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The mountains weren’t supposed to be this loud.
Yogesh had imagined something else entirely. Quiet mornings, wind-tangled hair, maybe a soft guitar strumming somewhere in the background. Just him and Gullu, like it was supposed to be.
He landed in Manali two days ago — alone. Took a flight, earphones in, hoodie up, heart thudding quietly in anticipation. This trip was supposed to mean something. A way to understand what he couldn’t explain, what he’d been avoiding since Roadies ended. The closeness. The looks. The tension between “bro” and something heavier. Something real.
But when he stepped out of the airport, his stomach dropped.
Rohit and the others were already there.
In a car, blasting music, waving like idiots. Apparently, they “happened” to be going to Manali too.
Yogesh didn’t buy it for a second.
He played it cool, of course. A smile here, a nod there. But he felt robbed. This was supposed to be him and Gullu. Their thing. Private. Unspoken.
He waited for Gullu the whole day. Didn't even reply to the group’s jokes on the WhatsApp chat.
Gullu showed up the next morning, a little dusty from the drive, car door slamming behind him like a promise finally kept. His smile was soft and tired.
“Sorry, bhai. Traffic mein phas gaya tha.”
Yogesh wanted to say it didn’t matter. That now it was fine. But the truth was, it did matter.
Still, after the chaos of the first day, the others left earlier. Rohit drove back to Chandigarh with them.
Yogesh and Gullu stayed behind.
And for two days — just two — it was them again. And things made sense again.
It was quiet. Better.
Until they decided — maybe foolishly — to stop at Rohit’s place in Chandigarh on the way back to Delhi. One night, max. Just to chill.
That night turned into something else entirely.
They were sitting in Rohit’s living room. A lazy fan spinning above. A dull evening. Rohit on the floor, sprawled with a beer in hand. Gullu on the couch, hoodie sleeves rolled up, half-asleep.
Yogesh leaned against the wall, quiet, watching the room with guarded eyes. Something in him was restless. Twitching.
Rohit laughed — one of those loud, unaware laughs. “Bro, honestly? Manali was getting boring just for you two. That’s why I told the others to come. Needed some real fun.”
He chuckled again like it was a prank pulled at a school reunion.
Yogesh froze.
His fingers curled against his jeans. The room suddenly felt too warm.
Gullu looked up, confused. “Wait… what?”
Rohit grinned, proud. “Yeah bro. I convinced them. Surprise trip. You guys would’ve been bored stiff alone.”
Yogesh’s head dropped slightly, like he was staring into the floor to stop the storm behind his eyes.
This trip wasn’t for *fun.*
It wasn’t about boredom.
It was theirs.
And Rohit had stomped all over it.
Yogesh didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.
Then Rohit got up. Walked over to Gullu like nothing had shifted. Threw an arm around his shoulder.
“Anyway, sab mast tha, right Gullu bhai? Legendary time.”
That was it.
“Gullu,” Yogesh said softly. “Give me your belt.”
Gullu blinked, unsure he heard right. “Huh?”
“My belt’s in the car. Give me yours.”
Gullu stared, unsure if he was joking. But Yogesh wasn’t smiling. His eyes were cold, dark, unreadable.
"Rawat , what are you—”
“Your belt. Now.”
“why —?”
But Yogesh’s eyes were locked, burning with something between betrayal and rage. Gullu hesitated but undid the belt slowly and handed it over — half confused, half scared.
Yogesh didn’t wait.
He moved toward Rohit and swung.
CRACK.
The belt landed hard across Rohit’s back. The boy stumbled, shocked.
“The f—! Are you crazy?!”
Another strike. And another.
THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.
Yogesh didn't shout. He didn't need to. His silence was louder than anything.
“You thought this was a joke?” *WHIP.*
“You think you can just ruin sh*t because you're bored?” *WHIP.*
Rohit backed up, tripping over a table. “Yogesh, bro! Chill! Pagal hai kya?!”
“Don’t call me bro,” Yogesh snapped. His voice finally cracked through the room like a gunshot.
Gullu jumped up. “Yogesh! Stop, man! What are you doing!?”
Yogesh swung again — one final time — belt snapping across Rohit’s arm.
“Stay the hell out of our space.”
Gullu rushed forward to pull him back. “Bas. Bas kar, bhai. khatam ho gaya wo.”
Yogesh turned to Gullu, breathing hard. His chest rising and falling like a storm dying out.
“Chal,” he muttered. “We’re going back to Delhi.”
Gullu looked between Rohit — now cowering and bleeding slightly at the lip — and Yogesh, still holding the belt like a weapon, eyes full of something raw and deep.
As they stepped toward the door, Yogesh stopped at the frame.
He turned back, eyes burning through Rohit like acid.
And said, almost with a smirk:
”Apna bada muh lekar kahin aur ghoom… aur agli baar Gullu ke aas-paas bhi mat dikhna."
Then he walked out.
Gullu followed, quiet.
They didn’t speak on the drive back. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was thick with everything they hadn’t said for months.
And maybe… someday… they would.
But for now, they drove through the dark highway toward Delhi — not as “bros,” not as “just friends” — but as something broken, complicated, and impossibly real.
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