It was fall, September 2018 — the beginning of the second semester of Aarav's third year in high school. He sat quietly by the window in his classroom, watching the leaves flutter down from the tree outside. A soft breeze drifted in through the window, brushing gently against his skin like a quiet sigh.
Summer had ended with the same quietness it had arrived. As the school gates opened once more, the corridors buzzed with familiar chatter — some students bubbling with stories from their eventful vacations, while others sighed at the cruel return of routine. But for him, the change meant little. Joy or disappointment — neither had found their way into his chest. School or home, it hardly mattered.
His summer had passed in the usual hush of slow afternoons and ceiling fan whirs. Most days were spent in the living room, beside his grandmother, the two of them sharing slices of watermelon in silence, as if counting down the days until it all ended. There were no outings, no sleepovers, no city lights — just the soft hum of sameness.
He didn’t have many friends to call or meet. Only one, really — Vivan. Loud, impatient, full of life. The kind of friend who could make an empty street feel like a festival. But Vivan had spent the summer in Hokkaido with his family, sending the occasional photo and a flurry of texts, none of which filled the silence left behind.
And so, the boy had spent the summer alone. Not bitterly, not even sadly. Just… quietly.
Now that summer vacation had ended and a new semester had begun, the campus buzzed with excitement. Students chatted in clusters, laughing, planning, hoping for something fresh to unfold. Everyone seemed to be looking forward to it — as if the start of a new term could somehow rewrite everything.
He, however, found the excitement unnecessary. Honestly, he thought it was a little stupid — getting worked up over something that was bound to be exactly like the last semester. Studying, preparing for finals, trying to keep up with assignments… what could possibly change?
That was the kind of person he used to be — quiet, reserved, low on energy and expectations. Sometimes he wondered if that was the reason he had no real friends. Except Vivan.
Vivan had been by his side for as long as he could remember. Their fathers were close friends, and so were they — by default, at first, and then by choice. They had shared the same childhood memories, gone to the same elementary school, the same middle school. Wherever one went, the other followed, like two halves of a slightly uneven whole.
"Hey, how was your summer vacation?" a voice chirped from somewhere nearby.
He turned his gaze away from the window, just in time to see one of his classmates chatting with her friend a few desks away.
"It was awesome! I went abroad," the other girl replied, her face lighting up with excitement.
"Wow," the first girl said, visibly impressed.
"What about you?" the other one asked.
"It was boring. My father had some work, so we didn’t go anywhere this summer," came the reply, a casual shrug following her words.
He blinked slowly, letting the conversation drift over him like background noise. Maybe it wasn’t just him who had spent the summer at home, waiting for time to pass. That thought, oddly, brought a small sense of comfort.
Just then, the bell rang for homeroom. The low chatter scattered, replaced by the sound of chairs scraping the floor as everyone moved to their allotted seats. Moments later, their homeroom teacher stepped into the class, clipboard in hand, signaling the real beginning of the semester.
"Welcome back, everyone. I hope you all had a great summer vacation," the teacher began, her voice steady and familiar. "Last semester’s performance from your class was really impressive. I'm expecting the same results this time too. Now that your new semester has begun, I hope you all will remain well-disciplined and follow the school regulations. All the very best for the term ahead."
She said the exact same thing at the beginning of every semester — word for word. It had almost become part of the routine, just like the scraping of chairs or the rustling of notebooks.
"Your first class will begin in fifteen minutes, so please stay quiet until then," she added, before exiting the classroom with her usual clipped steps.
"Ow, ow!" Aarav winced, feeling a sudden smack on his shoulder from behind.
He turned around. It was Vivan.
"Sup, Aarav! How was your vacation?" Vivan grinned, sliding into the seat next to him.
"Like you don’t already know," Aarav replied with a dry look.
"I’m really sorry, man. I tried convincing Dad to let me stay here, but he didn’t agree," Vivan said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile.
"It’s fine," Aarav sighed. "So? How was the trip?"
"It was good… but I really missed you, buddy," Vivan said dramatically, placing a hand on his chest like a wounded actor.
"Here you go again."
"What? You think I’m lying? That hurts, man. You’re really mean — you hurt my feelings," he said, pretending to wipe away an invisible tear.
"Okay, okay, I believe you. Now stop."
That was just how Vivan was — dramatic and a little ridiculous, but always funny. And more than anything, he cared. He had always been there — ever since they were kids — never once letting Aarav feel alone, even when the world around him did.
On the other side of the room Ishika Thakur sat in her usual seat near the window, staring blankly at the playground outside as students bustled around her. Everyone seemed to have exciting stories, laughter echoing through the corridors. But her own break had ended in the same disappointment it always did.
They were supposed to go to Paris—her mother’s dream destination, and a long-awaited family trip. Everything had been arranged. Ishika and her mother had even made it to the airport, holding onto the hope that this time, maybe things would go as planned.
But her father never showed up.
Instead, he called. Something "urgent" had come up. A meeting in New York. He said he couldn’t miss it. He always said that.
By the time he returned, the vacation was nearly over. They never got on the plane. The tickets were wasted. Her mother had smiled through it, but Ishika had seen the pain behind her eyes. She hated how used to this they’d both become.
It wasn’t new. Her father never had time for them. To the world, Digvijay Thakur was a powerful businessman with charm and class. But to Ishika, he was a shadow at home, always just out of reach.
He cared too much about appearances—status, reputation, the company he kept. He refused to associate with anyone who didn’t match his standards, even socially. That extended to Ishika’s life too. Until junior high, she'd been enrolled in the most prestigious schools, surrounded by heirs and heiresses of business empires and political dynasties. It all looked perfect from the outside—but the truth was far from it.
She hated that world.
The people she met there wore designer clothes and fake smiles. They didn’t understand friendship, only strategy. Every word was measured. Every relationship came with an agenda. No one did anything without a motive. And worst of all—none of it surprised her. She had grown up watching her father play that same game. Always charming. Always calculating.
He had tried to teach her those things too—how to flatter, how to manipulate, how to pretend to care.
But thanks to her mother, Sumiti Thakur, Ishika had managed to stay untouched by it all. Her mother had raised her with warmth, sincerity, and dreams of a simpler life.
That’s why Ishika had fought to come here—to a regular high school, away from the golden cages.
Digvijay had only agreed after setting strict rules: no close friendships, no socializing outside school hours, and absolutely no breaking boundaries. If she disobeyed, she’d be transferred back immediately. It felt more like a deal than permission.
But even with restrictions, Ishika preferred this place. At least here, people laughed without scripts.
“Ishika!”
A voice called out, snapping Ishika Thakur from her thoughts. She looked up to find Shreya Singh, her classmate, standing beside her desk, waving cheerfully. Shreya’s short brown hair bounced lightly as she moved, her sharp eyes framed by long, thick lashes that made her gaze seem even more lively.
“Yes?” Ishika replied politely, masking her startled expression with a soft smile.
“Are you free?” Shreya asked, leaning in a little.
“Huh? Why?”
“Some of us are planning to go to a café. It’s the start of a new semester, and it’s been weeks since we last hung out, you know?”
“Oh…” Ishika hesitated.
“So?” Shreya beamed. “Wanna join us?”
Ishika’s heart tugged for a moment. She really did want to go. It sounded fun, simple—even normal. But she knew better. No matter how harmless it seemed, she couldn't.
Still, she didn’t want to sound rude by turning her down without a reason. After a few seconds of silent thinking, she gave her best excuse.
“Actually, I have classes… I don’t think I can come,” she said gently.
Shreya’s smile faltered for a second, but she nodded.
“Oh, okay. No problem. See you tomorrow then!” And with that, she walked off, rejoining her group with a carefree laugh.
As soon as she was out of earshot, another voice spoke up quietly behind her.
“You wanted to go, didn’t you?”
Ishika turned around. Khushi Mehra stood there—her only real friend.
Khushi had been by her side since childhood. Their bond wasn’t questioned by her father because Khushi’s father worked as a manager in her family’s company. That one technicality made their friendship ‘acceptable’ in Digvijay Thakur’s strict world.
“Yeah,” Ishika admitted softly.
“You should’ve gone with them,” Khushi said, crossing her arms. “It wouldn’t hurt to break one rule.”
“I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“I get it—your dad said no friends. But still... it's not like he’d find out.”
Ishika gave her a look. “You really think he wouldn’t know? He always does. Somehow. Who I talk to, where I go… he finds out everything.”
“That’s insane. Don’t you think it’s too much? You should talk to him,” Khushi said, concern deepening in her tone.
“I’ve tried. Over and over again. But he never listens. He thinks I’m too young to make decisions and too naive to understand ‘how the world works.’”
“Then why not ask your mom to speak to him?”
“I can’t involve her. If she says anything against him… he’ll just get mad at her. I don’t want that,” Ishika replied, her voice lowering.
Khushi sighed and let the topic drop. “Alright. Forget it. But at least you can go somewhere with me, right?”
Ishika gave her a small smile. “Yeah.”
“Let’s go out then. You’ll feel better,” Khushi said brightly.
“But where?”
Khushi grinned. “How about a café?”
This time, Ishika didn’t hesitate.
“Okay.”
The café was just a short walk from school—a cozy place tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. The board above the door read “Latte Corner” in soft golden script. It looked newly opened, yet it was already buzzing with students chatting over steaming cups of coffee and frothy shakes.
Ishika Thakur and Khushi Mehra chose a quiet seat tucked in the corner, away from the crowd.
“I don’t remember seeing this café before,” Khushi said, scanning the warm, modern interiors. “Did it open recently? It’s really cool.”
“Yeah,” Ishika replied softly, her voice barely above the hum of conversation.
Khushi leaned across the table. “Come on, Ishika. Stop being so gloomy, will you? Let’s just enjoy this.” She smiled brightly. “Tell me what you want to have?”
“Anything’s fine. Whatever you order.”
Khushi rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright then, I’m getting coffee for both of us,” she said, flipping open the menu.
Meanwhile at other corner...
Shreya Singh sat with two of her classmates at a table not too far away, though none of them had noticed Ishika walk in—until now.
“Hey… isn’t that Ishika? And that’s Khushi with her, right?” one of her friends whispered, tilting her head discreetly.
Shreya followed her gaze—and there they were, sitting in the corner.
“You said she had classes today,” another friend commented.
“She did. That’s what she told me,” Shreya said, confused.
“You actually invited her?”
“Yeah, why?”
Her friend leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t you know who she is? She’s the daughter of Devraj Thakur.”
“The business tycoon?” the other one asked, clearly surprised.
Shreya nodded slowly. She had always sensed there was something different about Ishika. There was a distance, a certain wall around her. Every conversation at school felt like it barely scratched the surface.
Now it made a bit more sense.
“I’ve heard she doesn’t hang out with people who don’t match her standards,” her friend continued. “Haven’t you noticed? She never talks to anyone outside school.”
Shreya frowned.
Maybe it was true that Ishika kept to herself. Maybe she did lie about having class. But still… there was something in Ishika’s eyes that didn’t match the rumors—something quiet and sad.
She wasn’t cold or arrogant.
She looked… lonely.
“I don’t know why she lied,” Shreya murmured, watching her from across the room. “But I know one thing—she’s not who they say she is.”
The café buzzed with soft chatter and the clinking of coffee cups—until the air shifted.
A gentle melody floated through the room, the sound of a guitar being played with practiced ease. The notes were smooth, warm, almost hypnotic.
The melody was gentle, rhythmic, and immediately turned heads.
“Hey… isn’t that Aarav?” one of the girls asked, pointing discreetly toward a boy seated on a stool near the front of the café.
Shreya turned to look.
A tall boy with jet-black hair and striking blue eyes sat comfortably with a guitar in his hands, lost in the music he was creating. The way he played—focused and effortless—felt oddly mesmerizing.
“That really is Aarav Sharma,” Shreya said, eyebrows raised. “What’s he doing here?”
“Does he work here or something?” her friend asked.
“Let’s find out.”
Shreya waved down a passing waiter. “Excuse me! That guy over there, playing the guitar… does he work here?”
The waiter smiled politely. “No, ma’am. He’s a close friend of the owner’s son. He just comes here often to play.”
“Friend of the owner’s son, huh…” Shreya murmured.
“As in Vivan Mehta?” the other girl asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” the waiter replied. “Do you know him?”
“We’re classmates,” Shreya said quickly.
“Oh, I see. Anything else you’d like?”
“No, thank you.”
The waiter moved on, leaving the girls whispering among themselves again.
“So that is him—Aarav, the quiet one from our class,” one said.
Shreya stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on him.
There was always something distant about Ishika—something untouchable. Now, looking at Aarav, she felt the same. Mysterious. Quiet. Like they were both hiding pieces of themselves in plain sight.
From the corner of the café, Ishika Thakur sat sipping her coffee with Khushi Mehra, unaware that anyone was watching her.
The music had reached them too. Ishika turned her head toward the soft notes floating through the room.
A boy sat on a small stage setup, guitar balanced on his knee, playing a slow, melodic tune. He was turned slightly away, and the lighting made it hard to see his face clearly.
Khushi leaned forward, squinting. “Oh! I think that’s Aarav Sharma.”
“You know him?” Ishika asked.
Khushi gave her a surprised look. “He’s in our class, Ishika. You’ve never noticed him?”
Ishika blinked, a little stunned. It was already the second semester, yet the name hardly rang a bell. She had spent most of her time keeping to herself, avoiding attention, avoiding people. Maybe he had done the same.
She was about to ask more when her phone vibrated.
“It’s Mom,” she said, excusing herself as she answered the call.
A short conversation followed. Ishika’s face shifted slightly as she listened, and when she hung up, Khushi already knew something was off.
“What happened?” she asked gently.
“I have to go home. There’s a business party tonight. Father wants me to attend with him.”
Khushi frowned but didn’t argue. “Alright. See you tomorrow then.”
Ishika stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She didn’t ask the driver to come. As always, she took a taxi—she didn’t like using her father’s car for school or small outings.
As she walked out, the doorbell of the café chimed behind her, and the soft guitar music continued to play.
For a fleeting moment, she wished she could just sit there, unnoticed, and listen.
The familiar weight of the guitar settled comfortably on Aarav’s lap as he sat on the small wooden stage inside Vivan café. His fingers moved smoothly across the strings, weaving a soft, mellow tune that filled the space with calm energy. It wasn’t his first time playing here—he came often—but still, every note he played felt like a release.
When he finished the song, a light applause rippled through the café.
“Man, you really played well,” Vivan said, walking up with a grin stretched across his face.
Aarav gave a half-smile. “Yeah.”
“I mean it, bro. You’re amazing.”
“Okay, enough flattering,” Aarav muttered, brushing imaginary dust off the strings.
“Flattering? Flattering? You think I flatter?” Vivan gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “You always hurt me. I hate you.”
Aarav chuckled. “You should seriously audition for a drama serial.”
“Oh? You saying that because I’m so handsome?” Vivan said, turning to check himself out in the mirror on the café’s side wall.
“No. Because you’re unbelievably dramatic.”
“You’re so mean,” Vivan said, pulling a sad face that made even a nearby waitress laugh.
“I’m heading home,” Aarav said as he stood up, slinging the guitar case over his shoulder.
“Why? I thought we were gonna play video games,” Vivan pouted.
“Can’t. Grandma wasn’t feeling well this morning. I want to check on her.”
Vivan’s mood instantly softened. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
Aarav gave a small nod and headed outside. He unchained his bicycle and was just about to ride off when he heard someone call out.
“Oh hey, Aarav!”
He turned and saw Shreya Singh, accompanied by two other girls from his class, hurrying toward him with smiles.
“What’s up?” he asked casually.
“We just saw you playing guitar inside. We didn’t know you were into music!” Shreya said, her eyes still a bit wide with surprise.
“Oh. Yeah, it’s just a hobby,” he replied.
“Well, you're really good at it,” she said genuinely.
“Thanks.”
“You heading home now?”
“Yeah, something important came up.”
“Oh, okay. See you later then!”
He nodded once and pedaled off.
The wind against his face as he rode through the fading sunlight made the lingering applause and laughter seem far away. The café faded into the background.
