It started on a Thursday.

Nothing special about it. Just one of those hot, slightly boring college afternoons where the sun made the concrete too warm to sit on and everyone walked a little slower than usual. Even the breeze, if it showed up, felt lazy.

Shiva was sitting under the old neem tree behind the library. It was his usual spot — shady, quiet, out of the way. A good place to pretend he was studying without anyone asking too many questions.

He had his Thermodynamics textbook open on his lap, but he hadn’t read a single line in the last ten minutes. His eyes were on the page, sure, but his head was… somewhere else. Maybe nowhere. He didn’t even notice the ants crawling near his shoe or the light rustle of the leaves above him.

Then he heard someone laugh.

It was loud. Sharp. Not the fake kind people use to be polite, but the real kind — the kind that made people turn around, made you want to know what the joke was.

Shiva looked up.

He didn’t recognize the guy at first. Tall. Wearing a black t-shirt and jeans that looked like they hadn’t seen an iron in weeks. Messy hair. Sunglasses. In the shade.

Who wears sunglasses in the shade?

The boy walked with this weird kind of confidence — not the show-off kind, but like he didn’t care if anyone was watching him. Like he belonged everywhere, even here. Even in silence.

Shiva looked back down, pretending to read.

But the guy stopped. Right near him.

He unzipped his bag, pulled out a pack of chips, and without saying much, sat down a few feet away. Right on the grass. Shoes and all. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You want one?” the guy asked, holding out the packet.

Shiva shook his head. “No, thanks.”

The guy shrugged, like that was fine, and started eating. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world. He was humming something too — some old Tamil song, maybe. Shiva recognized the tune but couldn’t place it.

He tried to focus on his book, but it wasn’t working. Not with this guy sitting so close. Not with all that… energy. Like he was a living speaker of chaos in a calm playlist.

Shiva didn’t say anything else. Neither did the boy.

After a while, the boy got up. Brushed his hands on his jeans. Looked down at Shiva — just for a second — and gave him a small, easy smile. Not like they were friends. Not like he was trying to be charming. Just like he’d be back.

Then he left.

And Shiva… didn’t go back to reading.

He just stared at the page in front of him and thought about how one random boy with too much confidence and a pack of chips had made his quiet spot feel completely different.

Like something had shifted — not outside, but inside.

Like the story had started, and he hadn’t even realized it.

Shiva didn’t expect to see him again.

He thought the boy was just passing through. Maybe a visitor. Maybe one of those overconfident first-years who disappear after the first month. He didn’t ask anyone about him. Didn’t try to find out his name. Just assumed it was a one-time thing — like a leaf blown past him by chance.

But the next day, around the same time, the guy showed up again.

Same black headphones. New snack — popcorn this time. Still dressed like he hadn’t checked a mirror in two days. Still walked like rules weren’t something he thought about. Like he existed on his own frequency.

He walked straight to the neem tree, looked at Shiva sitting there, and without asking, sat down again. Same spot. Same way. Like it was the most natural thing in the world — like they had done this a hundred times before.

Shiva glanced sideways at him.

“Calm down,” the boy said, not even looking up. “It’s a big tree.”

Shiva rolled his eyes and turned a page in his book — a page he hadn’t actually read. He didn’t even know what chapter he was pretending to be on anymore.

They sat in silence. Again. But not the kind that feels empty — more like the kind that presses gently on your shoulders and makes you aware of every breath.

Shiva could feel the other boy shifting beside him — shaking one leg, cracking his knuckles, humming a little. He wasn’t doing anything dramatic. Just existing loudly.

After a few minutes, the guy said, “You seriously never talk?”

Shiva sighed. “You always talk this much?”

“Only when I get ignored this hard,” the boy replied, smiling like he’d just scored a point. His grin was too easy, like he didn’t mind making a fool of himself.

Shiva didn’t answer. But something about the way he said it made Shiva’s mouth twitch — not quite a smile, but not the usual flat expression either.

The boy threw a popcorn in his mouth, chewed slowly, then said, “I’m Rohan, by the way.”

Shiva didn’t reply right away. He looked down at the open book in his lap, the same page he’d been pretending to study for twenty minutes. The words didn’t make any sense.

“Shiva.”

“Nice,” Rohan said. “Strong name. God-level.”

Shiva didn’t respond.

“I mean, mine’s biblical or whatever,” Rohan added casually. “But yours? Yours could shake a mountain.”

There was a pause. A breeze shifted a few dry leaves near their feet.

Rohan leaned back, stretched out his legs like he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. He offered Shiva some popcorn again. Shiva shook his head.

“You could’ve just said yes yesterday,” Rohan muttered under his breath.

Shiva turned toward him. “What?”

“The chips. You looked like you wanted one.”

Shiva blinked, caught off guard.

“I didn’t,” he said flatly, but it came out weaker than he meant.

Rohan didn’t push. Just shrugged.

“Okay.”

They didn’t speak again after that.

But when Rohan got up and walked away, Shiva didn’t open his book this time.

He just sat there, thinking about popcorn, chipped nails, and how somehow, without asking, someone had managed to sit beside him two days in a row — and leave a louder silence behind than before.

It started drizzling just after lunch.

One of those slow, sticky rains that didn’t look like much at first, but could soak you completely if you didn’t find shelter fast. The kind that crept into your clothes, clung to your skin, and made the air feel heavier than usual.

Shiva didn’t have an umbrella. Of course he didn’t — he never checked the weather app. He didn’t check many things, really.

So he ducked under the small concrete overhang outside the admin block. It wasn’t a great spot, but it was dry, and more importantly, it was empty. He leaned against the wall, pulling his bag tighter against his chest, watching the water collect in little puddles along the edge of the walkway.

The smell of wet earth and cement filled the air. The sound of light rainfall was soft but steady — like a background score nobody asked for.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps. Then that familiar shuffle. Then the voice.

“Man, every single time I leave my umbrella at home... boom. Instant karma.”

It was Rohan.

Dripping a little, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, socks completely useless by now. A trail of water followed him like he was dragging the rain indoors.

He didn’t seem too bothered by the downpour — or by the fact that Shiva was already standing there.

He just shook the water out of his sleeves and leaned against the opposite wall like it was the most normal thing in the world to be that close again.

“Great weather,” Rohan said, voice bright despite the gloom. “Real dramatic. Makes me feel like I’m in a movie no one asked for.”

Shiva didn’t say anything.

He kept his eyes on the rain, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just noticed Rohan standing close enough to hear his heartbeat.

A beat passed. Then another. Water dripped from Rohan’s elbow and hit the ground with soft splashes.

“What are you thinking about?” Rohan asked, not looking at him.

Shiva hesitated. “Nothing.”

“That’s deep,” Rohan said with a small grin.

Another pause. A little longer this time.

Then, without warning, Rohan pulled off his headphones and offered them to Shiva.

“Here. Try this.”

Shiva looked at the headphones like they were a bomb.

“What?”

“It’s music. Just listen. One song.”

Shiva blinked.

He could’ve said no. Should’ve. That would’ve been the easy thing — the safe thing.

But he didn’t.

He took them. Slowly. Carefully.

The song was slow. Gentle. Tamil. The kind of voice that didn’t rush. Something about rain, and time, and waiting for someone who doesn’t know you’re waiting.

He didn’t ask the name of the track. He didn’t ask why Rohan had picked it.

He just listened. Eyes still on the rain.

And when he handed the headphones back, neither of them said anything.

The rain kept falling, lighter now. Like it was listening too.

They stood in silence, just two boys hiding from the sky, holding something between them that didn’t have a name yet.

When the rain finally slowed, Rohan pushed off the wall.

“Guess I’ll see you under the tree tomorrow,” he said, casual as ever.

And then he left.

Shiva stayed there for a while. Let the quiet sink in. Let the music replay in his head.

He wasn’t sure what any of it meant.

But he knew it wasn’t nothing.