Just A Friend?

Chapter Forty-Three

Two Months Later 

The day was perfect, with birds singing joyfully, their melodies blending with the gentle rustling of leaves. The baby-blue sky was dotted with puffy clouds that floated like cotton candy, and the sun cast a warm, golden glow that promised a day full of energy and happiness. It felt as if the very air was infused with positivity, coaxing smiles from every passerby and filling their hearts with an inexplicable joy.

Hyderabad, bathed in this radiant weather, buzzed with life. The streets were alive with people, their faces lit up with beaming smiles. Vendors at the bustling street markets called out to customers, engaging in cheerful banter as they sold fresh vegetables and meats.

Groups of friends, oblivious to the world around them, posed for selfies along the walkways, much to the annoyance of those trying to navigate around them. Parks were unusually crowded, filled with families and couples enjoying the pleasant day. It was a scene of pure, unadulterated happiness—a welcoming sight for anyone new to the city.

Prabhas stepped down from the bus, followed by his family—Ragu, Sridevi, and Rakesh. He removed his sunglasses, taking in the busy bus station, which was teeming with activity. A smile spread across his face as he absorbed the lively atmosphere, the vibrant energy of the day coursing through him.

He turned to look at his family, who, unlike him, were not thrilled by the bus journey. Their expressions were a mix of fatigue and mild irritation, particularly Rakesh, who was stretching his arms as if trying to shake off the soreness that had settled in during the long journey.

As he stretched, his arm accidentally smacked into a passerby, who shot him a scathing look and muttered a curse in Telugu before hurrying away. Prabhas chuckled, which only served to intensify the glare Rakesh was directing at him.

"What?" Prabhas asked, his voice laced with feigned innocence, as if he had no idea why his family members were glaring daggers at him. The mischievous glint in his eyes, however, suggested otherwise.

Rakesh's glare deepened. "What? Really? You're going to play dumb now? Let me remind you, Mr. 'Let's Enjoy the Scenic Route,' that I suggested we take a flight—a short, comfortable flight—because, you know, you just recovered from being seriously ill. But no, you had to insist on this ridiculous bus journey, dragging us along with you because, apparently, you can't be trusted to travel alone. So, we endured twelve and a half hours of torturous, uncomfortable travel just so you could stare out the window like a kid on his first school trip. And now, you're standing there, acting like you're completely oblivious to why we're all exhausted and cranky. Honestly, I could strangle you right now."

Prabhas fought back a grin, pointing at something behind Rakesh. "Well, if you're looking for a whiny kid, I think I found one right there."

Rakesh, curiosity piqued despite his annoyance, turned around to see who Prabhas was referring to. His eyes landed on his own reflection in the bus window, his tired, disheveled appearance staring back at him. His irritation flared anew, and he turned back to Prabhas, practically seething.

"You're the whining asshole, not me," Rakesh snapped, dropping his luggage onto the ground with a loud thud. His tone was a mix of exasperation and grudging amusement, despite himself.

Prabhas, unable to hold back any longer, burst into laughter, the sound infectious and light-hearted. Even Rakesh, despite his best efforts to remain angry, found himself fighting a smile, the absurdity of the situation finally breaking through his frustration.

Prabhas chuckled as he watched Rakesh grumble under his breath. "Come on, just for a 12-hour journey, and you're complaining like a kid who didn't get his favorite candy," he teased, his tone light and playful.