Dil ki Awaaz

CHAPTER-07

  Stolen Moments

The night of the cultural fest had arrived. The entire college buzzed with excitement and anticipation. Strings of fairy lights hung from the trees, illuminating the courtyard where students from every faculty had gathered. Music pulsed through the air, blending with the sound of laughter and chattering. The final performances were about to begin, but Amar Desai had other things on his mind.

He paced back and forth behind the stage, gripping his phone, trying to calm his nerves. His mind was replaying the conversation with Prem from earlier, the way their rivalry had crumbled, revealing something far more complex beneath it. Something neither of them had expected.

For days, Amar had tried to convince himself that what he felt for Prem was nothing more than the intensity of their competition, but the way his heart had raced during their rehearsals, the way Prem's words had lingered in his thoughts—it all told him otherwise. He couldn’t deny it any longer.

But what now? What could possibly come of this?

He wasn’t ready to face the truth, but he couldn’t hide from it either. Tonight was their final performance, the culmination of weeks of preparation and tension. And with it came an inevitable confrontation—not just on stage, but off it too.

The lights dimmed, and Amar’s name echoed over the speakers. The emcee announced the grand finale: a dramatic dance performance. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood at the edge of the stage, waiting for Prem to join him. A deep breath, and he stepped out into the spotlight.

The music started—slow, rhythmic, full of tension. Amar felt the beat reverberate through his body as he moved across the stage, flowing with every note. His body had memorized each step of the choreography, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. His movements were mechanical, lacking the usual spark. He knew Prem was about to make his entrance, and with it, something would shift.

Prem entered, his presence as magnetic as ever. The moment their eyes met across the stage, something inside Amar ignited. Prem moved toward him, each step perfectly timed with the music, but there was something different in the way he danced tonight. There was no animosity in his gaze, no smug smirk or sarcastic expression—just something raw, something vulnerable.

Their bodies twisted and turned, inches apart, and with every passing second, the tension between them grew. The choreography demanded intimacy, closeness, and they had no choice but to comply. The audience saw only two performers, executing a flawless routine, but for Amar and Prem, it was much more than that.

When Prem’s hand brushed against Amar’s during a lift, Amar felt a surge of heat, a spark of electricity that made his pulse race. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Amar saw the same storm of emotions swirling in Prem’s gaze that he felt inside himself.

The dance was a story of love and hate, fire and ice, and as their bodies moved in perfect harmony, it felt like a metaphor for their own tumultuous relationship. By the time they reached the final sequence—a slow, dramatic spin that brought them chest-to-chest—Amar’s breathing was uneven, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

And then it happened.

In the middle of the performance, in front of the entire college, Prem leaned in just slightly—so subtle that only Amar noticed—and whispered, “We need to talk. After this.”

The breathless quality of his voice sent shivers down Amar’s spine, and for a moment, he almost stumbled, almost lost his footing. But somehow, he held it together, pushing through the final movements of the routine.

The music swelled, and they finished with a flourish, standing side by side, panting, as the audience erupted into applause. The cheers echoed around them, but Amar barely heard any of it. His entire world had narrowed down to the man standing beside him.

Prem’s gaze remained steady, and as the curtains closed, he gave Amar a small nod. Later, his eyes seemed to say.

Backstage, the flurry of post-performance activity surrounded them, but neither of them moved. They stood frozen in place, staring at each other, the tension between them thick enough to cut through.

Amar’s throat felt tight, but he swallowed the lump and managed to speak. “Prem, I—”

Before he could finish, Prem grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the crowd. “Not here,” Prem said, his voice low but firm. “Come with me.”

Amar didn’t resist as Prem led him through the maze of corridors, away from the noise and the students, until they found themselves outside the auditorium, in a quiet corner behind the building. The air was cooler out here, and the moonlight cast long shadows across the courtyard.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there, facing each other, breathing hard from the dance, from the adrenaline, from the emotions they had kept bottled up for far too long.

Finally, Prem broke the silence. “I meant what I said earlier.” His voice was quiet but unwavering. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore, Amar. I’m tired of pretending.”

Amar’s chest tightened. “I don’t know what you want from me, Prem.”

Prem took a step closer, his expression intense, his eyes searching Amar’s face for something—anything. “I want you to stop lying to yourself. To me. To both of us.”

Amar shook his head, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’m not lying. I just… I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Prem’s gaze softened, and he took another step forward, closing the distance between them. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Amar. I don’t either. But I can’t keep pretending that all I feel for you is hate.”

The words hit Amar like a freight train. He had spent so long convincing himself that their relationship was built on rivalry, on competition, on animosity. But now, standing here, hearing Prem admit what he had been too afraid to acknowledge, Amar felt his defenses crumbling.

He didn’t hate Prem. He never had.

But admitting what he did feel—that was something else entirely.

“Prem, I—” Amar’s voice cracked, and he looked away, his heart pounding in his chest. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Prem reached out, gently placing a hand on Amar’s arm. The touch was soft, but it sent a shockwave through him, making his heart race even faster.

“You don’t have to figure everything out right now,” Prem said softly. “But stop running from it. From us.”

Amar closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, trying to make sense of the chaos in his mind. For so long, he had buried his feelings, masked them behind anger and frustration. But now, with Prem standing here, looking at him with so much sincerity, Amar couldn’t hide anymore.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and met Prem’s gaze. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what this is, or what it means. But I’m scared.”

Prem’s expression softened, and he took another step closer, their bodies now only inches apart. “I’m scared too,” he admitted. “But I’d rather face that fear with you than keep pretending it doesn’t exist.”

For a long, tense moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of their words hanging between them. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, with the tension that had been building between them for weeks, months—years, even.

And then, without warning, Prem reached up and gently cupped Amar’s face in his hands.

Amar’s breath hitched, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest.

But he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.

Instead, he leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he let himself feel—really feel—everything he had been trying so hard to deny.

And in that moment, as the moonlight bathed them in its soft glow, as the noise of the fest faded into the background, Amar realized that there was no going back.

Whatever this was between him and Prem—it was real. And it was terrifying.

But maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.