Chapter 5: Letting Go

Ananya touched my forehead. "Are you okay? Did you zone out waiting for me?"

Her hand was cool against my brow, gentle as a monsoon breeze. She leaned in, worry written all over her face, her schoolbag slung carelessly over one shoulder. The noise of auto rickshaws from the main road filtered into the corridor, reminding me just how young we still were.

I shook my head, and under her hopeful gaze, said slowly, "Go hang out with Kabir. From now on, after tuition, I won’t wait for you to walk home together."

The words felt strange in my mouth, heavier than they should have. For a moment, she blinked, as if she hadn’t heard me right.

Ananya frowned, clearly surprised.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, a crease forming between her brows. She tilted her head, searching my face for a hint of a joke. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant call of the samosa-wala on the street below.

"Rohan, why are you being so petty? It’s not like you’re my only friend. Kabir’s actually really nice—if you got to know him, you’d like him too."

She said it with that same certainty she used to say, 'Amma’s rasam is the best.' Her voice softened at Kabir’s name, and she looked away, tracing her sandal on the floor.

She thought I was sulking.

I could almost see her mind racing—wondering if I was jealous, or just plain childish. She bit her lower lip, the way she always did when she was annoyed but didn’t want to fight.

"I know you see him as just some troublemaker, but that’s only because of his rough background. That’s why he went astray. I’m going to save him."

There it was—the saviour complex. Her eyes shone with conviction, as if she was preparing for some grand mission. She tossed her braid back, determined to fix what she thought was broken.

In my previous life, she approached Kabir with this saviour complex.

She had always wanted to heal the world, to make everything just a little bit better. But sometimes, in her eagerness, she couldn’t see when she was the one being changed.

But later, she also told me, "Stop meddling in my business. Kabir’s right—if we don’t enjoy ourselves now, when will we? Wait until we’re old? Youth is meant to be wasted. Life is short, live for today."

Those words still echoed in my mind—the justifications, the half-truths. I realised then that the more she chased after Kabir’s darkness, the further she drifted from the light we once shared.

When she stared into the abyss, the abyss stared back at her.

And in the process, she lost herself, little by little. Her laughter faded, her warmth dulled. The transformation was slow, but devastating.

She didn’t save anyone—instead, she was changed by Kabir.

The saviour became the lost one, and I was left picking up the pieces.

This time, I chose to wish her well. "Then good luck. I hope you succeed."

My voice was steady, even gentle. For once, I let her go without protest, choosing peace over possessiveness. I hoped, for both our sakes, she would find her way.

At that moment, Kabir emerged from a nearby alley, walking towards us.

He strode with a swagger, his shirt half untucked, eyes dark as storm clouds. He shot me a look that could curdle milk, sizing me up as if I were an opponent in a wrestling match.

His dark eyes locked onto me, as if I’d stolen something from him.

The tension crackled in the air—two rivals, neither willing to back down. I could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and accusing, even though I had nothing to hide.

He said to Ananya, "I’ll walk you home."

His voice was rough, but there was a softness when he looked at her. The contrast was jarring—a wounded boy trying to play the hero.

But Ananya ignored him, staring at me suspiciously. "Rohan, what’s up with you today? You’re acting weird."

She wrinkled her nose, concern and irritation fighting for space on her face. Her fingers played nervously with the straps of her bag.

I didn’t answer, just sped up my walk home.

I could feel their eyes on my back, the unspoken questions trailing me down the lane. But I kept my head high, determined to choose my own path this time.

Behind me, Ananya stomped her foot in frustration. "Why are you giving me the silent treatment? Fine, don’t wait for me—see if I care! You’ll be begging me to hang out with you later. Bookworm."

Her voice carried down the street, half-joking, half-hurt. The label—bookworm—used to sting, but now it felt oddly comforting, a reminder of who I really was.

I genuinely wished her happiness.

This time, let her chase what she wants—I respect her choices.

The world outside buzzed on as usual—vendors shouting, children playing cricket in the alley. But for the first time, I felt free from the weight of her expectations.