Arohi's POV
The terrace was wrapped in moonlight and late August warmth.
The city below buzzed faintly, like a distant memory.
Up here, it was just us—Meher, Isha, Riya, and me.
No props.
No scripts.
Just cushions, shawls, and the kind of silence that only exists between people who know each other too well.
Isha was curled up beside me, her head resting on my shoulder.
Riya was sprawled across two cushions, her phone abandoned beside her.
Meher sat cross-legged, sipping chai like she was waiting for the right moment to strike.
It didn't take long.
"You haven't said a word since Vedant's monologue," Meher said, casually. Too casually.
I shrugged. "It was good."
Riya snorted. "Good? You looked like someone had read your diary out loud."
Isha lifted her head. "You didn't blink when he said 'mine is her.' You just stared. Like you were afraid to breathe."
"I blinked," I muttered.
Meher leaned in. "You inhaled like he'd touched your spine."
I looked away.
The stars were easier to face than them.
"He wasn't just performing," Isha said gently. "He was speaking to you."
Riya sat up. "And you felt it. We saw you feel it."
I stayed quiet.
And then Meher dropped the line that undid me.
"You love him."
I turned to her. "You don't know that."
She smiled. "I do. Because you're scared. And you only get scared when something matters."
I opened my mouth to argue.
But nothing came out.
Because they were right.
I was scared.
Terrified.
Not of Vedant.
Of what he made me feel.
"I don't know how to do this," I admitted. "I don't know how to be someone who wants."
Isha reached for my hand. "You already are."
Riya nudged me. "And he wants you back. That monologue was basically a love letter."
Meher leaned her head on my shoulder. "You don't have to say it tonight. But you don't have to hide it either."
I exhaled.
Long.
Slow.
And whispered, "I think I love him."
They didn't cheer.
They didn't tease.
They just smiled.
Like they'd been waiting for me to catch up to my own heart.
We stayed like that for a while.
Wrapped in shawls and truth.
The city below us, the stars above, and the quiet between us filled with something sacred.
Later, when the others drifted into sleep, I stayed awake.
I replayed Vedant's monologue in my head.
The way his voice cracked on "fluent."
The way he didn't look at me but spoke like he knew I was listening.
And I realized something else.
He hadn't just seen me.
He'd understood me.
And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to let him in.