Under The Neem Tree

It started on a Thursday.

Nothing special about it. Just one of those hot, slightly boring college afternoons where the sun made the concrete too warm to sit on and everyone walked a little slower than usual. Even the breeze, if it showed up, felt lazy.

Shiva was sitting under the old neem tree behind the library. It was his usual spot — shady, quiet, out of the way. A good place to pretend he was studying without anyone asking too many questions.

He had his Thermodynamics textbook open on his lap, but he hadn’t read a single line in the last ten minutes. His eyes were on the page, sure, but his head was… somewhere else. Maybe nowhere. He didn’t even notice the ants crawling near his shoe or the light rustle of the leaves above him.

Then he heard someone laugh.

It was loud. Sharp. Not the fake kind people use to be polite, but the real kind — the kind that made people turn around, made you want to know what the joke was.

Shiva looked up.

He didn’t recognize the guy at first. Tall. Wearing a black t-shirt and jeans that looked like they hadn’t seen an iron in weeks. Messy hair. Sunglasses. In the shade.

Who wears sunglasses in the shade?

The boy walked with this weird kind of confidence — not the show-off kind, but like he didn’t care if anyone was watching him. Like he belonged everywhere, even here. Even in silence.

Shiva looked back down, pretending to read.

But the guy stopped. Right near him.

He unzipped his bag, pulled out a pack of chips, and without saying much, sat down a few feet away. Right on the grass. Shoes and all. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You want one?” the guy asked, holding out the packet.

Shiva shook his head. “No, thanks.”

The guy shrugged, like that was fine, and started eating. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world. He was humming something too — some old Tamil song, maybe. Shiva recognized the tune but couldn’t place it.

He tried to focus on his book, but it wasn’t working. Not with this guy sitting so close. Not with all that… energy. Like he was a living speaker of chaos in a calm playlist.

Shiva didn’t say anything else. Neither did the boy.

After a while, the boy got up. Brushed his hands on his jeans. Looked down at Shiva — just for a second — and gave him a small, easy smile. Not like they were friends. Not like he was trying to be charming. Just like he’d be back.

Then he left.

And Shiva… didn’t go back to reading.

He just stared at the page in front of him and thought about how one random boy with too much confidence and a pack of chips had made his quiet spot feel completely different.

Like something had shifted — not outside, but inside.

Like the story had started, and he hadn’t even realized it.

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