Out the door went tenth grade, like lights dimming mid-scene before the story could land. Halls buzzed just as loud, yet somehow echoed more now he wasn’t rushing between classes. Chandru had vanished into a faraway art school, leaving behind only a small flute tucked beneath old fabric and a drawing fading from too many quiet glances. Paper edges blurred where fingers kept returning, tracing lines memory couldn’t quite hold.

Funny how life just keeps moving. Punjab got hit hard when the rains came. Not like Kerala’s gentle beat - this was shouting from the sky, soaking everything fast. The school yard, once dry and cracked, became thick muck hiding things better left buried.

"Dhanya, you’re daydreaming again," Priya said, nudging me as we sat in the canteen. "You’ve been staring at that samosa for ten minutes. If you don’t eat it, Bharat will."

Bharat appeared out of nowhere, dropping onto the seat opposite just after I spoke his name. Water dripped from his clothes, strands of wet hair stuck to his skin, yet that familiar glint sparkled in his gaze once again.

"I don't want her samosa," Bharat said, though his hand was already hovering near my plate. "I want her to explain why she's been avoiding the Science Lab. Adithya is acting like a dictator because you're not there to balance him out."

"I'm not avoiding it, Bharat," I said, finally taking a bite. "I'm just... busy. Music exams are coming up."

"Music, music, music," Bharat grumbled. "You know, there's more to life than hitting a high note, Dhanya. Like, for example, making sure our volcano doesn't explode and take out Mrs. Kapur’s eyebrows."

That laugh came out sudden, the truest one since the night we celebrated culture. Out of nowhere, Bharat always knew how to drag me back from my thoughts. Not like Chandru, who floated like a spirit; different from Ajay, lurking quiet. Instead, he stood solid, like ground under feet. Noise followed him everywhere, irritation stuck close too - yet near him, nothing felt shaky.