9

The next morning, the sky over Oxford was a crisp shade of grey, with the faintest hint of sunlight breaking through the clouds. The cool autumn air nipped at Aryan's skin as he jogged across the damp grass of the university football field. His sweatshirt was light grey, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his black shorts revealed toned legs that moved with practiced ease. Each kick of the ball was precise, his mind syncing with his body—a brief escape from everything that had been weighing on him since he returned.

But even here, even now, he couldn't shake her.

Tara.

Her face flashed through his mind with every pass. Her eyes from across the classroom. Her scent when she brushed past him. Her hand slipping from his grip the day before. He pushed harder, sending the ball flying into the net with a satisfying thud.

"Bro!"

The familiar voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Aryan slowed his steps, wiping the sweat from his brow as Karan approached from the other side of the field. Dressed casually in joggers and a hoodie, Karan gave him a half-smile as he neared.

Aryan stopped the ball under his foot, nodding in greeting. "Kya scene hai?"

Karan didn't waste time. His tone was light but probing. "Listen, what was that yesterday? That whole 'she's not my girlfriend anymore' thing? What happened? What's the story?"

Aryan's jaw tightened slightly. He exhaled slowly, glancing around the empty field before speaking. "End of first year... things got bad back home. Family stuff. I had to go back to India. I thought I could handle it—balance things here with Tara—but I was wrong. Everything was falling apart, and I... I let her down. I pushed her away."

His voice dropped lower, laced with regret. "I broke her heart, Karan. I left her without answers. She tried... she messaged. I didn't open it. Couldn't." He paused, shaking his head at himself. "We broke up. Or—I broke us."

Karan's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expected that. "Damn, bro..." he muttered. "That's rough. But... now you're back? What does she think about all this?"

Aryan let out a humorless chuckle, his gaze falling to the grass beneath his feet. "She'd rather talk to a wall than look at me." His eyes flickered with something raw—pain, guilt, longing. "She doesn't want me here. I can see it."

Karan tilted his head, observing him carefully. He could sense the weight Aryan was carrying.

"She loved you, didn't she?"

Aryan's throat tightened, but he nodded. "Yeah... she did."

Karan offered a small, reassuring smile. "Hey, girls are tough, but they're not impossible. You messed up, yeah, but you're here now. Just... give it time."

Aryan forced a small grin, masking the storm inside. "Time... and effort. I know."

He straightened, adjusting his sweatshirt. His voice was firmer now, with a quiet determination. "I'll get her back."

Karan nodded, patting his shoulder. "That's the spirit. Let's see what you've got—come on."

Aryan kicked the ball back into motion, his focus sharper now. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—he wasn't leaving without a fight.

~•~

Tara sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her notes, when her phone buzzed. It was a message from Aakash:

Aakash: "Hey, everyone's here. Come down?"

She hesitated for a second, then sighed. She couldn't avoid that flat always—especially when her friends were there too.

Tara: "Coming."

Throwing on a cozy cardigan, she made her way down to their flat. She knocked lightly, and when the door swung open, her heart nearly stopped. Aryan.

Of course, it had to be him.

He stood there in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, hair slightly ruffled, eyes sharp yet hesitant the moment they met hers. For a second, neither of them moved.

"Tara," he said softly, like her name was something he was afraid to say too loud.

She felt her breath hitch but masked it with a sigh. She tried to step past him, but he shifted, blocking the doorway, his eyes searching hers.

"Move," she said quietly.

"I just... can we—"

She shook her head, already turning away, ready to leave. She couldn't do this. Not now. Not ever, maybe.

But he reached out, gently catching her hand—fingers familiar yet foreign against hers. She froze. Goosebumps erupted on her skin. She looked down at their hands, then up at him.

"If I can't talk to you... at least let me see you," he murmured, his voice low, almost pleading.

Her chest tightened, but she quickly pulled her hand away and stepped inside, ignoring the lingering sensation on her skin.

She walked into the living room, where everyone was chatting and laughing. Aakash waved her over, and she slid onto the couch beside him and Aisha. The warmth of her friends slowly eased her tension.

But Aryan was still there, sitting across the room. And he was watching her.

She avoided his gaze, focusing instead on her conversation with Aakash. He was funny—easy to talk to. She laughed a little more freely, nudging his arm playfully when he joked about one of their professors. They found themselves leaning in closer as they spoke.

Aryan noticed. Every single second of it.

His jaw tensed. He tried to focus on the conversation with Rohan, but his eyes kept drifting back to Tara. To her smile. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The way she laughed at something Aakash said.

A part of him burned with something he didn't want to name. Jealousy. Regret. Pain.

But he reminded himself—he had no right. Not anymore.

~•~

Tara stared at her dead phone, the blank screen mirroring her thoughts. She realized her charger was still at the guys' flat. It was late—2:00 AM—but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep without it. Sighing, she threw on a hoodie and quietly slipped out of her studio.

She knocked softly, not expecting anyone to answer.

But almost immediately, the door opened.

Aryan.

Her heart dropped. Of course, it had to be him. He was in a plain black t-shirt and track pants, hair messy, eyes a little tired but sharp the moment they landed on her.

For a second, neither spoke. She tried to push down the sudden rush of feelings—anger, pain, something else she didn't want to name.

Come on, he means nothing to you, she thought to herself, just get your stuff and leave. She shifted uncomfortably. "I left my charger," she said quickly, voice low.

He nodded and stepped aside, not blocking her this time. No games.

She walked in, trying to grab her charger, and was already turning to the other side to find it when his voice stopped her—gentler than she expected.

It's not in the kitchen," he said quietly. "I kept it in my room... so no one else would use it."

She blinked, caught slightly off guard. He turned and walked towards his room, leaving the door open for her.

She stayed between the door of the kitchen, not stepping inside fully, her arms crossed over her chest.

He returned with her charger in hand, holding it out to her.

As she took it from him, his fingers brushed against hers lightly. That familiar warmth. She pulled away quickly.

"I kept it safe for you."

She froze.

Her fingers curled around the charger tighter. She didn't look at him. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction.

But he didn't push. He didn't ask to talk. He didn't try to explain.

Instead, his tone was careful, almost... familiar. Like he was trying to reach her without forcing it.

"You always used to forget your stuff everywhere," he said quietly. "Headphones. Books. Your keys—twice."

She inhaled sharply. She hated that he still remembered.

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to stay cold. She walked to the door, not giving him the reaction he was hoping for.

This time, he didn't try to stop her. But just as she stepped out, she heard him behind her, his voice barely above a whisper—meant only for her ears.

"Tara, I missed you."

Her steps faltered—just for a second.

But she didn't look back. She walked away, pretending like she hadn't heard a thing.

💜