US IN THE U.S

4. THE OPTION

Yodha Viswanath

I didn’t know how long I’d been sobbing, the flood of emotions finally breaking through. Thoughts of all my problems churned—my parents, my loneliness, the accusations Austin threw at me, the ultimatum from my so-called friends. It was all too much.

Agastya stood by, silent and steady, his hand resting awkwardly on my back as I cried. Once my tears started to subside, I slowly pulled away, glancing up to apologize for the way I’d clung to him. But as I looked into his face, something shifted in his gaze. He gently cupped my face, his rough palms nearly engulfing it.

With surprising tenderness, he brushed away my tears with the pads of his thumbs. I blinked, trying to understand his sudden gentleness. His jaw clenched, a tension simmering beneath his calm.

Without a word, he stepped back, leaving me feeling cold in his absence. He turned to the bowl of ramen he’d brought, picked it up, and left the room abruptly.

Great,I thought bitterly, just another person to add to the "I hate Yodha" list.He must be furious; he even took the dinner he’d brought for me. I let out a resigned sigh. Maybe I could apologize in the morning. It was the weekend, after all; he’d be home, and so would I.

As I sat on my bed, feeling the weight of my emotions settle, Agastya returned, ramen bowl in hand, now gently steaming.

“I microwaved it a bit,” he said, answering the question I hadn’t asked. He handed me the bowl, his gaze intense and unyielding.

“Eat,” he ordered. His voice held a sharp edge, and I nodded quickly, starting to eat under his watchful eyes, trying to make sense of his expression. Was he still angry? Or did he plan to lecture me once I’d eaten because he actually cared?

I finished, and he took the bowl, walking toward the door. Just as he reached it, he turned back. “I’ll be back.”

I watched him leave, convinced he wanted to make sure I’d still be awake for whatever he planned to say. But before I could think much more about it, he returned, pulling the chair from my desk over to sit directly in front of me. His knees trapped mine, and he looked me straight in the eye.

“Who?” he asked.

“Huh?” I blinked, confused.

“Who made you cry?” His voice was cold, yet commanding.

Swallowing, I glanced away. “It’s not just one person.”

“Then list every single one of them.” His voice held a restrained fury.

The names tumbled out: “Austin, Sakshi, Aadil, Luke, Naomi...and my own loneliness.”

“The same people who crashed at our
place?” he demanded, emphasizing the “our” in a way that warmed me despite everything. I nodded slightly, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if restraining himself.

“What did they do?” It was more command than question.

I hesitated, fidgeting. “What if I don’t want to?”

“I’ll kill them. One by one,” he replied, voice deadly calm.

I snapped my gaze to him, waiting for him to laugh it off. But he was serious, and it shook me. “N-no,” I managed.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Then what’s stopping you from telling me?”

“Because...you might mock me. Or hate me. Or take their side.” My voice wavered as I tried to explain, feeling my throat tighten.