In a world where love is a foreign , he has found his guiding star. Desperate and unwavering, he pleads for just one chance to prove his devotion. She, lost in a life devoid of affection, sees in him the promise of a profound connection she never be...
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25th March'24
Devrudra sat in the quiet corner of their hostel café, his usually calm demeanor shattered by the storm raging within him. His fingers drummed restlessly on the table, and his gaze was fixed on the swirling patterns of his untouched coffee.
Across from him, Somvrat lounged back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he observed his new friend's uncharacteristic agitation.
"Alright, Dr. Banerjee, spill it," Somvrat urged, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's got you looking like you just lost a game you never stood a chance of winning and most importantly remembering me?"
Devrudra let out a long, weary sigh, finally lifting his gaze to meet Somvrat's. "I messed up, Somvrat. I really, really messed up."
Somvrat's interest piqued, and he leaned in slightly, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by genuine concern. "What kind of mess are we talking about? The 'forgot-to-submit-an-important-paper' kind? Or the 'accidentally-insulted-a-professor' kind?"
Devrudra shook his head slowly, the weight of his guilt evident in the way his shoulders slumped. "Worse, much worse. It's about Prashmita."
Somvrat's brows knit together, a delicate crease forming as he straightened in his chair, the playful light in his eyes dimming. He could sense the weight of unspoken words hanging between them, like a heavy mist that obscured the path ahead.
In that quiet moment, he pondered the hidden depths of Devrudra's turmoil, the gravity of a matter that had driven him to seek counsel. His voice, when it came, was soft yet resonant, like the first notes of a somber melody.
"What happened?" he asked, the words carrying both curiosity and an unspoken promise of understanding
Devrudra hesitated, the memory of his blunder replaying in his mind like a haunting echo. "You know how Prashmita feels about Holi... how she's always kept her distance from the celebrations, never wanting to be part of it. And despite knowing all of that... I— I smeared color on her face."
Somvrat's eyes widened, a flicker of shock breaking through his usually composed facade as his mind raced, imagining the scene that must have unfolded.
The thought of what Devrudra might have done sent a tremor through his composure, but he quickly steadied himself, smoothing the surface of his expression like a calm lake after a stone has been cast.
"Devrudra, you didn't..." he began, his voice carrying the weight of disbelief, tinged with the hope that his worst suspicions were unfounded.
"I did," Devrudra confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I don't know what came over me. Everyone was so full of joy, lost in the colors and laughter, and I— I got caught up in the moment. I thought maybe, just maybe, she'd enjoy it this time. That she'd see the festival in a new light. But I was wrong, so wrong."
