Chapter 1: The Night of the Farewell

The night of our high school farewell party.

The air inside the school hall was thick with the smell of sweat, talcum powder, and someone’s overpowering perfume. Streamers drooped from the ceiling, sticky with humidity, while the peon’s old transistor radio played a scratchy Kishore Kumar tune from outside. The electricity in the room felt almost as real as the flickering tube light above the entrance—buzzing with anticipation and teenage restlessness. Some of us had come in kurta-pajamas, others in ill-fitting blazers, girls in sarees or salwar suits, everyone awkward and desperate to look grown-up. Someone had smuggled in a bottle of Old Monk, and the sharp, sweet scent of rum mingled with rose water and hot cutlets.

Taking advantage of my tipsy state, I decided to confess to the totally drunk campus queen, Ananya.

Even as the room spun, the thumping Bollywood remix and shouts from the cricket field outside faded away. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure she could hear it. I gathered all the courage I’d ever had—probably more than what’s healthy for a 17-year-old who’s never spoken more than five sentences to her in one go.

I somehow managed to steal a quick kiss—so fast I wondered if it even counted. My hands shook, my heart louder than the DJ’s speakers.

A quick, trembling peck—so brief I almost doubted it happened. But in that moment, I felt like Shah Rukh Khan in DDLJ, minus the Swiss meadows, plus a wave of fear that sobered me up instantly.

I thought she’d blacked out and forgotten everything.

When we left, she was slumped over Meera’s shoulder, her bangles clinking as she clung to Meera, her dupatta trailing on the sticky floor, eyes glassy. I told myself she would wake up tomorrow and laugh it off with her friends, never remembering I existed.

Over a year later, during a truth-or-dare drinking game, someone asked her when she had her first kiss.

There was that familiar hush—everyone loves a scandal, especially with Ananya involved. Someone banged the table, daring her to answer.

She shot me a resentful glance: “The night of the high school farewell party.”

For a split second, her gaze found mine. My stomach flipped—did she see right through me?

Her eyes met mine—dark, steady, with that sharp Ananya glare I knew from a distance. I nearly dropped my glass.

I was stunned. She remembered everything…