Chapter 2: Fading Connections

I stared at the open textbook in front of me. The numbers on my notebook blurred into meaningless scripts. I had been staring at the same equation for the past twenty minutes, willing my brain to make sense of it.

Nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, I dropped my pen and leaned back against the chair. My desk lamp cast a dim glow over my open books. Outside, loud laughter echoed through the hallway. Someone cracked a joke, and a chorus of voices followed, carefree and familiar in a way that made my chest tighten.

I checked the time 9:47 PM.

I needed a break. Maybe some fresh air, maybe food. Maybe anything that didn't remind me how stuck I felt.

Checking the time; I knew the mess was long closed. Not that I wanted to eat there anyway.

I grabbed my phone and stepped outside.

The hostel gates loomed ahead, the world beyond them painted in dim streetlight. Just outside, at his usual spot, the thela wala stood, flipping aloo parathas on a sizzling tawa. The rich, greasy smell filled the chilly night air, mixing with the occasional gust of dust from the road.

A small group of students clustered around the cart, chatting between bites.

I lingered at a distance, hands in my pockets.

Thela food wasn't just about hunger. It was an experience—jokes exchanged between bites, stolen sips of chai, arguing over who would pay the bill. Back in school, we would have been that group, laughing over nothing, teasing Shazeb for his obsession with extra mirchi, watching Divya struggle with spicy chutney.

Now?

I was just another lone customer waiting for his order.

I stepped forward, nodding at the vendor. "Ek anda bread, ek chai."

The thela wala barely looked up as he started preparing my food. I could hear the soft crackle of eggs hitting the hot tawa, the scrape of the spatula as he stirred.

Behind me, the other students laughed, one of them nudging his friend.

"Bhai, kal raat ki baat yaad hai?"

"Arey haan, kya scene tha! Matlab, tune dekha kaise—"

Their voices faded into background noise. I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

The vendor handed me my chai and anda bread in a piece of paper. I moved to a quieter corner, leaning against a lamp post, eating in silence.

Chai was warm against my palms, but it did nothing to ease the cold settling in my chest.

I stood near the thela, watching the last few students finish their meals. Their laughter mixed with the distant hum of passing bikes, the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Finishing my bread omelet, I wiped my hands and reached for my phone. A bad habit, checking it every few minutes, expecting something that never came.

The group chat notification still sat there, pinned at the top. Untouched. Unopened. Unchanged.

I clicked it open anyway.

The last message wasn't even mine. It was from Saksham, two days ago. "Bro, anyone figured out how to survive midsems yet? "

It had three replies.

Divya: "Just don't fail."

Shazeb: "Study. Like a normal person."

Some random sticker Saksham sent.

That was it.

I scrolled up, searching for my last message. It was over a week ago.

"How's college life treating you guys?"

No replies. Not even a reaction.

I told myself they probably didn't see it. That they were busy. That it didn't mean anything.

But I was running out of lies to tell myself.

I stared at the blinking cursor in the chat box. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I started typing.

"Life is weird these days. College doesn't feel like what I expected. Kinda miss the old days. You guys ever feel that?"

I hit send.

And waited.

Five minutes passed.

I sipped my chai, staring at the cracks in the pavement.

Ten minutes.

I refreshed the chat. Seen by Saksham. Seen by Divya. Seen by Shazeb.

Nothing.

Fifteen minutes.

I locked my phone and exhaled, shaking my head. This was pointless.

Then-just as I was about to put my phone away-it buzzed.

Divya: "You're overthinking, Devi. It's just college. Everyone's adjusting. You should too."

That was it. A simple, matter-of-fact response. Not rude, not unkind—just distant.

A few moments later, another reply.

Saksham: "Haha, bro, tell me about it. Feels like we signed up for a lifetime of assignments. But yeah, you'll get used to it."

I waited.

Nothing from Shazeb.

Instead, after a full five minutes, he reacted to my message.

A thumbs-up emoji.

I stared at it.

A damn emoji.

Not even a sentence. Not even a "Yeah, man, same" or "We'll catch up soon." Just a thoughtless tap on the screen before he moved on with his life.

The realization hit me quietly, without drama or warning.

They weren't ignoring me. They weren't pushing me away.

They had just… stopped needing me.

And maybe that was worse.

I typed out a reply. Deleted it.

Typed another. Deleted again.

For a second, I wanted to call. Just hear their voices, remind them that I was still here.

But I didn't.

I locked my phone, downed the rest of my chai in one bitter gulp, and walked back toward my hostel.

The laughter from the thela faded behind me.

For the first time, I realized something.

Silence isn't always empty.

Sometimes, it's the loudest answer of all.