The school hours finally crawled to an end, and the bell rang, signaling freedom. I let out a sigh of relief as I stuffed my books into my bag, ready to head home and drown in homework. Just as I slung my bag over my shoulder, Adhriti appeared by my desk, her usual cheerful self radiating like sunlight.

“Evanika, come with us! We’re going to that new cafe—right by the market road!” she announced, almost bouncing on her toes with excitement.

I groaned internally, shaking my head. “I can’t, Adhriti. I have too much homework—an entire mountain of it.” I tried to sound as regretful as I could, hoping she’d spare me.

But no. Pleading with Adhriti was like throwing pebbles at a wall and expecting it to crumble. She waved a dismissive hand at my excuses. “Oh, homework can wait. Come on! You’ve been glued to your books all day—just one hour won’t hurt.”

“Adhriti—”

“Nope! You’re coming!” she said with such finality that I knew I’d lost the battle. Reluctantly, I followed her, muttering complaints under my breath.

As we stepped out of the school gate, I spotted Naqsh standing there with another boy I didn’t recognize. My stomach flipped. Isn’t Naqsh Adhriti’s crush? Crushes were supposed to ignore their admirers, weren’t they? At least, that’s what every romantic movie told me. So why was Naqsh standing there, calm and casual, like he owned the street? Was I missing something?

Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready for it.

“Let’s go,” Disha announced, stepping into the group like she was leading an expedition.

“We’ve been waiting for ages!” Reyansh chimed in dramatically, flashing an exaggerated grin. His voice carried the kind of charm that made him instantly likable—well, at least to people who weren’t me. Adhriti leaned over and whispered, “That’s Reyansh. He’s my cousin, and Naqsh’s friend.”

Ah, that explained why he was here—and more importantly, why Adhriti was glowing brighter than a thousand-watt bulb.

“Wait, Nirvikar is coming with us too,” Naqsh announced, glancing down the road.

Nirvikar? My mood instantly soured. That boy—that boy—I didn’t even know him properly, yet I hated him with every fiber of my being. There was something about the way he carried himself, how his gaze lingered on me for just a second too long, that made me feel like I’d disliked him in a past life.

“Hell no,” I muttered under my breath as we stood there waiting.

While we waited, Reyansh kept up a teasing banter with Disha. “Bas kar, Reyansh,” Adhriti warned him, trying to suppress a smile. “Main chachi ko bata dungi.”

Reyansh smirked mischievously. “Jaa, bata de. Main bhi unhe bata dunga ke tum aur naqsh ke beech kya chal raha hai. Tumhe kya laga, mujhe kuch nahi pata?”

The group erupted into laughter. Adhriti shot him a glare. “Reyansh, chup kar warna—”

“Warna kya?” he interrupted smugly, turning to Naqsh. “Aur tu, Naqsh—mere hone wale saale! Kuch nahi batana tha mujhe?”

Naqsh raised his hands in self-defense, his face turning red. “Abhi kuch nahi chal raha!” he blurted out.

The group’s laughter grew louder, and I couldn’t help but glance at Adhriti, who was blushing so hard that her cheeks looked like they’d been dipped in tomato sauce. Poor girl, I thought. She didn’t even deny it.

Just then, Nirvikar arrived. I swear time slowed down for a second as he strolled toward us, running his fingers through his hair like he’d stepped straight out of a movie scene. His eyes met mine—fleeting but sharp enough to send a shiver down my spine—and then quickly flickered toward Naqsh.

“Tum sab lad kyun rahe ho?” he asked, his tone casual but tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing, bhai. Chal, chalte hain,” Naqsh said, steering the group forward.

Reluctantly, I followed, feeling like an unwilling character in someone else’s story.

---

The cafe was bustling with activity, its large glass windows offering a view of students, young adults, and families crowding the counters for steaming cups of coffee and plates of pastries. The walls were lined with shelves of books, and fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting a cozy, golden glow.

As soon as we entered, Disha and Reyansh raced to claim the best table—a corner booth near the window—while Adhriti rolled her eyes at their childishness. Adhriti practically dragged me along, bubbling with excitement.

“Evanika, sit here!” she said, pulling me down beside her. I sank into the plush seat, glad to be off my feet.

Meanwhile, Naqsh and Nirvikar stood near the counter, debating what to order. I tried not to look at Nirvikar—why does he annoy me so much?—but my eyes kept darting in his direction. He was calm, casual, and, to my frustration, effortlessly confident.

“Hot chocolate?” Adhriti suggested, nudging me.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied absentmindedly.

Disha’s teasing voice broke my trance. “Reyansh, stop staring at me like that! I’ll slap you!”

“Ek thappad mein toh main apni jaan de dunga,” Reyansh declared dramatically, earning a chorus of laughs from the table. Even I cracked a smile.

A few minutes later, Nirvikar returned with steaming mugs of hot chocolate and trays of pastries, handing them out with an ease that annoyed me. When he set mine down, our eyes met again, and for a fleeting moment, his lips twitched into the hint of a smirk.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, trying to sound indifferent.

“No problem,” he replied smoothly, like he hadn’t noticed the daggers I was glaring at him.

The rest of the hour flew by in a haze of chatter and laughter. Disha continued to fend off Reyansh’s flirtations, Naqsh kept throwing glances at Adhriti (who was pretending not to notice), and I sat quietly, sipping my hot chocolate and watching it all unfold.

When we finally got up to leave, I realized that, despite my earlier reluctance, I’d enjoyed myself. Just a little. But there was no way I was admitting that to Adhriti.

As we stepped out into the cool evening air, Nirvikar fell into step beside me. “You hate me, don’t you?” he said, out of the blue.

I turned to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “Just a hunch.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but no words came out. I hated that he was right.

And somehow, that annoyed me even more.

---

The walk back from the café felt longer than it should’ve. Maybe it was because of the evening breeze that tangled itself in the group’s chatter or the fact that Nirvikar kept walking just close enough to be there, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Adhriti was practically glowing as she strolled beside Naqsh, sneaking glances at him when she thought no one was looking. Reyansh and Disha were still at it—him dropping lines so cheesy they could qualify as café menu specials, and her firing back with comebacks sharp enough to cut glass.

“You know, Disha, if you keep rejecting me like this, I’ll end up writing poetry about my heartbreak,” Reyansh teased.

“Do it! I’d love to see how bad your rhyming skills are,” Disha shot back, though her smirk gave her away.

Adriti rolled her eyes, nudging me as we walked. “These two should just get married and end this daily soap.”

I chuckled, more out of politeness than anything else. My thoughts were tangled elsewhere—specifically on the boy walking ahead of us, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking as carefree as someone with no homework, no responsibilities, and certainly no nagging presence of me in his life.

Nirvikar.

He was a contradiction that made no sense. He wasn’t loud or overbearing like Reyansh, nor did he have Naqsh’s effortless charm. But he carried himself like he knew exactly who he was and didn’t care what anyone thought. It was infuriating.

“Earth to Evanika,” Adhriti said, waving her hand in front of my face. I blinked, startled, as everyone turned to look at me.

“Sorry, what?” I stammered.

Adhriti grinned knowingly. “Where were you lost? Thinking about homework again?”

“Y-yeah, homework,” I replied quickly, my cheeks warming. Why was everyone suddenly looking at me?

“Stop scaring her, Adhriti. Evanika’s the only sane one in this group,” Naqsh said with a smile, and for the first time, I saw why Adhriti liked him so much. He had that easy confidence, the kind that could put anyone at ease.

“Who said I’m not sane?” Nirvikar suddenly chimed in, glancing over his shoulder. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the conversation like he’d dropped some unspoken challenge.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My brain seemed to freeze whenever he spoke directly to me. And I hated that.

---

By the time we reached the point where everyone would part ways, the group lingered awkwardly, like no one wanted to leave first. Disha and nirvikar were teasing Adhriti about Naqsh again, while Reyansh attempted to defend his “future saale” status, much to everyone’s amusement.

“You’re all so annoying!” Adhriti whined, hiding her face with her hands.

“Okay, okay, let’s not torture Adhriti,” Nirvikar said, a rare smile tugging at his lips. Then, turning to me, he added casually, “You’re quiet today, Evanika. Did we scare you off?”

I scowled, crossing my arms. “Some people don’t feel the need to talk just for the sake of it.”

His smile widened, just a fraction, as if he enjoyed my annoyance. “Fair enough.”

“Can we go now, please?” I muttered to Adhriti, desperate to leave before I said—or did—something stupid.

Adhriti relented, and we finally parted ways. She and I walked toward her lane, our houses not far apart.

“I’m glad you came today,” she said after a moment. “It was fun, right?”

I wanted to argue, to say it had been the most pointless outing of my life, but the words wouldn’t come. Because honestly, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.

“Yeah, I guess,” I mumbled.

She grinned knowingly, bumping her shoulder against mine. “I saw you staring at Nirvikar.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “What?! I was not!”

“Oh, you totally were!”

“Adhriti, stop. That’s ridiculous!” I could feel my face burning, and I hated how defensive I sounded.

She laughed, clearly enjoying my misery. “Relax, Evanika. It’s okay to hate him a little less, you know.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

---

That night, as I sat at my desk, surrounded by open notebooks and assignments I couldn’t focus on, I found my thoughts drifting back to the café. To the teasing banter, Adhriti’s flushed face, Reyansh’s dramatic declarations... and Nirvikar’s calm, knowing gaze.

Why did he always look like he knew something I didn’t? And why did I let him get under my skin so easily?

I shook my head, trying to banish the thoughts. “Ugh, focus!” I muttered to myself. But no matter how many times I reread the math problem in front of me, my brain refused to cooperate.

Instead, it conjured up fleeting moments I wished I could forget—Nirvikar walking toward us, running his fingers through his hair; the way his gaze met mine for that split second; and the casual challenge in his voice when he said, ‘Did we scare you off?’

I slammed my notebook shut, groaning in frustration. I hate him.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

________________________