He Didn’t Say Much, But He Took Yhe Headphones

Rohan didn’t have a fancy room.

It was small — just a bed, a shelf of comics and old sketchbooks, and a desk where half his headphones hung off the edge, still slightly damp from the rain. His hoodie was thrown somewhere on the chair. Socks? Who knows. Probably on the fan.

The curtains were half open, letting in the dim orange light from the streetlamp outside. The sound of the rain had faded, but the humidity still hung in the air like a leftover mood.

He lay on his bed, one arm over his forehead, staring at the ceiling.

His phone was still playing music — the same playlist from earlier. He didn’t skip the song.

The song.

The one he’d given Shiva.

The silence from the other boy still echoed a little in his head. A silence that wasn’t cold, just… heavy. Like it had weight. Like it meant something.

He hadn’t expected Shiva to take the headphones. He really thought Shiva would shut it down, or give him a glare, or say something sarcastic.

But he didn’t.

He took them.

Didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t throw them back.

Just… listened.

And something about that was weirdly huge. Like Rohan had offered a small piece of himself, and Shiva hadn’t rejected it.

Rohan turned over and stared at the wall.

There was a tiny crack in the paint near the corner. He’d never noticed it before.

He didn’t have a crush.

It wasn’t like that.

At least — not that he’d admit out loud.

But there was something about Shiva that he couldn’t shake. That quiet, stubborn seriousness. The way he sat so straight all the time, like if he slouched the world would collapse. The way he didn’t talk much, but noticed everything. Like really saw things — details, patterns, people.

He thought about that half-second look Shiva gave him after the song ended.

Not warm, not rude.

Just… unreadable.

But present.

Like he was finally there, in the same moment, not just drifting past.

And the weirdest part?

Rohan liked being around him.

Even if they didn’t talk. Even if Shiva barely acknowledged him.

Even if it was a one-way conversation 90% of the time.

It was the first time in a while that sitting next to someone felt… calm.

Not performative. Not loud. Just okay.

Safe, even.

He pulled the blanket up to his chest, turned the music down, and let the room go quiet.

In his mind, the image of Shiva sitting under that neem tree — book open, eyes not reading, rain smudging the air around them — replayed itself quietly. Like a memory that didn’t want to fade yet.

Rohan didn’t know what it was.

He didn’t know what it would turn into.

But it was something.

There was a knock at the door, followed by a voice from outside.

“Rohan! Dinner’s getting cold!”

He groaned into the pillow.

“Coming!” he called back.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his face, letting the feeling fade just a little.

Shiva would probably be at the tree again tomorrow. Same spot. Same silence.

And yeah… Rohan would be there too.

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