Heartbreak and Happiness

The living room glowed softly under the golden hue of fairy lights Simmi had insisted on hanging across the ceiling. A soft song played in the background—something slow, mellow, familiar. It wrapped the room in comfort, like a blanket made of memories.

The four of us—Simmi, Ruhi, Nikhil, and I—sat together on the floor, legs crossed, snacks scattered across a big round tray in the center. The table had been pushed aside, replaced by cushions and quiet laughter. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no fear, no anger, no pain—just us.

Simmi popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth and groaned dramatically. "This," she said, eyes closed, "is what real therapy looks like."

Ruhi chuckled. "You mean junk food and terrible music?"

"Excuse me," Simmi said, feigning offense. "My playlist is a gift to humanity."

I laughed softly, and even Nikhil—who rarely let his guard down—smiled. It wasn't one of his polite, forced smiles. It was real. Gentle. The kind that made his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners.

"You're quiet," he said to me, nudging my elbow.

"I'm just…" I paused, looking around. "Taking it all in."

Because the truth was—I didn't want to forget this. This feeling. This moment. After so much chaos, this peace felt surreal. Precious.

Ruhi suddenly stood up. "We should celebrate."

Simmi raised an eyebrow. "Celebrate what exactly?"

Ruhi grinned and said, "Surviving hell. Finding strength. Finding each other."

And somehow, that made perfect sense.

Simmi clapped her hands. "I'm in."

Before I could protest, Ruhi pulled out a small cake from the kitchen—something she'd apparently hidden for this very occasion. "It's not fancy," she said. "But it's ours."

They lit a single candle.

"One wish," Ruhi smiled. "Four hearts."

We all leaned in, laughter bubbling on our lips. No one said it out loud, but we were all thinking the same thing.

We wished for this moment to last.

Nikhil looked at me just as the candle flickered.

And for a second, time slowed down.

There was no longer a hallway filled with shouting, no blood, no rope, no fear. Just us.

Four broken people… healing. Together.

As the candle went out, a quiet cheer rose, and we all clapped, throwing popcorn at each other like children at a sleepover. We took silly selfies. Simmi tried to braid Ruhi's hair and ended up getting flicked in the forehead. Nikhil and I shared one of those quiet glances that meant: we made it.

And for once…

We weren't surviving.

We were living.

After the laughter faded and the cake was gone, the living room settled into a comforting silence. The kind of silence that didn't feel empty—just full of unspoken things.

Ruhi stood up and walked over to Simmi, smiling softly. Without a word, she leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek—tender and full of quiet affection. Simmi blinked in surprise, then smiled, blushing slightly as Ruhi leaned her head on her shoulder.

"I'm tired," Ruhi murmured.

"Come," Simmi said softly, wrapping an arm around her, "let's go rest."

They walked away slowly, hand in hand, retreating into Simmi's room. A soft click followed behind them as the door shut gently—leaving just the two of us in the quiet hall.

Me… and Nikhil.

I could feel his presence near me. Warm. Calm. Familiar now.

He took a step closer.

"So," he asked, voice low, with that crooked half-smile I was starting to recognize. "What now?"

I looked at him, unsure. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, he leaned in… and kissed me.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

Just… real.

The kind of kiss that carried meaning.

The kind that said everything without needing words.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. "Come on," he whispered, "Show me your room."

I nodded.

My heart was beating so loud, I was afraid he could hear it.

We walked slowly to my room. My fingers brushed against his once… then he gently took my hand. Not forcefully. Not demanding. Just… holding it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Inside the room, the air shifted. It was quiet, but charged.

He sat beside me on the bed, and for a few seconds, we just looked at each other. Eyes speaking all the things that mouths couldn't. Pain. Healing. Trust. The long road we had walked to get here.

Then, he reached for the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head, revealing not just skin, but scars—memories of fights, of survival. He looked at me, as if giving me the choice to turn away.

But I didn't.

I reached for my own shirt, and he helped me—slowly, gently—his fingers brushing against my skin like a promise.

And then… he kissed me again.

Longer this time. Deeper.

But still soft.

Still asking.

Still waiting.

There was no rush. No noise.

Just the sound of our breath… and the rhythm of two hearts finally learning what it meant to beat together.

That night wasn't about crossing lines.

It was about finding safety—in each other.

It was about the silence that no longer hurt, because it was filled with warmth, not absence.

It was about something blooming between two people who had been broken, but never gave up.

And as I lay there, beside him, skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat…

I realized—

This wasn't a wild dream.

It was real.

And it was ours.

I gently reached out and held Nikhil's hand—quietly, almost shyly.

There was a pause before I asked, my voice soft but hopeful,

"Nikhil… will you come with us to Shimla? On the college trip?"

He looked at me, his expression unreadable for a moment… and then he smiled.

That quiet, knowing smile he always wore when he already had the answer.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I'm coming too. I signed up for the trip the moment I found out about it."

My eyes widened slightly. "You… already knew?"

He chuckled under his breath, brushing his thumb gently over the back of my hand.

"I had a feeling," he said, "somewhere deep down… that you'd decide to come. That you'd want this escape too. So I thought, why not make some space in that journey for us? Just in case."

I stared at him, warmth spreading through my chest like morning sunlight.

"That's a good thing then," I whispered, my voice filled with a quiet excitement. "Because now I know for sure—we're going to have a great time there."

Nikhil leaned closer, his tone softening with something more vulnerable.

"It's not just about fun for me, Rohan," he said. "It's about… moments. Memories. I want us to have something beautiful to look back on. Something untouched by pain or fights or fear. Just… you and me. Laughing. Breathing. Living."

His words sank deep into me.

No one had ever spoken like that before.

Not to me.

Not about me.

And in that moment, everything felt still—like the world paused just long enough for this promise to settle between us.

I nodded slowly, our fingers still laced.

"Yes," I whispered. "Let's make memories. Let's collect little pieces of happiness… just for us."

Nikhil smiled again—this time more gently, more honestly.

Outside the window, the night was calm.

But inside… something had begun to stir.

A quiet, glowing anticipation of all that lay ahead—of snow-covered hills, shared laughter, maybe even a sunrise watched side by side. A journey not just through places… but into each other's hearts.

Shimla wasn't just going to be a trip.

It was going to be a beginning.

And neither of us would be the same by the time we returned.

To be continued...