ℂ𝕆ℂ𝕂𝕋𝔸𝕀𝕃𝕊 𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ ℂ𝕌ℙ𝕀𝔻

𝟲𝟲

𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎
>>>>–––– 💘 ––––<<<<

Love, he thought, was an easy thing.
Falling in it, he believed, would make everything feel lighter—brighter, even. Wasn’t that the whole deal? The books said so. The scrolls in training halls said so. Even the damn posters in the Cupid Department breakroom said so: "Fall in love. Heal. Grow wings. Be happy."

But boy, talk about opposite truths.

403—Shakthi— felt like he was walking on glass every second Mithra was in the same room. And not the poetic, soft kind of glass either. It was sharp. Painful. Barefooted and vulnerable, every step he took near her made something inside him flinch. The worst part? She had no idea.

He was terrified of his own heart—this brand new, messy thing that had only existed for months and yet was already beating out of rhythm whenever she laughed, or even just looked in his direction. He didn’t know how to quiet it down, or if he even wanted to.

When her eyes met his, something inside him shifted, broke a little, and then scrambled to rebuild itself in strange, terrifying ways. He was scared of how much he wanted to listen to her, talk to her, see her happy.  That scared the hell out of him.

Is this how it was supposed to be? Or was it just him—some glitch in the system, some fault line in an otherwise perfectly trained cupid?

There were no scrolls about this. No ancient love-manual hidden behind the archives. No helpful infographics titled “So You’re a Cupid in Love With a Human? Here’s What to Do Next!”

He was on his own. And right now, the only thing he knew how to do was contain it.

Every day, every moment, every stolen glance, he wrapped his feelings tighter—locked them up in layers of jokes, eye-rolls, sarcasm, and stubborn silences. He told himself this was just a phase. That it would pass. He had seen humans fall in and out of love all the time. He was supposed to be above it.

But then, why did her laughter feel like sunlight?

And why did ignoring it feel like dying a little inside?

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. The house was unusually calm—sunlight poured in through the sheer curtains. Mithra sat cross-legged on the couch, hunched over her laptop, headphones loosely hanging around her neck. Her assignment was due tomorrow, but she had already finished most of it. Still, she kept staring at the screen, pretending to work, her mind elsewhere.

Everyone was home, lounging in their corners of the house. Everyone, except Avi.

Ananya walked past the living room for the third time, arms shoved into the pocket of her hoodie, a slight frown on her face. She wasn’t reading, not on a call, not cleaning—just… roaming. Mithra noticed. She bit her lower lip, debating internally for a moment. Then she took a deep breath.

Ananya?

she called out.

Ananya paused mid-step, turned around.

Yes?

Mithra hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

Yengayavadhu... veliya polama? Watch a movie or something? Just to catch up… you know, from that day…

(Do you… maybe want to go out? Watch a movie or something? Just to catch up… you know, from that day…)

Ananya blinked, clearly not expecting that. But the next moment, her face lit up like a child offered candy.