who is srijan

The Boy Who Burned Bright

Srijan wasn’t like the others.

He walked like he owned every street he crossed, laughed like the world owed him joy, and flirted like breathing. People said he was trouble — the kind you didn’t mind falling into.

And most of the time, they were right.

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He was a sports god on campus — lean, tall, confident, and built like he knew it. His Instagram was full of gym mirror selfies and post-game celebrations, often shirtless, often with someone new beside him.

But behind the filters and the followers, Srijan had a wound he didn’t talk about.

Her name was Aashi.

His first love. His first heartbreak.

She cheated. With his closest teammate.

Srijan stopped trusting anyone after that — especially girls. Love became a game, one-night stands a strategy, and emotion a weakness he couldn’t afford to show again.

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He started clubbing every weekend, drinking just enough to forget but not enough to lose control. There was always someone new: a girl at the bar, a boy at a party, another face to pass the time. Everyone wanted Srijan. And he gave himself to everyone — just never completely.

Only one person knew the truth.

Ray — his best friend, his brother in everything but blood. Ray had the same reckless charm, the same broken edges. They laughed about girls, shared crushes, covered each other’s messes.

But Ray knew: Srijan still looked at Aashi’s old messages sometimes.

He still remembered the feeling of being chosen — and then replaced.

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Srijan wasn’t heartless. He was just tired of hoping.

That is, until he saw Ryna again.

They’d known each other from the neighborhood — nothing deep. Just a few glances, an occasional shared rickshaw ride, small talk during festival nights.

But when he saw her that day at the campus café — hair tied up, face bare, red scarf peeking from her bag — something shifted.

She looked like someone who had been through something.

So did he.

“Ryna,” he said with a smirk, sliding into the seat across from her uninvited. “You still wear that red like it’s armor?”

She raised a brow. “You still flirt like it’s a job?”

He laughed. And this time, it didn’t feel like a performance.

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Srijan didn’t expect to feel anything.

But Ryna wasn’t like the others. She didn’t chase. She didn’t melt. She made him slow down — and he hated it and loved it at the same time.

She made him want to be good.

Not perfect. Just better.

And somewhere between long night calls and quiet walks after practice, Srijan — the playboy, the heartbreaker, the club regular — started falling for the girl in red.

Not because she was easy to win.

But because for the first time since Aashi, he wanted to stay.

extra

Flashback: When She First Saw Him

It was the last week of summer, and the sky was full of gold.

Ryna was sitting on the school rooftop — a place she wasn’t technically allowed to be — sketching the clouds with an old pencil and humming to herself. She always liked being above the noise. Up there, everything felt a little less heavy.

That’s when she saw him.

Fin.

Leaning against the wall with a book in one hand, cigarette tucked behind his ear, and headphones in. He wasn’t supposed to be there either, which made it perfect.

Their eyes met for a second.

He raised a brow like he was silently asking, You’re not gonna tell, are you?

She shook her head with a small smile. Nope.

He walked over, slid down next to her, and said nothing for the first five minutes.

Then — without looking at her — he asked, “What are you drawing?”

She hesitated. No one really asked her that. People usually just nodded politely or changed the subject.

“It’s... a sky that looks like it’s about to cry, but it won’t.”

Fin turned his head toward her. “You talk like you’re in a book.”

She blushed a little. “That’s a bad thing?”

“No,” he said, smirking. “It’s kinda cool.”

They shared silence after that. But it wasn’t awkward — it was soft, full of possibility. Like the kind of silence where two people just get each other without needing to say much.

When the bell rang and they both stood to leave, Fin looked at her again.

“I’m Fin,” he said.

“Ryna.”

He nodded. “See you around, Ryna-the-poet.”

He walked off before she could reply — his hoodie catching the breeze, his presence already echoing in her chest.

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That night, she wrote his name at the top corner of her notebook.

Just once.

But once was enough.

Because Fin was the kind of boy you didn’t mean to fall for.

You just did.

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