FINDING SOMEONE YOU LOVE IS NOT EASY NOR KEEPING THEM IS.

The first day of a new school was supposed to be exciting — right?

Not for Sanshita.

Her stomach had been in knots since she woke up. She hadn’t touched her breakfast. She'd changed her outfit three times before settling on the safest option: her favorite faded blue jeans and a simple white kurta. Clean, comfortable, invisible.

She sat quietly in the car as her father drove her to Rockford High — hands clenched in her lap, trying not to look too anxious. He hummed some old Kishore Kumar tune under his breath, like everything was normal. Like his daughter wasn’t about to step into a whole new world, completely alone.

“You’ll be alright, beta,” he said softly as they pulled up in front of the school gates. “Remember, no one knows you here. You can be whoever you want.”

She smiled faintly, leaned over, and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Papa.”

As soon as she stepped out of the car, it hit her — the noise, the energy, the sheer number of students already gathered around the entrance. Some were laughing, some were running around, some looked way too confident for 8:05 in the morning.

Her feet felt heavier with every step.

Don’t look around too much. Don’t make eye contact. Just breathe.

She whispered those thoughts to herself like a prayer and walked toward the main building. But just as she reached the steps

BAM.

She walked straight into someone.

Hard.

Her shoulder smacked into a broad chest, and she dropped her phone. Her bag slipped off her shoulder. She stumbled back, completely thrown off.

“Oh shit,” she muttered under her breath, crouching down to grab her phone.

“Watch it, Tiny,” a voice said. Not harsh — but cocky. Lazy. Amused.

She looked up.

And froze.

The guy she had bumped into was... something else. Tall. Really tall. Probably 6'3. Muscular. Tanned skin. His white shirt was half tucked in, tie hanging loose like he didn’t care about dress codes. And his face — sharp jaw, messy hair, brown eyes that looked right through her — and a smirk that said he knew exactly how good he looked.

He bent down, picked up her phone, and handed it to her.

“You new?” he asked casually, already knowing the answer.

She nodded, cheeks flushing. “Yeah. First day.”

He tilted his head, studied her for a second. “Figures.”

She waited for him to move, but he didn’t. He just stood there, like he had all the time in the world.

“You’ve got that ‘I-hope-no-one-notices-me’ look,” he said.

Sanshita stared at him, unsure whether to be embarrassed, annoyed, or impressed.

“Thanks?” she said, taking her phone.

He chuckled. “Not an insult. Just... good luck.”

And with that, he turned around and walked away, slipping into a group of seniors like a wave disappearing into the sea.

She stood there for a moment, her heart beating faster than it should’ve been. She didn’t even know his name.

But something about him — the way he looked at her, that damn smirk — stuck in her chest like a secret waiting to explode.

What the hell just happened? she thought.

She took a shaky breath, adjusted her bag, and stepped into Rockford High — not knowing that the boy she just crashed into wasn’t just any senior.

He was Bhavik.

And she had just walked straight into a storm.

Rockford’s annual school fest was chaos. Beautiful, noisy, glitter-filled chaos.

Sanshita hadn’t wanted to come. She didn’t know anyone well enough. She was still trying to figure out where to sit at lunch without looking lost — so being part of a school-wide celebration felt like walking into someone else’s party.

But her class teacher had insisted.

“Everyone participates, even the quiet ones. You’ll help backstage with the props. You’ll be fine.”

So there she was — in the middle of the fest, holding a cardboard moon sprayed with silver paint, her fingers sticky with glue and her hair slightly frizzy from the heat. She wore a black kurti with tiny silver stars stitched on the collar. She didn’t know if she looked cute or like she tried too hard. Probably both.

“Okay, moon girl,” Naina called from behind her, “I swear if you drop that thing again, I’m leaving you to explain it to ma’am.”

Sanshita turned, smirking. “I didn’t drop it.”

“Not yet,” Naina grinned, pulling her braid to the side and balancing a glittery sun cutout. “But your grip looks like you’re holding a baby bird.”

They both laughed — easy, quiet laughter that no one else around seemed to notice. In the week since she’d arrived, Naina was the only one who had really made space for her. No forced questions, no fake interest — just a calm, persistent presence.

“I still don’t know why I agreed to this,” Sanshita muttered, adjusting the moon prop in her hands.

“Because you secretly like the madness,” Naina replied. “And you like me.”

“I tolerate you.”“Same thing.”They were walking toward the back of the stage when Sanshita suddenly slowed down. Her breath caught — not in a dramatic way, just one of those quiet stumbles your body makes when your heart decides to recognize someone before your brain does, And then she saw him.

BHAVIK.

He was standing near the main stage, talking to a few seniors. Laughing. Easy. Effortless. He wore a white kurta with sleeves pushed up again — and she hated how it made her heart skip. He looked like the kind of boy you wrote poetry about and then hated yourself for it.

“Who’s that?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Naina followed her gaze and grinned. “That’s Bhavik Joshi. Senior. Drama club star. Certified flirt. Avoid at all costs.”

“Hm.”

Too late.

Their eyes met.

Not for long.

A second, maybe.

But long enough.

His smirk returned — that same annoying one from their first meeting — but there was something else in his eyes now. Recognition. Like he remembered her.

And then, to her utter shock, he started walking toward her.

Panic rose in her chest.

“I’ll be over there,” Naina whispered quickly, backing away like a professional wingwoman. “Try not to faint.”

Sanshita shot her a death glare, but she was too busy panicking to be mad.

She looked down at the prop in her hand like it was suddenly the most fascinating object in the world.

“You really like bumping into people, don’t you?” he said, stopping in front of her.

She blinked up at him. “I didn’t bump into you this time.”

“Yet.” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her — the tiniest smile slipping through.

“What’s your job here?” he asked, eyeing the glitter-covered moon.

“Backstage duty. I carry shiny stuff and try not to drop it.”

He laughed — a real one this time. Warm. Not teasing.

“That’s the most honest job description I’ve heard.”

They stood there for a second. No rush. No crowd. Just them in the middle of the noise.

“I didn’t get your name last time,” he said suddenly.

She hesitated, then quietly said, “Sanshita.”

“Hmm. Pretty name,” he replied, and for once — he didn’t sound like a flirt. Just… genuine.

Then someone called his name from the stage. He looked over his shoulder and nodded.

“I gotta go,” he said, stepping back. “But—”

He looked back at her.

“I’ll see you around, shiny moon girl.”

And then he was gone again. Just like that.

Leaving her heart slightly tangled, her head slightly spinning, and her fingers still gripping the stupid glittery prop.

Naina reappeared beside her, dramatically raising an eyebrow. “Well… that happened.”

Sanshita didn’t say anything.

Because what could she say?

Her heart was still in her throat.

The sky had turned navy blue. Fairy lights strung across the field were just beginning to glow, and the bass from the main stage sent soft vibrations through the grass. The fest had transformed into something magical — louder, brighter, wilder. “Okay, okay, you go take a break,” Naina said, panting as she passed Sanshita a cold drink. “I’ve been running around like a donkey and I’m about to pass out.”

Sanshita took the cup, grateful. Her arms were sore from hauling props, her kurti had a paint stain on it now, and she’d mentally rehearsed Bhavik’s voice saying “Moon Girl” at least ten times.

She sat near the edge of the auditorium building, away from the crowd, sipping slowly, breathing it all in.

Then, the lights went out.

Like — everything. Gone.

The music, the mics, the stalls. Just darkness and a collective gasp.

For a few seconds, the crowd didn’t know whether to panic or cheer.

Then someone started clapping, laughing, shouting “It’s a vibe!”

But backstage, it was different. The teams were scrambling to reset things. The generator hadn’t kicked in. Someone tripped. Props were falling.

And someone yelled, “WHERE’S THE SPOTLIGHT BOX?!”

Naina ran off to help, and Sanshita instinctively grabbed the fallen mic stand and followed. She ducked into the back hallway of the stage — quiet and shadowy now — and that’s when she heard it.

A voice.

Low. Tired. Almost… angry?

“No, I said I’ll call you later, okay? Just stop.”

She turned the corner slowly.

Bhavik Joshi stood there, alone in the corner of the corridor, phone in hand, jaw clenched.

He looked… different.

No smirk. No swagger. Just — someone trying really hard to hold it together.

“Because I said I’m busy right now, that’s why!” he snapped, then paused, pressing two fingers to his temple. “Ma, I’m not— I’m not yelling. I just—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

His eyes met hers.

And for the first time since she met him, he didn’t smile.

He looked caught.

She froze. “Sorry- I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to listen.”

He said nothing for a second. Just slowly hung up the call and exhaled, hand still on the side of his head.

“No one’s supposed to be back here,” he muttered.

“I was just-” she held up the mic stand awkwardly.

They stared at each other for a beat. The lights outside flickered once, twice — still dead.

Then Bhavik ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the wall.

“You ever feel like it’s just… too loud?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer right away.

But she knew exactly what he meant.

“Yeah,” she said. “All the time.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

“Everyone thinks I love it. The noise. The attention. But sometimes I just want to disappear.”

There it was.

Not a full breakdown. Not a sob story. But a flicker of the truth.

The part of him no one else saw.

Sanshita stepped forward, holding out the mic stand. “This fell.”

He took it, fingers brushing hers for a second.

The generator kicked in. Lights buzzed back to life. Music returned with a thud.

And just like that, he was back to Bhavik Joshi again.

He gave her a half-smile. “Thanks, Moon Girl.”

But as he walked away, she didn’t feel like he was being flirty.

She felt like he was hiding.

And for the first time, she didn’t want to run from that.

She wanted to understand it.