---A year later---
Time flies faster than grief ever warns you it'll.
We didn't even realise and now we're here.
Classes ended, routines changed, the gulmohar tree lost its flowers and grew them back again.
Nothing strange or dramatic happened after that night.
And somehow, that mattered.
Vehan learned how to exist without constantly explaining himself.
Sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, he would pause.
Just for a breathe.
Like he was talking to himself.
I noticed every time.
I never asked what he heard.
I never flinched when his silence stretched a little longer than usual.
I just stayed close enough to keep him grounded.
Somewhere along the way, our closeness grew in ordinary ways...
Walking home together without filling the quiet.
Sharing a bench whenever one felt too much in class.
Sitting beneath the gulmohar tree...
Now, he would lean against it without shrinking.
Sometimes, our shoulders touched.
Sometimes, our hands brushed.
Neither of us pulled away.
There were nights when Vehan felt the presence of Grivvin stir inside him.
It's more like a reminder for him to stand tall, stop giving himself away.
He didn't fight it anymore.
Sometimes, he would call me out of the blue at night just to hear my presence on the other side of the line..
I never hesitated.
Sometimes, I invited him over for dinner.
Our parents lived in another town.
I used to live alone.
He got only his sister.
We filled the silence with shared meals, half finished conversations.
And the comfort of not being alone.
I could easily tell whenever he was in touch with Grivvin.
I would take a glance of him.
And he nodded, I knew he was still here.
That was enough.
We shared happiness quietly..
Festivals glowing softly around us.
A school trip where we sat side by side on the bus, watching landscapes pass like memories that didn't hurt.
Sometimes he got sick.
I'd bring food under the excuse of concern, even though we both knew the real reason.
He grew shy around me then—
and it was never enough to hide what he felt.
---Present day---
Evening settled gently, as the sky dimmed and the campus grew quieter, we sat beneath the tree again.
Petals lay scattered like traces of something that had already bloomed and fallen.
"Do you ever wish things were different?" I asked softly.
He thought for a moment.
"No." he said.
"They changed me. But they didn't take me"
I smiled at him...
I rested my head against his shoulder, kinda careful at first, then steady.
He didn't get tense. Didn't pull away.
It said more than words ever could.
Somewhere deep inside him, something creaked softly. And settled.
The world stayed quiet.
Not because it was healed or everything was forgiven.
But because, for the first time, neither of us was running.
And beneath the gulmohar tree... with what we had lost behind them and what we had become beside them...
We stayed.