chapter 5

A month later, the streets of the city wore the soft amber glow of early autumn. The leaves swirled lazily in the breeze, rustling against the pavements as Ananya walked toward the cricket ground. Her heartbeat raced. Each step felt heavy, yet electric.

And then she saw him.

Her chest surged with hope, her lips curved in anticipation. He was back. The boy whose laughter had haunted her thoughts, whose presence had shaped her days. Yet the sight of him was not pure joy. A girl walked beside him, hand in his, laughter mingling with his own. The way he looked at her, the easy comfort in his gestures — it was not for Ananya.

The world seemed to constrict around her, the colors dulling, every sound muted except the thrum of her own heart. She wanted to run, to hide, to vanish into the wind, yet her eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight of what could never be hers.

Later, at college, her friends noticed her silence. Over chai in the canteen, Meera nudged her playfully. “You’ve been daydreaming again, Ananya. Spill it! Who is haunting your mind now?”

Ananya forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Just… life.”

But her friends, sharp and perceptive, didn’t let it go. They teased, laughed, and gently coaxed her to open up. Slowly, Ananya shared fragments of her secret love, the silent crush, the afternoons spent watching him from afar. Her friends listened with wide eyes, some giggling, some shaking their heads in mock disbelief.

“You’re in love with a stranger?” Meera asked, half-laughing, half-concerned.

“Yes, but…” Ananya’s voice faltered, “it’s not just a crush. It’s… deeper. I can’t explain.”

Her friends exchanged glances, then grinned. “Then we’ll help you,” they chorused. “Even if it’s impossible, we’re on your side.”

And for the first time in weeks, Ananya felt warmth spread through her chest — not from hope of him noticing her, but from the support of people who truly cared.

Even with her friends’ support, the next evening was cruel. Ananya went to the cricket ground, hopeful, eager, her steps lightened by laughter with her friends. But the boy was back with the same girl from before, walking hand-in-hand, their smiles entwined in a private world.

Ananya froze, feeling the weight of unfulfilled dreams settle like a stone in her chest. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and unrelenting. Her friends had come along, teasing her about needing courage to talk to him, and now they watched helplessly as her heart broke silently.

Meera placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll sit with you. You’re not alone in this.”

The old lady’s words from the flower house echoed in her mind: Sometimes waiting is the bravest form of love, even when it is unseen. Yet, for all her understanding, heartbreak was still raw, a living ache that made each breath heavy.

That night, Ananya sat among the roses, her fingers brushing over the crimson petals. Her friends had insisted she visit the garden, even if just to be close to the comforting scent. She let her tears fall freely, and the roses seemed to lean in, accepting her sorrow, their fragrance wrapping her in solace.

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