. “Absolutely gorgeous, ma’am. As always. Bow to you, princess.” She raised an eyebrow. “Princess?” I corrected immediately. “Oh sorry… my queen.” She smirked. “Better.” Then she added dramatically, “Call me Your Highness.” I bowed slightly to my phone. “Yes, Your Highness.” She laughed. And somehow, hearing that laugh made the whole day feel lighter. We talked for another five minutes before she said, “Okay, I have to go now. See you at freshers.” Call ended. Reality returned. Then my phone rang again. My friend. “Ready?” “Yes, just five minutes. I’m bathing.” He shouted, “BRO IT’S ALREADY 9! We have to reach by 12!” I looked at the clock. Panic. Instant panic. “But it’s still three hours!” “We have to buy roses for seniors, idiot!” “Oh. Right.” I got ready in record speed. Twenty minutes. Personal world record. By 9:30, my friend arrived. We rushed to the market, bought flowers for all seniors— and one special rose for Sana. Not too obvious. Not too dramatic. Just enough to ruin my peace. By the time we reached the venue, my heartbeat had already started preparing for war. Because today— was not just freshers. Today felt like something bigger.

Chapter 9 – The Freshers Preparation --------- Freshers week had officially begun, and suddenly the entire college looked like a badly managed wedding function. Some people were preparing speeches. Some were practicing dance performances. Some were pretending to be singers even though their voices sounded like broken ceiling fans. And some—like me—were just trying to survive. The seniors had given all juniors a compulsory dress code. And honestly… it looked like punishment. For boys: green blazer, green pants, and a white shirt. Not classy green. Not elegant green. Proper traffic-signal green. The kind of outfit that made you look like a rejected background dancer from a 90s Bollywood movie. For girls: saree. Because obviously, suffering should be gender equal. Meanwhile, seniors had full freedom to wear anything they wanted. Dictatorship. Pure dictatorship. One day, I went to the market with Sana, my friend Abhinav, and his overly famous girlfriend Priya. Now Priya was one of the most talked-about girls in first year. Not because she was exceptionally beautiful— but because she somehow had more male best friends than our entire class had attendance. Honestly, not my department. I was there for one reason only. Sana. We first bought the things seniors had asked us to get. Abhinav and I had the easiest job. We entered one shop, found the first green blazer that fit without looking like school annual day costume, and immediately said, “Pack it.” The shopkeeper looked disappointed. He probably expected emotional shopping. We gave him financial trauma instead. Abhinav looked at himself in the mirror and said, “Bro, I look like paan masala advertisement.” I replied, “No. You look like a politician’s intern.” He nodded. “Worse.” Meanwhile, Priya was busy selecting sarees like she was preparing for a national fashion competition. She finally chose a red and green Maharashtrian-style saree that honestly looked stunning. Then came Sana. She picked a simple black saree with delicate silver threadwork near the sleeves and neckline on blouse. Nothing too flashy. Just elegant. When she tried it on, I forgot basic breathing. It fit her perfectly. Simple. Graceful. Beautiful in the most dangerous way. She looked at herself in the mirror, then turned toward us. “How is it?” Abhinav and Priya gave normal human responses. I, unfortunately, forgot language. After three business days, I managed: “Yeah… nice.” Abhinav looked at me like I had betrayed poetry itself. Sana smiled slightly. She knew. She absolutely knew. After shopping, we grabbed cold coffee from a roadside café and spent another hour making fun of random college people. Mostly professors. Mostly deserved. Then the next two days became strangely silent. No real classes. Not even professors cared anymore. Everyone was busy preparing for freshers. College felt like it had temporarily become a rehearsal ground. We spent most of our time in the canteen, roasting each other and pretending life was under control. But for me, those two days were torture. Because Sana was busy with senior responsibilities. Decorations. Management. Invitations. Stage planning. Basically everything. She barely had time to talk. Sometimes I’d wait the whole day for one message. And at night, all I’d get was— Sana: I’m sooo tired. Going to sleep 😴 And somehow, that one line was enough to ruin my entire sleep. I would stare at the ceiling like a tragic hero. Overthinking. Dramatically suffering. Almost dying. And like that, those two very long days passed. Then finally— Freshers Day. That morning, I woke up to a message from Sana. A photo. And one line: Sana: How am I looking? I opened the chat. Tapped the image. And exactly at that moment— the Wi-Fi died. I stared at the loading icon like it had personally betrayed me. “Not today…” I turned on mobile data. No network. Perfect. Absolute cinema. I started walking around my room like a mad scientist searching for signal. One bar. Gone. Two bars. Gone.

Then I called Shashank. No answer. Again. No answer. I grabbed my keys and ran toward campus while calling every idiot I knew. By the time I reached near the canteen, I saw it. Shashank. Standing there. Surrounded by seven or eight seniors. And in front of them Rohit. (Sana’s cousin.) For one second, I stopped walking. What if they beat me too? What if I make things worse? What if... Then I looked at Shashank. Whatever his mistakes were, he was still my friend. I couldn’t just stand there. So I walked forward. Straight into danger. “Hi bhaiya,” I said carefully. Rohit looked at me and nodded. “Is he your friend?” “Yes.” He smirked slightly. “I’ve heard good things about you. Seems like you have many interesting friends.” I gave the most respectful smile of my life. “Sorry, bhaiya. It just happened in habit.” Rohit looked at Shashank and said, “So does he abuse his father out of habit too?” Silence. I lowered my head slightly and looked at Shashank. That was enough. He understood. Softly, he said, “Sorry, bhaiya…” One of the third-year seniors stepped forward. “I didn’t hear that. Say it louder. The same volume you used in class.” Shashank swallowed hard. Then louder “Sorry, bhaiya.” This time, everyone heard it. There was silence for a few seconds then they all laughed. Then Rohit stepped closer to me and said, “I’m forgiving him because of you. If it had been someone else, I wouldn’t have let him go.” I nodded immediately. “Thank you, bhaiya.” And just like that... war avoided. My classmates arrived a few minutes later, ready for disaster. I stopped them and said, “Relax. Everything’s under control. Let’s go.” We walked back discussing the entire drama like survivors of a battlefield. That night, when I finally reached home, I called Sana again. She picked up instantly. “Thank you,” I said. She laughed softly and said, “Do you even know? My entire group is talking about you right now.” I blinked. “What?” She smiled through the phone. “They’re saying.. who is this hero your junior? He handled the whole situation better than half the boys in our batch.” I laughed nervously. “Please tell them I’m actually very scared of all of you.” She laughed again. And somehow, that laugh made the entire stressful day feel lighter. We kept talking after that random things, silly facts, nonsense conversations because honestly, at that stage, we didn’t even need a reason to talk anymore. She kept teasing me. I kept pretending I wasn’t blushing. Time passed without noticing. By the time we finally said goodnight, it was already 1:30 AM. The next day, the seniors came to our class again. This time peacefully. They apologized for the tension, reconsidered the amount, and reduced the contribution to ₹1000 per person. Instantly, everyone agreed. Peace was restored. Freshers survived. And somewhere between fights, missed calls, and unnecessary heroism something between me and Sana had grown stronger. That night, before sleeping, I looked at our chat and smiled. Sometimes love doesn’t begin with flowers or perfect moments. Sometimes it begins with chaos.

Chapter 8 – The fasaad for freshers -------- That was how my first year passed in classes, assignments, overthinking, and somehow… Sana becoming the best part of all of it. Then second year started then came the freshers. In our college, freshers didn’t happen in the first year. It was more like an official welcome into the department once you properly settled in. Seniors usually organized it, and for us, it felt like a big deal. That afternoon, a group of seniors walked into our classroom to discuss the freshers party. And among them— Sana. The moment I saw her, I forgot I was even sitting in class. She was standing with the other seniors, explaining things casually, while I was sitting there like an idiot, pretending to listen but actually just staring. One of the seniors said, “So guys, freshers will be next month, and everyone has to contribute ₹1500 per person.” The class immediately exploded. “₹1500? That’s too much!” “We’re not paying that!” “Are we joining a party or buying the college?” One guy from our class stood up and said loudly, “We’re not coming. You’re demanding too much.” Honestly… I agreed. ₹1500 was a lot for hostel students like us. But I said nothing. Because at that moment, my entire focus was on Sana standing near the board, trying not to laugh at the chaos. Then came Shashank. Now Shashank was the kind of guy who had confidence far bigger than his actual body weight. One bone, full attitude. He stood up and started arguing with the seniors, and before anyone could stop him, he used abusive words. The entire room went silent. Bad move. Very bad move. The seniors’ expressions changed instantly. The mood shifted. One of them looked at him coldly and said, “Fine. If this is your class attitude, then forget the freshers.” And just like that, they walked out. Including Sana. Only after she left did I finally return to Earth. I turned to my friends and asked, “What happened?” They all looked at me like I had committed a crime. One of them laughed and said, “Bro, while all this drama was happening, you were mentally inside your girl’s life story.” Another one added, “Yeah, everyone here was fighting for survival, and sir was busy writing wedding vows.” I ignored them with dignity. That afternoon, tension in class was high. Shashank still wasn’t ready to apologize. His logic was simple: “If they got offended, that’s their problem.” Which was, unfortunately, not how survival in college worked. After classes ended, our class representative Jyotirmay Tripathi, aka Munna Tripathi called everyone to the conference room. Whenever Munna called a meeting, it felt like the Prime Minister had summoned parliament. We all gathered there. The agenda was simple: How do we clean this mess? Everyone knew if seniors stayed angry, our entire year would suffer. No notes. No lab help. No attendance mercy. Basically academic death. Still, Shashank refused. “I’m not apologizing.” That’s when my friend Shubhanshu stepped in. He sat next to him and said calmly, “Listen, this isn’t about your ego. It’s about the whole class. If they target everyone because of one moment of anger, will you take responsibility for that too?” For the first time, Shashank went quiet. After thirty minutes of convincing, emotional blackmail, and mild threats from Munna Tripathi, he finally agreed. “Fine. I’ll apologize.” The whole room looked like we had just negotiated world peace. Meeting over. Problem solved. Or so we thought. When I finally reached home and checked my phone 15 missed calls. All from Sana. My heart dropped. I called her immediately. “Hello? Sana? What happened?” Her voice came quickly. “Where were you? I was calling you!” “I was stuck in the class meeting. What happened?” She said, “That guy who abused the seniors where is he now?” I frowned. “Probably heading home. Why?” She replied, “My classmates told my brother. Now they’re planning to beat him.” I stood up instantly. “What?” Before she could say more, I said, “I’ll call you back.”

I picked it up immediately. “Hello?” Her voice sounded softer than usual. “Are you busy?” For her? Never. But obviously I said, “Very busy. International business meeting.” She laughed. “Idiot. Come to the terrace.” I sat up. “What?” “Hostel terrace. I’m on my PG terrace. You can see my building from yours. Come.” (her pg was in front of my pg around 30 minutes up) And just like that, I was climbing stairs like my life depended on it. The night sky was clear.. Cool wind.. Quiet campus. That strange peaceful silence only late nights have. I reached the terrace, slightly out of breath. Then my phone rang again. “Look to your left,” she said. I turned. And there she was. Standing on her PG terrace across the lane, leaning on the railing, wearing a simple pink night suit, hair tied loosely, holding her phone near her ear. The prettiest person I have ever seen. I smiled like an idiot. For a few minutes, we just stood there talking nonsense from terrace to terrace like two teenagers in a badly written romantic movie. She complained about assignments. I complained about attendance. She complained about life. I complained about existing. Then for a moment, both of us went quiet. The night felt strangely peaceful. Cool wind, silent campus, soft yellow streetlights below… and above us, the moon shining like it was secretly enjoying the drama. I looked up at the sky and then at her. She was leaning on the railing, looking at the moonlight, her hair moving softly with the wind. Without thinking too much, I smiled and said, “The moon looks really beautiful tonight… doesn’t it?” She looked at me. Not at the moon. At me. A small smile appeared on her face, like she understood something I had only half said. That sentence suddenly felt dangerous. Because sometimes, feelings hide better behind simple words. She smiled softly. Then she said— “Why haven’t you asked me yet?” My brain stopped. “What?” She looked away slightly. “that you like me.” Direct hit. No warning. No mercy. I stood there holding my phone like it had betrayed me. She continued, “You get jealous. You remember small things. You reply too fast. You act brave around me and terrified around my brother.” I had no defense. None. She smiled faintly. “So… why haven’t you said it?” The truth? Because I was scared. Scared of losing this. Scared of ruining what we had. Scared that maybe she didn’t feel the same. I looked at her and finally said honestly, “Because sometimes… when something feels important, you become afraid of touching it.” Silence.. Wind.. Heartbeat. She looked at me for a long second. Then smiled. A small, soft smile. And said, “That was annoyingly good.” I let out a nervous laugh. She leaned slightly on the railing and said, “For the record…” I stopped breathing. “…I’m waiting.” I blinked. “Waiting?” She nodded. “For you to stop being scared.” And just like that— she said goodnight and walked away. Leaving me alone under the night sky, questioning my entire existence. That night, sleep was illegal. Because now I know. She knew. I knew she knew. And somehow… that was even more terrifying than not knowing.