29 Back To Us
The soft morning sunlight slipped gently through the sheer curtains of Niyati's hostel room, painting faint golden patterns across the plain walls.
Outside, the familiar rhythm of the hostel slowly came alive-the quiet echo of footsteps in the corridor, doors opening and closing, muffled voices calling out to one another, and an occasional burst of distant laughter.
Yet Niyati remained peacefully asleep.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, her sleep had been completely undisturbed. There was no late-night overthinking, no painful memories playing on an endless loop, no agonizing questions about what could have been. Just a deep, restorative peace.
A stray beam of sunlight shifted across her face. Niyati scrunched her nose, murmuring soft protests as she pulled the blanket higher over her head. She stretched lazily beneath the covers, her arms extending above her head before she curled back onto her side, hugging the mattress.
A soft, unprompted smile curved her lips. She didn't even fully process why she was smiling yet.
Her hand reached out instinctively across the nightstand, her fingers brushing against the polished wood before finding her phone. Still half-asleep, she pulled it toward her chest and slowly opened her eyes, staring up at the plain ceiling.
Something felt fundamentally different. Something lighter, warmer, and endlessly comforting was sitting quietly inside her chest.
Then, like a dam breaking, the memories of the previous night came rushing back in vivid detail: the Freshers' Ball, the golden chandeliers, the thudding music, the midnight-blue gown, and Ansh.
Her smile widened instantly. She remembered stepping onto the dance floor with him, the electric warmth of his hand closing around hers, and the intense, raw look in his eyes.
She remembered their overdue conversation-his quiet honesty, her own cathartic tears, and the steady cracking of the stubborn walls she had built around her heart for months.
They had chosen each other again. After the anger, the misunderstandings, and the suffocating distance, they had finally found their way back.
Her heart gave a giddy, fluttery leap. She sat up against the headboard, pulling her knees up to her chest as a helpless, radiant smile took over her face.
"Ansh..." she whispered into the quiet room.
Just saying his name out loud felt entirely different now. There was no dull ache attached to it, no bitterness, no paralyzing uncertainty. Only warmth. She pressed her lips tightly together, trying desperately to contain the giddy laughter bubbling up in her throat. It was completely useless.
And then, another memory surfaced.
The two of them slipping away from the ballroom... the quiet, empty corridor... the raw tension that had reached its breaking point... the intense closeness... the reckless, feverish kisses against the vanity... and the absolute certainty with which they had surrendered to each other.
Niyati's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Oh my God," she gasped aloud.
The reality of what had transpired hit her all over again. She grabbed her pillow and buried her face into it, letting out a muffled scream. "Why did I do that?!"
Her cheeks felt like they were literally on fire. She rolled onto her stomach, hiding her face deeper into the pillow while kicking her feet against the mattress like a flustered teenager.
Her memory refused to grant her mercy, replaying the sensation of his hands on her waist, the heat of his breath against her skin, and the audacious thrill of her undergarment sitting tucked inside his tuxedo pocket.
She groaned loudly, pressing the pillow harder over her head. "Stop thinking about it, Niyati! Stop!"
A second later, a soft giggle escaped her lips. The giggle turned into quiet, helpless laughter. Because despite the overwhelming embarrassment, despite how hot her face burned whenever she recalled the moment-she was happy. Unquestionably, profoundly happy.
For the first time in two entire months, she had woken up without that unbearable heaviness weighing down her chest.
She hadn't spent the first few minutes of her morning dissecting her past mistakes, nor had she wondered whether Ansh still cared or if they would ever speak again.
She no longer had to pretend she didn't miss him.
He was hers again. And she was his.
For months, she had convinced herself that moving on was the only way to protect her heart from breaking. But deep down, she had never truly stopped loving him. Last night hadn't felt like starting a new story; it had felt like finding a lost home.
Lifting her face from the pillow, Niyati caught her breath, her eyes sparkling as she looked around her sunlit room. She reached for her phone on the mattress, unlocking the screen. Her thumb hovered over Ansh's contact name, her heart skipping a beat.
Should I message him? she wondered, a shy smile touching her lips. Of course I should. We're together again. I can message my boyfriend.
My boyfriend. The mere word sent a fresh wave of butterflies dancing in her stomach.
Panicking slightly at her own excitement, Niyati quickly locked the screen again, shaking her head firmly. "No, no. Let him message first."
She paused, staring at the black screen for three seconds before unlocking it again. "Maybe just checking if he's online wouldn't hurt..."
She tapped open WhatsApp. His chat was still where it had been last night-no new messages. Her eyebrows knitted together in a slight pout.
"Seriously?" she grumbled, tossing the phone onto the bed and crossing her arms defensively. "He should definitely be the one texting first!"
Three seconds later, she snatched the phone back up. "Maybe he's still sleeping..." She stared at his profile picture. "Obviously he's sleeping. Or... maybe he's already awake?"
She let out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping against her pillows. "Why am I like this?"
She dropped the phone face-down onto the mattress once more. But as her thoughts settled, a sudden, cold realization washed over her, instantly wiping the giddy smile from her face.
Diya.
Niyati slowly sat upright, her posture stiffening. "Oh..."
The radiant happiness that had filled her room was instantly eclipsed by a sharp, suffocating wave of guilt.
Diya had absolutely no idea. Not even a single clue.
Her best friend had gone through the entire evening believing that Niyati and Ansh were merely navigating a polite, distant truce. Diya had watched them dance, likely assuming it was just a supportive older brother stepping in to save his sister's best friend from an awkward night.
She had no idea that somewhere between the slow music and the quiet moments afterward, everything had irrevocably changed.
Niyati stared blankly at the wall across her room, her throat feeling dry. "Oh God..."
She slowly pulled her knees back toward her chest, wrapping her arms around them. How on earth was she supposed to tell Diya?
They had been inseparable since childhood.
They shared everything-every secret, every crush, every petty fight, every stupid late-night confession.
Diya could read Niyati's moods before Niyati even knew what she was feeling herself.
And now, Niyati was harboring a massive, life-altering secret.
A secret that happened to involve Diya's own brother.
Her guilt deepened with every passing heartbeat. She tried to simulate the conversation in her head, imagining sitting Diya down on the hostel bed.
'Diya, I have something really important to tell you.'
No, way too serious. She'll panic thinking someone died.
'Diya, remember last night at the ball?'
Sounds suspicious.
'By the way, remember when you left us dancing? Your brother and I got back together.'
Niyati slammed her hands over her face, groaning inwardly. "Absolutely not!"
She could already picture Diya's dramatic reaction-the jaw-dropping shock, the earsplitting scream, the theatrical gasping, and the relentless stream of questions. When? How? Why didn't you tell me sooner? How long have you two been secretly talking? What actually happened at the ball?!
Niyati's eyes widened in sheer horror. She was nowhere near ready for that interrogation.
Falling backward onto the mattress, she stared helplessly at the ceiling, letting out a long, defeated breath. "This is going to be a complete disaster..."
And yet, despite the panic slowly creeping into her chest, a soft, resilient smile found its way back to her lips.
Because beneath all the anxiety, the secrecy, and the looming confrontation, one undeniable truth remained.
She had Ansh back. And for the first time in two agonizing months, Niyati Sharma had woken up with a heart that finally felt whole again.
Across the city, Ansh's Sunday morning was considerably less peaceful.
He stood in front of his bedroom mirror, adjusting the collar of a casual shirt while staring at his reflection without really seeing it.
His hair was still slightly messy, and he hadn't bothered putting on his watch yet. He had been standing there for almost five minutes, his mind miles away from his own reflection. It was back at the ball-back on the dance floor, wrapped up in Niyati.
He could still vividly remember the way she had looked at him beneath the soft ballroom lights, the uncertainty in her eyes slowly giving way to something far warmer.
He remembered the exact moment she had finally stopped fighting her feelings and allowed herself to reach for him again. And that smile. God, that smile.
After few agonizing months of wondering whether he would ever see it directed at him again, he finally had it back.
Ansh's lips curved into a soft smile of his own. Then, another memory surfaced. His gaze shifted toward the chair beside his bed, where he had carelessly left the delicate piece of silk he had taken from her during their heated reunion the previous night.