What after That?

Ch 80.

Shubman sat on the studio stool, camera lights glaring, but his mind stayed dim.
The middle-aged makeup artist adjusted his collar with a grunt.

"Bas thoda aur... beta tum model ho ya murti? Zinda lago thoda!" she scolded.

He gave a half-hearted sheepish chuckle, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Ishan left him.

Shubman wasn’t even mad anymore. Just tired.
Tired of pretending that he was okay when even breathing felt like a task.
He looked at the mirror in front of him.

The camera lights flicked on. Director shouted, “Action!”
Shubman posed, smiled, turned—like a machine.
Each flash of the shutter felt like a small punch to his chest.
In the background, a track played: “
Bin tere.. bin tere. Bin tere...

Bin tereee

Koyi khalish hai hawao mein bin tere...”

It wasn’t even part of the shoot. Someone’s phone maybe.

And it hit.
Like a dam broke in his throat.
He froze mid-pose, eyes blinking rapidly.
The crew paused.

“Sir, you okay?” the assistant asked.

Shubman waved his hand, murmured “Water,” and stepped out.
He leaned against the corridor wall, chest heaving quietly.

And just then—his phone buzzed he opened it to check the notification where he again saw himself and Ishan the Happiest.

His fingers froze on the screen.

He stared at him, that pearl white grin, him and Shubman. Shubman smiled faintly.

On the other side, Ishan sat by the window of his new dorm, arms folded tight, like he's holding himself together.

The library’s old oak tree was barely visible from here, but his eyes stayed fixed in that direction anyway.
Shubman must’ve reached the shoot by now…

There was a strange kind of relief sitting in Ishan’s chest.
A hollow one.
At least Shubman went.
At least he’s trying to live.
That meant something, right?

He rested his head against the cold windowpane.

Shubman won’t be okay now.
But maybe, one day…
Maybe in a few months, when someone new fixes his hair and makes him laugh.
Maybe when he forgets the scent of Ishan’s hoodie or the way they used to walk with laced pinkies in shadows.

Ishan whispered to himself,
“ Im sorry.. main weak hoon.. but.. papa ko kaise chhod doon.”

He had to stay away.
He had to let Shubman build a life that didn’t involve running from his family, hiding behind closed doors, or explaining their love like a sin.

Shubman was back. And louder than ever.
Cracking jokes in the canteen, teasing juniors, and pulling Gulati into random dance battles in the dorm hallway.
He laughed with his whole chest, clapped too loud, and wore bright colors he used to hate.

Everyone said, “Shubman gone mad or something!”
But only Aarav noticed how he never looked Ishan in the eye when they crossed paths.

Ishan did notice one thing though—
Shubman never came near the library tree anymore.
Never wore that rust hoodie they both fought over.

And they never talked.

Not even a “hi.”
Not even an accidental brush of arms.

Days melted into weeks.
The last semester was closing in and whispers of placements and convocation gowns filled the air.