THEM 'Ishman'

Fairy lights and all

Heyyaaaaaa human..... this is not an Ishman but a new couple from ICT maybeeee... ('3')

Pweaseeee read it furtherrrrr (Padh lena na yaar) <3

Socha roo rahe hoge toh thoda update de duuuu (sath mein rote hai T3T)

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Siraj always believed in small joys—the way sunlight filtered through the curtains in the morning, the smell of rain hitting the dry earth, and the satisfaction of perfectly peeling an orange in one go. To him, these were life's miracles. 

His flatmates often teased him for being a "walking Pinterest quote" but he didn't mind. Being the soft, happy-go-lucky one in a house of chaos felt like his purpose. He brought balance.

Virat, on the other hand, was the opposite. He was intense, passionate, and quick to temper. As the self-proclaimed leader of the group, he took on everyone's burdens, often without being asked. 

His short fuse and tough love were infamous among the boys, but deep down, they all knew he cared—he just had a funny way of showing it.

Siraj and Virat were as different as night and day, yet somehow, they'd always gravitated toward each other. 

Maybe it was because Siraj found humor in Virat's grumpiness, or perhaps Virat was drawn to the peace Siraj radiated. Whatever the reason, their bond had always been special—though neither of them had ever dared to explore why.

The flat was unusually quiet one Sunday afternoon. 

Hardik and Mayank were off pranking someone at the mall, Abhishek and Rahul were sleeping off a late-night gaming session, and Shubman and Ishan were... well, wherever those two chaotic besties went, it was better not to ask. 

Siraj was alone in the living room, reorganizing the bookshelf, his tongue sticking out slightly as he concentrated.

Virat walked in, a towel slung over his shoulder, fresh from the gym. His presence filled the room immediately. 

"What are you doing now, softie?" He asked, though there was no bite in his voice.

Siraj turned, holding up a battered novel. "This one's missing a page! I'm fixing it."

Virat raised an eyebrow. "Who fixes a book in this digital age? Just get a new one."

"Why throw it away when you can repair it? Things deserve second chances." Siraj replied, smiling.

The words hung in the air, heavier than Siraj had intended. 

Virat stared at him for a moment before muttering, "You and your second chances" and walking into the kitchen.

The dynamic between them shifted that week. 

It started with small things—Virat offering to help Siraj with his chores, lingering a bit longer in conversations, and showing up unannounced wherever Siraj was. 

For Siraj, it was confusing. Virat had always been a mix of warmth and intensity, but now there was something else in the way he looked at him—something softer.

It all came to a head during a sudden thunderstorm one evening. 

Siraj, who loved the rain, had dragged his tiny speaker to the balcony and was playing an old Kishore Kumar song while sipping chai. 

He didn't notice Virat watching him from the living room, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Virat asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the music.