Heartbreak and Happiness

Everything was finally settling down.

Simmi was smiling again, truly smiling, and that was enough to bring peace back into the house. With the storm now behind us, I quietly retreated to my room, craving a moment of stillness. I sat at my desk, returning to the half-finished art piece I had left abandoned days ago—lines waiting to be filled, emotions waiting to be poured out.

I picked up my pencil and let it dance across the paper, trying to reconnect with my inner calm.

But peace, it seems, never stays long.

Suddenly, with a sharp thud, something crashed against my window.

Startled, I turned and saw a small stone lying on the floor of my room—its arrival having cracked the silence like a whip. I walked over, picked it up, and saw that it had a piece of paper tied to it.

Curious and confused, I slowly unwrapped the note.

It wasn't a letter.

It was… a drawing.

A rough, messy sketch done in black ink. It showed two ragged, starving figures—possibly beggars—curled into themselves, their eyes hollow, tears falling from their faces. They looked weak, hungry… forgotten. There was a strange pain in their expression, something almost too real to ignore.

I didn't know what to make of it. Was it a message? A joke? Some weird metaphor?

I hadn't even finished processing the sketch when—thud—another stone flew into my room, this time hitting the side of my desk.

I rushed to it and saw yet another note wrapped around it. This one wasn't a drawing—it was writing. But the handwriting… it was messy. Angry. Almost unrecognizable.

"I'm coming to your room."

My breath caught in my throat.

What kind of sick prank was this?

I rushed to the window and flung it open, eyes scanning the darkness outside—trying to find the source of these messages.

And then…

I saw him.

Nikhil.

Climbing up the drain pipe like some reckless teenager out of a movie.

My heart stopped.

What the hell was he doing here?

How did he find my house?

Why… now?

I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I just stood frozen at the window, watching the boy who had turned my world upside down—again—inch closer and closer to my window like it was nothing.

He reached the ledge, pulled himself in with casual ease, and stepped into my room like he belonged there.

And in his mouth… was a rose.

Like something straight out of the strangest, most confusing dream.

He took the flower from his lips and held it out to me, eyes twinkling with that same playful mischief I once used to admire… before everything got complicated.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked softly, the gentleness in his voice both calming and infuriating.

I stood there in stunned silence, my heart racing like a storm trapped in my ribcage.

Because in that moment—I wasn't just seeing Nikhil.

I was facing the mess of feelings I'd tried so hard to bury.

I looked at Nikhil—standing in the middle of my room like he belonged there—and asked the one question I couldn't keep inside:

"What are you doing here, Nikhil?"

He looked at me with that same playful smile he always wore, like nothing ever fazed him.

"Oh… I was just passing by," he said casually, scratching the back of his head. "Thought I'd drop in and say hi."

I stared at him, my expression blank. "Passing by? You just happened to be passing by my house? Nikhil, how do you even know where I live?"

The moment I asked that, he started scratching his hair again, avoiding eye contact, fumbling over words.

"Uh… I mean… I kinda… uh—"

He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he dodged it completely and flipped the conversation like he always does.

"So why didn't you come to college today, Rohan? Were you feeling worse after last night?"

There was concern in his voice—genuine or well-acted, I couldn't tell. I took a breath and answered, "My mom told me to rest for a day. Said I needed it."

"Oh… I see," he replied, nodding. Then his voice changed—subtle, but sharper. "Actually, I came here because I need a favor."

I blinked, confused. "A favor?"

He nodded, and then his voice dropped a bit more seriously.

"About that kiss… the one that happened between us at the party," he said, looking around the room like the walls might judge him. "Please… don't tell anyone. Not even Simmi."

I stared at him.

That was it?

That was what he came for?

Not to check on me. Not because of worry. But to protect his reputation?

I don't know what I was expecting—maybe a conversation, maybe something deeper, more honest.

But not this.

Anger rose in my chest like wildfire.

"You didn't need to come all this way to tell me that," I said coldly. "I already knew. You didn't have to explain."

He paused for a second, clearly sensing the change in my tone. But instead of apologizing, he tried to change the subject again.

"By the way, did you understand the drawing I sent you?"

I looked at him and replied dryly, "Yeah. Two beggars. Crying from hunger."

The moment I said it, something shifted in his face.

His smirk disappeared. His eyes, which had been playfully dancing around the room, went still. His expression dropped.

He slowly walked up to me, took the rose back from my hand, and said coldly, "You're not even worthy of this."

And just like that, he turned around and left.

He climbed out the same way he had come in—through the window—leaving behind silence, confusion, and the faint scent of rose petals.

I stood there frozen.

What had just happened?

Was he worried about me?

Did he come for the favor?

Or was it something else entirely?

I didn't understand him. I didn't understand myself.

I remembered what my father once told me—"This age isn't made for thinking about things like love and attraction. Focus on your studies. These feelings… they're temporary."

And maybe he was right.

Maybe I was just being foolish.

But still…

No matter how much I tried to convince myself, I couldn't deny that I had felt that kiss too. It wasn't one-sided. It wasn't fake. Something in it had shaken me.

And now, I didn't know what to feel.

I didn't know who to talk to.

There was no one in my life I could open up to about this. No one who would understand. No one who wouldn't judge.

So I just stood there… alone with my confusion.

Alone with the sound of my own heart, trying to make sense of something that had no name.

Something that had walked into my room with a rose…

And walked out, leaving only thorns behind.

I sat at my desk, sketching with trembling hands. My pencil scratched across the paper with frustration, not passion. Each line was messy, broken—much like my thoughts. I wasn't drawing anymore—I was releasing. Releasing confusion, anger, longing, and something deeper I didn't yet have the courage to name.

Nothing made sense.

What had just happened between me and Nikhil?

What was that kiss?

What was his visit?

What did it all mean?

I didn't know who to talk to. Who would even understand?

Just then—a knock at my door.

I stood up, still caught in my emotional haze, and opened the door.

It was Simmi.

Her face looked unusually serious, eyes scanning mine with quiet intensity. "Can I come in?" she asked.

I gave a weak smile and stepped aside. "You don't have to ask."

She entered slowly, her shoulders tense, her movements cautious. I could tell—something was bothering her. I'd known her too long not to notice.

"Are you okay?" I asked softly, closing the door behind us. "You seem… tense."

Simmi didn't sit right away. She stood by the edge of my bed and looked at me, unsure how to start. Then finally, she spoke, her voice low but steady.

"Rohan… if I gave you some advice, would you listen to me?"

I blinked, confused. "What happened? Just tell me."

She took a breath. "It's about Nikhil."

That name.

It was always his name that twisted something in my chest.

"What about him?" I asked.

She hesitated for just a second, then said, "He was asking about you."

My heart skipped a beat.

"And the way he was asking…" she continued, "It didn't feel right."

I stared at her, unsure where this was going. "What do you mean?"

Simmi finally sat down, looked at me seriously, and said something I didn't expect.

"Rohan, I can't say everything to him—but I can say it to you. Nikhil isn't who you think he is."

"What are you trying to say?"

"He's trouble," she said, her voice firm. "In college, he targets boys who are quiet, soft-spoken, kind… the kind who don't fight back. He gets close to them—really close. And then… he changes. He starts dominating them, manipulating them, even hurting them. He treats them like servants, makes them do things, and if they refuse… he turns cruel."

I sat there in silence, her words hitting me like a cold wave.

"Are you serious?" I whispered.

Simmi nodded. "Everyone in college knows. People talk about it behind his back. Even Shaleeni—his so-called best friend—keeps her distance now. She once tried to stop him from bullying a boy, and he humiliated her in front of everyone. He isn't loyal to anyone, Rohan. Not even himself."

I didn't know what to say.

My heart was a battlefield of emotions—confusion, disbelief, anger, hurt.

Then Simmi looked at me, softer now. Her voice was calm but urgent.

"Rohan… I'm saying this because I care about you. If… if you ever feel attracted to boys, if you ever feel anything that you're not ready to talk about, that's okay. But just promise me one thing."

I looked at her, barely breathing.

"Make sure that boy is not Nikhil."

There was something in her tone—**not judgment, not disgust—but pure protection. The kind of care only someone who truly loves you can give.

Simmi wasn't warning me because she had a problem with how I felt.

She was warning me because she had a problem with who I felt it for.

And that made all the difference.

I nodded slowly, the weight of her words sinking deep into my heart. I knew she was being real. I could feel it.

She patted my hand gently. "I'm here for you, always. Just… don't let someone like him play with your heart."

After she left, the room felt colder.

I sat back at my desk and stared at my unfinished sketch. The lines looked even more broken now. I tried to pick up the pencil again, but my fingers trembled.

Could it really be true?

Was Nikhil really that cruel underneath that charming smile?

Had everything I saw in his eyes been a lie?

Was that kiss… just a game to him?

Or worse—was it just another move in a pattern he'd repeated with others?

A chill ran down my spine.

I remembered the rose. The window. The forced goodbye.

Was it all… manipulation?

Suddenly, the questions in my mind had only one answer:

Stay away from Nikhil.

That's what Simmi had said.

That's what my father would've said.

And maybe… that's what I should say too.

But even then—why did my heart still ache?

Why did a part of me still wonder if there was something real in those moments?

Why couldn't I just let it go?

Maybe this was what it meant to grow up—to realize that sometimes, the people we feel drawn to are the very ones we must protect ourselves from.

Maybe strength wasn't just in fighting the world…

But also in walking away from the person who made your heart race but your soul tremble.

To be continued….