Fake Apologies

"Ever hated someone so much it burned inside you, yet you still couldn't imagine life without them?"

The next day, running on barely any sleep, I opened my eyes to find Ishaan talking to himself in front of a mirror, combing his hair like he was prepping for a fashion show. Gaurav, still in bed, flipped me off without lifting his head.

But I was a morning person—and the breeze outside was gentle, refreshing. The golden rays of the rising sun kissed my skin and, in that fleeting moment, I felt good. I was energized, and somewhere deep inside, I was excited to meet Shyla.

Last night, I had resisted the urge to text her. I didn’t want to seem desperate. But today? Today was going to be different.

Or so I thought.

As soon as we entered the campus, the atmosphere changed. Everyone stared at me. At first, I assumed it was just the afterglow from the party, but then a student clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"You are sooo dead, dude," he whispered, grinning.

Before I could react, I saw her.

Shyla.

She stormed toward me, her face red with rage. Without a word, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face—hard. The sound echoed like a whip crack. My cheek throbbed. The crowd burst into laughter. And just like that, I became that guy. The guy who got publicly humiliated.

Sahil stood in the distance, surrounded by his minions, smirking like the bastard he was. Ishaan leaned in and said, "Let’s take the day off, man. Let’s just go back."

I didn’t resist.

We walked through the crowd, their laughter slicing through me like broken glass. I kept my head down, but the weight of her betrayal pressed on my chest like a stone. I didn’t know what hurt more—her anger, or the hollow ache of being hated by the only person I longed to be near.

Back at the hostel, Gaurav stepped forward and wrapped me in a firm, unexpected hug. It wasn’t the words—“It’ll get better, brother”—that struck me, but the way his voice cracked, like he’d been there before. In that moment, something unspoken passed between us, a raw truth that said, you’re not alone anymore. It was the start of a brotherhood born not from shared roots, but shared scars.

He didn’t say more. He didn’t need to. That small gesture meant everything.

But then he stormed out, his face like a brewing storm. Minutes later, the door slammed open—he reappeared, gripping Sahil by the collar like a hunter dragging in his prey, eyes blazing with fury and intent.

“Apologize,” Gaurav growled.

“It was just a prank,” Sahil stammered. “We didn’t think she’d react like that.”

“You want me to prank you with my fists?”

Sahil looked at me. “Sorry, man.”

Turns out, during the ragging, Sahil had used my phone to send Shyla some disgusting texts. Gaurav, seething, shoved him out and ordered him to explain everything to her, then and there.

I wasn’t angry at Sahil. He was predictable. But Shyla? That stung. She believed it. She slapped me in front of everyone. That hurt more than anything.

Still, some part of me hoped for magic. That something—anything—would fix what broke.

Then my phone rang.

It was her.

I answered with a bitter, "What now?"

"Can you meet me at the closed girls' hostel? I want to talk," she said, her voice low, almost trembling. The moment she named that place, a chill crept down my spine. That building—newly built but never used—had gathered more whispers than memories. Rumors clung to it like ivy, tales of a girl who never left. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just a conversation—it felt like a descent into something forbidden.

A mix of dread and anticipation twisted in my gut, but still—I said yes. My voice was steadier than my heartbeat, which now thundered with both fear and something else I couldn’t quite name. Excitement, maybe.

Gaurav raised an eyebrow. “You happy now?”

I hugged him, holding on a second longer than usual. “Thank you,” I whispered, genuinely. Then I bolted, carrying the warmth of that moment with me.

The sun was setting when I reached the abandoned building. A cool gust of wind swept over me, carrying with it a strange unease. The place had a reputation, and even though I didn’t believe in ghosts, I felt my heart race.

At the gate, a faded NO ENTRY sign warned me off. I heard whispers. Laughter. Then, a voice.

“Jump, idiot! Before someone catches you!”

Through a hole in the wall, a guy waved me over. I climbed through.

Inside, Shyla stood with her friend Shirin and Shirin’s boyfriend, Karan.

Shyla stepped forward, arms folded. “Okay, Dev,” she said, her tone dry and laced with sarcasm, “I'm... sorry, I guess? Not for standing up for myself, but maybe for slapping you in front of half the campus. That part was a bit extra.” She shrugged, clearly not remorseful, but at least making the effort—in her own, Shyla sort of way.

“Sorry? I got publicly humiliated. That wasn’t nothing.”

Shyla avoided my gaze.

“I’m not going to apologize for standing up for what I thought was right,” she said. “But I can offer you something better.”

I asked, still smarting from the sting of her slap, my voice sharp and skeptical. "Like what?"

“A prank. On those who laughed at you.”

I hesitated. I should’ve demanded an apology. But I didn’t. Instead, I nodded.

She grabbed my hand and we sprinted toward the rooftop, my pulse pounding in a chaotic mix of panic and anticipation. The air was thick with electricity, like the world held its breath for whatever came next. Just as we reached the top, Shirin slipped a white saree from her bag with a devilish grin. I blinked, breathless—not just from the run, but from the realization: this was no ordinary meet-up. This was mischief, madness, and maybe, just maybe, the start of something electric between us.

“You were the ghost!?”

Shyla winked. “Watch and learn, baby.”

With a candle in hand and the saree wrapped around her, she roamed the terrace. From the boy’s hostel, screams erupted.

“AAAHHH!!!”

We laughed until our stomachs hurt. The same crowd that mocked me now believed in a ghost. Redemption had never felt sweeter.

As the laughter from our rooftop prank still echoed in the air, Shyla didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, she led me quietly, purposefully, to the top floor balcony. The energy shifted—the wild thrill melted into something calmer, more intimate. The wind brushed past us gently as we stepped out under a sky freckled with stars.

She leaned on the cold railing, letting the thrill of the prank settle into a charged stillness. Silence fell between us—not awkward, but magnetic, as though the night itself was watching. Then, slowly, she reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and with a graceful flick of her fingers, lit it. The flame flared briefly, illuminating her eyes with a glint of rebellion. As she took a slow drag, smoke curled from her lips, weaving upward like whispered secrets in the moonlight. It wasn’t just a cigarette—it was a ritual, a quiet, forbidden intimacy shared in the hush of night.

It wasn’t just the rooftop air that had my chest tight—it was her. Still, quiet, mysterious. And for the first time, I didn’t want to say anything. I just wanted to exist in that moment beside her.

“I’d never seen a girl smoke. It threw me. She passed it to me. “Take a puff.””

I tried. Failed. Coughed so hard it echoed.

She chuckled softly, letting the final tendrils of smoke fade into the night. With a gentle twist of her foot, she crushed the cigarette, then stood in silence, her silhouette framed by the silver glow of the moon. The air between us thickened—not with tension, but with something slower, softer. She took a single step toward me, and then another, each movement deliberate. Moonlight slid across her features, outlining her cheekbones, catching the glint in her eyes. For a breathless moment, she said nothing—only looked at me, as though trying to read a secret etched across my skin. Then, barely above a whisper, she leaned in.

She leaned in with a teasing smirk, her voice wrapped in moonlight and smoke. “So… apart from smoking—clearly a first—what else are you new at, Dev?”

Time slowed to a hush. I reached for her, unsure if I was dreaming. She didn’t flinch. She leaned in too. Our lips brushed—tentative at first, like a question. Then, like gravity, we fell into each other. Her lips were warm, tasting faintly of mint and mischief. I cupped her waist, drawing her closer until I could feel her heartbeat racing against mine. Her fingers slid into my hair, gentle at first, then gripping tighter, pulling me in deeper. The world around us vanished—no shadows, no ghosts, no rooftop, just the two of us lost in a kiss that promised chaos and comfort all at once. In that instant, something cracked open in me, raw and real. And nothing would be the same again.

Just as our breaths began to sync, the faint metallic groan of the hostel gates cut through the silence—slow, deliberate, as if the building itself was waking from a long slumber.

We didn’t stop. We couldn’t. Her lips hovered on mine—a delicate tremble that pulsed with every heartbeat. Her breath mingled with mine, soft and unsure, like secrets exchanged without words. My hands slid along the curve of her cheek, then followed the elegant arch of her neck, the pads of my fingers soaking in the heat of her skin. I traced the hollow just below her ear, savoring the way her breath hitched beneath my touch. The rooftop dissolved around us—just sensation, just skin and closeness and something electric blooming between us. The kiss deepened, not hurried, but intimate and slow—like we were memorizing each other one breath at a time. And then, as if the night itself was holding its breath, she froze. Her lips brushed mine and she whispered, barely audible:

“Someone’s coming…”

Footsteps echoed.

We bolted down the corridor, breath catching in our throats, and ducked into the closest room we could find. The air inside was damp and heavy, the silence deafening. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, a different kind of fear set in. We weren’t just hiding—we were intruding. The darkness felt thicker here, like it remembered things. Pressed against the cold wall, our breath came shallow, the distant creak of floorboards making our hearts drum louder. We waited, frozen in place, the gravity of what we’d just stumbled into sinking in.

Already in the room, our hearts jolted at the sound of footsteps closing in. We scrambled silently toward a broken but wide-enough closet, its rusted frame just enough to hide us. Breath shallow, limbs pressed together in the cramped darkness, we heard the door creak open. Two men stepped inside—their presence suffocating. One wore a sharp black suit, his footsteps crisp and commanding. The other, in a white kurta with a gold chain glinting in the dim light, radiated a quiet menace. We didn't dare breathe too loud. We had no idea what we’d just walked into.

“That's the CFO of our college, Mr Raghav. And the other guy… I think he's the corporator of this area,” Shyla whispered.

We held our breath.

“I need more money,” the corporator growled, desperation edging into his voice. “The CBI’s closing in—and I need to disappear before they drag me under. And don’t forget—if I go down, so do you.”

The corporator opened his mouth to say something more, but before the words could form—SLAP!—Raghav's hand landed hard across his face, silencing him mid-sentence.

“You think you can threaten me?” the CFO snapped. “You’ll get your money when I decide. Until then, keep your mouth shut.”

The corporator didn’t reply. Just stared.

The corporator staggered slightly, still feeling the sting from Raghav’s earlier slap. Before he could recover, Raghav leaned in, his voice low and sharp.

"This is the last time we meet in person. Don't call me, don't text me—nothing. You'll get your money, but only when I say so. If you drag me into this, I’ll make sure you disappear first."

Raghav adjusted his coat and walked out, his footsteps cold and deliberate. The corporator stood in place, breathing hard, jaw clenched. Then, without a word, he turned and exited through the opposite side, leaving only silence behind.

We stayed hidden, breath held tight in our chests, the weight of what we’d just witnessed settling like ash in the air.

And then, silence.

What we heard next would change everything—or maybe, it already had.

We gasped, finally able to breathe. Shyla looked at me, dead serious. Her eyes, once mischievous and bright, now shimmered with a fear that made my spine stiffen.

“You heard nothing. We heard nothing.”

I nodded, silently agreeing to let the moment dissolve into the shadows. Shyla's lips curved into the softest smile—half apology, half farewell—before she leaned in and brushed her lips against my cheek. A warm breath lingered, then she turned and slipped away, her figure fading down the stairwell like smoke in moonlight.

Outside, Karan was waiting by his bike, flashlight in hand.

“Let’s get you out of here, Romeo,” he said with a smirk, and I climbed on behind him.

The ride back was quiet, just the hum of the engine and a hundred questions buzzing in my head. At the hostel gate, he pulled to a stop.

“What the hell were those two talking about?” he finally asked.

“We didn’t hear anything,” I said, voice steady.

He gave a crooked grin. “Man, I don’t know what she sees in you. But you’re lucky.”

Maybe I was. Or maybe I’d just wandered into something far bigger than I ever meant to.

And deep down… I knew this was only the beginning.

And maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t over.