As his tears dried, Aarav reached the major bus stand, his breathing unsteady. His ankle throbbed with each hurried step, forcing him into a limp. He needed to get to college—walking wasn't an option.
He spotted an auto and called out, "Hey sir, how much to the college gate?"
The driver barely glanced at him before replying, "80 rupees."
Aarav scoffed. "What? It used to be 60!"
The driver shrugged. "Okay then, come."
Relieved, Aarav instinctively reached for his wallet—only to freeze. His fingers rummaged through empty pockets.
Wait… I had it. Where did it go? I'm sure of it!
His chest tightened as realization set in. He had no money to spare.
The driver, eyeing him with mild irritation, sighed. "Leave, kid. It's morning, and I don't want my first fare to be ruined because of someone like you. Walk. You look young enough."
As if he didn't see the limp.
As if Aarav's pain wasn't worth acknowledging.
His teeth clenched. This world is so damn cruel !
He turned, suppressing a wave of anger, and began walking. The agony in his ankle flared with every step. But there was no choice. Limping, gritting his teeth, he pushed forward.
Limping. Limping. Limping.
By the time he reached college, his muscles burned, his shirt clung to his back, and each step sent sharp pain shooting up his leg. He didn't care. He had made it.
Aarav swung the classroom door open.
Nothing had changed. The same mundane routine—students seated, the lecturer droning on. The same repetitive, predictable cycle.
But something was different.
The moment he stepped inside, an eerie silence spread across the room. Conversations halted. Pens stopped scribbling. Eyes widened in unspoken alarm.
Aarav frowned.
Then he saw their faces—the way they stared at him, frozen, expressions shifting between confusion and unease.
Then it hit him.
His reflection in the window caught his eye. His bloodshot eyes, raw from dried tears. The dark, crusted streak of blood covering the entire left side of his face. The way his body swayed slightly, as if he was still in shock.
Like someone who had just walked away from a crime scene.
Like someone who didn't even realize he was bleeding.
Like someone who had been hit by a truck—his senses dulled, adrenaline masking the pain.
But that wasn't the case.
He was fine—except for his leg. And even that, he didn't care about.
He moved as usual, ignoring the weight of dozens of stares. Yet, an unusual silence draped over the room like a suffocating fog. No whispers. No rustling pages. Just the quiet tension that followed him as he made his way toward an unfamiliar bench.
He was already exhausted. He just wanted to sit.
Then, a voice broke through the silence.
"Aarav, are you okay?"
He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with the lecturer.
His voice came out steady, almost dismissive. "Yes, sir. It's nothing. Just a scratch. I'm alright. You can continue the class."
And with that, he sank into the bench, ignoring the lingering eyes still fixed on him.
The chubby young man beside him, sporting a slight thin mustache, eyed Aarav with curiosity. His round face held an innocent friendliness, but his concern was evident.
"Hey? How are you?"
Aarav didn't recognize him. Still, the guy extended his hand for a handshake, his energy oddly persistent.
"Dude, what happened to you? Are you okay? Your face—your eyes, they look so red."
Aarav exhaled, rubbing his temple as if trying to push away both exhaustion and irritation.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just stumbled on a rock, hit my face. It's nothing, actually."
His words were clipped, his tone carrying the unmistakable weight of disinterest. He didn't want to talk—not now, not to this person. And yet, the guy didn't seem to take the hint.
Aarav clenched his jaw, a bitter taste settling in his mouth.
"Just what the hell is with this guy? Get off my… Leave me alone, would ya?" he thought, suppressing the urge to groan.
Instead, he forced out a response. "I'm Aarav. And you are?"
The chubby guy grinned. "Rohan. You don't seem to remember, but we were in the same high school for two years. You were absent most of the time, though. And quiet—quite the subject of talk. Guess what? You still are!"
A chuckle escaped Aarav, but it wasn't one of amusement. Popular? The word twisted in his head, morphing into something unrecognizable.
Eat, sleep, run, eat, college, gym, eat, repeat… Where the hell is popularity in that? His lips curled, forming a smile that wasn't entirely sane.
"Really?" he said, voice laced with sarcasm. "I don't think so."
"Dude, just listen to the girls sitting in front of us," Rohan insisted. "They talk about you a lot."
Aarav narrowed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He focused, willing his senses to sharpen. The murmurs of conversation slipped into clarity.
"Hey, did you see him?"
"Who?"
"That psycho!"
"He usually walks like a robot, but today… it was as if he was a serial killer."
"No matter what, stay away from that guy."
"Just don't talk about him… He's so weird."
Aarav exhaled slowly.
What else could I expect?
This was all he was known for. Not his strength. Not his hard work. Just for being crazy.
Maybe, once, those words would have hurt. But he wasn't as weak as he used to be.
"Words, huh? They only hurt the weak."
Aarav sat there, head down, slipping out of time itself. He wasn't awake, nor was he asleep. It was like a trance—no thoughts, no distractions. His body surrendered to exhaustion, and he dozed off in the back of the classroom, unnoticed.
Time passed. Teachers came and went. Students entered and left. Different classes, different lectures. Yet, he remained undisturbed, lost in the silence.
Then, hours later, his body stirred.
A sticky sensation clung to his face. He groggily lifted his head, feeling his jaw stiff from resting in one position for too long. A strand of drool trailed from the corner of his lips as he blinked against the dim orange hue flooding the empty classroom.
Shit… what time is it?
His gaze landed on the clock.
4:15 PM.
Damn it! I'm late for the gym.
Grabbing his gym bag, he hesitated. Should he even go? The thought of the sweaty changing room filled with the stench of old socks and unwashed clothes made his stomach churn.
Ugh… No choice, huh?
Sighing, he made his way to the restroom.
Inside, he peeled off his shirt and faced the mirror. His physique was lean yet defined—broad shoulders, visible obliques, vascular arms. He wasn't bulky, but his build carried the evidence of relentless training.
But what caught his eye wasn't the muscle definition.
It was the scars.
A deep X carved into his back, followed by a single straight line. It was old, but the sight of it never ceased to unnerve him. His skin, stretched from years of training, bore countless stretch marks along his shoulders, chest, and back—a price he had paid.
Reaching up, he scrubbed at the dried blood on his face. It wouldn't come off.
Great. Guess I'll have to walk around like this for at least three days—if I'm lucky.
Despite his strength, a nagging sense of weakness clung to him, an unshakable emptiness.
What am I even doing?
He stared at his reflection.
"Why… why do I do this every day? I can't remember a single morning without pain. My joints ache. My body screams at me with every movement. And yet—?"
A flush interrupted his thoughts.
Aarav barely reacted as a figure stepped out of the stall.
A boy—no, a kid—with slightly longer hair than his own, wearing glasses and an oversized red hoodie. The moment their eyes met, the kid froze, staring at Aarav like he had seen a ghost.
"… You good?" Aarav asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you looking at me like that? We're both guys."
The kid swallowed hard, clearly flustered.
Aarav took in his delicate, almost pretty features.
"You a fresher?" he asked. "You've got a good face, but some muscle would do you good."
The boy's eyes flickered toward Aarav's back, and his cheeks reddened.
"Your back…" he murmured, his voice shaky.
Aarav cut him off. "How old are you?"
"... 21 !."
Aarav frowned. "No way. You're two years older than me?"
Something felt off. His instincts flared, but before he could place it, the words tumbled out of his mouth.
"… Your voice is kinda high-pitched."
The boy flinched.
Then, without another word, he spun around and rushed to the sink, fumbling to wash his hands as if trying to make a quick escape. But in his haste, his foot caught on a loose tile.
Aarav saw it happen in slow motion.
Shit—
He moved to catch him—only to step on his own injured ankle.
"Tch—!"
Pain shot through him, and in the next instant, both of them collapsed.
Aarav barely registered the impact before something soft pressed against his arm.
He blinked.
The boy—no, she—was sprawled beneath him, glasses knocked off, revealing long, thick lashes framing wide, startled black eyes. Her fair skin flushed as their gazes met.
Aarav's own face turned slightly red.
"…Oh!"