Chapter 5: Bruised Hearts

On weekends, Ananya would still accompany me for walks, talk with me, sometimes bring a book and say she wanted to recite it with me, then have me recite it back to her.

We'd meet near the colony gate, sit on the broken bench under the banyan tree, her dupatta fluttering in the wind. For a while, it would feel like old times.

But every time, halfway through, she would mention Kabir. Every conversation, she would talk about him…

'You know, Kabir said this...' or 'Kabir thinks that's the best way to revise...' She didn't realise how each mention made my stomach twist.

She couldn’t help but bring him up every few sentences, as if she had to mention him every few steps.

It was as if he had become a constant presence, a shadow between us. I forced a smile and nodded along.

Maybe she would never realise that my sensitive heart was already riddled with wounds, and at this moment, she was pouring salt into every one of them.

Sometimes, I wanted to tell her to stop, but my voice always failed me. I just stared at the ants crawling on the pavement instead.

I felt pain, but I didn’t say a word, nor did I show it.

I would bite my lip and look away, pretending to be busy with my phone.

I acted as if nothing had happened—calm and indifferent.

To her, I was the same as always, but inside, I was drowning. Even my smiles were rehearsed.

The more animatedly she talked about him, the more detached I became.

I responded with monosyllables, letting her voice fill the silence. She never seemed to notice.

Sometimes I would reply, 'You two are great, I really envy you. Both of you are amazing. Just remember not to let it affect your studies…'

I even managed to laugh, though it sounded hollow to my own ears. She looked at me, puzzled, but never pressed further.

This ambiguous relationship dragged on for a long time, and just as I was almost used to this emotional limbo—

The days blurred together, one heartbreak after another, until numbness became my new normal.

One night, she suddenly realised something and sent me a message: 'How did we end up like this?'

Her message flashed on my screen just as I was about to switch off the light. My heart skipped a beat.

I fell into deep thought. Yes, how did we end up like this?

I stared at the ceiling, listening to the whirr of the fan. My mind replayed every moment, every silent argument, every unspoken word.

She sent another message: 'Maybe, years from now, when we look back, we’ll feel regret.'

The word 'regret' stung, sharp as a slap. I closed my eyes, unable to breathe for a moment.

Seeing the word "regret," a sharp pain shot through my heart.

I pressed my phone to my chest, willing the ache to pass. But it only grew deeper, heavier.

It was as if we both already knew how the story would end, but neither of us was willing to take the first step to save it.

We both waited for the other to move, stuck in a dance of fear and longing.

Isn’t this kind of regret always man-made?

I thought of all the things I could have said, all the chances I let pass by. My chest tightened with sorrow.

Thinking this, I replied: 'Let’s go out together during the summer break.'

I hoped maybe, just maybe, a change of scene could bring us back to ourselves. I waited for her reply, staring at the soft blue glow of my phone.

Then I closed my eyes and replayed our memories in my mind.

Sleep eluded me, so I let myself drift into the past—the first days of our friendship, the laughter, the shy glances, the shared dreams.

Every time she said his name, it was like a fresh bruise. But I just nodded, chewing my lip until it almost bled.