(Irshad's POV)
Every night, I saw her weeping. I watched as her legs gave in and she slid to the floor, hiding her face in her hands, but the sound of her cries couldn't be hidden. I watched as she slowly calmed down, her breathing growing steady again before she stood up and stared at the starry night sky. I had always assumed she was arguing with God.
The first night, she came dashing up the stairs and disrupted my smoke. She hadn't noticed me, hadn't even glanced in my direction. I stayed hidden, my presence completely unknown to her, watching as she fell apart in the quiet of the night. I didn't think much of it that day—people had bad days. This was hers.
Then came the second night. She appeared again, repeating the same routine—running up the stairs, collapsing to the ground, muffling her sobs into her hands. This time, I was slightly annoyed. She had unknowingly claimed the roof as her personal sanctuary, and I was stuck waiting in my usual hidden corner for her to leave so I could resume my smoke. But I said nothing.
By the third night, I knew she'd come. And by the fourth, I found myself waiting.
I wasn't sure why. I told myself it was just curiosity, nothing more. But even then, a part of me knew that was a lie.
On the fifth night, I had had enough. I decided I would say something, maybe put an end to whatever this was. I even prepared what I would say: Listen, this has gotta stop. Either change your time or go find some other roof to cry on.
But all that changed when she arrived, without any tears in her eyes.
She wasn't crying. There was no trembling, no quiet sobs shaking her shoulders, no desperate gasps for breath. Instead, she simply stood there, dangerously close to the edge, her gaze fixed on the sky as if searching for something she had lost. She had abandoned her usual routine completely.
A slow, unsettling fear crept into my chest as I watched her. For a split second, the thought flashed through my mind—Is she going to jump?
I waited. A muscle in my jaw tensed, my fingers tightening around the edge of my lighter.
If she leaned forward even an inch more, I would—
But she didn't.
She just stood there, unmoving, the wind tugging at the fabric of her tshirt and pulling loose strands of her midnight-black hair from the braid draped over her shoulder.
I let out a quiet breath, steadying myself. I didn't know what made me move, but I stepped forward, making my presence known for the first time. I walked toward the edge where she stood, making sure it seemed like I had just entered the roof, like I hadn't already been here, watching.
She startled slightly at my presence but recovered quickly, straightening her posture as if instinctively pulling herself together. Her fingers smoothed the fabric of her kurti, brushing away something invisible.
"Oh," she said, a touch of surprise in her voice, but nothing more. Not a trace of the girl I had seen break down in this very spot.
She wasn't going to let me see that side of her.
I took a slow drag from my cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the night air before tilting my head slightly. "Didn't mean to intrude."
She let out a small, polite laugh. "I think I'm the one intruding," she said, her voice even, practiced.
I shrugged. "roof's big enough for two."
She gave a quick nod, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before turning back to the sky. Her face remained composed, eyes calm, like this was just another ordinary night. No red-rimmed eyes. No shaky breaths.
I knew better, but I didn't push.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant hum of traffic, the occasional bark of a stray dog. The city below moved as it always did, oblivious to the two strangers standing together on a roof.
Then, after a moment, she broke the silence.
"You come up here often?"
Her tone was light, casual, as if she were making small talk at a bus stop and not standing in the same place where she had collapsed in tears only nights before.
I played along. "Yeah. It's quiet."
She nodded, her gaze still on the stars. "Yeah… it is."
Another pause. She shifted slightly, hugging her arms to herself—not in sadness, but in habit.
"Well," she said after a beat, forcing a small smile, "I'll get out of your way. Didn't mean to disturb your peace."
She was already stepping back, ready to leave.
For some reason, before I could stop myself, I spoke. "You can stay."
She hesitated, looking at me for a second longer than necessary. Then, slowly, she sat back down—this time, a careful distance away.
And just like that, we sat there. Two strangers. Both pretending we had nothing to hide.
The silence between us felt different now, not quite awkward but not entirely comfortable either. She traced invisible patterns on the roof floor, her fingers absently drawing shapes against the cool surface. The wind picked up slightly, lifting strands of her hair before letting them fall gently against her face.
"You don't talk much," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
She glanced at me, then looked back at the sky. "Neither do you."
Fair enough.
I tapped the cigarette against the edge of my boot, watching the ember glow before flickering away into the night. "You always come up here alone?"
She hesitated, just for a second. "Yeah."
No explanation. No elaboration.
I could respect that.
She shifted slightly, turning to face me properly for the first time. "And you? You always smoke alone?"
"Yeah," I answered, mirroring her response.
Her lips curved, just slightly. "Fair enough."
The wind changed then, carrying the faint scent of rain, the kind that signaled an approaching storm. She must have felt it, too, because she rubbed her arms absentmindedly, her fingers lightly brushing her skin as if warding off the cold.
I hesitated before shrugging off my jacket. Without a word, I placed it beside her, not looking at her reaction.
She didn't protest. But she didn't reach for it either.
We sat there a little longer, and for the first time in five nights, I wasn't waiting for her to leave.
The first drops landed soft and cool against the roof, darkening the concrete in uneven patches. She glanced up, blinking as the drizzle touched her lashes. The city's neon glow reflected off the rain, casting a hazy shimmer across the skyline.
I expected her to flinch, maybe mutter something about needing to get inside before she got drenched. But she didn't move. Instead, she smiled—a real one this time, unguarded and quiet, as if the rain had whispered something only she could hear.
I watched as she stretched her hand out, palm facing up, letting the droplets gather and slip through her fingers. The careful distance she kept, the measured words—just for a second, all of it fell away.
She loved the rain.
I didn't know how I knew, but I did. Maybe it was the way her shoulders lost their usual stiffness, the way her breaths seemed to match the rhythm of the falling drops.
The drizzle thickened, shifting into steady rainfall. The kind Mumbai was famous for—the kind that drenched you within minutes.
She exhaled a small content sigh before stepping back towards the stairs. "I should get going," she murmured, brushing damp strands away from her face.
She didn't wait for me to respond. Just turned and walked away, disappearing down the stairs.
I stayed behind, watching as the rain swallowed the last traces of where she'd been.
Seerat.
The name surfaced in my mind without warning, unspoken but certain.
I'd heard it before. Somewhere in the crowded hallways of our college. Maybe in a classroom, murmured in passing. Maybe from a professor taking attendance, their voice monotone, forgettable.
I hadn't paid attention then. But now, standing alone on the roof, the name settled into place.
Seerat.
I mouthed it once, testing it out.
For some reason, it suited her.
***
The next time I saw her, she was someone else entirely in the unforgiving light of noon.
It was in the college courtyard, where the world wasn't quiet and the night didn't hide us in anonymity.
The campus buzzed with its usual midday chaos—groups huddled under trees, voices overlapping, and laughter spilling into the humid air. The smell of chai mixed with the faint scent of wet soil from last night's rain. And in the middle of it all, she stood with a book tucked under her arm, listening to a friend animatedly recount something with wide gestures.
In the daytime, she looked different. Maybe it was the sunlight softening the sharp edges of her features, or maybe I was just too used to seeing her in the shadows. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, an absentminded habit, but for some reason, my gaze lingered longer than it should have.
Seerat.
She was different here.
Not the girl who had stood at the roof's edge, not the one who had broken apart in the quiet of the night. Here, she was whole. Bright. Untouched by whatever had driven her to that rooftop.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But for some reason, it did.
She still hadn't seen me.
I leaned against my bike, lighting a cigarette out of habit. I wasn't planning to approach her—not yet. Watching her here, in her world, I realized something.
She hadn't introduced herself to me that night.
And she hadn't asked for my name either.
That meant, in her mind, we were still strangers.
I took a slow drag, exhaling through my nose, watching as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her friend said something that made her laugh—not forced, not polite. A real laugh. It was the first time I had heard it.
The sound tugged at something in my chest.
Then, her friend must have noticed me because their conversation paused, and Seerat, curious, followed their gaze.
Her eyes landed on me.
For a second, nothing changed. No flicker of surprise, no hesitance. Just a passing glance, the kind you give a stranger. Then, recognition settled—a brief shift in her expression, the smallest crease in her brows and a polite smile on her lips.
She remembered.
A polite smile, nothing more. The kind you give when you cross paths with someone vaguely familiar. Then she turned back to her friend, the moment slipping away as quickly as it had come.
I smirked, tapping ash off my cigarette.
I was still watching Seerat from a distance when a loud voice cut through the midday noise.
"Bro, what's with that tragic hero look?" A firm clap landed on my shoulder. "What are you looking at so intently?"
Ali.
I didn't need to turn to know it was him. Only one person dared to show up and talk like that to me.
I exhaled, not bothering to respond.
Ali strolled up beside me, dark curls messy from the wind, his ever-present grin in place. "Why do you look like you just walked out of a sad indie movie?" He squinted at me. "Did you get dumped?"
I shot him a dry look. "By whom?"
"Good question," Ali mused. "Because you don't date. Not seriously, anyway. Then what's got you looking so serious?"
Ali was already following my gaze. The moment his eyes landed on Seerat, he went still for half a second—before his head snapped back to me so fast I thought he might get whiplash.
"Wait…" He squinted. "No way."
I ignored him.
"No. No. This cannot be happening."
I sighed, rubbing my temple. "Will you shut up?"
"No, I will not shut up," Ali said, pointing an accusing finger at me. "Because Irshad Khurrana, the same Irshad who treats relationships like a speed breaker—slow down for a second, then move on—is standing here watching a girl instead of flirting with her. Are you okay?"
I scoffed. "You're overreacting."
"No!" He shook his head. "You don't do this. You flirt, you have fun, you don't—" He gestured wildly toward where Seerat had been standing. "You don't just look at girls from a distance like a tragic romeo."
"I'm not looking at her."
Ali crossed his arms. "You're still looking at her."
I forced my gaze away. "Happy?"
He smirked. "So, who is she?"
I debated lying but knew it wouldn't work. "…Seerat."
"So, when were you planning to tell me you were stalking some innocent girl in college?"
I sighed. "I'm not stalking anyone."
"Then what do you call standing in a corner and staring at her like some lovesick poet?"
I huffed a laugh. "You're being dramatic."
Ali threw an arm around my shoulders. "My brother, I was born dramatic."
That much was true.
Ali had always been like this—loud, expressive, quick to poke fun at everything. We had been friends since childhood, two kids who found common ground in chaos. When I moved to Mumbai, he came along, insisting I'd be lost without him.
Annoying as he was, I never disagreed.
Ali studied me for a second, then grinned like he had just unlocked a deep mystery. "Oh boy,, don't tell me—" His grin widened. "Did you finally fall in love?"
I groaned. "Shut. Up."
He laughed, full and unfiltered, smacking my shoulder again. "This is unreal. I feel like I should light a candle for this historic moment."
I shot him a warning look. "Nothing is going on."
Ali wiggled his brows. "Not yet."
I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Just drop it."
Ali didn't argue, but the smirk on his face told me he wasn't letting this go anytime soon.
As I started my bike, my eyes flickered back toward the entrance Seerat had disappeared into.
No story, I had told Ali.
But I wasn't sure I believed that anymore.