Nihal's POV
I hadn't planned to tell them.
Not yet.
Not until I was sure it wasn't just a moment Meher and I had shared, but something real—something that would last beyond a sketch, a hug, or a quiet night under the neem tree.
But the next morning, I couldn't hold it in.
Aryan, Vedant, Mudit and I were sitting on the stone bench near the old banyan tree, sipping chai from paper cups, half awake, half pretending to be. The air was thick with August heat, but the shade made it bearable. Students passed by in slow waves, some heading to class, others just killing time.
Aryan nudged me. "You look suspiciously peaceful today. What happened—did Meher finally sketch you smiling?"
I laughed, but it came out softer than usual. "Something like that."
Vedant raised an eyebrow. "You're glowing. Spill."
I hesitated.
Then I said it.
"I told her. Last night. Everything."
Aryan blinked. "Wait—you confessed?"
I nodded. "And she said she loves me too."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Aryan whooped, nearly spilling his chai. "Finally! Took you long enough, man."
And Vedant—Vedant laughed.
Not a smirk.
Not a scoff.
A full, surprised, delighted laugh that made me feel like I'd just passed some unspoken test.
"You serious?" he said, still grinning. "You actually said it?"
"I did."
"And she said it back?"
"She did."
Vedant shook his head, still laughing. "I owe Meher a hundred bucks. I told her you'd take another month."
Aryan burst out laughing. "Wait—there was a bet?"
Vedant shrugged. "She said you were close. I said you were clueless."
I rolled my eyes. "Glad to know my emotional life is a group project."
Aryan clapped me on the back. "You're officially the romantic of the group now."
Vedant's laughter faded into something quieter.
He looked at me for a long moment, then said, "I'm happy for you."
I nodded, grateful.
Then Vedant added, voice low and steady, "But don't hurt her."
I froze.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't warning me like a threat.
He was reminding me of something sacred.
"She's not someone who falls easily," he continued. "If she's chosen you, it means she sees something in you most people miss. Don't take that lightly."
"I won't," I said, voice firm.
Aryan leaned back, nodding. "She's Meher. She sketches people she trusts. You're in her pages now. That's permanent."
Vedant added, "She's the kind of person who carries love like a responsibility. If you ever make her feel like she has to hide again, you'll lose her."
I swallowed. "I know."
And I did.
Because last night, when she cried into my hoodie and whispered I love you, I felt something shift inside me.
Not just the joy of being chosen.
But the weight of being trusted.
I looked up at the sky, soft and pale.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged—not just to her, but to something bigger.